In the Hassocks’ front room are two paintings that appear to be parts of, or quotations from, a single, larger work. The lower, to the left, depicts a bottle of champagne being opened, the wine gushing out of the neck in the usual lava-from-volcano-like way. It is obvious some kind of celebration is taking place. Everyone is looking upwards, wondering where the cork has got to. And where is it? It’s in the upper painting, to the right, which shows it hitting the ceiling. Intriguing, eh? There’s a tale to tell about these pictures, but I won’t go into it yet; I’ll save it for next time.

The vicarage has a fertile garden, with a small apple orchard, gooseberry bushes and raspberry canes. The Hassocks also grow potatoes, marrows and cauliflowers, plus herbs such as parsley, mint and sweet marjoram. James and John have plenty of space to play in, and a tyre suspended from a branch of one of the apple trees acts as a primitive swing. They have already invited me to play tag with them (!), but dignity comes first, I think.

The village itself is peaceful and pretty. It’s got mains electricity, but people still draw their water from a well. I took a walk through it today for the first time, as I went up to have a look at the church where the organ I’m going to be fixing is. I don’t start until Monday, but I thought it might be a good idea even so. I’m afraid I couldn’t resist the temptation to pop into the local, The Flying Cow. It’s not a bad little pub. There’s a small beer garden, with a horse chestnut tree, but I sat inside. They do food, so I had a ploughman’s, which was all right, except that it could have done with a bit more Cheddar and perhaps the bread could have been better. Someone there is evidently keen on angling, as there are framed sets of flies and pen-and-ink illustrations of fish species on the walls. Had they been breeds of dog, I’m sure I could have identified the majority; as it was, I could name hardly any.