
A painting by a pagan artist whose name I regretfully forget.....
Somewhere in inner space stands a doorway. Cross at exactly the thirteenth hour and you may find your own everywhen home, exactly as you like it. This is mine, a woodlands cottage I retreat to when I hanker after my fireside, books, candles and the aroma of food cooked on a real wood stove. It is a real place somewhere on the globe and also above it...
No, not a room which doesn't roam, nor usually a silent room. Mrs Beeton would have known at once not only what kind of room it is, al...