As the truck roars by the edge of their field, two wild rabbits sit up from their breakfast, and their pricking ears are illuminated with the early sunlight.
In the smart new kitchen at Ockenden Manor, I make an early delivery which coincides with the moment when Murielle, their wonderful French baker and patissier and chocolatier, is handing out some little slices of a cake she’s made with walnuts and oranges. It is probably what the Gods eat when she’s at home in those southern mountains.
At the bottom of Horsted Keynes village, I approach the chicane-cum-crossroad with a caution born of experience. The hedges make it a blind junction and there are aged pedestrians in sight. As I slow to about 20mph for the left-hander, so a brand new Range-Rover coming from the opposite direction, and driven by a woman young enough to be my daughter, cuts across my path at about 50mph. I stand on the brake and the truck demonstrates the efficiency of its electronic traction control with a brief skid, the tyres squeal but there is no sign of a wobble. She shoots by with a look of terror on her face. In the mirror I am pleased to see nothing but a little cloud of blue smoke illuminated with the early sunlight.
