I visit the village of Dullingham one hot day in late July. It is a village of flint walls and chocolate-box cottages. Horses are neighing from stables, and bells chime in the church.
I wander through the sleeping village, in the thick hazy heat of the afternoon. Roses tumble from flint walls, in their last bloom of the summer. Many other flowers are fading now as it is already late July, but bees are still droning busily around them and the warm air is full of butterflies.
This thatched cottage has particularly high gables and an interesting Gothic style.
Butterflies dance in pairs around the hedges, and bees buzz in the lavender. People are tacking up their ponies and riding out along the country lanes.