Jenny gave us some pretty wild instructions down the phone on how to arrive at her house in a quiet British village a few hours out of London. We had assured her we only needed a postcode to pinpoint her with the sat nav, but she insisted on reeling off the directions she had memorised all of her life, down to which coloured gate to turn at and which tree to stop at following turning right at the school.
On a typically soggy day for southern England, we were welcomed into the warmth of Jenny’s kitchen, thoroughly toasty thanks to an old Aga that is never switched off. She was fresh from her daily three-hour ramble with Toby the terrier, so dripping wet in an anorak, she let us in, past the chainsaws and the jam cupboard, for a cup of tea and an afternoon of meringue making.
