Fleinvær, NORWAY.

hen you’re in a wooden box perched on a very tall stick on an island at 67°N 13°E looking out to sea and all the sea beyond that, you probably won’t sleep. Though when that box has ecclesiastical tendencies – windows pointing to Jesus, sucking in the wonder of life and all that – and heated floors and sways, proper sways, in the breeze/wind/gales lapping the world outside, you might actually nod off. But then you’ll probably get one of the custodians of this magical-mystery