In the Cotswolds, nearly four decades ago, my then husband would stand in the bedroom half-dressed on a Saturday evening wailing, ‘Do you think it’s a blazer do or a cardie do?’
We were but not entirely stupid. We knew that in the Coln Valley – or Sin Valley, as it was then widely known – it mattered not too much whose spouse you borrowed for the afternoon, or had on permanent loan. Yet it mattered very much that
