In a heatwave, Teffont Evias could have been a mirage.
Slipping away from the thundering A303, descending down sweeping Wiltshire downs, I found a line of dumpy cottages, their thatch as plump as a freshly-baked loaf, with the somnolent chirrup of sparrows and the tinkle of a tiny brook playing by the lane.
I’d travelled here to take a walk and a swim, which I hoped to execute in
