Our friend is eighty four and has finally had to leave her cottage in deepest North Devon, hopefully temporarily, to be looked after, following an illness.  The houses in her hamlet have been gradually gentrified over the last decade, with all lumps and bumps ironed out and lawns trimmed within an inch of their lives.  I mourn the passing of kitchens full of tack to be mended, endless mugs of tea and posses of kittens doing battle to get food off the biscuit tin lid.  There are still some villages in West Devon which remain relativey untouched and many of these areas have been immortalised in James Ravilious’ books.  Beaford Arts hold the archive.