Slow Life | 10 January 2009

There were four brothers. They’d just been left their uncle’s farm in his will, a few dozen acres of Leicestershire. It was a fairly standard small-farm package. They’d all grown up with the place, working there through the summers: a red-brick farmhouse, pretty but practically derelict with a mixed bag of cute, lopsided outbuildings — some of these vast in terms of garden sheds or domestic garages but still far too small to be practical for the austere, superhuman scale of modern agriculture.