I remember we had a lovely little house just outside Bognor on the South Coast. The garden went straight down onto the shingle. It was extremely uncomfortable. It was very pretty but a nightmare. I mean, you couldn't have lived in it in the winter, it had no central heating, jolly little running water but we loved it and I remember that, again, we used to go on great drives over the South Downs and she wouldn't... no question of keeping to the roads, we're going over the grass, over the downland. And I remember coming to a fence once with a row of posts and a sign saying, 'Trespassers will be prosecuted.' And my mother said, 'Just go and pull up that middle post and we'll go through.' And I suppose I must have been not more than about six thought that 'Trespassers will be prosecuted' meant that trespassers would be executed, and so I was deeply reluctant to pull out this thing, but it was cowardice on the one hand or facing my mother's scorn on the other. So I pulled the thing up and through we went. She was very careful making me to put it back afterwards. And that was the sort of thing that she did. And she was most enormous fun to be with.