This is Chalford, home of Damian Hirst's magic factory, among other things not necessarily associated with villages. Chalford is a working village; and art is the industry.
As we bimble around in cars and on foot attending the necessities of a Significant Party, little hints of the curiosity of the place emerge. In a front garden, there's a model railway set-up, running along the front wall, so the local children can look in and see it. Through the trees, something huge is shrouded in the sculptor's yard. And the looks I would expect my appearance to provoke in the average village are markedly absent.
But otherwise it's very much a village; green pubs with nursery menus and big car-parks; ivy growing out of old stone walls; and endless instructions to "go this way" from the locals, whose habits of parking here and turning there are so standard they have bcome the only way to do a thing. They do have a point, of course, it's steep and narrow.
This isn't our video (I'd taken a film camera, so it'll be a while before we have anything to look at from me) but it's a surprisingly accurate rendition of our experience of driving to and from Chalford.