The church in the village I live in is absolutely beautiful. It was built in 1712 by Viscount Weymouth, the then owner of the Longleat estate and legend has it that he built it for the employee's of the estate to worship in.

Anyway, it's at the top of the hill (I can see it from my window), you have to either walk up a little dead end lane bordered all the way by multitudes of daffodils, or across a beautiful grassy field in order to get to it and once you're there you can walk all the way around it on a little windy path inside the graveyard.

It's the kind of church in which you should sit amongst the leaning gravestones and the creaking Cedar trees, watch the sun go down (or come up) and just be.

Curiously, it is also filled with gravestones made out of a stone which seems to weather exceedingly badly, and as a result the grass is filled with what look like interesting stumps of very badly rotted, lichen-covered teeth.