“Ours was the marsh country”, writes Dickens in Great Expectations. I always think of that when I head north out of London. A few weekends back I visited friends on their beautiful farm in south Norfolk, which has a woodland attached. It was a working weekend, which meant that we had to earn our keep by chopping trees, hauling debris, digging the garden and feeding the chickens. But I did manage to sneak away on the frosted Sunday morning to take a few photographs up in the wood. As usual, we finished up with a beer in front of the bonfire.