Pool-deep, bridge street astride the River Anker: summer whiter than clay-dust, winter blacker than coal in a pit shaft, its rich seam of stars gleaming adrift, glittering. Once you rode horses down this street. Now you save fuel and recycle, consider the climate. Still the River Anker trembles full-lipped, spilling generous from its broad lap: pool-path, flood-deep, hooking your houses and streets back up to the heart of a village. For you, home is where the anchor is.