Langport, the Heart of the Levels, has many glories. Well, at least five. Chief of these, of course, are the levels, which are big bits of water that get even bigger when it rains (which is most of the time), and take over fields, roads, houses and other things that aren’t really supposed to be covered in water.

The other glories are: the hanging chapel, scrumpy cider, the shops on Bow Street and the almost complete lack of pavements. This is how my mum’s village rolls in December:

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