The Toothbrush Fence in Te Pahu, New Zealand is exactly what the name suggests, a fence adorned with toothbrushes (and a few dish brushes). While the Toothbrush Fence was name checked in TV’s “Flight of the Conchords” as boasting over 50 toothbrushes, they now number in the hundreds. In all their variety they hang from the fence, their plastic still vividly coloured although their bristles are largely worn down from long service. Children’s toothbrushes stand out as makers have gone all out to make oral hygiene attractive to the young with Narnia, Lord of the Rings films and Looney Tunes all represented.

The Toothbrush Fence is located on a farm on a quiet rural road and if you weren’t looking for it, it seems unlikely you would stumble across it. We saw no other people while visiting but the bull in the nearest field stared at us, and a goat tethered to a fence across the street also ambled into the road to greet us.

A sign under the farm’s two letterboxes instructs “DIY (wire in bucket)”. The fence goer can hold their toothbrush in a clamp and drill a hole in the brush before helping themselves to a pre-cut piece of wire to attach their brush. If you need amusement while your friends drill their toothbrushes, the post boxes have games attached to the fence to play, in the form of a Rubik’s Cube and a peg based game of uncertain rules. The fence also displays a painting of Betty in her 1950s blue sedan visiting the Toothbrush Fence. The identity of Betty is unknown but her image also adorns one of the village’s other attractions – the Helen Clark Celebrity Bus Shelter.

Former NZ Prime Minister Helen Clark is a native of Te Pahu. The Celebrity Bus Shelter is wooden, green and houses paintings including one of the then PM in the bus shelter and the depiction of Betty’s visit. The Helen Clark “self portrait” may be a reference to “Paintergate” where as PM she signed a painting which was, alas, not her own work.

Te Pahu also boasts an information centre in a shed, which a sign informs you is closed 24 hours a day. Peering through the window it has a "You are here!" map, a Te Pahu School t-shirt, a handful of leaflets and a Hamilton Underground Map. Hamilton (the nearest metropolitan centre) has yet to build a subway system, although it does boast a tribute in statue form of its own celebrity, Richard O’Brien as Riff Raff from the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

The creator of all the Te Pahu attractions is the self proclaimed Laird of Hamilton, Graeme Cairns. His inspiration for the Toothbrush Fence apparently came from the now sadly bare Cardrona Bra Fence. Cairns is best known for his attempts to evade the census by various methods including claiming to be possessed, completing the form in Latin and nailing it to a tree, ascending to international air space in a hot air balloon and being cryogenically frozen and declared legally dead by a “Dr Qualified”.

While his Te Pahu website claims “Te Pahu is a great place to live, and the less people who know that the better” the closed Information Centre is intended to frustrate any potential visitors, it’s well worth making the effort to stop in Te Pahu if you are ever nearby.

Quiet spaces near Edinburgh’s Royal Mile are few and far between, but if you look hard enough they are there. On the Canongate, just passed the Kirk, the entrance to Dunbar’s Close looks like any other Edinburgh wynd. Its well-kept secret is a beautiful 17th century secret garden. Walking through its gates is like stepping into another world from the hustle and bustle of the Royal Mile.

Neatly laid out like a traditional Burghal garden over three quarters of an acre, it packs a lot into a small space. Trees and manicured bushes create a shady area at the entrance, opening out into a suntrap full of lovely flowers and unusual plants. Two small squares with classical stone benches provide quiet places to sit beside a shady wall that could fool you into thinking it was in Tuscany. It’s worth stopping a while to enjoy the wonderful symmetry of the design and the spectacular views of Calton Hill beyond.

The garden was created by Sir Patrick Geddes (1854-1932) who lived on the Royal Mile at the time. He was an eminent Scots biologist who stressed the connection between health and the environment. Geddes had the vision for a network of gardens around the city of which Dunbar’s Close is one. By the 1970s the garden had fallen into disrepair. It was saved by a bequest from The Mushroom Trust which gifted the land to the City of Edinburgh Parks Department. In 1978 it was rebuilt by landscape architect Seamus Filor and has remained a delightful public space ever since.

Few places in Edinburgh are really secret, and even this quiet spot fills up at regular intervals with small groups of people on walking tours. However, the groups leave as quickly as they arrive, and after that peace reigns again. It’s fun to watch the tourists mingle with Auld Reekie aficionados who obviously know that this is the place to go for a quiet moment.

Over the years Coventry has had a bit of a hard time. Bombed heavily during World War II, the Modernist post-war reconstruction which was groundbreaking in its day has few fans left. However, in Broadgate - the dead centre (as it were), a building with a facade that only its mother could love has a special treat for keen-eyed visitors.

Above the Lady Godiva News kiosk (oh yes) there are two doorways with black eagles on them, signifying Coventry rising from the ashes, and a triangular window above. On the hour, Coventry's most famous heroine Lady Godiva comes rolling out of one door on her horse, buck naked of course with only long hair to cover her modesty. As soon as she appears, famous voyeur Peeping Tom pops out of the window above to get a good eyeful. She rides from one doorway to the next as bells alert goggle-eyed onlookers. In a flash it’s all over.

Both Lady Godiva and Peeping Tom are local heroes. Lady Godiva has another statue in the centre of Broadgate and she looms large in Coventry’s history. Another Peeping Tom statue watches the shoppers in Cathedral Lane shopping centre and the bizarrely-titled Peeping Tom News, a sibling of Lady Godiva News, lurks round the back of the clock.

The legend goes that Lady Godiva, an Anglo-Saxon noblewoman who was the wife of Leofric, Earl of Mercia, threatened to ride naked in protest at her husband’s decision to raise taxes. He ordered the populace not to look and everyone obeyed apart from local tailor Peeping Tom, who was cheeky enough to catch a quick eyeful. He paid a high price for his moment of pleasure and was blinded.

It’s not entirely clear why this hasn’t become one of Britain’s top tourist attractions. After all it is free and contains nudity. Mechanical clocks were at one time an essential feature of any self-respecting shopping centre. If you can’t manage a peep at Coventry’s, Masquerade author Kit Williams designed ones in Cheltenham, Telford and Milton Keynes or you could catch the magnificent Roland Emett’s The Aqua Horological Tintinnabulator in the Victoria Centre, Nottingham.

Tove Jansson’s Moomins, created by her in the 1940s, have been popular with children and adults worldwide (but particularly in Scandinavia and Japan) ever since. In Jansson’s native Finland, a theme park was opened with her blessing in 1993, with the understanding that it would be non-traditional, close to nature and made of stone and wood.

Located on the island of Kailo (the original choice, Ruissalo, is now home instead to the Ruisrock music festival), Moomin World (Muumimaailma) is accessible via a bridge from the harbour of the old town of Naantali.

There are no rides in Moomin World and while there is no shortage of places to buy snacks and Moomin merchandise, these don’t seem to be the park’s raison d’être. Instead visitors can visit buildings featured in the Moomin stories such as the many-storied Moominhouse, Sniff’s Summer Cottage, the Snork’s Workshop and the Witch’s Hut.

Where Moominworld does resemble traditional theme parks is in the abundance of teenagers dressed in character costumes. We saw Moominmamma, Little My, Too Ticky, the Hemulen and many more swarmed by adoring children (and one little girl whose curiosity lead her to try to unzip the Snork Maiden!).

Some of the characters also appear on stage at Theatre Emma, which gives regular performances in Swedish and Finnish. As English speakers the dialogue may have been lost on us but we enjoyed the spirited dancing of the octopus, Little My’s impudent faces and the revolving stage sets.

The park’s key demographic, families with small children wearing headscarves, loved the play together with walks through attractions like the Hattifatteners’ maze, the Whispering Woods and the Barefoot Trail, stopping in the many picnic areas and swimming in the sea at the secluded beach area. (Otherwise scarily well-behaved Scandinavian
children do splash each other!)

Moomin World is a gentle, friendly place, which reflects the imaginative landscape and idealism of the Moomin stories and can be enjoyed by children, adults, Moomin fans and Moomin neophytes.

Pennan, on the Moray coast of north-east Scotland is a tiny village with a big reputation. It is hard to reach, down a steep, narrow, serpentine road, but many visitors make the effort. There’s one reason why – they all love Local Hero. In Bill Forsyth’s 1983 film, Pennan has a starring role as Ferness, which will become an oil refinery if some American businessmen (led by Burt Lancaster) have anything to do with it. Like Forsyth’s earlier masterpiece Gregory’s Girl, the film has a great cast and an understated sense of wonder that people fall in love with.

When you arrive it’s easy to see why Pennan was chosen. There is only one street which runs along the shore, lined by clothes poles, lobster baskets and the odd hammock. The houses turn their gables against the sea to shelter from the harsh north wind. The harbour is small and functional and the cliff that towers above the houses threatens to engulf the village every few years. There is no shop (unlike Ferness) and the Pennan Inn has been closed for some time, only recently reopening. It’s not exactly bustling. In fact, it is the opposite of the skyscrapers and long-distance speakerphone conversations of the Texan oil industry.

There is no shortage of little villages with picturesque harbours round these parts, but here the all important troika of harbour, phone box and inn (essential to the plot) are within spitting distance of each other. The famous red phone box, from which Peter Riegert phones home to report on the 'acquisition of Scotland' was added as a prop. When it was removed after filming there was an outcry so it was replaced in a slightly different location where it still stands today. Even the perfect driftwood on the beach has a cinematic quality although the beach scenes were shot on the sands at Morar on the west coast.

Its appeal has endured over the years and in 2005 Pennan topped a poll for the best film location in Britain. A plaque on the Pennan Inn opposite the famous phone box commemorates its fame. In 2008 The Culture Show brought Bill Forsyth back to the village to celebrate Local Hero’s 25th anniversary with a showing in the tiny community hall. The film and the village are so inextricably linked that you can almost hear Mark Knopfler’s famous theme ‘Going Home’ as you approach. As the film suggests, it's difficult to leave without taking a piece of it away with you.

Anderby Creek is not somewhere you arrive at by accident. In fact, I went looking for it and still struggled to find it after driving through deepest and darkest Lincolnshire. Part of the problem is due to the fact that it doesn't consist of a great deal bar a large number of caravans and a wide expanse of (very pleasant) sandy beach. However since 1 April 2009 it has also been the location of the world's first 'Official Cloudspotting Area'. As member number 14364 of the Cloud Appreciation Society it was a personal must-see.

The Anderby Creek Cloud Bar, to give its official title, came into being after a disused beach shelter was given a new lease of life as part of the Bathing Beauties project. Designed by Michael Trainor, it's a simple wooden (larch I believe), building featuring a number of cloud spotting menus, some cloud viewing seating, (which admittedly is better to look at than to sit on), and some slightly Heath Robinson styled self-operating parabolic cloud-mirrors - to aid in the viewing of clouds across the wide East coast skies.

I arrived as the sun was coming up and if nothing else, the view of the North Sea from the Cloud Bar’s viewing platform was worth the journey alone. When it opened earlier in the year the weather wasn’t very kind at all, in fact the day was marred by, well, by clear blue skies. I had no such problem during my visit, in fact quite the opposite in so much that almost as soon as the sun appeared it disappeared behind a thick unrelenting band of Altostratus. Not the most attractive of clouds I suppose, but cloud all the same.

It may seem a little perverse to travel any kind of distance to view something that’s available to you outside your front door but the Cloud Bar is worth a visit nevertheless. As Gavin Pretor-Pinney, founder of The Cloud Appreciation Society, said: "The Cloud Bar is an inspired way to remind the public that some of nature's most varied and beautiful displays take place daily above our heads". Something we could all do with being reminded of, eh?

In the border city of El Paso, Texas, 4301 Leavell is the Casa de Azucar (The Sugar House). The striking home stands out from the other houses in the architecturally undistinguished neighborhood. It is the sole building on a long narrow plot, with houses on two sides and a tall highway embankment on the third. This allowed the owner to build three street-side walls, with an undecorated alley on the backside. Just about every inch of those walls is covered with delicate ornate decorations, looking much like applied frosting (hence the name).

Started in 1973 by Rufino Loya, a retired Levi Strauss worker, it has been growing ever since. The inspiration for the house was a promise he made to his wife that he would make something beautiful for her. Drawing from memories of the churches he saw growing up in Mexico he created a magical corner of the world in El Paso - an oasis of beauty sitting incongruously beside Highway 54. It's a true labour of love.

Shrines to Jesus, The Virgin Mary, Saint Francisco de Asis and scripture are built along the walls. Mild variations within the decorative elements give everything a hand-crafted look. It couldn't be tidier the day I visited, having the appearance of daily cleaning and attendance. As far as I could tell, not a decorative element was broken or cracked, no sign of being tagged, touched or molested. It looked respected.

While named the House of Sugar, the home itself is only modestly decorated and offered no tours. This leaves the exterior walls and shrines to speak for themselves. As one sign stated, "This House is a Little Piece of Mexico." And a lovely piece at that.

The gentlemen’s toilets in Rothesay are a veritable palace of public convenience. Described by Lucinda Lambton, architectural historian and well known cludgie connoisseur as “jewels in the sanitarian’s crown”, they are one of the finest examples of late Victorian lavatories left in the UK.

In 1899 when the toilets were built, Rothesay on the Isle of Bute was a bustling seaside resort. Hordes of visitors would come “doon the watter” (the water being the Firth of Clyde) from Glasgow. The pier, now dominated by CalMac ferries, was jammed with paddle steamers and holidaymakers eager to spend a penny. So it was only fitting that Rothesay’s WCs should welcome them in style.

Situated close to the ferry terminal, the toilet building is fairly anonymous. The tile-clad exterior is nothing to write home about, but inside it’s a different story. There’s an explosion of colour and decoration, and the fittings – oh my! No wonder Lucinda Lambton called them “the most beautiful in the world”.

Fourteen fantastic porcelain urinals stand erect along one wall, with another six in a circular centrepiece. Made from white Fireclay pottery and topped with imitation green St Anne’s marble, ‘THE “ADAMANT”’ is stamped onto each along with the Twyford’s crest. Although the Victorians were rather prim, there’s nothing discreet about them. They are out and proud.

All in all, they are an architectural triumph. The original glass-sided cisterns feed the water supply through shiny copper pipes, providing a gentle soundtrack while you tinkle. The glass roof lets in lots of natural light, making a pee a pleasure. For those wishing to bide a wee there are cubicles where the lavvy pans, as they are known in these parts, have commodious wooden seats. The bowl is marked “THE DELUGE”, which inspires great confidence in its abilities.

Blink and you’d miss Ebenezer Place in Wick, but that’s the point – it’s the world’s shortest street. This is a closely fought title and at 2.06 metres (6 ft 9 inches in old money) it has done well to knock Elgin Street in Lancashire, a comparative boulevard at 5.2 metres, off its perch.

To be fair, there is some debate about whether or not you could call it a street. Ebenezer Place sits at the front of a triangular block (imagine a short, squat, Caithness version of New York’s Flatiron Building) and the straight area constituting the 'street' is only wide enough for a narrow doorway and two brass plaques on either side. The plaques say 'No.1', which is the address (kind of redundant when there’s only room for one doorway) and the name of the occupant – the No.1 Bistro, part of MacKay’s Hotel.

It’s only when you see the building from a distance that the words 'Ebenezer Place' are visible, etched into the top of the building. When it was constructed by Alexander Sinclair in 1883 the Council told the owner to paint a name on the building. It was officially declared a street in 1887.

This went largely unnoticed until Murray Lamont, manager of MacKay’s Hotel, did some research and began a long process of getting it accredited by the Guinness Book of Records. In 2006 Craig Glenday, the editor in chief battled all the way to the far north of Scotland, through wind and rain to see it for himself, and declared it a bona fide record breaker.

To find it, look right at the sharp bend on the road leading into Wick, just before Pulteney Bridge. If you can't make it this far north check out The Wedge in Millport (on the island of Great Cumbrae off the west coast of Scotland), reputed to be Britain’s narrowest house, or The Smallest House in Britain in the Welsh town of Conwy.

Newcastle’s Grainger Market is almost 175 years old, but it’s the very model of a modern retail centre. These days, shopping centres are huge shiny things where you need GPS to get around but Grainger Market is just the right size and still has everything you need. That great shopping anthem, the ‘Are You Being Served?’ theme tune could have been specially written for it - perfumery, stationery and leather goods, wigs and haberdashery, kitchenware and food, going up!

Arranged neatly in a grid, a series of numbered ‘alleys’ contain spruce shopfronts and orderly displays. The pyramids of fruit and veg are shiny and fresh, and I saw a butcher’s stall so beautiful that it would make a vegetarian weep. Everything is refreshingly straightforward. The name says it all – The Shaver Centre, Bags of Bags and The Wig Shop need no explanation. Jewel Box has gifts for all occasions, Simply Men sells ‘everything for the modern man’ provided he likes walking sticks and driving gloves and Petticoat Lane sells underwear and smalls that are actually quite large. However the Plain English award goes to The Cheap Tab Shop, dispensing cigarettes at competitive prices, and doing a roaring trade if the queue was anything to go by.

Amongst the remarkably unremarkable stalls, the last remaining Marks and Spencer’s Penny Bazaar comes as a bit of a surprise. Michael Marks opened the first of these in Leeds in 1834 and their success turned M&S into a household name. This year as M&S celebrates 125 years in the business, the stall in Grainger Market is as modest as it has always been. Officially the world's smallest branch of Marks and Spencer, its original signage dating from 1895 is considerably more beautiful than its high street compadres.

The Weigh House is another gem. For 20p you can step on a pair of huge scales and have an attendant discretely write your weight down on a little ticket. As there’s a constant queue there’s a sense of camaraderie that you don’t get at weight watchers. There are screams of joy from some ladies when they see they’ve lost a pound or two (insert “ah-weigh the lads” joke here).

The Musgrave Collection in Eastbourne is a true one-off, just like its owner, 94 year old George Musgrave. Who is this man and why does he have his own museum, you say? Well, it’s a long story.

To start at the very beginning, the first exhibit is dedicated to The Dad I Never Knew – George’s father who died in WWI when George was only two years old. Next, fast forward to the 1950s with display cases full of plastic moulds, scenery and miniscule model figures that George designed for commercial toy manufacturers in the 50s and 60s. The “Swoppets” that he designed for Herald Miniatures are fabulous things – tiny cowboys and Indians run amok along the shelves, so animated in appearance that I bet they come alive at night and continue their battles. The original models, painstakingly created from wire and Plasticine show that this is a man with a creative mind, a steady hand and an eye for detail.

After this, in a bit of a curatorial non-sequitur, are miscellaneous paintings of people, animals and Patcham Windmill near Brighton where George lived and exhibited until it was subject to a compulsory purchase order. Next, stretching right to the back of the gallery are forty paintings of St Paul - a personal project that took up decades of his life and many research trips to the Middle East and beyond.

I wasn’t even halfway round at this point but already had the measure of the Musgrave Collection - expect the unexpected. Round the next corner there it was - some portraits of famous figures like Michael Grade and Roy Castle and an amazingly detailed, very clever diorama illustrating the four seasons, beside some display cases showing the history of communication and an impressive collection of Roman coins. As a final piece de resistance, his “Speck of Dust” painting, completed at the age of 91 shows the whole history of his colourful life in one go. Even here there are more surprises like his invention of the single yellow line, Olympic swim training and teaching in Africa. It’s a life that has spanned genres, continents and centuries. Blimey.

Just off the sea front in Bridlington you can walk around the corner from the promenade and experience a different type of amusement arcade. Old Penny Memories allows you step back in time and play coin-operated arcade games from the heyday of British seaside entertainment.

In the entrance you can pay a pound for a cup of twenty old one penny coins which operate the majority of games. It feels good to handle the big old pennies and you get a lot of play for your pound. The main room houses a variety of games and amusements such as early pinball machines, what the butler saw, penny pushing, shooting gallery, laughing policeman (well.. he may have been a sailor), strength tester and fruit machines. Pleasant sounds of bells and chimes ring out from 'pinball alley' in the next room.

Just like modern day arcades there is a buzz in the air, children and adults move around eager to play the next game while (sixties) pop music heightens the excitement. The difference, it seems, is that people here are not hypnotised by the flashing lights, computer imagery or prospect of winning money but genuinely excited by the inventive games.

It’s tempting to call Old Penny Memories a museum as the items have been collected, cared for and shared with the public. But this may be misleading as nothing is out of bounds and you are free to play on all the arcade games, each one unique in design, craftsmanship and entertainment.

The very mention of a giant museum can cause confusion. Ironically, the Giant Angus MacAskill Museum in Dunvegan on the Isle of Skye is very small, but its contents are huge. Set in a restored Highland croft, the museum shows off the greatness of Angus MacAskill, who was born in 1825 and grew to a mighty 7’9” tall. In 1981 he was recorded in the Guinness Book of Records as the tallest “true giant” – one without underlying medical conditions or notable deformities – who ever lived.

A life-size statue of him greets visitors as they enter, towering in the corner beside his tiny companion, Tom Thumb. At this point, all sense of proportion goes out of the window. Everything in here is huge – a giant chair, an enormous jumper, socks the size of fisherman’s waders and a replica of the giant coffin that they carried him off in. It’s only when you place something actual size near the exhibits that you get a sense of how gigantic he actually was.

Born in Berneray in the Western Isles in 1825 Angus MacAskill was a small baby. At the time doctors didn’t think he would survive. But oh boy, he proved them wrong with no real indication of why he became so large. The only clue to his mighty size was a daily dish of crowdie (oatmeal and cream) after his meal. Even regular nips of whisky and a toke on his pipe didn’t stunt his growth.

Angus’s stay in Scotland was short-lived due to the Highland Clearances, and his family emigrated to Nova Scotia when he was 6 years old. They settled in Cape Breton and he worked the land in the small farming community of St Ann’s where he became known as Gille More (or ‘Big Boy’).

Tall stories of his strength and kindness have been passed down from generation to generation and were collected in the book The Cape Breton Giant by Peter Gillis. True to form he was a gentle giant, helping those who needed it and refusing frequent offers of a fight from those too foolhardy to think about what they were getting into. The story goes that when one man wouldn’t take no for an answer Angus suggested they shake on it. One handshake from MacAskill drew blood from the man’s fingers and he quickly got the message.

In received opinion, modernist planning and architecture is a sterile, over-rationalised affair. Supposedly, it is blind to context, a purveyor of universal solutions and interchangeable types.

Maybe you could believe that looking at many of the post-war modernist shopping centres and estates of Britain, but a quick trip to Sheffield ought to change your opinion. Or rather, a visit to a handful of landmarks that have miraculously escaped a council decidedly handy with the dynamite – Park Hill, Gleadless Valley, and finally, Castle Market. These places, all making gleeful play of Sheffield's exceptionally hilly and diverse terrain, were planned under J. Lewis Womersley, the City architect hired in 1952, who within a decade commissioned 50,000 homes, designing on the side a multitude of schools and local centres, of which the finest surviving is our subject here. Now that Park Hill is undergoing stripping and gentrification and Gleadless languishes in obscure poverty, Womersley's socialist, modernist Sheffield is best seen in this remarkable shopping centre, of all things - built in 1960-5 and now slated for demolition.

The job architect here, Andrew Darbyshire, designed what could be described as a Megastructure before the fact, although never as domineering and 'iconic' as that would suggest. Rather than, as is customary, plonking down from on high a hangar or a slab, Darbyshire fitted a multitude of interconnected structures into a small, sloping site – an office block, with a distinctive angular profile; a raised walkway system with shops; and the markets themselves, three floors – all with access to the street on different levels of the hill – and a wildly curving entrance ramp at the back. Inside, there is a panoply of strange and fascinating things.

Like Park Hill, what is clever and unusual in Castle Market is that it's a modernist design that specifically tries to engineer bustle and individuality, so that you notice both the ingenious design of the labyrinthine structure, but also the competing design ambitions of the many stalls and built-in shops. Much of Castle Market, both the building itself and its individual units, retains original 1960s signage, making it a particular goldmine for classic caff enthusiasts. There's The Soda Fountain, in elegant, continental Sans Serifs seemingly absconding from a Blue Note record cover; the competing signs of Sharon's, where more recent promises of greasy excellence sit alongside a midcentury modern sign declaring 'Snack Bar'; on the outside walkways there's the deep red vitrolite box housing Cafe Internationale, its name appropriately reflecting the former Socialist Republic of South Yorkshire; formica tables and oddly Victorian chairs at Tennant's; the aspirationally named Riviera Snack Bar, replete with palm tree motifs and the promise (or threat) 'watch out for our specials'; and, best of all, the excellent Roof Top Café, which boasts a fantastically ambitious space-age suspended ceiling hanging over formica tables, a patterned floor and net curtains. That's just those open on a Thursday morning.

At Clootie Well on the Black Isle in north-east Scotland, mere pennies won’t get your wishes granted. Here, the currency is a ‘cloot’ or cloth. According to ancient tradition, visitors came here with an offering to heal the sick. They brought a ‘cloot’ from the invalid, in the belief that leaving it at the well would also leave the illness behind.

Today, there are cloots of many colours here – you can see them tied to the trees from quite a way away as they spill down the hill onto the roadside. Some visitors have done it old-style and brought a scrap of clothing or a rag. Those who are more modern, or caught on the hop, have left J-cloths, socks, dresses, t-shirts and even pants. If you don’t have a cloth on you, or value your undergarments, you can make a wish by walking three times sunwise round the well, sprinkling some of the water and leaving a natural offering. Just make sure that it’s something that will biodegrade.

At one time magical wells were common, and they can still be found in areas with Celtic connections. The Irish have ’raggedy bushes’ and the Cornish ’cloughtie wells’. After the Celts, Christians adopted the tradition and the wells became associated with particular saints and festivals. Clootie Well is linked to Saint Boniface or Curitan, a Pict who worked as a missionary in the north-east of Scotland around 620 AD and is most popular around the time of Beltane in early May when visits to holy wells are traditional.

At one point in 1581, during the Protestant Reformation, the practice of visiting wells and other holy places was banned, but that doesn’t seem to have stopped anyone. The trees around the well are dripping with offerings. While there’s brightness and jollity to them – some people have even put up bunting – it’s also sad to see the supplications (I believe that’s the technical term for wishes) for the sick of all ages.

When we visited it was quiet and very atmospheric with the socks rippling in the breeze and the sunlight filtering in through the branches. I could readily believe that wishes come true here and couldn’t resist a quiet moment of contemplation before heading back out to the real world again.