My cottage is, of course, more than it appears. What’s the point of power if you can’t have a little fun with it from time to time?

To start with, it’s not a cottage, it’s a converted barn. One of those huge old stone ones with walls two feet thick.

If you come by way of the Burnsleigh road, it looks nice enough. A bit of lawn and some bushes flanking a gravel drive up to the garage and back door, very normal, mundane even.

If, on the other hand, you come by way of the country lane and forest path, then you arrive at my front door. And that is another matter entirely.

Firstly, unless you’re looking for me, you won’t find the clearing. The path will conduct you to a pretty lookout at the top of the hill, then deliver you right back to your car by way of a charming little stone bridge over a picturesque stream.

If you are after help or advice of the witchy kind, you’ll see the gate. Just an ordinary garden gate, attached to an old wooden fence disappearing into the trees on either side. On the other side of the gate, you’ll see a garden, an old-fashioned one that mixes flowers with herbs and vegetables, each helping the others to thrive.

If you put your hand on the gate, it will swing open – an invitation implicit – and you will step into my domain.

The path meanders in the same manner as the rest of the way to my door, and you’ll pass through the harvest garden, then skirt the pond. Don’t be tempted to dip a toe in, I don’t care how hot the walk has been, there is a reason for those strange ripples and you do not want to meet it.

There’s a low drystone wall, barely knee high, marking the edge of the moss lawn, moss is a wonderful medium for protection runes and warding spells, it’s my little version of a moat.

If the wards find you friendly, you’ll step onto the flagstones of my terrace and I’ll be there, coffee mug, tea cup, or wine glass in hand (depending on the time of day), waiting for your arrival.

You can say I’m clairvoyant if you like, and I do have some premonitions. I also have movement sensors and security cameras. A woman living on her own needs to take some precautions you know, even in this day and age.

If it’s warm and sunny we’ll discuss your problem over cold drinks on the terrace. If it’s cold or wet, you’ll come inside, wrap your hands around a warm mug of something, and pour out your heart at my kitchen table.

They do say kitchens are the heart of a house, or at least they used to be, and my kitchen is the heart, hearth, and soul of mine.

It’s actually two rooms, although the division is nominal. The table you’d sit at with your hot chocolate (possibly enlivened with a touch of whiskey or rum) is in my everyday cooking kitchen. Pass through a wide archway at the end of it and you’ll be in my still room, where I create the potions and balms to soothe aches, ease the way to sleep, or clear the mind for big decisions.

There is, of course, a bathroom and extra toilet on the ground floor. I get plenty of visitors and there are some I definitely don’t want tramping about my upstairs. Not that there’s anything to hide up there, it’s just mine.

My still room doubles as my study, and has as many shelves of books as herbs, but my office is in one of the spare bedrooms just off the top of the stairs, overlooking the back door and driveway. It feels wrong to be doing accounts, and electronic bank transfers and suchlike in a space filled with the scent of drying rosemary and a cauldron bubbling over an open fire, so the computer sits up there, and the grimoire stays downstairs.

My bedroom is large and light, with a decadent bed and a reading nook. It looks over the front garden, as does the sitting room, with a small terrace at its end. There’s not much of a view as the top of my roof doesn’t clear the trees, but it’s peaceful, and a good landing point for winged visitors.

I’m talking about birds. What else could I possibly be referring to?

That’s enough of a tour for now. I’m sure other features will make themselves known over time.

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