A few miles away is the anchorhold of Mother Julian of Norwich where her solitude, friendly and open to all, burned bright in the medieval church. Here, at Noggs Barn, the Norfolk summer day is playing light and shade over the lawns and through the branches of the trees. Seen through the sitting room window, a cat prowls its territory and birds descend safely on the high feeder that they know will be full for them. Sitting on the sofa, Anne holds a glass of water in a Guinness pint glass and tells me with a twinkle about the pheasant that visits regularly with his four wives. In the kitchen Mark, her one husband, is clattering peacefully, preparing lunch.Some years ago, before her illness was diagnosed, I came here for the first time for the opening of Noggs Barn, a piggery converted into