“I was working with a fishing community in Mozambique when the pull of Devon became too strong to resist. Nowhere else has hills quite the right shape. So I came back and took myself up onto the moors. It was a bitterly cold day in February, the ground was half frozen, an icy wind was blowing, my navigation skills were pretty rusty so I wasn’t quite sure where I was, and I had a kind of epiphany: deeper than thought, deeper even than feeling, I just was in the right place, the place I’m going to spend the rest of my life. Dartmoor had claimed me.”