Finally realised a childhood dream of making my way up Maiden Castle. We walked around the ramparts in a haze, but the experience was spellbinding. Several times we bumped into a delightful couple, once by the pit that held a series of much-the-worse-for-wear skeletons that Sir Mortimer Wheeler dubbed long-ago war victims. Whatever the truth, there was a sense of generations of lives lived out here, through thick and thin, and the spearpoint found in one spine was graphic evidence of the distress caused by the Romans turning up in the neighbourhood. In the distance, Poundbury shimmered through the haze, like something out of that old TV series, The Prisoner.