‘What unites this place,’ says Nick the potter to me on one occasion, ‘is sorrow. And yet that’s not to say it’s a miserable place. There’s a lot of laughter, but everyone is gentle because they understand the sorrow.’ … At Pilsdon, there was no stress; only the bond that comes from drinking from the chalice of suffering. Stress makes one strident, whereas sorrow is very different. It makes Pilsdon not frenetic, but quiet and solicitous.