Trevillies isn't so much a place as a pair of houses - East Trevillies, seen here, and West Trevillies, just round the corner and up the road. It isn't a spot with an immense amount of history, but makes a very attractively Cornish hamlet. We see it here in that strange February/ March light which gives the country a light brown sheen of a particularly attractive type; it contrasts well with the greens of summer, the oranges of autumn and the greys of the first half of winter.

The nearest place of any immediate note is half a mile or so down the road behind the camera and comes in the form of the village of St Keyne. Named after a West Country saint, the not entirely idyllic village lies between the East and West Looe valleys on what counts in the area as a major road. It's about twice the width of this one.

This delightfully rural collection of minor roads ambling around in the manner of this twisty little strip of tar, passing tightly around the corners of occasional whitewashed houses, provides endless opportunities for motorists to potter sedately through the landscape stuck behind cyclists, tractors and hedges. As a result the East Looe valley retains its railway. It also potters sedately through the landscape, but in a way which isn't as stressful as the roads. En route it even deigns to serve St Keyne by means of a station with no car park, a mile from St Keyne itself, at the bottom of the hill and with the delightful name of "St Keyne Wishing Well Halt". Situated next to the Magnificent Music Machines museum, the station offers the lucky waiting passenger (of which there are a smidgen under 1,000 per annum, or 3 per day) the opportunity to sit and wait for a train to the sound of birdsong, flowing water and a gently playing organ. The wait is particularly long on winter Sundays, when the branch has no trains.

The well is about halfway down the hill and forms the third point of a triangle between it, the village and the station. The station used to do fairly well out of honeymoon couples who would race from there to the well to see who could drink from it first; the first person to drink was to have supremacy in the marriage. (There may have been method in the madness beyond it having potential to be a self-fulfilling prophecy - "I got to the well first, do as I say!" - since the more physically fit person would logically be expected to get there first and would probably be more handy with the frying pan. Not that such an approach to marital strife is necessarily to be encouraged.) Nowadays the first person to drink it would probably be the first to die of typhoid in Liskeard Hospital some hours later, since the well is populated by drowned snails and leaf-fall. But it remains an attractive and peaceful spot in an attractive and peaceful area.