So, here we are. Which is - I suppose - quite fortunate. For, if you were over there, I would have to shout. That is something I would prefer to avoid, especially at this time in the morning when the hairstylists are all still asleep, dreaming of short weekend breaks in Alicante (full board).
Anyway, if you look to your left….
No, I said YOUR LEFT, not mine….
If you look to your left, you will see the not unimpressive Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold collection of Small Brown Things. The head inspector from the UK Small Brown Things National Inspectorate, Lady Gladiola Throb-Grinder herself, has recently remarked upon what a splendid collection it is. She even implied that these days it might even eclipse the once world-famous Lower Spagecock Small Brown Thing Heap. That, in its heyday, attracted visitors from as far away as Tupping-on-the-Marsh and - even - Titten-Growper to gaze in awe and wonder at the heap, and then spend inordinate amounts of money on the over-priced tourist tat at the adjacent tourist souvenir shop.
Not that we here in Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold would ever stoop so low, or be so commercially crass - when our pile of Small Brown Things begins to attract visitors in high numbers - as those infamously mercenary-minded denizens of Lower Spagecock.
At the last village council meeting - just before adjourning for fresh cream cakes and sensual massage - it was decided unanimously that the Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold Small Brown Thing Visitor Centre will be much more upmarket*, understated and reassuringly expensive.
*While - of course - staying true to the first - and unbreakable - rule for tourist attractions of separating as many tourists as possible from as much of their money as possible.