I walk the estate grounds every day, despite the frequent rains and colder weather. I have watched the trees change from summer to autumn and now walk amongst their fallen leaves as true winter sets in. It is not the same as the streets of Paris, but it has its own charm. As a child I would walk here often, but now it is mine. Well, a third of it at least. One day, I hope it will all belong to me. To stand on ground that one owns is remarkable. I feel fortunate; so few have this feeling in their lives. I could lie down right here and no one could make me move or take it away from me. I do not of course; I would look half mad.

As I walk, I examine where I would expand the beck at the bottom of the hill into a lake and where I would build a driveway to a gatehouse adjoining the main road from Halifax. I imagine it already complete.

I’ve planted more trees, creating a woodland which will outlive me. I have plans for a waterfall and ponds. Wherever I walk, it always leads me to my beloved Moss House. Even alone I can spend hours there in peace, undisturbed.

The fresh air does me good. Being indoors for too long makes me anxious; walking frees my mind. I will venture out each day despite the weather, even just for an hour. I quite enjoy the rain on my face and the cold wind that creeps in at my cuffs and collar.

How could she not enjoy this? The glorious summers and bleak winters of Yorkshire – extremes of temperature to make you appreciate the other, and all that’s in between. Grateful for a temperate day where you do not need gloves or to hold onto your hat. Grateful for a day of sunshine, so rare they are blessed.