I still can't quite compute what happened up that track.
Firstly we met Lenny, the proprietor: a spritely man, nut brown all over, with legs I'd fight for and a smart Mr Wippy puff of white hair.
I'll describe him plainly; in description he could easily come across as plain nuts, which he isn't, he's all kinds of wonderful and inspiring nuts. Over the course of our visit I grew immeasurably fond of him.
He prefaced our tour with the information that he only sells something if he has it twice - if he's only got one he can't sell it because then he wouldn't have it anymore. Fair enough I guess.
Then finally we were allowed into the main barn . . .
The whole place is a huge, overwhelming installation with mannequins put around for good effect.
And I was allowed to actually buy a few things . . .
'She puts that coat on in the winter'
It was the cinema.
Complete with attendant, with her torch.
This is the shed with a bed he built for hobos.
A young neighbour brings him his lunch, a very fine lunch, it's nice to realise that Lenny is well appreciated in his environs and cared for as the treasure he really is.
He explains to us that they look after him well and in return he buries bodies for them in his grounds . . . it's a joke, we just laugh in time. Being caught out by an 85 year old wasn't something I had expected that morning.
Our visit draws to an end but Dad and I are ecstatic, hooting and re-living it all in the car.
I find it very heartening to know that people like Lenny exist and are nurtured in this fine country of ours.