Forever running short of life's essentials - incense, corn dollies and hand-dipped candles - he gravitated, naturally enough, to Hebden Bridge, where these needs are routinely met. In this delightful little mill-town you can hardly move for writers ("I'm writing a book"... "What a coincidence, neither am I"...), shy poets, singer-songwriters, photographers, minimalist sculptors and commissioning editors for Channel 4, so he soon felt at home.

It's not hard to find a poet here to compose, at short notice, some free verse on the otherness of being... but just try getting someone to come out at the weekend to mend your washing machine. If you can find a plumber they tend to be holistic: treating the whole house and not just the pipes, which tends to push the price up.

The town boasts a bewildering number of 'alternative' therapists. There are people here who, having smoked proscribed substances since the late sixties, are happy if they can just keep track of their own saliva. They could probably benefit from some gentle counselling; unfortunately most of them are therapists.