The delicate balance of society almost came crashing down in Candleford this week as Miss Lane had a fit of the vapours. Well, a bout of influenza anyway. Enough to confine her to her room for a few days and throw the well-oiled machine of the Post Office quite out of kilter. It also provided an excuse for some of the most risqué dialogue ever heard in this genteel drama.

Which came at the point where Mr Dowland had come rushing into Dorcas' room on hearing the news of her illness. Trying to explain her frustration at being confined, she exploded "If *you* were in this bed Mr Dowland..." to which he replied "If *I* was in that bed Miss Lane..." and both sentences were left hanging, ripe with unspoken images of exactly what would happen if they were both in that bed. At the same time.

If there was a single central theme to this week's instalment, I found it hard to pluck from the competing strands that were woven through the fabric of another warm and gentle visit to the world's dreamiest urban conurbation. Was it that a community needs a strong leader and can rally round when they're sick but it won't be the same? Or was it that you can surmount any obstacles if you have the support of friends, family and colleagues? Or was it that however daunting something looks when you first confront it, it won't be as bad as you think? Does it even matter? I was, as always, content to let the multi-threaded hour pass slowly by, chuckling as the stress of a double round caused Thomas to develop a sleep-walking habit, and when Robert discovered that the remedy for grey hair that he assumed was for his wife, was actually aimed at him. And smiling quietly as Laura and Fisher worked their way past Dorcas' interfering and decided they were happy to be together even if he would have to leave. Eventually.

Watching Lark Rise is a bit like watching Rolf Harris doing one of his famous wall paintings. You see a little bit here, a little bit there, but the small and seemingly insignificant lines of dialogue and deeply-nested sub-plots - like the small daubs of paint - don't mean much on their own. When Rolf gets to the end and you can stand back and look at the whole, it suddenly dawns on you what he's been painting all along. And so it is with Lark Rise. When you reach the end and put together all the little strands of story and interactions between the characters you realise you've just spent another enjoyable hour in the place where summer lasts the whole year long.