It is a truth universally acknowledged that I continue to delude myself into believing that I’m living in Jane Austen’s world. Though I may not live in Hertfordshire or, even more sadly, Derbyshire, I have an active enough imagination to believe that one day Mr Darcy will appear, Matthew Macfadyen-like, from the dawn mist. A few weeks ago I got very excited when I saw a tall, dark shape walking towards me through the fog on the cycle path to campus, but no. It was a cow.