It takes only a few minutes to descend into the village from the entrance archway, beneath which is the McGoohan bronze, but in that time the temperature soars, and the rare and pure blue of the June sky, only a week away from the fullness of the summer solstice, becomes flecked with gold whenever I raise my head to stare at its beauty. But it’s a beauty that comes at a price. The harshness of that sun requires a determination to study it; the heat requires a loosening of clothing and a different rhythm of breathing. I smile… We’ve added Frank Herbert’s Dune to The Prisoner in the mix of this wonderful place; we’ve also bordered on McGoohan’s inclusion of the sinister – in the sense that June is seldom this lovely or this threatening to the unwary. I smile, wordlessly at this, and my companion and co-creator of the…