Something strange is afoot in Lilliput. This tiny outpost on the Dorset coast—said to be named after the estate of infamous smuggler Isaac Gulliver, itself a likely allusion to the island visited by the fictional explorer Lemuel Gulliver—is renowned for its comfort and tranquility. The sand is white. The air is warm. Grab a spot on Evening Hill when the weather strikes right and the sight of boats gently bobbing on a still, sunset-bejeweled sea will easily rival any other on earth.
True, it might not be the picture-book village it once was, having long since become a district of sprawling Poole, but nevertheless, the place still exudes a sense of moneyed relaxation. A majority of the residents of Lilliput are retired. They are people who have built up their fortunes and then hit the brakes, content to see out the rest of their lives on their own little patch of heaven.
