It drops well below zero on Wednesday night but man and dog are well wrapped in down bag and heavy duvet. (For my winter vanning set-up, see A rubber tramp in Redcar.) As I drift off I embrace my inner … Read More »
A week ago I presented three written pieces loosely connected by the theme of amnesia. Here’s another three (OK one is a listen, not a read) and these too have an over-arching theme. The denial of reality. There’s a lot … Read More »
“The Hiroshima myth fosters a depraved indifference to civilian casualties associated with US actions abroad, whether it’s women and children slaughtered in a drone strike in Afghanistan, hundreds of thousands dead in an unwarranted invasion of Iraq, or a baby who dies … Read More »
I’d been an hour on the island when Britain’s largest bird of prey flew over my head. Despite the gravity of my situation, I just had to share with the only person I could. Excuse me! I’ve just seen a … Read More »
I’m back from eight days rubber tramping Britain’s south coast, taking in the Somerset Levels, New Forest, South Downs, Dungeness and Thanet … gnocchi and pesto for supper at Pulborough Brooks Nature Reserve, West Sussex … having spent the beginning … Read More »
Fresh ploughed fields, two minutes up the lane rom our Church Street cottage Neck of the Cromarty Firth, the oil rig on the right horizon one of several towed in for repair The wooden structure is an extension of Cromarty … Read More »
It’s that time of year. Yesterday my friends Heather … … Tebay … … and I motored out to Strelley, tucked between Ilkeston and DH Lawrenceland to the west, Nottingham to the east. Taking an unmetalled road that leaps the … Read More »
On my meander from Nottingham to London for the demo on Saturday I spent Tuesday and Wednesday nights in the van on a quiet lane a mile northwest of Worcester city centre. On the east side of the road, large … Read More »
In the bleak mid-winter, frosty wind made moan/Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone – Christina Rossetti Friday, 07:30. Snug in down bag under heavy duvet, I peel back a corner of the nearest blind to take in the … Read More »
Hartlepool, north of the Tees, is my kind of town. Time ravaged and forlorn, the striking and the truly banal rub shoulders as both stagger under the weight of histories ancient and modern. It’s a place of friendly folk whose … Read More »