First snow run of the season. Freezing low mist merges with the white-flecked ground. I skid down a mud-slush path, then skate to the side in search of firmer footing. There is none. It’s a hop, skip and slide run. Only a few well-wrapped walkers and some skittish deer are out, plus a father and … More Snow run
I complain about the Monday gloom, from the warmth of my kitchen window. So dank, so dark, so uninviting out there. So I go out to meet it. It’s mild. I don’t need gloves, but a gust of wind tugs back my hood and I let it go. The rain has stopped. Branches reach above … More Meeting Monday
Cold, bright and still. It was all about light, shadows and textures at Knole today. A brisk run for me and a walk in the park for the deer.
Autumn leaves little time for writing – too much takes us outside. Earlier this week, Storm Ophelia drenched our skies with red, bringing hints of the Sahara, and a physics explanation too complex for me. And now, we have swished our way through a childishly colourful weekend … Finding fruit in hiding. And leaves that turn into … More A Childishly Colourful Weekend
The evening light is leaving us, and the nights are growing cold, but colours like these keep winter blues whispers at bay. I find crabapple red. And sweet chestnut green and brown. Pretty for decoration or delicious for dinner. (Just be careful when scuttling over a sweet chestnut carpet. It’s like negotiating carelessly strewn prickly … More Winter blues whispers and prickly tennis balls
A blue sky warms leaves as they burn into the new season. A fern breathes in light on the day of the equinox. And there is tension in the air as the rut approaches. Autumn stakes a delicate claim on Knole Park as summer says goodbye.
A brief post to show an intriguingly tactile door in the old quarter of Girona in Catalunya (called Barri Vell). An ancient building with a less ancient entrance, displaying an age-old symbol in an area with a long and complex religious history. Was definitely food for thought, but invited a quick snapshot too.
Just as Brexit discussions are finally commencing in Brussels, four Europeans are executing a complete transformation of our garden, in full blast of a fierce heatwave. They toil determinedly for long hours, sweat trickling in streams down their temples. Cheerful and polite, they unearth and present us with museum pieces from the last century which … More European Gardeners
You could spend all day here, but we have just one hour. A stolen hour. No. 4 should be at school, but technically he’s unwell. We reckon a spell at Riverhill Himalayan Gardens might work wonders (for us both). As ever, it does. Today we find dens designed by experts, with bluebells for decorations. And a coppiced chestnut spiral by Tim Norris to … More A Stolen Hour at Riverhill
Charlotte Hobson reminds me of a good friend who hails from the same Cornish corner of England where Hobson lives. They are both tall, have similar mannerisms, and are skilful storytellers – using softly expressive, very well spoken voices (quite posh). Both make you want to listen. I feel tempted to ask if they are acquainted … More Vanishing into Russia