There’s a mother and son I’ve not seen in a while. They’re regulars in the local park, like me. Except that they walk their dogs while I walk by myself. I’m not too fond of their dogs. They’re small and yappy, and the mother and her adult son don’t call them away when they pester … More A mother and her son
I looked out of the window at Saturday morning. It was cloudy, but not raining. I opened the front door to feel the air. It was cold, but not freezing. The day was growing light, a busy week was behind me and the next hour would be my own. As I crept out of the … More Saturday morning secret
I had all of Saturday to travel from Swansea in the West to Cambridge in the East, so I decided to stop mid-way. A refuge from the fast lane which promised to peel back the centuries. All the way to the sacred oaks of Awsty Wood, the marching feet of Roman legionnaires, and the group … More A Sanctuary
The first thing anyone said to me one morning recently was: “He never listens to a word I say.”
‘He’ was the speaker’s dog. The speaker was a young woman, instructing her dog to cross the road, but he was too busy sitting on the pavement watching the world go by. The young woman had headphones on, and I wondered if the dog was trying to make a point. … More Extreme listening
A white hart. A light leaf. Aflight fern. A Thursday morning at Knole Park in mid-September.
A pavement walk to a soulless gym on a cloud-hung day. Even the temperature is mediocre – it’s neither this nor that. Just okay. A conveyor belt of cars slides sedately by at this early hour. Some drivers bear that far-off, dreamy look so familiar to us all, suggesting that they are relieving the boredom of the road … More Soulless in Sevenoaks
A crouching figure stops me from going further. I don’t want to intrude on his sunrise; I retreat a little, and enjoy my own. Birdsong beckons another beautiful day, but Knole’s deer are elsewhere. It’s just me, the crouching stranger, and the sky. A perfectly still summer solstice. The man stands and starts to walk … More Solstice Sky
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
My son tells me he thinks our garden needs some attention (but not in those words). As we walk from our back door, trip through the wreckage of an abandoned ball game, and squeeze past a sad old trampoline, he points to the straggly plants which over-populate the flower beds, and asks if they are weeds. “Er, probably.” He … More Our Fair Share of Apple Blossom
Today No. 4 met me from school with a spring in his step and a “How are you, Mum?” “Fine, thanks.” I smiled. His thoughtful theme continued, “Did you have a good day?” “It’s getting better … ” I laughed. My boy’s line of questioning is a rare and wonderful thing, especially in these latter days of winter. … More A Spring in his Step
Have Paprika, Will Travel 