The grave of three men: Jobo, Cabo, Baco. They all look alike. Two could be brothers, the third could be the son of one, or a nephew, or a much younger brother. This youngest man (Cabo) died in 1943 at the age of 23. The 23-year-old man of a different family looks thoughtful and resolute. … More Montenegro Lives
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
(In the coastal town of Olhão in Portugal.) It’s the same menu, the same simplicity, the same man who welcomes us with: “Non-stop fish!” Except that the queues are shorter because the tables are more numerous (the prices are a bit higher, but so are prices everywhere these days). No need for new photos, really. … More Vai e Volte, Olhão (again).
I was taking photos of shadows, cats, bricks and steps in the city of Cuenca in Spain. Everything that I could see right in front of me. It was sunny and mild and even the grafitti seemed to have had a spring clean. I thought I had the old town all to myself, but someone … More Los Ojos
I asked my friend, Fitta, to give me a proverb. I’ve been hunting for proverbs in books, magazines and online. I’ve consulted sugar sachets from Spain; I’ve discovered the wisdoms of the Akans; and I’ve learned that these clever turns of phrase which express universal truths may not themselves be universal. My recent interest in … More Milestone Words
Here are days, weeks and years of travel. From Orkney to Australia, and from Malawi to Berlin. I know some of these places, and once I must have imagined I would visit them all.
… More Boxing up books (a working title)
It’s our last breakfast in Algodonales, Spain, Summer 2018. We sit on red plastic chairs at a small pavement café and find that our table has a mind of its own. We wedge napkins under its thin metal legs to correct the wobble, and enjoy brief seconds of success before someone rests an elbow and … More Trust in time
Yesterday, my daughter pointed out the grey in my hair. She thought she was being helpful. It’s not the only thing I’ve been reminded about this week. For example, the ‘lockdown-logue’ that I’ve forgotten to write. It started last Monday with a tight scrawl. Tuesday saw a looser enthusiasm which tailed off around mid-week, and … More Silver not Grey
An escape to Kent seems a bit tame at just an hour down the road and without leaving our home county, but we Kentish Maids and Men are venturing to where the Men and Maids of Kent reside. So it should be a little different … Day One keeps us indoors with Storm Dennis lashing … More Tame in Kent
I’ve not been wolf-whistled in at least 25 years. That’s quite a time. But it’s now no longer true. Rewind four weeks and I am walking up a quiet Greek road thinking about figs. I am whistled at. Technically, I know it to be a wolf whistle (the short rising note followed by a slow … More The Wolf Whistle