What is Sunny Hunny without the sun? Hunstanton in the winter.
Revisiting the royal forest in the Winter.
His forest filled my imagination. Permeating all corners like a thick fog, filling in every crevice, creating borders and salients, building battlements and forts – keeping the riot of real life out of the lucid bounty of my imagination. The forest grew monstrous in my mind.
Wicken Fen – the place sounds a bit like some sort of prison from a Sherlock Holmes novel – at least that was my initial feelings. But it’s actually worse. It is in fact, a watery field in the East of England, which the National Trust tries to charge you seven quid to enter.
Cambridge started like most British cities. Way back, when the Egyptians were busy building pyramids, we raised some lowly farmsteads in the swamps. The Romans appear afterwards and build some roads (handy) and then the Saxon and the Vikings did various medieval things, after which William the Conqueror assumed control. Then, the tumble of the next millennia created the anthropocene that we lament today. Curiously, the village of Cambridge, used to be called Granta-Bridge (or some middle English variant) it then changed to Cambridge at some point – and according to my dubious sources at Wikipedia – the river name was changed because the city had, not the other way around.
Why do we love beaches? What is our fascination with these sandy stretches of water and are they really the paradises we make them out to be in our mind.
A little over a hundred years ago, the small village of Gate Up was flooded out of existence. Now all that exists is water.
Malham Cove rises out of the hills like the Temple of Thebes – tall and imposing, this striking natural formation was the set of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and for good reason.
This weeks travel blog takes me into the heart of the Yorkshire Dales, hot on the trail of The Grim. The dreaded dog like beast of myths and legends long past.
Over the last century the little villages of Swalesdale in Yorkshire have been shedding their population like an old skin – leaving in its wake eerily quiet houses with glassy eyes, and views that stretch for miles.