The air was cold and damp. More than damp – the water sat in a dense humidity all around us like a cloying mist. Round me snaked the stacked coils of the dead – radius, ulcer, tibia, skull. So went the procession – the only physical remains of lives once lived, stored in hollowed out mines beneath the streets of Paris. These are the Catacombs.
Venice, the land of light, water and adventure. A city that exists only by the grace of God. So I decided to visit before it became engulfed by the tides of climate change.
The Dales were, for the first hour, swathes of green velvet, scrubby moorland peaks and granite mountain tops. It wasn’t quite the blistering wilds made famous by the Bronte sisters. Instead, it was tempered by a kind of human tenderness which transmuted the land from desolate to verdant. Before our eyes flashed farmsteads, drystone walls and chocolate box cottages; all lying in wait for the artist’s brush.
My first blog entry is about exploring the cliffs at RSPB Bempton and Thornwick bay in the county of East Riding, Yorkshire. This magic realm, and sanctuary for sea birds, remains one of the least visited places on the British Isles.