By Day 3 I was getting used to waking at dawn to the sounds of racehorses being exercised…

The land falls away as we peer through thick forest to the Atlantic coastline. A few houses on…

Every town has its own aroma, a fragrance that stays with you, a little olfactory thread which links…

There was an absence of fire which I must confess saddened me. What’s a pagan celebration without a…

It’s a season of west coasting. One week on the pink granite coast, and now taking a drive…

Brittany. Celtic redoubt, dolmens and menhirs, a land of buckwheat galettes and medieval towns, cobbles and harps, bagpipes…

Hello strangers. It seems appropriate at Easter to break from a disgracefully long – book induced – absence…