I’d had my eyeballs sandblasted by storms while crossing endless barren deserts; my shins nibbled by tetchy piranhas when wading through tropical rivers; and my...
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Mentioning The Beehive bar in Puerto de la Cruz in my last post about travel writing brought back memories of Harry. Harry appeared in the...
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A patch of woodland on a winter day. Silent as the grave. Not even the slightest breeze to rustle the layer of oak leaves strewn...
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Et tu, butty. Stabbed in the back by a roll packed with turkey and stuffing, assisted in its mutinous action by chipolata sausages, two cold...
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Our nearest town, Wiveliscombe, has a tartan. This is a recent development. Initially, I wasn’t sure how I felt about the idea of a Somerset...
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One of the things I was worried I’d miss about living abroad was wandering around farmers’ markets, picking up local goodies direct from the people...
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July in Britain was a soggy one. But as I listened to, and read reports of wildfires around the world, I was reminded why summer...
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We bought our house from ghosts. People who did not exist in human form. It’s the only explanation I can come to why whenever we...
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Accents and writing different languages were recurring topics last week, in both my work and daily life. Writing different languages I use Spanish phrases throughout...
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‘There’s an ice cream van in the village,’ Andy interrupted long overdue hoovering to inform me of this surprising development. The village has one street...
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