Remembering
The fellow in the picture below is my great uncle Joe. It was taken in 1916, when he was 17 years old. Family lore is that he never fully recovered…
Not-so-logical Levisham
There are few tests of clutch control quite like coming up against a hefty and stubbornly immoveable highland cow as you’re climbing a 1-in-5 slope. But then the Victorian villagers…
Dress like it’s Downton
Is anyone else getting a bit bored of Downton Abbey? I used to quite like it, but I think it’s probably gone a season or two beyond its sell-by date.…
Hawthorn sauce
The valley between Goathland and Grosmont is a prime foraging ground. In the spring it’s an excellent place to find wild garlic, and lately it’s been rich in sloes, haws,…
To me, to you
A former colleague of mine (and all-round splendid bloke) was leaving his job for a new life in Glasgow the other day, and someone asked if I wanted to scribble…
In search of pubs and the picturesque
My most recent moorland walk was a fact-finding mission. I’ve realised two things lately: 1. Though I spend a great deal of time roaming around on the moors and in…
The white cliffs of Yorkshire
As I walked into the little moorland village of Grosmont, the first thing I saw was a Spitfire in the station car park. I’ve written before about the North York…
St Olav’s Way, in moving pictures
As you may recall, I spent my July walking the St Olav Way pilgrim trail from Oslo to Trondheim. I’ve finally got round to condensing a month of tramping, 640km…
Baking spent grain bread
I’m a bit uncomfortable about waste. Not particularly on account of economic necessity, but because when I think about all the time and effort that’s gone into growing something, manufacturing…
Springs and neaps
Sandsend, the village at the bottom of the hill, has the best high tides. The grey North Sea boils and booms, pounding against the sea wall and somersaulting back into…
