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…
The motivational lessons of James Bond novels
There’s a tendency to underrate the perceptive capacities of thriller writers. You get so bound up in the pace and action of a plot that observations that would give you…
Harvest time at the oast cottage
It’s that time of year again. The fields are reduced to stubble, the apple trees in some parts of the country are already picked clean (hello, climate change), schoolchildren are…
Adventures of a 1920s Braime
For a bit of variety, today’s post is a sort of guest blog from my grandfather. Grandpa Braime was a colourful and adventurous character: an industrialist, aviator and lifelong motorist;…
