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;…
Blakey Topping. And fog.
The other week, as I stood atop Simon Howe on a clear, sunny morning, I looked across at the distinct hump of Blakey Topping in the distance and thought ‘that…
Simon Howe
I have a new second-favourite viewpoint on the North York Moors. My favourite is still Danby Beacon (which has become a sort of place of pilgrimage any time I’m in…
Last of the season
Whenever I see the bilberry mentioned online or in books, it often seems to be preceded by the word ‘humble’. The humble bilberry. And I can never work out why,…
