Journal

Every day has dawned blissfull, not a breath of wind, warm and the sun shining, a great silence all around. Nothing galvanizes the soul like a week away in the sun, particularly as the onset of Winter takes hold back in dear old Blighty. We've come to Conil, in Southern Spain, staying in a pleasant yet compact villa, located within a traditional complex off a quiet side street. M is keen to point out the resort is now out of season and assures me it's not usually so sombre. I on the other hand find its eerie peacefulness agreeable. The tranquility is just the tonic after London. Instead of bustle, the hushed atmosphere here is medicinal and adds to the sleepy town's authentic Andalucian charm.... Read More

I didn't think while en route to work last week reading an article about the kindly gent who patrols Beachy Head to counsel the suicidal that, within days, I too would be strolling those windswept cliff tops. Not, I hasten to add, with suicidal inclinations of my own. ... Read More

I suspected in advance that winning, on ebay, three years of Smash Hits magazines from the 80s would make me somewhat melancholic. And it did. In the same way it can be when rifling through boxes of old photos, plane tickets, diaries and other pointless papery ephemera that describes ones youth. There's that wave of inevitable nostaligia and sadness which engulfs you.... Read More

In January 2003, during a winter of hibernation at my Parents house following a year living in Australia, I decided to take some freelance work based in Gloucestershire. The offer was for a few weeks work for the main regional newspaper, based in Cheltenham, with a view to going permanent.... Read More

Fez is a difficult city to get to grips with. The Medina itself is bewildering, and the constant attention from unofficial guides, hawks, shop keepers and even children is unnerving. The small community, such as it is, and the integration of businesses means that one minute you're being served in a restaurant by a waiter, and moments later given a private tour by the same waiter around textile workshops, ceramic stalls and herbal shops. Then, passed on to his brother to guide you even further into this medieval subterranea. It's essential you resist their seemingly magnaminous veneer as that initial service with a smile can instantaneously transmogrify into something altogether more sinister. ... Read More

Our first taste of Marrakech not only proved the guide book correct in its description as 'an assault on the senses' but that the claim was, we learnt with surprise, a vast understatement. It is the most intoxicating city one could ever visit.... Read More

“I nearly never made it. Work didn't want me to come.”

I was alarmed at G's announcement. “He's gotta fly back early,” insisted S scanning the glimmer of suspicion on my face. I didn't believe him at first and stood in the check-in queue at Gatwick waiting for a punchline.... Read More