Britain

July/August 2026

Manchester

July 26. We tiptoe out of Hil and Mark’s apartment at 7am but Sunny the cat has other plans; yowling to be fed she wakes Alif who hugs us goodbye.

We’re at Changi airport early, bag drop is fast and security is set up at each individual gate for the flights. A brilliant idea. We’re flying with Qatar with a 2 hour layover. I watch the route on the travel map as we pass close to the Strait of Hormuz, the crisis between America and Iran escalating despite talks of ceasefire. 7 hours later we land in Doha to a stunning airport with a landscaped rainforest and vast undulating glass roof. Walkways pass over the tree canopy leading to the inevitable luxury retail and restaurants. At our departure gate the airport train-shuttle passes on a track above our heads. This place must have cost billions. I wish we had a couple of nights to explore Doha.

Back in the air on a good looking plane, plenty of spare seats…people still nervous of flying across Middle Eastern airspace. We arrive to rain and grey sky in Manchester, a short train ride to Oxford Road where my Dad (Hatch) meets us at the station. We’re all staying at the same hotel in central Manchester. Exhausted, Dave and I fall asleep in our single beds.

Manchester

July 27. Dave and I nip out early to shop for breakfast stuff then back to Hatch’s room in the hotel to cobble it together in the kitchenette. Vietnamese coffee for Dad brewed in the Vietnamese coffee filter I’ve gifted him. He loves it. His room has a queen bed but they’re pushed up against the wall in every room and too heavy to move. Hence us booking single beds. Do hotel designers stay in hotels?

Dave finally gets his haircut whilst Dad and I have a wander marvelling at the Victorian industrial splendour of Manchester. Once a manufacturing heavyweight, the red brick warehouses, chimneys and mills are now mostly converted to hotels, apartments and offices. Some stand vacant with broken windows and graffiti, a tall detached building on Hilton/Newton Streets is a beauty.

Also famous for its fantastic music output; Joy Division, The Smiths, Happy Mondays, Stone Roses, New Order, Oasis…the list is long with the amount of talent that came out of (and still comes out of) this city. At the site of the old Hacienda music venue (now apartments, our friend Max moved in to one recently) bafflingly there’s only one blue plaque and it’s for the band James. Obviously missing are plaques for New Order and Tony Wilson. Manchester’s always had status as a very cool northern city and now its former Mayor, Andy Burnham, is the Prime Minister, making one of the city’s buildings his outpost HQ ‘Number 10 North’. High hopes for a socialist PM of the U.K., let’s hope he comes through.

We hook back up with Dave in Piccadilly Gardens, the city centre where trams screech through passing high street shops. It’s a blot on the landscape…we see three arrests in the short time we’re there, handcuffed and bundled in to police vans. There’s a lot of drug use in Manchester and a high number of homeless people. Walking the canal near the gay quarter the water is so low we can see the bottom; hundreds of discarded glass bottles and beer cans, it looks terrible…an environmental disaster. There’s a mural of drag queen Lily Savage (Paul O’Grady) comedian and broadcaster, Birkenhead born who sadly died in 2023. We walk by the lovely grade II listed pub on Bridgewater Street, The Peveril of the Peak built around 1820.

We meet our friend Diane for coffee in the Northern Quarter at Ezra and Gil, opposite the building I’d love to own if I won the lottery. Turns out Max works only 2 minutes away but he’s in Greece. Diane is brilliant as usual, I wish we lived closer.

Dinner at Tops, a bit of a city centre institution judging by the crowds here on a Monday night. Fun night with Hatch and my cousin Rachel and a lively atmosphere with lots of different people, different nationalities…a Nigerian family on the next table are good fun. The vast choice of buffet food is impressive but run of the mill; I’m not a fan of buffets.

Manchester & Chorlton

July 28. Hatch and Dave head to the local art gallery a few minutes walk away whilst I lay on the bed feeling lousy, cursing Tops. The irony of travelling across the world eating unfamiliar foods, street food, meat on sticks at the side of the road…and I’m struck down in England. Hatch had mentioned seeing his ‘favourite ladies’ (paintings) at the gallery but realised they’re in Hull. He does see another favourite ‘The Hireling Shepherd’ (1851/pre-Raphaelite) by William Holman Hunt. A shepherd neglects his flock which lay gorged and bloated with apples whilst he courts a country girl to whom he shows a Death’s-Head Hawkmoth. Dad likes it so much he’s got it as a screensaver on his phone.

Feeling better we get in a cab to Chorlton-cum-Hardy to Rachel’s. There’s people practising on the bowling green her flat overlooks. At a local pub we eat a mediocre meal but have a good laugh. I like this area, it’s typically English, the village green surrounded by trees, a local flower shop…attractive houses. All that remains of St Clement’s Church (demolished 1949) is a small graveyard with headstones laid like paving and the pretty lynchgate with its octagonal bell turret. The lynchgate is where coffin bearers sheltered whilst waiting for the clergyman.

Cheshire

July 29. Pick up a hire car and drive an hour to Cheshire to visit my Aunt, Uncle and cousin. Missed David, he’s been in Australia for a month…we missed him there too, couldn’t make our paths cross. Hatch is getting the train back to Yorkshire (after 40 years living in Uganda).

A great surprise when Dave pulls over at The Salford Boys Club. I’ve wanted to see this iconic music landmark for years. The Smiths were photographed standing in this doorway for the inner sleeve of their ‘Queen Is Dead’ album; it’s the 40th anniversary this year since its release.

In Cheshire we reunite with the gang. Endless mugs of tea, lunch around the dining table, sitting in the afternoon sun. Laurie revs his race car engine. It’s really bloody loud. Special people in our life that we just don’t see enough.

Emsworth

July 30. Always great to see my Cheshire family but we’re on the road again by 10, leaving this pretty part of England. We’re heading to Emsworth to catch up with James and Stef, our routing all over the place but we can only visit when people are free. It’s a long four and a half hours, it’s boring driving in England, no roadside eccentricities to break up the journey like in the US…no Muffler Men or giant balls of string. Instead we play our music. ‘Bittersweet’ by Lianne La Havas is one of Dave’s favourites. ‘Where there’s smoke there’s Fire’ by Willie Griffin. We haven’t had a car since Hawaii, New Zealand and Australia at the start of this trip, it’s great to listen to good music whilst covering the miles.

They’re tearing up more countryside enroute, vast swathes of it chopped down for road widening or a flyover. England can’t sustain the amount of traffic it carries, there must be solutions in better public transport. Like America, people in the U.K. have become more car dependent in recent years, the convenience of it hard to deny…we’re just another car on the road.

James and Stef’s new house in Emsworth sits right near the inlet of the bay fed by the sea, water laps feet away. The tide goes out and it’s a carpet of bright green seaweed sweating in the sun. There’s a marina behind the house where local homeowners have small private docks.

It’s a beautiful area, close to places we’ve both visited but neither of us had heard of Emsworth. We head out for a wander; old houses, a pretty high street, a walk around the water. Sadly “this green and pleasant land” is currently the colour of straw, parched from weeks of unnervingly high temperatures and lack of rain.

James and Stef have renovated this modern house beautifully, we eat around the dining table then sit on the balcony watching the sun go down.

Arundel and Bosham

July 31. The sun is fierce by 9am, English summers rivalling those of Portugal. A global drought and heat crisis in a time of climate denying world leaders. Hats on, sun lotion, grabbing a water bottle we head via Chichester to Arundel, the historic market town in West Sussex. For a small town it packs in Arundel Castle, Arundel Cathedral and the River Arun. The late 19th century cathedral built in the French Gothic style is beautiful. We don’t go inside the castle; a grand medieval fortress founded in 1067 and ancestral home of the Dukes of Norfolk. Several castle gates and turrets are easily seen from the road.

The town is full of independent shops, art galleries and cafes. In an ancient building selling art prints we meet the owner Keith, he’s interesting, garrulous…hard to extricate ourselves from. We leave James to it, he’s found common ground with a fellow Londoner.

Lunch at a cafe then a wander in to an old indoor arcade, where in a record shop called Ray of Delight we meet Malcolm who’s bloody brilliant. He tells us about his old band, he’s bright and lively, his infectious attitude pulling us in. We talk about King Crimson, The Stooges, The Cramps. He turns us on to some music we didn’t know about. I tell him he’s far too happy and hospitable to be a record shop owner…I’ve worked in a few and they’re usually grumpy as hell.

We have a look inside the 14th century Saint Nicholas Church, unique for being physically divided during the Reformation into an Anglican parish church and the private Roman Catholic Fitzalan Chapel. The chapel is the private burial place for the Dukes of Norfolk.

We drive to Bosham in Chichester stopping to see Holy Trinity, a grade II listed Saxon church, over 1,000 years old. It stands in a beautiful harbour setting near Bosham Quay. Its origins date back to the 7th century and its famous for two fascinating things; being depicted in the Bayeux Tapestry – King Harold II is shown praying here before sailing from Bosham Quay to Normandy in 1064…and for being the alleged burial place for the 8 year old daughter of former King of England, King Cnut (c.995 – 1035).

Portishead

August 1. Saying goodbye to James and Stef, a 2 hour drive to Portishead turns in to 3. We eventually arrive in Portishead and it’s bloody great to be back here again, we last visited 8 years ago when we came to say goodbye before moving to New York. Reunited with Jayne. Duncan and Jed (Max will be passing through tomorrow).

We walk the North Somerset tidal trail from their house, down by the big swanky houses with the amazing sea views out on to the path overlooking the small lighthouse. We’re reminiscing, talking music, laughing our heads off at old memories. Back at the house Dunc barbecued (chicken schwarma), Jayne made an amazing salad. Jed eats. He’s 18 and strong, a bottomless pit for food. It’s hilarious.

Frome, Glastonbury & Wells

August 2. We’re off on a day trip, just us and Duncan and Jayne, 18 year old Jed’s staying home…either he doesn’t want to hang around with a bunch of ‘old’ people all day or doesn’t want to be too far from a fridge full of food. Jayne leaves him instructions on what food he needs to ‘not’ eat…ha ha ha.

The car ride is fab, through countryside and the infamous patchwork of english farmland, fields stitched together like a golden quilt. Bypassing the ancient city of Bath, through the historic Somerset village of Norton St Philip known for its wool trade in medieval times. By signposts for Laverton, Lullington, Lower Rudge.

We arrive in Frome parking on the outskirts of town, walking down the hill to see masses of people visiting the Frome Independent; the monthly street market held on the first Sunday of every month. Food stalls, fruit, vegetables, crafts, clothing, jewellery, plants, artists and hundreds of delicious sausage rolls take over the streets. We walk the steep cobbled lanes of Catherine Hill and Cheap Street. Frome (pronounced Froom) is an ancient Somerset market town with over 350 listed buildings, known for its independent shops and creative community. It’s a gorgeous day, hot but the crowds are heaving. The monied middle class, there’s plenty of wealth here and it shows in the immaculately kept buildings, but eccentricity too spied in house windows and private gardens.

I meet Nika as I negotiate the crowds on a steep hill; she looks amazing, like she’s just out of the desert from the set of Mad Max. I tell her to stay different, she’s a breath of fresh air.

Cutting through a quieter street we wander in to the parish church of St John the Baptist. At the steps leading up to the church, there’s a set of figurative stone carvings…looking them up online I learn they’re a unique Victorian “Via Crucis” (Way of the Cross) depicting scenes of the Crucifixion. I’m not a religious person but the ancient English architecture and art of its sacred places is always worth seeking out for its beauty and historical significance.

Leaving Frome we drive through Pilton passing by the entrance to the fields of Glastonbury festival…their fallow year off. On to the town of Glastonbury where we park outside a former sheepskin factory. We walk by hippies, Druid’s, wizards and women dressed as Guinevere, up a steep country road, blackberries in the brambles, elderberries hanging from trees. At Glastonbury Tor I stay behind sitting on a bench looking out at fields of cows and sheep as Dave, Duncan and Jayne climb the parched hillside to the top. It’s so hot I can feel myself baking.

At the foot of the lane from the Tor, we step inside the Victorian built well-house ‘The White Spring Well and Temple’. Natural spring water flows in to an interior basin surrounded by candles where naked people are bathing and chanting in a spiritual cleansing practice. It’s all a bit bonkers especially when one woman starts moaning and throwing up her hands at an altar. We get invited to a vegetarian feast but we want to move on.

Wells is the smallest city in England. We visit its incredible cathedral built circa 1176 completed in 1490. It’s a jawdropping gothic masterpiece with 300 figurative sculptures across the west front, the finest display of medieval carving in England. Astonishingly these figures would have been painted in bright colours (deduced from surviving flakes of paints). It must have looked a gaudy affair.

Unique 14th century ‘scissor arches’ support the central tower and we see the astronomical clock with its medieval face and jousting knights which revolve around the front when the clock strikes. There’s a huge inflatable dragon suspended from the ceiling as part of a treasure hunt summer activity for children. Evensong is just ending and the robed Clergy, cathedral choir and worshippers file through as the organ plays to a rising crescendo.

Ice-cream in Wells, avoiding stepping in to the rills which run alongside the kerbs, channel run-offs which flow with fresh spring water from the natural ancient springs (or “wells”) located inside the gardens of the Bishop’s Palace.

Driving back to Portishead passing through Burrington, Combe, Barrow Gurney. Back at the house we eat outside before Dunc and Dave go to Bristol airport to pick up Max and girlfriend Anna. They’re coming back from a holiday in Greece. We stay up in the garden trading travel experiences, Max at only 21 has already spent the last two summers backpacking south east Asia then South America. Anna is a dancer studying in London. Jed good naturedly takes a ribbing from his brother. This group of young people are fantastic.

Bristol

August 3. Big breakfast out on the deck with Max and Anna before Max heads back to Manchester on the bus, he’s got his job to go back to, he works in the trendy Northern Quarter.

It’s baking hot at 10am, I have to move in to the shade. We do some laundry and it’s dry outside in an hour. Later in the afternoon, Jed “I’m a weapon” comes in to Bristol with us, he knows food will be involved. We explore the street art murals of Upfest on North Road, there’s a ton of impressive spray skills on show.

At Tobacco dock we escape the sun and enjoy a drink. Jed eats the last sausage roll for sale in the bakery. We walk some more of the murals then head to Wapping Wharf, a set up of stacked containers filled with places to eat and drink. We have great tacos at Cargo Cantina. Jed’s happy.

A walk along Bristol docks under the old cranes which would have unloaded cargo from ships; the shipping industry ended here in the 1970s. Like most former docks in the U.K.,the area has since become a cultural hub with a museum, Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s SS Great Britain (historic ship) and the sailing boat ‘The Matthew of Bristol; a full-scale replica of Italian explorer John Cabot’s (Giovanni Caboto) 15th-century ship. He sailed the original to Newfoundland North America from Bristol docks in 1497 on an exploratory expedition.

Wales

August 4. And in to another country. Leaving our Portishead friends, driving over the River Severn and we’re in Wales. Many people overseas don’t understand that Great Britain (or United Kingdom) comprises of different countries with their own distinct culture and language. I went to Cardiff for work in the late 90s working with a Welsh band called Land of my Mothers who despite never making it, put out some great songs. I remember sitting in a studio with them and the artist Jamie Reed who created the infamous Sex Pistols artwork. Aside from that and once staying right on the border it’s a country we’ve never explored.

Driving along Mumbles Road seagulls catch the breeze, hovering for scraps. The temperature has dropped to a pleasant 20 degrees with a warm breeze…I breathe in the sea air, it’s glorious. We take Mayals Road (B4436) driving by stone houses and noticeably green fields, there must have been more rain here than in southern England. Through Kittle, Parkmill and Penmaen, we park near a church and walk down a loose stone path to Stepping Stones on the beach of the spectacular Three Cliffs Bay. This is the Gower Peninsula.

Through Scurlage, Berry and Pitton Cross, driving winding lanes to Rhossili where people are buying sunflowers in the field. The walk along the clifftop is dramatic. It’s the school summer holidays but there’s still so few people visiting the area, the beaches are vast…pristine and almost empty.

We drive back via Oxwich, squeezing by a Mister Whippee ice-cream van on a narrow country road. Passing the King Arthur Hotel …Weobley Castle to the north of us, Penrice to the south. My timeline photos on my phone show our friend Richard standing under a giant Ned Kelly; Australia seems a long time ago but we were only there in May. Through the village of Pen-clwadd, on the Loughor Estuary, internationally renowned for its traditional cockle-gathering industry dating to Roman times. Along Pantyffynnon Road, on to Ffordd William Walker. We stop at a huge Tesco supermarket in Ammanford ‘Croeso’ over the entrance; ‘Welcome’ in Welsh. In the vegetable section aubergines are Planhigion Wy. It’s a distinct language, almost impossible for us to pronounce but sounds wonderful. The town looks low; small two storey homes, some of them stone, many of them plain and flat fronted, pebbledashed. It reminds me of small towns in Ireland. We pass Pentregwenlais, over the rail tracks at Ffairfach. Cresting the hill through the town of Llandeilo with its brightly painted houses and small shops. Out of the town on the other side and we’re on the A40, a road we regularly drove in London and it surprises us to learn it travels this far. We turn off at a sign for Capel Isaac, the hedge-bound lane is narrow and winds to the farm where we’ve rented an airbnb; a bell-tent in a 7 acre field near Carmarthen, south-west Wales.

Dave hates camping and has always refused, ‘glamping’ too so this is a big deal. It’s much cooler and overcast, but the kingsize bed is comfy and the views over the fields are gorgeous. The sun comes out later in the evening.

Pembrokeshire

August 5. Got woken up at 4am by a stinging bite leaving two red fang marks at the top of my leg. I brushed something out of the bed but was half asleep. Looking it up this morning I reckon it was a False Widow Spider, the most venomous spider in the U.K. but harmless to humans. The irony of travelling around the world and nothing until I reach the U.K.

Breakfast sitting outside the tent looking out across the beautiful Brecon Beacons…and a pub over the fields painted bright orange. Back in the car to explore, driving through Newgale where loads of parked caravans and camper vans fly the Welsh flag and people are clambering over the rocks with surfboards. Through pretty Solva with an inlet of boats, our end destination St David’s, the smallest city in the U.K.

At St David’s Cathedral (12th century) we see two of the first bibles ever produced in Welsh (1588 and 1620). The subtly glittering Salviati mosaics which were made in Venice and installed here in 1871, during George Gilbert Scott’s restoration. It’s a huge cathedral for such a small city. Behind it sits the medieval ruins of the Bishop’s Palace.

Pretty small cottages line Goat Street walking up from the castle, signs indicate that many are holiday lets, I wonder how that affects this small community. We buy a bag of chips from Pete’s Plaice, they’re playing Bill Withers, one of my favourites. We eat sitting near the war memorial. I watch a shirtless tattooed Dad (it’s a hot day) teach his son how to take photographs using a real camera, waiting for the dragon on the Welsh flag to snap flat in the wind. He’s patient and enthusiastic for his son.

Back on the road we pull in at Carew Castle to take a photograph, there are so many castles in Wales. We drive on to Tenby but don’t stop as it’s very busy…it reminds me of other seaside towns except Tenby is walled and an old stone viaduct cuts through. A few minutes outside Laugharne we drive by a signpost for Halfpenny Furze. I love these ancient names.

Welsh poet and playwright Dylan Thomas came from Laugharne, famous for these wonderful lines:

“Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

He died too young age 39 from complications brought on by pneumonia in New York City where he was fulfilling a literary tour. We visit his grave marked by a simple white cross, shared with his wife Caitlin Thomas.

A short distance from the churchyard we visit his writing shed and look down on to his boathouse; both have extraordinary views of the Taf Estuary. It’s absolutely stunning.

We drive back through Laugharne, pulling over to allow a huge tractor and machinery to pass on the narrow street. There’s ‘for sale’ boards on a few houses, the estate agent is called Terry Thomas (his namesake the comedic English actor). Back at the tent Dave makes a short work call for his new contract coming up end of August. It’s weird, New York seems like a memory though we’ve lived there eight years.

Hay-on-Wye & Arthur’s Stone

August 6. The sun is streaming in to the tent. I wake at 7am, I’ve had 9 hours sleep and nothing bit me. Hurrah! Dave makes breakfast in the stand-alone kitchen not far from the tent, we eat outside and I have a video call with Sarah. It’s already a good day. It goes overcast just as we’re heading out, so I remove my socks and knickers from the tent guy ropes (attractive) fearing rain (it doesn’t come). First stop to find a post office (stamps for postcards), for Wales is another country. The first post office in Cwmifor is in someone’s garage outside his house (next to an old English telephone box)…he opens when he wants to and he’s not open now. I love these inconvenient eccentricities. We find a post office a few miles on in a gift shop in Llandovery, a pretty, small town with an orange painted pub (seems popular). Independent shops sell traditional wool Welsh blankets and mugs with red Welsh dragons. I buy postcards and some beautiful greeting cards…the latter designed by the American lady (Oregon) who owns the shop.

Through Trecastle where a stone cottage hard up to the road has a sign “Sold. By James Dean”. Through Sennybridge and Brecon…close to Brecon Beacons National Park; we’ll explore another time.

We stop at a rest stop and pulling in behind us is a huge army truck driven by Luke. He tells me it’s a recovery truck which rescues broken down army vehicles, it can lift 32 tonnes. I love this kind of stuff.

Hay-on-Wye is packed, the car park full. We find a space on a narrow street with 1 hour parking, cars parked right outside the front doors of people’s homes. The town is famous for its annual literary festival, it must heave with people then. The narrow streets wind up and down between antique shops, tea rooms and the 20-26 bookshops it’s known for (exact number based on how many close down or rebrand). Amazing when you realise the town’s population is around 2,000 people.

It’s a pretty place of old stone and the 12th century Hay Castle dominates the centre. It’s affluent; intellectual bohemian wealth and pedigree dogs. We eat sausage rolls (hog roast, there’s your intellectual bohemia), look in the honesty bookshop where you leave £1 a book in an honesty box, no staff present. I buy some artist made greeting cards. The limitation of the 1 hour parking turns out to be enough, travelling means I can’t buy books though I could browse the bookshops for hours.

Just over the border in Herefordshire, we visit Arthur’s Stone near Dorstone, said to be a 5,000-year-old Neolithic burial chamber. Legend says that in the 13th century King Arthur defeated a giant here, the giant leaving indentations of his elbows on the tomb’s capstone as he fell. We meet a family from Middlesbrough, he’s full of interesting information and has an amazing capacity to remember history. Their son has a fantastic face, high cheekbones and freckles, characterful.

An hour and a half drive to get back to the tent in time for Dave to make a work call at 4.30pm. A simple dinner at 6 sitting in the warm sun until it sinks behind the farm and the temperature drops several degrees. The dog’s barking again at a nearby house across the field. It barks non-stop for hours in to the night, can dogs get a sore throat, how does its owners live with the noise? It makes me think of my New York friend Lulu, a dog trainer.

Buckinghamshire

August 7. Goodbye Wales. Three days of great weather and stunning sights. What a beautiful country, we’ll be back. Very cold in the tent last night but brilliant sun this morning. We hit the M4 and drive over the Prince of Wales Bridge, over the River Severn back in to England. If we’d stayed longer in Portishead we could have caught the annual hot air balloon festival.

Dropping in for a cuppa with Sian and Noah, then to Derek and Jill’s. Jill cooks a fantastic paella and we catch up around the dinner table. Derek tells us about his involvement with bird ringing and tracking British birdlife. He’s always got amusing stories whatever he does.

Buckinghamshire

August 8. Over breakfast Derek and Jill tell us about their recent trek in Mongolia to see the elusive snow leopard. Derek comes in to the garden with two cages, a Glis Glis humanely trapped in each. They’ve made a home in the attic, Derek catches and releases them. I’ve never seen one before, about as big as a squirrel, lovely looking things with big liquid eyes. They’re destructive, will eat through everything including electric cables.

Driving to Dave’s mum and dad’s; Hotley Bottom Lane, Hangings Lane, Kiln Lane, Sixty Acres Road. I need to research their origins. Rich and Penny drop by then we’re back to Derek and Jill for a night out eating Southern Indian food.

North London

August 9. Back to Dave’s mum and dad’s. More cakes and cups of tea. I do our laundry and it dries outside in an hour. It’s so hot. Dave drives his dad to an appointment. Mid afternoon we head to Darren’s in North London; another great friend, another great cook…a roast dinner. His son Louis and wife join us. We eat in the garden, the grass is parched yellow and the flower tubs are dead. There’s been no rain for around 50 days and the heatwave continues. I’ve never known England to be like this.

North London

August 10. Thought we were moving over to West London but stay another night with Darren. We head out to meet our old friend Lyes who also lives north, meeting him with his two young children on Hampstead Heath. En route we walk by the Boston Arms, an old stomping ground where we’d go to see bands in the venue on the second floor. We figured our last time there was The Bohicas gig with Garth and Marie visiting from LA. Years ago. We first met Lyes in 2010 in Damascus Syria where we were on holiday, staying in the same place as him and his wife. We have so many friends we’ve met travelling. It’s fantastic to see him, the kids are boisterous and fun…confident. They have the best dad.

West London

August 11. Over West to see our gang. It’s going to be several days of seeing everyone. An early morning start dragging our suitcases uphill to London Underground. One tube train in to the city centre, another out west. I see Lucy, Sue comes to her house to do my hair. Rosie the dog excited to have visitors is leaping about, running between my legs. It’s a lovely lazy kind of day catching up. To Peter’s with the suitcases…we’re staying 4 nights. Otis the dog is in a cone after cutting up his foot in the sea on oyster shells. Dinner with Rebecca and her kids over the road. Our community in this neighbourhood is still tight even though we haven’t lived here for 8 years.

David Bowie

August 12. Peter comes with us to the David Bowie exhibition ‘You’re Not Alone’. It’s an immersive event at Lightroom in Kings Cross…sitting in a large open space with floor to ceiling screens projected with Bowie through the years. I have tears in my eyes. He had a huge impact on so many, the idea that you could be a misfit, be weird…create your own path without conforming. He, more than most, conveyed this message so eloquently, with such style. Peter commented “I never knew he had so many hairstyles.” It makes me laugh. Pizza and a train back to his house to see Gareth.

With Peter we drop round to see friends Max and Carole. All the stories, the laughter. I miss my friends, their wicked humour.

Richmond

August 13. Another day, more friends. I meet Vicki and her daughter Alex in Richmond. It’s roasting hot, reaches 37 degrees. Lunch in a pretty cafe on Kew Road. Alex is working for an ethical chocolate company and generously gifts me with a bag full of chocolate bars…so solid and chunky they don’t melt. Alex goes back to work and Vicki and I fight the heat, walking the side lanes of small shops and cafes made famous by the TV series Ted Lasso…they’ve even got an official Ted Lasso shop.

The Muppets

August 14. My lovely Lucy. More time to see each other. I usually run around central London visiting favourite museums but it’s another scorching hot day. Lucy picks me up and we go to Kew but don’t last long as we’re both hopeless at shopping. We go for lunch and have a good chuckle over ridiculous things as we usually do.

And on the subject of ridiculous things Peter invites us to ActOne cinema where he’s a Director; a fabulous independent cinema in an old Victorian building. Tonight it’s singalong (and drink along) with The Muppets Treasure Island; pirate costumes an option and a competition to choose the best halfway through the movie. There’s a boisterous younger crowd who really get in to the spirit of it and I find myself singing to the onscreen auto captions and yelling at the screen when prompted. Not my sort of evening out (usually) but guess what…hilarious fun and I’d go again.

Hyde Park

August 15. With Peter we head to Hyde Park to walk Otis. A train ride plus one stop on the tube, the new Elizabeth line has created futuristic new stations. Hyde Park looks like a desert; dead grass and dust, empty deckchairs flap in a welcome breeze. The fountains are still turned on and The Serpentine is full of the blue peddle-boats operated by tourists….swans are taking shade under the trees.

Back at the house we pack, we’re flying overnight to Brazil. It’s been great to have a bit more time in the U.K. less rushed than our usual trips back.

At the airport our gate is busy with a large group of young Brazilians, a school trip I think. They’re boisterous boarding the plane, finding places to put all their stuff, one has a pink feathered cowboy hat he keeps with him in his seat. They’re noisy but young and excited. It’s a long flight and the plane gets held on the runway (but makes up the lost time). We have extra legroom in bulkhead seats. We hope we can sleep. We really hope the school party sleeps.