
SMOKE RISING vertically from the chimneys has been an indication how still and windless some of the recent mornings have been. So calm that not even the topmost branches of the trees nor the slenderest grasses with their feathery heads, were stirring. Single leaves falling from the trees land with a dry rattle that you usually wouldn’t hear above the normal clatter of woodland life. (…read on »)

TO HEXHAM again, but this time on grandparent duty so that son Robert and his wife Kate could travel to Munster in Germany where Robert’s regiment is stationed. Four days without their parents might have been a bit alarming for granddaughter Cecily and grandson Fergus, but it was no less daunting for the Doyenne and me. (…read on »)

GLEN PROSEN was my destination last Saturday. It was a favourite place of my Father who was born and brought up in Kirriemuir. As a youngster he cycled to the glen and scrambled about its braes. Bikes were heavy machines in those days, and often referred to as “push” bikes. It must have taken a lot of push and puff to slog his way up the hills from Kirrie (…read on »)

GLIMMERING, SHIMMERING, constantly moving like oil upon water, the Aurora Borealis filled our skies last week. It was hardly surprising that the night-time phenomenon was given such national press coverage. It was one of the most spectacular examples of the Northern Lights in memory and such an exciting example of nature’s ability to move and inspire our imaginations. Unseen, unearthly power manipulating the skies above us. (…read on »)

TURNING BACK the clock can sometimes be a chancy business, but last Sunday we all had do just that. The approved moment to do it was at some unearthly hour of the morning when all decent folk should have been soundly sleeping. The Doyenne, who is a step ahead of the game most of the time, beat the system by changing our clocks before we went to bed. Unlike the couple who turned up for Church an hour early! (…read on »)