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Manchester, United Kingdom “You have to look up in Manchester,” said my colleague, a look of acceptance on his face, “all the best bits are above ground. Way up, in fact.” I nodded, as I had just walked the two-mile route between Mancunian front door and office, a stroll that should have been good. The sky was blue, the air crisp, the traffic not too bad and I had started out after breakfast with a spring to my step. The only near miss had been an out-of-control cyclist, headphones in place, gum-chewing[...]

Grasmere, Cumbria, United Kingdom I looked at the lettuce leaf. I imagined it was looking at me. After all, it was alone, abandoned, by itself in a sea of porcelain white. Its only company was a brightly polished knife and fork, soon to be tested. A strange situation, perhaps. Yet this was a meal, someone’s snack, maybe even lunch. This was a meal for a dieter. I worry about dieters, not for their welfare, not whether their specific regimen is an advantage. I worry because I feel sure their eating may affect[...]

York, United Kingdom For reasons that escape me, today I went to York Minster. Outside, it was raining, while seated indoors and around me were 1500 worthies. Take note - I do not class myself as worthy because shamefully I am not in any great way religious. Yet this was something called a Sung Eucharist, a term I Googled to death beforehand but, as I took my wobbly metal seat in the South Transept of York Minster, still had no idea what to expect. Normally I attend weddings, should they invite me,[...]

Gothenburg, Sweden Picture the situation. There I was on the 16th floor of a tower block on the outskirts of Sweden’s Gothenburg. For some reason the locals had coloured the place black. It was raining; it does a lot of that in Sweden. Two weeks of rain, maybe 50 millimetres each month, is a good average. As I looked out the windows I could hardly see the ground. I was in a suit. Okay it was Marks and Sparks but who cares? My tie was akimbo, half on, half off, and my[...]

Sulaimaniyah, Iraq Generally, members of my family have not done well with the Kurds. Years back, when I should have known better, I was one of three young men following a road diversion through north-eastern Kurdistan, in a grey, clapped-out Volkswagen Beetle. I was somewhere near Mount Ararat of Noah’s Ark fame. Rounding the corner of a mountain dirt-track road at breakneck speed, minds firmly in neutral, our small team slid to a halt in front of 40 villagers who were standing across and to each side of our path. No problems[...]

Chamonix Mont Blanc, France “Whoopee!” I looked up, ducking reflexly as the large object whooshed, yes whooshed, right over my head. It was so close I could feel its slipstream. Broad, flat, sharp, and seemingly directed at me. For a moment, I ceased my struggle with Nature, that all-conquering opponent; climbing the Brévent in winter was proving hard work anyway. Yet this time it was not exhaustion that stopped me in my tracks; it was shock, maybe awe, for sure laced with fear. I had nearly been beheaded by a speed rider.[...]