A great video of yesterday’s waterspout HERE

Another belief of mine is that everyone else my age is an adult whereas I am merely in disguise. – M. Artwood #sunrise #Norfolk #bench #nofilter #noedit #latergram #golden #yellow #contrails #clouds #clifftop #seat #sea #peaceful #sunset #twilight #linandara_sunset #dreamy #sky #скамейка #рассвет #море (Taken with Instagram)

There is a #bench on a #clifftop in #Mundesley, #Norfolk, to look at the #sea… #clouds #latergram #cloudporn #cloudscape #seat #sky #skyporn #grass #morning #peaceful #tranquil #nature #golden #seaside #coast #NorthSea #coastal #Britain #linandara_sky #linandara_britain #linandara_built #скамейка #море #облака (Taken with Instagram)

After cancelling a trip earlier this year to start a business, I very reluctantly had to cancel my booking at the Rockhouse Hotel in Jamaica. It is still on my bucket list and I cannot wait to get there one day… Doesn’t it look incredible? x

I’m not sure about you, but Ash told me he wanted to marry me one day after we had been together a month (OK, 21st July 2008, but hey who’s taking note?!) so I always knew the day would come and we talked openly about ‘our wedding’, much to the bemusement of friends and family at times. The awkward ‘but he hasn’t asked you’ surfaced once or twice. Did I let that stop me dreaming of W day? Did I heck! Ash had said he wanted to marry me, I had an eternity ring (on the wedding finger on the right hand) so in my mind I was halfway there. It didn’t help that Ash would throw me titbits now and again over the years, telling me he had huge and unusual plans for the day he would say those 4 special words. I had NO idea how he would do it, and that just makes it even more special.

So, cut to the chase woman (I can hear you), How did he do it? We want the deets! OK, are you sitting comfortably?

So, it was a blisteringly hot, sunny Thursday. You know, that summer we had recently that lasted like all of 3 days? I had been in the office all day without a break and when Ash came home from work I was taking 5 on the sofa. He looked at me and said ‘You’re not going out tonight’ – I was planning on going to a women’s networking event. ‘I am’ I protested, knowing however, that it would be a mad rush to get ready and tear myself away from emails. ‘No, you’re coming with me’ said Ash. I know his charming ways and ability to wrap me around his little finger, so I maintained ‘No, I’m going tonight Ash, you can’t tempt me that easily!’ I knew he was going to play the ‘we never spend any time together’ card when he suggested we go for a walk on the cliffs. ‘What have you got planned?’ I asked, surprised at his persistence. ‘Nothing’ he replied, ‘I just really want us to go out and enjoy the weather together.’ With that, I believed him but was still unchanged and decided to start getting ready. He even threw in the promise of treating me to our favourite nachos on the beach bar where we had our first date. ‘We can go and see my Pap after’ he suggested and my heartstrings felt a big tug. Ash’s Grandad (Pap) has had cancer for many years and had recently had a bad week. I instantly ran upstairs to my laptop and changed my RSVP to the event, explaining the family reason and slipped into a maxi dress for my trip with Ash.

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and I don’t know about you, but if my fella is hungry, the world stops and food is the only answer. I was surprised then, that Ash started driving to the clifftop first, not thinking with his belly. He asked me to check the back seat for a hoody in case he got cold on the walk and when I turned around and saw a scrumpled up shirt and smart trousers, I took no notice, assuming it was the beer stained remnants of a Saturday night with the boys. Little did I know, it was the outfit he had specifically ironed and worn to visit my dad that very afternoon to ask for my hand in marriage! It probably had something to do with the fact I was tweeting a bride at the time, arranging a cake topper booking, so my head was in my hands, engrossed in my little apple beauty that is glued to my palm. Thankfully the distraction proved helpful as Ash admitted he had never been so nervous in his life!

As we walked down the cliff path, in true Cornish style, our matching choice of footwear (the flip flop, obvs) meant that the terrain was a bit tricky and I actually said, navigating my way around massive stones ‘Is this your idea of a romantic walk?’ Bless! It was romantic, it was just our usual banter and as we walked hand in hand down the path, and the stones started to disappear I felt so content with the last few months. I gave up my full time job just 2 months previously to run Cake Top Characters full time, and had never been so happy with my career, my home, my life and my partner. Ash and I were feeling so loved up and kept saying how much we adored our life together and how everything had fallen into place. I suddenly felt a pang of guilt with how much time I spend on my wedding business, wedding networking, social media and general wedding obsession 24/7. Then (This is all COMPLETELY true) I said ‘Ash, I know I talk about our wedding day all the time, but really, I genuinely don’t mind when you propose to me.’ He was silent. ‘I mean, I would actually probably like at least a year to get Catching Bouquets going, because you aren’t going to propose to me for at least a year anyway are you!?’ I said jokingly. ‘Well…’ he started. I intervened – ‘That doesn’t ruin your plans does it?’. ‘Well, kind of yeah!’ he laughed. I was surprised and just shrugged it off, thinking he was still super far ahead to maybe a December engagement, but pleasantly surprised that he felt a proposal was in the not too distant!
By this point, the stones were long gone and we came to the most beautiful view, a field of perfect purple Heather, overlooking Chapel Porth.

THAT picture I was trying to take!

I stopped in awe of the beauty and pulled out my trusty iPhone to take a snap of the setting. Loading up Instagram with the warm evening sun in my eyes, I struggled to see the screen and did the whole ‘pinch and drag’ kaboodle, trying to zoom in on the stunning floral display. Faffing around, I was disappointed the camera was not doing the scene justice, and as I persisted with my amateur photography, Ash said ‘Cass’. I turned around and there he was, on one knee, a perfect black box in his hand, holding a dainty, diamond solitaire ring.

I know we were the only people on that cliff, but that moment he was there on his knee just felt so real, so raw and like the whole world was just stopped around us, it was just us two. Nothing can prepare you for that feeling of heart stopping pure emotion.

‘You are joking’ I said, very aware suddenly of my last remark about proposals. We both smiled as he said ‘No, this is real’ and he proceeded to tell me all those things I was dying to hear, before those 4 magic words were uttered. I screamed ‘YES’ straight away and we hugged and kissed and had the most perfect moment in this amazing landscape with not another soul around. ‘Well, put it on me then!’ I said,  and as he slid the band onto my shaking finger both my hands went numb with shock. I can’t explain how surreal it was. I didn’t cry, which surprised me as I am a very emotional girl, but this huge sensation of tingling numbness and butterflies went through my body as if I had just metamorphosed from girlfriend into fiancée!

Ash was crying, I was squealing and then when he said those other 4 special words ‘Champagne in the car’ I knew I had got a keeper! As real family focused people, we rushed around straight away seeing all the relations in a flurry of tears and hugs. My eyes got wet in the end as it all hit me and I realised my girlhood dream was here. Things started adding up, and I could see how Ash had made his plans. It gave me goosebumps to think that I was actually taking off my nail varnish in the car on the way to the cliffs as I cannot BEAR chipped varnish and wanted my hands to look nice. It’s almost like my subconscious knew what I was about to receive!

Proposing to me in Porthtowan, where he first told me he loved me, where we had our first date and where we spent those amazing first 2 years together was perfect. Knowing that nothing could ever top that, on the sofa that night, curiously, I asked ‘So what was this unusual idea you originally had for proposing to me’ to which he replied ‘On a hot air balloon’! I burst out laughing and thanked him for his personal, thoughtful and downright fantastic proposal – It genuinely couldn’t have been any better.
Oh and by the way, I made him take me out for those nachos a few days later – maybe food is the way to a Woman’s heart after all!

Cassie
x

I decided to get a taxi over to the venue. Drinking would very definitely be done.

Danish Peter wasn’t there when I arrived, but he strolled up the street to meet me about 5 miniutes later, Terminator stylie. He literally lifted me clean off my feet, hugged me like he’d just been reunited with his long lost sibling, then attempted a full on the mouth kiss. ‘Oh, ahh, hold on there, set me down Peter, We’re not big into public displays of affection with people we barely know here, or really anywhere I imagine.’ ‘Dat is really funny, you are so funny. Did you drive your little red car here?’ ‘Ah no, I got a taxi, thought I’d have a few drinks. He looked pretty bummed, I guess he realised he wasn’t getting a free ride home. ‘Did you get dropped off by a taxi?’  I asked, ‘No I walk here, it is free, yes? LET’S GO IN!’ Deja vous.

My previous date with the Dane had alerted me to the fact that he wasn’t exactly the last of the big spenders, so I walked in first, paid for my own ticket, he got his, ‘I’ll let him get the first round in’ I thought ‘Least he can do, he’s the only reason I’m here.’ I’m a fool, I FOOL I TELLS YA!

We went straight to the bar, we stood there, side by side. Then he asked me THE question. ‘Would you like to buy yourself a drink?’ Was this a cultural thing, was he clueless about dating or was he simply as tight as a badger’s arse? I swiftly replied ‘Well I’d have preferred for you to offed to buy me a drink, but if not, yes I’ll get my own.’ ‘Sorry, you say what? I cannot hear you – it is very loud, I’m sure it was funny though. You are funny. I like you.’ Oh Danish Peter this isn’t going to work out, you crazy Danish fool you.

I stayed for 2 drinks, then I decided to leave. Quelle surprise. At this stage he was laughing in all the wrong places and was beginning to get the attention of the stand up comic on stage, it was time to abort mission before the error of my ways became public knowledge.

To my dismay he left with me, it was around 11pm, cold & dark outside, not many around, so I knew I’d have to get myself a taxi. If nothing else I felt a bit safer with the tall Dane beside me. ‘So I see you soon, hope you get a taxi, yes? It is cold.’ And he took off! He strided up the street, without so much as a wave, a goodbye. I knew he wasn’t going to give me my bus fare home, but come on, hail me a cab!

I got home safely in the end, and the texts from The Dane continued into the coming days and weeks, ‘I have truly enjoyed time with you and would like to see you again. I would like to see more of where you live and visit the coast perhaps. I hear dat derare some beautiful clifftops and views. I thought you could take me in your little red car!’ To which I replied, ‘Ah Peter, my worry is if I took you to the coast for the day I might push you off one of those clifftops!’ ‘AHHH Ha Ha You make me laugh so much, I like, let’s make plans!’

So I ignored it. And the texts that followed. ‘I haven’t heard from you, you didn’t reply to my last text. I thought we were having so much fun! Please reply!’

You poor deluded man – no I will not reply ever.

Then came the text to top all texts ‘I have been waiting so long to hear from you – I do not understand what the problem is. I thought you were nice and fun and you like me too. This makes me unhappy and cross.’

It got better.

‘I always thought that you were pretty and while you do have quite nice figure I do sometimes find you very annoying. However I would like to see if we can have relationship. I deserve answer immediately!’

They do say honesty and communication are key to making any relationship work. Just NOT with a crazy Dane.

Farvel!

Bel xx

I know a place where water meets air, where if I reach out I can feel mist from crashing waves on my fingertips, and the sky stretches out above me, a low ceiling, wide and flat and grey as metal. This place is a secret. It is disguised by crumbling farmhouses on a long-faded track, falling buildings with windows staring blankly like dead eyes. Few people follow the sheep’s path past the farmhouses to the cliff, but I know it, and in this fierce weather it is exactly where I want to be.

Across a small hill are the cliffs, spread out in front of me, with huge waves crashing and breaking deafeningly against them. The sea is a deep greenish grey feathered with the white crests of waves. Gulls scream and soar and are blown staggeringly sideways by strong gusts, righting themselves only to be buffeted again as if they were part of the wind itself.

I hop across the huge rock pile towards the sea-edge, avoiding rock pools and seaweed slicks, secure in my heavy boots. The rock is beautiful swirls and stripes of red, cream, brown and gold. The same rock is found on the coast of Nova Scotia, and I am overwhelmed to gaze out at the sea, to know that long ago the two coastlines were joined, where now there is only water.

A few metres from the edge I can go no further, for the wind is so strong that I have to crouch against the rock. The sea rolls and roars, and when the waves explode upwards on the shore, I feel a fine salty mist cover my cheeks and lips. I am on the edge of the world.
This place, this high-up, rocky, wave-sprayed place, feels like the freest place on earth. Its wildness echoes inside me and calms me. I breath deeply into the howl of the wind, and in the sea-spray I drink in peace.

Erin Scholze

While this book’s focus is on musicians, it’s worth remembering from time to time that it takes more than pickers to keep musical performance alive.  Sound engineers, stage hands, ticket takers, managers and publicists have their jobs to do. Or, as my publicist friend Erin Scholze puts it, “these things just don’t happen by themselves.”

I had made plans to stop and see Erin on the way home from the Mt. Airy music festival in northern North Carolina. I  met Erin several weeks before at Merlefest, where one of her clients – Tara Nevins, who fronts Donna the Buffalo and also has a solo career – was talking up her new CD, “Wood and Stone,” in the press tent.  Erin is one of those people who is instantly likable, with a warm bearing, terrific smile and whose eyes, as I’ve pointed out in an earlier post, are full of sunshine. What also stands out is her love of her clients’ music. I have dealt with many publicists during my years as a critic and many times they seem to simply be going through the motions. Erin, by contrast, is genuinely enthusiastic about her work. Over the course of the Merlefest weekend, whether at the press tent or during a performance, she would slip by to fill me in on some aspect of the song being played, perhaps how it fit into the band’s history,  or to invite me to another performance. I would soon find that Erin’s enthusiasm is also a reflection of her belief that music is not simply entertainment but a source of social cohesion and an antidote, if only temporary, to life’s endless trials and tribulations.   

So, I was looking forward to seeing Erin, whose eyes were indeed sunny even though she was a bit low on sleep. She greeted me warmly near the Smilefest stage, not much more than a half-hour  from Mt. Airy, and explained that the moonshine fairy had made her rounds the night before. It seems I had woken Erin with my10 a.m. text though she cheerfully led me to a table backstage, saying that two of her clients — The Big Daddy Bluegrass Band and flatpicking marvel Larry Keel — would be playing soon. We sat down to talk about how she became a publicist, what her job entails, and about her passion for music and her musical community.  

Erin, who was born in 1979,  grew up in a fairly large, close knit family in Erie, Pennsylvania and later moved to Boardman, Ohio. “In high school I was known for my parties,” she told me, adding that they were open to anyone who wanted to come. “I was friends with too many people who weren’t popular to be popular.” She also warmly recalled annual family reunions, where she and her kin would sing  “American Pie” and other favorites. She later studied cultural anthropology at Ohio State University, did street team work for musician friends, and began attending music festivals, a passion that took her zigzagging across the country. She moved to Asheville, N.C in 2001 and taught home school classes, took jobs in restaurants and an art gallery, and eventually started working with local festivals, including the Lexington Avenue Arts and Fun Festival. She also came to understand that she was basically “unemployable” – a fact driven home when her last day job employer suggested she’d be better off working for herself.

Fortunately, conditions were auspicious for a leap into self-employment. Her circle of musical friends was not only expanding but included acts that needed help with publicity. One of her first touring clients was guitarist Larry Keel and his band, Natural Bridge.  “I had been a fan of Larry’s for 11 years,” she said, and over time they had become friends to the point where Keel and his wife would sometimes practice at the house Erin shared with a bandmate. Erin had been spending a great deal of time researching media contacts so was a perfect match when the Keels decided, a bit over three years ago, that they needed a new publicist. A year and half  later, another group of friends –  Donna the Buffalo– also hired Erin. “They had a friend who would handle calls,” Erin explained, “but no real publicity person focusing on the band. Some band pictures featured members who had not been in the act for years.  They asked if I’d be interested in working with them and I said I’ll give it a shot.”  Her  company, Dreamspider Publicity (website (www.dreamspider.net) represents “a diverse clientele that values  uniqueness with a funky edge: Donna the Buffalo, Larry Keel & Natural Bridge, Tara Nevins,  Dehlia Low, Galen Kipar Project, Jonathan Scales Fourchestra, stephaniesid and more…” Diverse as they might be, they all share one characteristic: they areErin’s friends. “I work with them because I like them,” she said.

Erin works out of her house in West Asheville, usually between seven and eleven hours a day, most of it on her computer. Besides setting up interviews with journalists, she also handles Twitter, blogging and Facebook duties for some clients. As a longtime drone in the conventional journalism world, I was interested in how important social media is to her business.

Gone are the days, Erin said, when publicists simply targeted newspapers, radio and television stations, though these traditional media sources are on her radar screen. “Traditional media and social media feed into each other,” she told me. “I’m always reaching out for preview articles and try to get photographers and videographers to come to shows. I post videos and articles that mention my clients and send them out to people on my email and Twitter lists, and over the band’s network. I also direct link to papers and publications that mention my clients, and I often interact with writers through their publication’s Facebook fan page. I keep up with their Twitter feed to see who they’re writing about. If they’re writing about, say, The Steep Canyon Rangers, I suggest they look at clients who play the same type of music.”

All of which, she says, “builds relationships. I have gotten to know people all over the country via social media. Sometimes it takes a while to actually meet them. There is one guy who is awesome who I’ve been working with for three years that I just met at Floydfest,” a few weeks ago. Erin says she has no idea how many postings she might do in any given week, but that social media is vital in “connecting fans with the bands and the media.” She says she often receives videos fans have taken at performances. “If it is decent I’ll post it,”  she says. “Fans really like it and even if it’s not perfect it takes you back to the moment and keeps the energy going. “  

I asked her how she measures success. One measure is growth in the number of new fans at shows, Twitter followers, Facebook fans, and when booking agents are able to place bands in new venues. “It’s really hard to tell sometimes,” she added. “You might get a radio interview and pretty good media buzz for a show and nobody shows up. Or, you can have no buzz and a big crowd appears. What I do is constantly put my client’s names out there, which builds communities.”

 While Erin is passionate about her clients, she is equally passionate about music’s ability to draw people together. “I think of festivals as big family reunions,” she said. “I was very fortunate to have a good family, but I know many people who weren’t so fortunate, and some of my friends have been abused and are from broken homes.” Festivals, she said, allow people to celebrate what they have in common – especially musical interests – and set their troubles aside, at least for a few days.

Community is a word Erin uses quite often, and it’s not simple rhetorical fizz, as I discovered after I suggested, in an earlier section of this book,  that bluegrass musicians tend to be more individualistic and competitive, at least in their music, than old time players, whose music is more communal. This was not meant as criticism but merely to point out that bluegrass allows musicians to show of their chops during instrumental breaks while old time is more about the entire ensemble supporting the melody. Erin responded with a long, passionate, but always friendly response, an edited portion of which follows:

“I do have to disagree with the statement about bluegrass being individualistic and competitive…  I feel the need to add my experience of working with and living with bluegrassers through the years. I find them to be completely community oriented and wanted to give the other side.  I told you the story of how I really connected with festivals in general because they reminded me of my family reunions, but with more  (and better) music. After going to Hookahvilles up in Ohio during college I ended up at Suwannee Springfest down in Live Oak, Florida. It is a very bluegrass oriented festival with members of Old and in the Way (Peter Rowan, David Grisman, Vassar Clements), Doc Watson, and even more progressive stuff like Larry Keel and Bela Fleck. The community spirit at the festival amazed me and I have continued to go back to that event and others like it for over ten years.”

Erin also took issue with a quote (from a vendor at the Clifftop old time festival) that bluegrass players tend to be GOP supporters while old timers tend to be Democrats. “Most bluegrassers I know (who tend to be a newer breed of bluegrassers) are Democrats, liberal, accepting of pot (even if they do not smoke it), open to all types of people and love to get up on stage with each other and try new things.  Even very traditional guys who sing songs about the Bible, like Del McCoury, are very modernistic, teaming up with the Swamp Gospel sacred steel band from Florida and The Lee Boys to put out truly unique sounds that fans are completely wild about. Del even started his own successful festival, DelFest,  up in Cumberland, Maryland.  You often see the players teaming up with one another, sittin’ in with one another. Look at the Steep Canyon Rangers — they just feel the music, play it really well, respect each other and give each other room to shine. When Steve Martin plays his banjo with them they still have their other banjo player. He is not pushed to the sidelines and neither is the band. They are top notch, well respected, and still down to earth people. Bluegrass music and music and events that are rooted in bluegrass have been a HUGE inspiration in my life and my sense of community. Maybe the tension comes from non-musicians not knowing the difference between the two genres so they have to bash each other . Kinda like when you accidentally call a West Virginian a Virginian. They get a little edgy and tense. Sometimes I want to ask, ‘Why can’t we all just get along?’  It is so much more fun that way…”     

There’s some passion for you – with a smile.  One more note about Erin. She’s something of a rainbow farmer: “I have a prism – a sun catcher – in my office window and when the sun hits it right around 6 p.m. it creates hundreds of rainbows.“ If you look closely at the picture at the top of the column, you’ll see that the girl with the sun in her eyes has a rainbow on her forehead.

I said goodbye to Erin and headed home. My next festival would be Clifftop, perhaps the best-known old time festival in the world. Mark Olitsky, the phenomenal clawhammer banjo player, and Jason Sypher, one of the  best acoustic bassists I’ve ever heard,  said they’d be there, as would my friends from the Cary Street Jam in Richmond, Virginia. Plus a whole lot of other people.

What could be simpler than the pretty details from this clifftop wedding?  Some lovely ideas that are easy to create for a rustic wedding – jam jars of flowers and table numbers on luggage tags.

Plus a gorgeous couple and some super cute goats!

Images: Max Wagner via 100 Layer Cake

As we drove away, my friend Bill turned to me and said, “It’s rare that you do something without ever thinking, ‘If I were in charge, I would change…’ But, that was flawless.” And how!

2.  Lambs

3.   Chickens

A Clifftop Charity Day I wanted to go to.  The Man said he’d come.   The forecast was fine-ish in the morning, then rain by the afternoon, so we went off early.  The Man drove, I was in the front seat and Wonder Nanny was squashed between two car seats in the back. Son 2 aged 23m and Son 1 aged 4y 11m slept.  The Man and I were once regular visitors to The Clifftop and the countryside around.   It had been more than five years.  Bracing coastal walks, stopping to watch cliff birds through binoculars, climbing up sheer paths and over stiles, the odd pint at the odd pub… “Come on! Let’s walk lunch off!” “What’s wrong with sleeping lunch off?”  You really do forget what life was like before.

We arrived and checked out the stalls. The Man took Son 1 to a tombola.  A 5 or a 0 and you win. Son 1 won.  Sweets, and a pen with a football on the top.  He was hooked. Nag nag nag nag. “Just let him have another go and he’ll lose and learn.”  He won.  Two prizes on three tickets. Four dinner candles – for the child for whom candles mean birthdays and blowing out – and another pen with a football on top.  Nag nag nag nag nag.  It was like hook a bloody duck. “Son 1 you don’t always win. ” Nag nag nag nag.  We gave him another go. He won a calculator.  Son 1 thinks calculators are as good as candles.  ”And me!” We gave Son 2 a 50p go in the lucky dip. He won a three-way highlighter pen.  The child who likes crayoning on the furniture because of the excitement of trying to scrub it all off.

We walked down the cliffside to the Children’s Farm.  It was windy, the sea was huge and slate grey, crashing high against the rocks. The clifftops were covered in pink and purple heather and thrift and yellow gorsey flowers. It was the same as it had been for a thousand years. Apart from the Children’s Farm. Son 1 skipped from rock to rock, stopped to peer into the rabbit holes, squelched the springy grasses under his wellies.   I watched him enjoying the drama of the landscape, and shared a moment with the Old Me, standing where I used to, staring out to sea.   Our first time in the Children’s Farm. The Man bought a bag of animal food. “You’ll need two,” I said. “They’ll fight.” Son 2 is such a child of his time that as soon as he saw the animals he swung back and commanded: “Food!  Food!”  There were goats and pigs and hens and ponies and sheep and rabbits and ducks.  Even The Man enjoyed it. Back at the top Son 1 demanded another go on the tombola. The little girl in the queue ahead of him won the biggest prize.  He lost.  He did not take it well.

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The string band boys describe their focus on their local following
and the influence living in Maui has had on their music in

This Recent News Article.

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The Best place to hear their music:

BCBC String Band on MySpace

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At Clifftop:

(The sound quality does not do them justice here so be sure to check out their MySpace page)

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(For fun, watch members of BCBCSB exhibiting band-member behavior in their natural habitat.)

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If I need a little relaxation, a little soothing, noone does it better than Hugh.  It is, perhaps, ironic, that he shares the name of my younger brother who is the most sour, miserable character, for Mr F-W always lifts my spirits and inspires me towards a gentler life and to chop my onions, crush my garlic and delicately simmer my vegetables.

I confess that I do not always hold entirely true to his philosophy.  My pungent tomato soup tonight was nurtured from my homegrown coriander but the remaining ingredients were Tesco’s onions, garlic and tinned tomatoes and it tasted bloody marvellous.

It looks as if Emsworth is to see the back of me shortly – credit crunch, buy-to-let mortgage, landlord’s wife is pregnant – and I am inspired towards Dorset.  My clifftop writer’s retreat, above the crashing surf, my dogs, my garden, etc, etc.  Protest not! I am paid to dream and to chronicle my ambition and that is where it now lies.

This very week I am travelling west (as every young man should) and hoping that my nirvana is ahead.  I have set my sights betwen Lyme Regis and Swanage and somewhere there I intend to find my new home.