
Missed the Chelsea Flower Show? Never mind, there are plenty of show gardens for you to see here.

But mind you don’t get lost.
…and don’t forget your ticket.






















…and don’t forget your ticket.



























What lies beyond?
























https://www.turnercontemporary.org/exhibitions/another-time-for-margate-folkestone

http://www.gateshead.gov.uk/Leisure%20and%20Culture/attractions/Angel/Home.aspx
To the corner?
Back in time?
To the post office? 










The couple winding their way down Glastonbury Tor were in colourful contrast to the middle aged couple, in their matching National Trust green anoraks, marching up the hill. She wore flowing skirts in every hue from lilac to violet and her Peruvian hand knitted jacket brightened the grey afternoon. He wore trousers of a rusty, rustic indeterminate material and a greengage green jacket lovingly hand woven by her.
‘I can’t believe it’s nearly Beltaine’ she said.
‘No,’ he replied ‘if this weather doesn’t warm up I can’t see new life arriving anywhere.’
She shivered. ‘I’ll be glad to get back to a nice warm cosy yurt.’
‘We’d better get a move on or the kids will be back.’
‘No they won’t Hengist,’ she smiled ‘Flint’s got maypole practice after school and Amethyst’s going round to her friend’s yurt.’
‘Well Aurelia, it should be a very cosy yurt.’
‘What’s for dinner Mum?’ yelled the children as they arrived back later.
‘Five bean stew and ground elder crumble; call your dad while I check if that wool’s finished steeping.’
Aurelia reached the reclaimed animal trough in the corner of the field as Hengist climbed carefully over the stile.
‘Only three eggs today, Hetty and Lotty could do with some sunshine as much as the rest of us.’
‘What do you think of this colour?’ she asked him, peering into the trough.
‘Looks the same shade of green as the last lot.’
‘I’m going to try making some new dyes in the summer, berries are going to be in this year.’
After dinner they settled down for a quiet family evening.
‘Has anyone seen my crystals?’ sighed Aurelia.
‘Help your mother look Flint; Amethyst, time for flute practice.’
‘Dad, will you play your lute?’

Later, as the children settled down to sleep, the parents chatted quietly.
‘Did you read that letter Flint brought back from Miss Fairweather, Hengist?’
“Yes, I think we’d both better go and see her. The only one with a problem is her. She was glad enough when he got the boys interested in maypole dancing, just because he explained the origins of the maypole… anyway, how was your new patient?’
‘She was a funny soul… I said to her
I’m alternative and herbal, not homeopathic, I do strong doses… no there’s no need to worry about hemlock and digitalis if you know what you’re doing.’
‘Old Bob said to thank you, his arthritis has hardly bothered him this winter, he’s going to recommend you to all his friends. Maybe you can give up your Saturday job now.’
‘But I’ve got to liking it and we needed that money over the winter.’
‘Now I’m hedge laying again there’s no need’ he pleaded.
‘I do like it Hengist, getting dressed up, having a laugh with the girls and it gets me out of the yurt.’

On Saturday morning Aurelia walked down to the town with her large hand woven bag over her shoulder. As she got on the local bus there was a musical tinkling from her earrings and bangles. She greeted other locals and after driving to Street they soon arrived at their destination, Clarks Shopping Village.
She entered the ladies and went into the disabled cubicle where there was more room. Carefully she took off her jacket of undyed local wool, rolled up her burnt orange and berry red skirt and slipped off the leather sandals Hengist had made. She stepped into her uniform, squeezed her feet into court shoes, gathered up her black tresses in a neat bun at the nape of her neck and finally put on a subtle pink lipstick and a suggestion of eye shadow. Aurelia walked out ready for a busy day at Marks and Spencer shopping outlet.
‘Hello Linda’ said her supervisor. ‘Till Four today.’
On Till Three her friend greeted her, caught her up with the latest gossip from the soaps and passed on her celebrity magazines. After a busy morning they went off for lunch at the restaurant.
‘It’s only once a week’ said Aurelia, as she ordered a Megaburger with extra French fries.

Where would you like to go for a day out? A popular choice in England is to visit a National Trust House. The National Trust is a charity which is over one hundred and twenty years old and owns and cares for 59 villages, 775 miles of coastline and vast tracts of hills and fields, all free for everyone to roam. Whatever your political leanings and thoughts on charities, I’m sure many would agree that these lands are safer with the National Trust than with governments, big businesses or greedy billionaires.

Despite all their other conservation work, Big Houses are what people most often associate with the National Trust, donated by landowners come upon hard times, or just moving with the times. Whatever their ancestors would have thought, the common people are now free to roam their estates. Not actually free; you have to pay to go in A Big House, unless you are one of the four million members; a few visits each year will make your membership worthwhile.
https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/lists/fascinating-facts-and-figures

One thing is never guaranteed on your day out, the weather, but that would never deter the average member.

Once you have passed through the portal, you will enter a traffic free zone, except for the occasional buggy for those not up to striding round the whole estate. Your children can run around on vast lawns, visit the adventure playground, do school holiday activities or say hello to some pigs. Gardeners can admire walled vegetable gardens and beautiful borders, nature lovers can enjoy very old trees.







If it pours with rain go and look around the house, read about the owners, peep at family photos and ask volunteers questions. There will probably be an interesting exhibition to look at. There will certainly be sweeping staircases to ascend and descend and narrow stairs to climb as you visit downstairs where the servants worked, or upstairs where they lived.








No visit would be complete without tea and cake or a nice lunch. This will be in the stable block, the old kitchen or the orangery, always a restaurant with character. Then you can rummage through the second hand bookshop which could be tucked away in an outbuilding. The Shop is a must; tasteful and expensive souvenirs, tea towels to bone china. Don’t miss the books, there are bound to be real life stories about the lady of the house or the black sheep of the family.

Perhaps you have visited Durlswood, you may or may not find it in the National Trust guide book, but you can read the mysterious happenings of 2014 in the novella Durlswood, part of the Someone Somewhere collection.
Taking a trip to the seaside? No holiday is complete without a rainy day or several…



















Guy and Harriet
Guy stood on the terrace, looking down upon the descending jigsaw of red, grey and black roofs that hid the town’s narrow twisting lanes. Then he gazed out towards the white flecked turquoise of the Atlantic Ocean and felt on top of the world. Spring had arrived at last and with it the visitors, business was looking up. Harriet had been right; living at the top of the town suited their family perfectly. A noisy family he thought ruefully, always squabbling and why did they always look so untidy? Guy himself was always immaculately turned out in his trademark grey and freshly laundered white.

Immediately below him a woman was hanging out washing, a lot of washing, she ran a bed and breakfast. It was a long trek for her guests, down to the smooth beach, especially if they didn’t know the way; they didn’t realise that when they booked up on the internet. Guy chuckled to himself; he could have told them the best way to get around town. He’d lived here all his life and wouldn’t dream of living anywhere else; beaches, grassy headlands, the harbour, art galleries and best of all restaurants and cafes that catered for every taste.

Harriet’s shrill call interrupted his thoughts. He called back.
‘No of course I’m not going to stand in the sun all day, yes I know I promised to go into town and get some food.’


He stretched his limbs, felt the sun on his face, sniffed the sea air then stepped forward and launched himself into the air. The first flight of the morning always felt good. He soared high, circled to test the currents then glided gracefully towards the beach, where he spotted his first business of the day, a happy family picnic. Stunned by his sudden appearance, a toddler held his arm outstretched. Guy swooped skilfully, then flapped his wings for a sharp ascent, a whole sandwich in his yellow beak.



On Monday we paid a long overdue visit to Jane’s house; Jane Austen’s House in Chawton, Hampshire. I had always imagined the little cottage under siege by coach loads of tourists, timed tickets and queues. Perhaps a Monday school day, arriving soon after opening time, made it a simple and civilised visit that Jane would appreciate.

We parked in the free car park as instructed on the website; all was quiet, rain threatened, but never happened. The wet winter has left the gentle Hampshire countryside lush and green.

Jane’s friends were cheerful and welcoming, the tulips and primroses in the pretty gardens were at their best. It was a bit early to call on the Misses Austen so we roamed the gardens, looked around the bakehouse, enjoyed a moving picture of family life and admired the beautiful quilt given to Jane for her anniversary last year. Everything was seemly, nothing tawdry presented to visitors.

We felt immediately at home when we stepped inside the red brick cottage. The Austen ladies do not own this house, but I would never let on that I knew this. What does that matter when Jane feels so at home here, at peace to write while Cassandra and their aptly named friend Martha take care of the housekeeping. Left an orphan, with just a little money I gather Martha Lloyd became part of the family long ago, not in a position to be independent or find a husband.


The Drawing Room is newly papered in a pretty yellow pattern, Chawton Vine. It was here we met a relative of Jane’s brother Edward, Jeremy Knight, who invited us up to the Great House, as Jane calls it, for lunch later. Who could have foreseen when the Austens sent their son to be adopted by the Knight family that he would be instrumental in making sure his sister’s novels were published.

Upstairs the floorboards creaked and Jane will not have the creaky door fixed as it is a warning of someone coming so she may hide her writing. Mrs. Austen’s room is the largest and is newly decorated with a pretty ribbon trellis pattern wallpaper. The ladies have stitched a beautiful patchwork coverlet. Every window sill had a pretty cup with a posy of spring flowers, testament to how beautifully the ladies keep the cottage.


We didn’t stay too long, Jane’s health has not been good and like all authors she probably can’t wait for visitors to leave so she can return to her writing.

Back outside the rain still held off and we walked up the road in Jane’s footsteps to Chawton House, the merry sound of the local children at playtime ringing in our ears as we passed their school. With fields all around one can see why Jane and Cassandra enjoy two hour walks every afternoon. Up the long driveway to the house it was very quiet, we rang the doorbell and it was quickly answered; we were welcomed inside and shown into the cosy kitchen. We only had time for a scone and tea, as we had another appointment, but promised to come again when we return to see Jane.






but make sure you read the signs.

Perhaps you should move further on…









