Pew pew! I aim with care and shoot the Egyptian pottery. Concentrating hard, I then rapidly dispose of a menacing cobra and some overhanging bats. An ancient door opens and, sadly, the ride comes to an end. My family and I follow the exit signs, emerging from the dark and noise of the pyramid into the light and serenity of the theme park.
We are at LEGOLAND Windsor Resort, a twenty-four-year-old, 150 acre attraction that has welcomed more than twenty-five million visitors thus far.
The origin of the LEGO bricks required to build the park are uncertain – they may have come from a large, European factory, or from Britain’s one and only LEGO mine, which is on display in the park and run by some industrious looking moles. Clearly, the latter explanation seems far more likely.

Stripping off my poncho, I am grateful to see the deluge of rain has currently ceased. Everywhere I look, brightly-coloured LEGO blocks have been used to build various models – a young family, complete with a LEGO dog, a pair of giraffes and, of course, Miniland. What better way to explore the world than to meander around the various “countries”, each featuring iconic monuments and landmarks, all built using LEGO bricks. However, while Big Ben is impressive and the Forbidden City is suitably epic, it’s the little details that really impress me. In London, a model lady can be seen emerging from a train station carrying her shopping, while in Australia, a LEGO couple can be seen sunbathing near a prowling shark.
Apparently, the smallest models are Trafalgar Square’s pigeons, made using just five LEGO bricks each.

Entering the toilet block, we are welcomed by the sweet smell of bubble gum. Enticing and uplifting, we decide all bathrooms should feature this sugary smell. It’s a small thing, yet it makes the experience so much more palatable.

My sister and I enter Knight’s Kingdom, a magnificent, grey castle where evocative music brings to mind mischief and magic. Climbing aboard the long, serpent-like dragon, we are guided through some of the castle rooms – in one, a tawny owl clad in a graduation hat perches on a book, in another, Merlin is at work producing a new potion and, as we pass through the kitchen, an amazing aroma overpowers our senses. My mind scrambles to describe it – burnt caramel? Sweet coffee? Some mystical concoction of the two? It’s a small touch, but one that really brings the medieval citadel to life.
Suddenly, the dragon increases his speed, leaving the castle and ascending slowly, slowly, only to… drop! We fall, fast and free, the wind whipping through our hair as the dragon tears through the autumn air. We soar up, down, and around, before snaking our way to the fortress. We alight from his back, thank the castle staff and leave the royal residence.

Entering the land of the Vikings, my sister and I promptly claim the two huge LEGO dragons on display as our own, one a burning red and the other a frosty blue. Our dad obligingly takes our photos, then we board a small, circular vessel and sail down the river. Bump! We hurtle into the river bank. Splash! Icy water pours in, soaking my sister’s leg, but thankfully missing mine… Bump! We crash again, our small boat spinning in the churning water of the rapids, racing past some well-dressed LEGO mice sitting atop some barrels. Crash! With a final collision, we reach the end of the ride.

As the air grows cooler and the park begins to close, we walk back to the car, tired but contented.
Close to the entrance, LEGO versions of the Easter Island moai statues are belting out rock music.
It seems to me that LEGOLAND pays great attention to even the tiniest detail, from the meticulously built models to the ambient sounds that enhance the park’s atmosphere.
Often, it’s easy to overlook life’s little details.
Doing the laundry, buying someone a coffee, listening with empathy, these acts of love may not make the headlines, yet they can make a real, tangible difference to someone’s life.
Sometimes, it’s the smallest things that can make the biggest impact.



My dear friend

How are things? I hope you are staying well.
Recently my family and I passed a pleasant afternoon at the Blue Pool, a flooded, disused clay pit nestled in the district of Purbeck, surrounded by 25 acres of grounds abounding in woodland.

Entering the estate, silvery skies spat a few drops at us before passing on, reminding us just how changeable the Great British weather can be.
The September air felt still and cool, a refreshing change after summer’s heat.
Wandering through the woods, everyday sounds that had previously pressured my patience seemed more tolerable, with even our footsteps being muffled by the soft, sandy trail.
From an unseen perch came the music of bird song while the sweet scent of evergreen trees lifted our spirits.

After a short trek we arrived at the lake – a beautiful blend of blue and green, shimmering in the autumnal daylight. From across the pool, a dog barked while nearby children played.
Apparently this bold hue is caused by small particles of clay suspended in the water, diffracting (that is, bending) light in a variety of ways.

If you have not visited this tranquil, teal-coloured jewel, I would encourage you to do so – it can be a delightful distraction from the stresses of daily life.

Stay safe,


[AUGUST 2020]

My dear friend

How are you? I hope you are keeping well.

Recently my family and I visited some nearby forests, an outing that caused my spirit to soar so greatly, that it would be amiss of me not to recount the experience.
Upon arriving at the woodland I was met with a sense of freedom not present within concrete walls. Outside, the unpleasant noises and smells of humankind could disperse.
The scent of pine trees filled the thick, warm air while fallen needles adorned the forest floor, creating a soft carpet upon which to tread.

Strolling through the natural world afforded me a liberating sense of acceptance. The trees showed no interest in the state of my garments and the flowers, if they did judge me, did so silently. Surrounded by botanical giants, who were there before my time and would probably be so after it, the troubles of the world seemed less terrifying. Walking in the woods permitted me perspective, if not deliverance, from the raging storms.

After walking for no little time, we sat down upon some giant wooden toadstools, that seemed to have been arranged to function as picnic benches.
Opening a plastic box revealed some soft, chocolate-stuffed cookies, freshly baked that morning. Looking around, one could easily imagine fairies frolicking through the forest, stopping to refresh themselves much as we were doing.
As we were resting, one of our dogs became fascinated by a large tree root jutting out from the soil. For reasons known only to her, the French Bulldog proceeded to dig at the root with admirable vigour and energy, pawing furiously at the dusty earth, though her efforts were ultimately – and thankfully – in vain.

I therefore urge you, my dear friend, to lay upon the woodlands your love and respect. Care for the countryside and teach your children to do likewise, for this is their inheritance. Away from ever-glitching technology and the overly informative Internet, we may experience peace and clarity.
It can take effort to experience the great outdoors responsibly, but believe me, it’s worth it.


[MAY 2020]

Boom! What was that? I finish browsing the Pirate-themed shop and emerge into the night. Boom! Looking up, I see the sky dancing with light. Fireworks. They look so pretty… oh no… that means I’m late! I rush through Adventureland towards Liberty Square, where my family and I have arranged to watch the display together. We are at Walt Disney World Resort in Florida, the last stop on our month-long road trip down the East Coast of America, and possibly the most magical place I have ever visited.
Entering Disney World is like going to the theatre – I know I am in a fantasy, a larger-than-life fairy tale, yet I am powerless to resist and readily embrace this divergence from reality. Especially since I have been given a free Minnie-shaped sugar cookie. It is deliciously sweet.
Earlier this evening, the iconic Cinderella Castle had sparkled with red, green and white illuminations, looking like a huge pile of Christmas crackers to be pulled, before morphing majestically into a deep, sapphire blue ice palace, trimmed in frosty white lights. Now, the castle seems to glow mysterious shades of mauve and fuchsia, as though it were a magician’s haunt.
Eventually, I locate my family and we watch the last of the fireworks; awesome, golden explosions followed by fountains of pure, liquid light.
We meander back through Main Street, past a welcoming café towards the largest Christmas tree I have ever seen (along with an equally impressive pile of presents). Everywhere I look there are shops selling sweet snacks and pin badges; the stores glow soft pink and neon green with verdant reefs hanging overhead. From the sky, something white and fluffy falls, giving the impression of snow.
In Disney World, everything seems more magical.

Ah, coffee! A new day dawns, the weather is wonderful and – importantly – I have coffee.
Stretching to the azure-blue sky is an enormous pyramid that brings to mind the kind of Aztec structures a treasure hunter would love to raid – I mean – explore. Nestled beside a waterfall is a Nordic-style shop where a rather large, marginally terrifying troll relaxes amongst Norwegian gifts and viking helmets. It’s hard to believe that we are still in Disney World, but then that is the magic of Epcot; it takes us around the globe without ever demanding our passports!
With the sun beating down we purchase some oriental snacks and enter China’s Temple of Heaven, grateful for some shade and seating. Looking up, I marvel at the gorgeously detailed ceiling; rectangles of blue and gold arranged in ever-decreasing circles around a golden centre, decorated with the designs of a dragon and a phoenix. The attraction is a replica of the 15th century building in Beijing, where emperors would pray for bountiful harvests. I take a bite of our recently acquired mochi. Yum! It’s like eating a tangy, lemon-flavoured squishy.

Upon entering the Japan Pavilion, I am suddenly plunged into a world of kawaii (the Japanese word for “cute”). Hello Kitty dolls dressed elegantly in pastel kimonos sit quietly on a shelf, an enormous Pikachu poses on a pile of plushies and a parliament of brightly coloured lucky owls (pronounced “foo-KOO-roh”) perches wisely on display.
In the 1970s, kawaii culture became a way for the youth of Japan to rebel against the strict social norms of society, with cute handwriting and clothes providing a means of self-expression. Even today, such cuteness provides a pleasant distraction from the pressures of everyday life and can evoke a much-needed smile. After snapping a selfie with a candy-coloured anime girl statue we move on to the Morocco Pavilion, where my ever-resourceful mother produces some flavoursome pepperoni pizza.
In Disney World, everything seems more magical.

Now I’m back at home, staring out my window at grey skies weeping with rain, my soul yearning with an unbearable ache for those magical moments that seem so far away. Yet, maybe we need not be saddened by stormy skies. Maybe, if we smile a little more, forgive a little more easily and season our words with a little kindness, we can bring some magic into our own homes.
Maybe, just maybe, we can make the world more magical.


[APRIL 2020]

Life is fleeting. I suppose this has always been the case, but here in Florida, with reports of hurricanes blaring on TV screens, the prospect feels more real. Climbing into our giant, white Ford, we forge ahead through the pelting rain, visibility reaching a new low. We have been driving down the East Coast for a few weeks now and this is the closest I have ever felt to death. It’s hard to believe we are in the “Sunshine State”. Thankfully, like all storms before it, and I hope, all to come, this torrential downpour passes.

On a warm, November afternoon we head out to the Everglades, the largest subtropical wilderness in the United States and the biggest mangrove forest in North America. Here, we are greeted by a large, green alligator statue in a cowboy hat. Personally, I think this is as close to a real alligator as we need to get, but everyone else seems eager to see these cold-blooded machines in the flesh.
We climb into our airboat, which is propelled by an enormous fan, rather than a motor, grip the handrail tightly and WHOOSH! We’re off! Words can barely describe the sense of excitement I feel as we speed away. Hurtling through the brackish water, mud tinging the air with its scent, we slip and slide like a snake through the tall grasses. It’s like flying, but better. According to our guide, the mangrove trees that grow here block strong winds, reducing the destructive power of hurricanes. No wonder this bizarre yet beautiful flora is protected by law. When the airboat slows down, I am able to take in the jungle-like environment. With long, arching, red-stained roots emerging from the murky waters, mangroves look like something out of a fantasy novel. Floating on the rippled surface of the slow-moving river, an alligator lounges peacefully. Here in Florida is the only place on earth where crocodiles and alligators coexist. To be honest, I am glad to have seen these living fossils up close, but I’m not sure I need to repeat the experience!

We trundle along, speeding up when we reach an open expanse of water. Adrenaline courses through my veins as we shoot like a star over the waves. I grin. Life, while it may be fleeting, is also thrilling.


[APRIL 2020]

There are three enchantments of Easter, four that bring me joy: the roadside trees dressed in bridal blossoms, the sight of flowers swaying gently to spring’s symphony, the oh-so-sweet taste of giant, chocolate Easter eggs, and the rugged, wooden cross, once a sign of death, now a symbol of everlasting life.

Tweet tweet! Birds chipper and chirp from an unseen podium while flora dance to nature’s melody. High in the cloud-dusted sky, herring gulls – the classic seaside scavengers – swoop and soar like monochrome origami. Bright, golden sunlight pours down, lavishing light and warmth on all creation. In the branches of a gnarled tree, some blue tits flit to-and-fro, twittering as they work.
At long last, Easter is here and with it comes the beauty of life beginning anew.

A few centimetres above the soil, a profusion of lesser celandine mooch about, their petals as yellow as egg yolk, shimmering like mini botanical sunshines. English poet William Wordsworth liked this flower so much that he claimed it as his own in the poem “To the Small Celandine”. Personally, I adore bluebells, whose deep, vibrant hues adorn British woodlands during April and May. Similar in form but utterly distinct in scent is the three-cornered leek, a plant with white, bell-shaped flowers and a strong, onion-esque smell.
Here in the natural world, one can forget about the troubles that terrorise our modern existence, the deadly diseases we feel so vulnerable to and the economic anguish that engulfs entire nations. Here, nature gently reminds us, life overcomes.

Beneath the radiance of a springtime sky, we scour the garden for brightly coloured eggs, rummaging through bushes, brushing up against stinging nettles and relishing the sweet, chocolatey reward of victory at the end.

As the cool of the evening ushers in, my dad calls our attention to what looks like a tiny, poisonous snake. Standing around, we watch in awe as its small, brown body wriggles and slithers around before it disappears into the undergrowth. Later, I learn this was actually a slow worm, a harmless, legless lizard. When in danger, they can apparently detach themselves completely from their tail in order to escape predators. Even on this small scale, life overcomes.

Death may mock our mortality, yet its sting need not be permanent. The hope of a new existence beyond this material realm spurs us on, enabling us to play our part with passion and perseverance until the concert closes.
Life, even now, overcomes.


[JANUARY 2020]

Whoosh! The wind howls ominously outside our room at Marwell Hotel. My sister and I exchange uneasy glances. We are spending the night at the safari-inspired Hampshire hotel and, weather permitting, are hoping to visit the nearby zoo tomorrow. Built in 1989, the hotel has a cosy yet adventurous feel, with bizarre markings etched round the wooden edge of our mirror and statues like those on Easter Island hiding under a palm tree. Relaxing on large, comfortable beds in the African-esque room, we settle down to sleep while the storm outside rages.

Thankfully, the foul weather passes and we awaken the next morning to bright sunshine.
After a hearty breakfast in the warm, rustic Dining Room, we brave the long, arduous, thirty-second journey to the zoo. It being a rather cold, wintry day, the park is almost deserted. We wander over to the penguins, where the smell of fish hangs in the air and these adorable, monochrome birds perch on the rocks, relaxed in the pale sunlight. We stroll along, clutching hot drinks in a rather feeble attempt to battle the bitter air. Despite the chill, a few brave families are also here, along with a large group of rather audible school children.
Entering the newly built Tropical House, we are greeted with the sight of a two-toed sloth hanging from a branch. We stand and watch, the gentle music of splashing water and birds tweeting playing in the background. Minutes drift by in the humid environment. As sweet as sloths are, I will admit they are not the most entertaining of animals.
Yellow mongoose, on the other hand, are hilarious. They scurry, scamper and sprint across their sandy enclosure, sometimes stopping to stare out at us. They even have what appears to be a heat lamp in their enclosure, with a soft, scarlet glow.
Behind Marwell Hall is another member of the mongoose family, the market-comparing meerkat. Several of these endearing animals are busy foraging for food, grunting and squeaking as they work. Chirp chirp! Another member of the group arrives to investigate the progress, only to be told in no uncertain terms his presence is not required. Chirp chirp!
A large poster informs us of Marwell’s recent conservation efforts; apparently the Arabian oryx became extinct in the wild during the seventies, with only captive animals remaining. These animals were successfully bred in zoos, and, from 1980 onwards, groups of oryx were released back into the wild. Today, over a thousand of these sandy-coloured beasts roam the wild, with most in protected areas. This is not the only success story – closer to home, Marwell has been breeding and releasing one of the U.K.’s rarest reptiles, the sand lizard (which had been disappearing due to habitat loss) for twenty-five years. It’s nice to think the growing sum of money I have spent on coffee is being put to good use.

As the day draws to a close, we make our way home, tired but content.
A zoo is a wonderful place to be, whatever the weather.



Manatee! Outside, I spot the cute figure of this magnificent marine mammal, gracefully poised with a letterbox between its flippers. Sadly, it’s just a statue. My family and I have been driving down the East Coast of America for almost a month now and have seen some amazing animals – alligators, lizards, the adorable Northern Cardinal, but so far, I have yet to see any manatees. Well, except for the very tip of nose poking out above the water in the Everglades. And now the statue.
However, that is about to change. We have just arrived at Fun 2 Dive Manatee Tours, located in Florida’s coastal city of Crystal River, the only place in the United States where humans can legally swim with manatees. I cannot wait to meet one of these “sea cows”, as they are sometimes called, up close in their natural habitat.

We wander into a tasteful, nautical-themed gift shop, where our guide is introduced. After signing in, we watch a short video teaching us how to best respect the manatees and the world around them. Essentially, it comes down to “passive observation”, that is, watching respectfully from a distance. If a manatee chooses to glide over and spend time with us, that’s fine, but everything is done on their terms. The video also includes what I would have considered fairly basic instructions – don’t ride the manatees, don’t separate a mother and calf, and, perhaps most importantly, don’t stomp on the manatees… Did we really need that spelled out?!

With instructions out of the way, I squeeze into my black and pink wetsuit, excitement building as we drive to the river. After meeting our captain, we climb aboard a small, white boat. The engine starts and we trundle along, watching the cobalt blue waters, where temperatures remain approximately 22 °C all year round. It’s this relative warmth that attracts the manatees, who can’t survive in colder waters. We pass a sign reading “Idle Speed” and the boat slows down, so that its speed is as low as possible without the captain losing control.

Eventually we stop, put on our snorkels, which smell strongly of an alcoholic cleaning fluid, and slide into the river. Ah! The water seeps into my wetsuit and suddenly 22 °C doesn’t seem so balmy! I paddle along, breathless, keeping my legs still, as instructed, lest I accidentally strike a manatee. Grasses floating on the surface cling to my face, obstructing my view. Then, we see him. An enormous, elephant-esque creature hoovering grasses off the river floor. A manatee. I float, trying to keep a respectful distance. Our guide leads us confidently towards the gentle herbivore and I follow, slightly intimidated by its massive bulk. The size of an average adult animal is around 10 ft, almost twice as long as me!
Then we encounter a breath-taking sight; a mother and calf. They swim together slowly, calmly, seemingly completely at ease with us nearby. I am in awe. As I swim along, mouthfuls of river water somehow sneak into my snorkel. Its taste is hardly pleasant, but I don’t mind.
Our guide motions for us to swim alongside one of these gentle giants and takes some photos on a tiny, waterproof camera. The manatees chomp away at the aquatic vegetation, their flexible lips presumably getting a good workout. Most of their time is apparently spent travelling, resting and eating. Sounds like a good example to follow.

After a while I begin to feel the cold and, along with my family, climb back into the boat. Shivering, with fingers tingling, I peel off my wetsuit and wrap myself in a fluffy blue towel. As we sail back, I ponder the role of man and animals on this ever-changing world. Endowed with gifts of reason and consciousness, we have been tasked with the awesome privilege of caring for this planet. I am not sure how best to do this, but experiencing life alongside wildlife and supporting its conservation seem like good places to start.



“Honky tonk”. According to the infallible internet, it is “a rowdy bar that plays country music”. Indeed, this certainly seems to describe well the various venues that line Lower Broadway. Music blares loudly out of the eateries while denim jackets and cowboy boots dominate the busy pavements. We are in Nashville, home to United Record Pressing, America’s largest vinyl record pressing operation, apparently able to produce over sixty thousand of the disks in a single day. Opened in 1949, they have pressed vinyl records for Bob Dylan, the Beatles and Beyoncé, to name just a few.

We enter a Hard Rock Cafe and relax on comfortable red seats. Scattered across brick walls are glass displays containing musical memorabilia; records, guitars adorned with signatures, sparkly outfits worn by legendary artists and even a set of cowboy boots. My favourite such commemorative item is the famous “Bat Out of Hell” album, featuring a motorcyclist attempting to ram a giant bat. Sounds like a completely sensible thing to do.
A friendly server brings us salads of such divine intensity they are nearly impossible to describe; the chicken is tender and flavoursome, the croutons sufficiently crunchy and the garnish exquisite. On stage, a musician dressed in Western attire strums his guitar, singing country melodies of love, dreams and heartbreak. The rhythm seems to resonate with my very being, demanding some kind of bodily response. I tap my toes and am relieved to see other people also responding to the beat; some are holding hands, some are filming the show on their phones and others are actually dancing. Eventually I stop paying attention to the lyrics and just let the waves of music wash over me.

Emerging into the crisp autumnal air, we wander through the now neon lit streets. Tour buses drive by and the whole place feels like a kind of country-themed Disney land, worlds away from reality. I suppose, in a way, it is. This is the head-bobbing, toe-tapping Honky Tonk Highway.


[JANUARY 2020]

There is a time for wrapping up warm.
A time for braving the frigid, refreshing air as it surges through the lungs.
A time for donning longline puffer jackets and beholding the pale, washed out sky whilst birds chatter cheerfully from an unseen perch.
There is a time for wrapping up warm, and that time is winter.

There is a time for black and white photos.
A time for admiring the gnarled bark of a riverside tree.
A time for studying the ripples that sail across monochrome waters whilst a nearby fountain splashes.
There is a time for black and white photos, and that time is winter.

There is a time for festive treats.
A time for sipping warm spiced ginger cappuccinos and sugary mint mochas.
A time for savouring crumbly, tangy mince pies stuffed with raisins and partially exploded from the microwave.
There is a time for festive treats, and that time is winter.

There is a time for celebrations.
A time for sampling squishy, chocolate mochi as Chinese dragons dance to the beat of a new year.
A time for angelic choirs in heaven and on radio to welcome God’s gift of love into our lives.
There is a time for celebrations, and that time is winter.