Have you ever considered locking your brother in a castle? Well, you’re in good company, since King Henry I of England did precisely that. After defeating his brother Robert in the Battle of Tinchebray, the king proceeded to imprison his older sibling in the keep at Corfe Castle. Personally, I think Henry might have been on to something…

Corfe Castle as it stands today was built by William the Conqueror in the 1000’s. Towering majestically over the surrounding hills, its stones almost as grey as the overcast skies, the castle demands from me a sense of awe and humility as I enter through the Outer Gatehouse. The air is hazy and complemented by the smell of livestock, thanks to the numerous Soay sheep grazing these historic grounds. I sincerely hope they paid their entrance fee…

Climbing up past the Fourth Tower, I am suddenly captivated by the soulful lament of what sounds like Celtic music, its haunting melody emanating from a well-hidden speaker. I wonder if Sir John Bankes, who came to own the fortress in 1635, would have listened to similar performances after a hard day’s hunting.
Then again, Sir John may not have spent much time at Corfe, since the 1600’s bore witness to the Civil War, which tore through the country in a wave of blood and pillaging.
With Sir John Bankes away fighting for the Royalists, the castle was left under the command of his wife, Lady Mary Bankes.
Standing upon the soft grass of the stronghold’s windswept Inner Ward, I watch as a decidedly vocal steam train chug-chugs along a distant railway. It is strange to think that when Lady Bankes stood atop the castle walls, her daughters at her side, it would have been to hurl stones and hot coals at the attacking Parliamentarians, not to enjoy the pleasantries of the English countryside.

As I meander through the South West Gatehouse, I wonder what it must have been like for Lady Bankes, with her husband away at war, being left in charge of the fortress. Did she feel the weight of responsibility on her shoulders as she threaded her way down these same ancient stairs on which I now trod?
Did that formidable woman ever fear for the future, as she leaned against the flaky, moss-covered walls of the South Annex, staring out across a misty landscape as armies fought to control the very identity of her country?
Eventually, the Parliamentarians would emerge victorious and Corfe Castle – the last Royalist stronghold in Dorset – would fall.
However, the courage demonstrated by Lady Mary Bankes did not go unnoticed and the Parliamentarians presented her with the keys to Corfe Castle (albeit a now partly demolished one). These can now be seen at the Bankes’ family home of Kingston Lacy, a small but powerful tribute to the sieges, suffering and survival of the Bankes family.

As the hour grows ever later and the shadows ever longer, I make my way back down the hill, carried along by the scent and song of the river.
As much as I enjoyed visiting the castle, it is the story of Lady Mary Bankes that has inspired me the most. Defiantly resisting the storms of hatred and violence, I am convinced that Lady Mary Bankes was just as impressive and formidable as the castle she so valiantly defended.


[JULY 2021]

‘There it is!’ I tap my mobile phone screen wildly, enlarging the cheeky-looking blue crocodile that had been evading me all afternoon. Now, with a flick of my finger, I launch my Poké Ball and add it to my ever-growing collection. Feeling immensely satisfied with the ‘Elite Collector’ achievement on my phone screen, I suggest to my sister that we return home. Catching Pokémon has never felt so real.

Created in the late nineties by Satoshi Tajiri, the original video games Pokémon Red and Blue* encouraged players to collect as many different species of creatures as possible, trading the digital monsters where necessary with their friends.
Originally the series was available exclusively on game consoles, but today, in an era where even the most basic mobile phone can land a rocket on the moon (probably) the franchise has become more accessible than ever thanks to the mobile app Pokémon GO. Using the player’s real-world location to pinpoint their position on a virtual map, the app encourages users to explore their surroundings, seeking and capturing the virtual ‘Pocket Monsters’ that appear on the phone screen.
Grass types such as Bulbasaur lurk in forests, Fire types like Charmander inhabit cities and Water types like Squirtle are commonly found near water (unsurprisingly).

Saturday dawns bright, sunny and extremely hot.
I carefully select a bright pink blouse, a matching pink bracelet and an equally pink power bank for when my phone inevitably runs out of battery.
Today is the Pokémon GO Fest 2021, a global event held to celebrate the app’s fifth birthday. For eight hours, rare and exclusive Pokémon will have a higher chance of appearing, new music tracks will be playing in the background and photos of Pokémon Trainers all around the world will be shared onscreen for users to see.
However, instead of standing in a field filled with the raucous screams of excited spectators, my sister and I sit outside our favourite café, enjoying a thick, creamy cappuccino. When the sun gets too hot, we move to another table in the shade, relishing the stillness of the sleepy, summer afternoon. This, I believe, is by far the most dignified way to enjoy a festival.
Suddenly, a startlingly black-and-white racoon-esque creature appears on my phone; it is Zigzagoon, an absolutely adorable Pokémon, made even cuter by his festival-exclusive hat! I name him Tempo.
Staring at her phone screen, my sister succeeds in catching a shiny, golden Magikarp. While not the most useful Pokémon in its present form, this little fish, with enough care and virtual candy, can evolve into the mighty Gyarados, one of the most intimidating Water types in the game.
In celebration of our achievements, my sister and I leave the sunny café to snap a few photos.
Crouching down, I reach out a hand and pat the empty space beside me, probably looking rather strange to any passers-by. However, thanks to the app’s augmented reality capabilities, the resulting photo shows me petting my Zigzagoon.

As the afternoon draws to a close, we decide to walk home, our spirits soaring as high as the summer temperatures.
The event may have been virtual, but the joy experienced and the memories made are most certainly real.

*In Japan, the original games were called Red and Green; these were edited and released internationally a year and a half later as Red and Blue.


[JUNE 2021]

What are your earliest memories? Mine include rummaging through wet sand, selecting small nuggets of gold and exchanging them for a pirate-themed medal, before finally changing into a dry, beryl-coloured t-shirt in the shadow of LEGOLAND’s Arthurian castle.
Now, as the Windsor Resort celebrates its twenty-fifth birthday, my family and I have returned to make some new memories. It is a wonderfully hot summer day, and my soul is singing as we explore Miniland, where some of the world’s more well-known landmarks, such as Buckingham Palace and the Eiffel Tower, are immortalised in nearly forty million LEGO bricks. I crouch down to take a photo of London in miniature, when a mallard appears from behind a building, rather breaking the immersion somewhat. Eventually the comparatively-huge waterfowl finishes rampaging through the LEGO city and moves on, allowing me to take the desired photos.

Continuing through the colourful kingdom we hear the familiar, upbeat music of Fairy Tale Brook, one of the most relaxing rides I have ever experienced. We climb into a verdant green vessel, entranced by the fresh water smell of the river. Along the banks, we see intricately built LEGO models of valiant knights, elegant princesses, and rather suspect elderly ladies inviting lost children into their gingerbread houses. It’s easy to forget how creepy old folktales can be!

Leaving the rest of our family to enjoy the enchanted boat ride again, my sister and I meander to the recently opened realm of LEGO MYTHICA. Supposedly, every creature a child built from LEGO bricks lives here, which should make for some intriguing encounters. Upon entering the land, I am immediately besotted by a white and blue creature, known locally as the ‘Owl Leopard’. Apparently, it took sixty-four hours and over fifteen thousand LEGO bricks to assemble the plumage of this beautiful beast, with its fierce eyes and even fiercer claws. Despite never having met this animal before, I now wonder how my life had been complete without it.

Growing rather warm in the noon day sun, my sister and I join the queue for the Flight of the Sky Lion, which is thankfully shaded. We step onto our blue place markers and the lights grow dim. I feel a strange sensation; is this… excitement? I love LEGOLAND, but having practically learned to walk at the Windsor Resort, I tend to look upon the attractions with a sense of nostalgic endearment, rather than excitement. Now, however, I find my mind unsettled. I’m apprehensive, I’m nervous, I’m ready for something special. We climb into our seats and brace ourselves for a trip on the UK’s first flying theatre, uncertain of what to expect.
Suddenly we swing round and find ourselves hurtling through a neon-tinted portal into the world of LEGO MYTHICA. Spray from a tumbling waterfall soaks our faces as we fly through the air, racing a herd of unicorns and dodging the pincers of a slightly annoyed lava crab. Soaring in the wake of the Sky Lion Maximus, we skim over the surface of the sapphire blue sea, dodge the hungry mouths of giant carnivorous plants and admire the flight of Crystal Flame, LEGO MYTHICA’s resplendent Fire and Ice Bird, as she spins in an elemental whirlwind.
Once the flight is over – far too soon, in my opinion – , I look at my sister, head spinning with delight. ‘That’ I gasp ‘is the best ride I have ever experienced!’ I stagger back into the summer sun, astonished that after twenty-five years of visiting the park, LEGOLAND can still find ways to amaze us.

As the hour grows late, we trudge back up the hill to the main entrance, passing the brightly-coloured gift shop and candy-scented restrooms, further enriched with new memories and ready to make some more.



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.