An autumn afternoon stroll ...

There are few things in life that can compare with an autumn stroll in the countryside in that magical hour just before sunset. Yesterday I set off in the late afternoon as the sun was dropping low in the sky and throwing long shadows over the grass. For me it's an unusual thing to go for a stroll on my own. Normally I have Emi in tow and the Wonderdog at my heels, but Emi was busy doing his history project, and the Wonderdog was busy having an afternoon snooze along the back of the sofa. He was stretched out with his paws in the air, snoring gently as though he hadn't a care, and it didn't seem fair to disturb him.

So I set off on my own with only the birds for company.  And right now we have some very fine birds running around under the trees.

It's a dog's life ...

I've cracked it! I've got the answer to the prickly problem of how to make friends if you move to a new neighbourhood. All you need is one of these:

Hello October ...

We've been cooped up for far too long, the Wonderdog and I. I've been crazy busy with work for several days now, tied to my computer and unable to go outside and enjoy this lovely late summer/ early autumn weather. Sadly the weathermen are telling us that after today we're in for a change, so we seized the initiative this morning and headed out into the elements to embrace the season.

The sewing bee ...

Isn't it a lovely thing to be able to take your work out-of-doors? Especially on a nice sunny day it seems wrong to stay inside when all the world is bright and cheerful and the sky is a heavenly blue above.

The other morning I came upon this rather unusual sewing bee, all bent over their labour in the bright Catalan sunshine. They were busy mending their nets with huge needles and big balls of nylon thread. Some individuals in the group were very practised, their needles flying in and out, and back and forth, like automated bobbins in a machine.

And, as is the case with any group of friends when they're working on a shared endeavour, they chatted amiably as they sewed, looking up occasionally to see how their neighbours were getting on or how they'd reacted to the last wisecrack that had sent a gentle ripple of laughter floating out to sea.

And then I noticed that I wasn't the only spectator. This chap was standing at a discrete distance from the group keeping a careful eye out for anything tasty that might tumble out of the folds.

Luckily for him the harbour cat was elsewhere - probably terrorising some unsuspecting tourists who thought the harbour would make a scenic background for a few selfies. The harbour cat is an animal that you mess with at your peril - hence the absence of photographs of him on my blog. I've never had the courage to stand still and take his picture when he's launching himself at us like a furry orange missile with his fangs bared and his claws unsheathed.

All the best for now,

Bonny x

So what's the story?

This chap greeted me on my way home on Monday evening. I was walking back from the Convent of Sant Daniel, just outside the city walls of Girona when I spied him, towering large on the side of a building and looking for all the world as though he was suffering from the mother of all hangovers.

On reflection though, I think he's been dancing a Sardana, the traditional dance of Catalonia that originated in this part of Empordá. He's certainly dressed for the part. It's danced in a circle with everyone holdings hands, and my guess is it's all left him feeling a little bit dizzy ... .

All the best for now,

Bonny x

First thing in the morning/ last thing at night dog walks ...

The Wonder Dog is always sitting with his paws crossed first thing in the morning and last thing at night, so my day tends to start and finish with a stroll to give him a chance to do what all well trained dogs wait to do outside ... .

Here in sunny Sant Feliu de Guixols on Spain's Costa Brava we live just above the harbour, which is where I usually take him on these outings. I'm a lousy sailor, but I love the idea of messing around on boats, so the harbour always draws me in. Added to which there's something very special about how the sunlight plays across the water in the early morning and late in the evening. It gives me a real sense of a beginning and an ending, which neatly bookends my day.

Our village fishing fleet includes some pretty big boats, and some not-quite-so-much-to-boast-about boats.  I'd really rather not put to sea in this little barcito. To my landlubber's eye it looks like a floating bathtub.

Yesterday I had to go to Figueres, where I stopped off to see my old friend Dalí. Did you know that he's actually buried in his museum up there? Weird! Anyway, I digress. All this Dali-in-the-sun stuff and these boats in dry dock (below) were starting to remind me of his long-legged elephants. Does anyone else see it? No, just me, eh? Ahem, I think I can hear the men in plimsols and white coats pulling up outside ... .

On our way we pass a bank covered with the most wonderful purple Morning Glory, which is strictly off limits to the Wonder Dog for any leg-lifting type activities. 

Yesterday in the late afternoon there was scarcely a breath of wind. The sea was like a mirror and, as the shadows lengthened, the reflections were perfect.

Emi came along and did a lot of talking about how he'd really like to learn how to fish. This was his Spanish side talking. When you go to the beach out here with a bucket and spade none of the other children are very interested, but should you chance to bring a half-decent fishing net you'll be the toast of the shoreline and everyone will want to take a turn at trying to catch something. 

We walked past some children who were armed with rods, nets and a catering size mayonnaise tub in which they were keeping this little chap. He doesn't look like he'd be much of a dinner for anyone. Emi was full of admiration. I just hoped they'd gently toss him in again. 

On warm, balmy evenings like this it's hard to believe that September is just around the corner, bringing with it a return to school and all our usual routines. I so don't want summer to end. 

But already this place is emptying out a little. There's a gentle, but perceptible drift back to work and the city. It's getting easier to find a space to park in town, and there aren't quite so many people stretched out enjoying the rays on the beach during the heat of the day.

We still have a healthy population of seagulls for company. They're a raucous bunch. They all congregate on certain blocks of the breakwater, leaving other blocks totally empty. I think they're having a bit of a gossip, catching up on each other's news and just generally chewing the fat.

And then, on our way home, we walk past the scary chap below.  I know it's not a good thing to draw on other people's walls, and I really shouldn't encourage that type of behaviour - especially if young Emi is anywhere within earshot, or reading over my shoulder. But you have to admit this little guy is rather charming in all his naive simplicity, and the wall that he adorns did look a bit cheerless before he showed up.

Anyway, look who's trashed the sofa and is demanding another walk ... and he's a very hard chap to say no to. 

All the best for now,

Bonny x

La Fosca ... and the Castle of St. Esteve de Mar, Costa Brava, Catalonia

Yesterday we met up with a bunch of friends for a long, lazy lunch at one of our favourite restaurants, the Hostal La Fosca. We enjoyed some fabulous food and a good catch up, and then everyone headed for the beach. The children had their hearts set on an afternoon of messing around on pedalos, the grown ups wanted to stretch out in the sun and chat, but something else, the ancient castle of St. Esteve, sitting on the near horizon caught my eye.

La Fosca with the Castle of St. Esteve de Mar in the background

Fossil forraging in Lyme Regis

Lyme Regis is a timeless sort of place. It's been here for over a millennium. The Saxons hung out and fished. It's been written up in the Doomsday Book.  Jane Austin came for the sea air, Mary Anning found her many fossils hereabouts and generations of would-be palaeontologists have followed in her footsteps.

In the summer it can get a bit chocker, but the beaches are plenty big enough to allow the masses to spread out and not tread on one another's toes.

My favourite bit of town is the East Cliff Beach which is at the end of the promenade. Carry on past the museum that's been built on the site of Mary Anning's old shop and family home. It extends north east towards Charmouth. In fact you can see the visitor centre at Charmouth and the oddly shaped cliff that sits on the other side of it in the distance.  Out here it feels sort of otherworldly. The colours are strong from the intense green of the abundant seaweed to the dead grey of the crumbling sea cliffs.

Lyme Regis, Dorset, Devon

Summer nights ...

Do you ever wish that summer would never end? I do. 

One of the many things I love about this season is how it never gets totally dark. The sky turns a dark, inky indigo, not the usual jet black from other times of the year. And you can go walking in the woods after twilight to listen to the creatures that come out after dark. Emi comes with me, but he's a bit scared of the dark. He likes to draw me into involved conversations. We talk about aliens and what kind of dinosaurs used to live in this part of Devon. In fact we talk about anything at all that will take his mind off his fear of the night. 

As the twilight darkens the bats come out and swoop around us. Sometimes we hear the big dog fox who lives in the orchard. On nights like tonight he enjoys a good bark at the moon. I think he needs to find himself a girlfriend, but that's a whole other story. And if we leave our nocturnal wanderings until really, really late we sometimes catch a glimpse of the barn owls. They appear like phantoms out of the night and they sound like nothing else in the world of the living ... . 

All the best for now,

Bonny x

Dino rampage at the Eden Project, Cornwall

Calling all dino fans - or perhaps, more accurately, calling the mums and dads of all dino fans! If you've got a child who's mad about the big prehistoric lizards I've got the perfect day out for you: down in Eden they've brought the dinos back from extinction, and they're running amok through the perfectly manicured flowerbeds. It's all a bit crazy ... but it's guaranteed to delight.

Emi has had one of his best chums down for a few days to stay with us in deepest, darkest Devon. Both boys are mad about dinos, so when I asked them what they'd like to do I got a list that had a predictably pre-historic theme to it: a trip to the Jurassic coast was mentioned, and so was the dino rampage down at Eden. Emi had picked up a leaflet about it in town, stored it away and then waited for the perfect opportunity to suggest it as a day-out.

The Lost Gardens of Heligan in high summer ...

The last time we visited the Lost Gardens was in the springtime. They were divine. The apple trees, the bluebells and the wild garlic were blooming and the rhododendrons had just passed their best and were dropping great carpets of cerise petals on the ground.  Last week we returned to see them at the height of their summer glory. And, whilst they were very different from how they'd looked in the springtime, they delighted us with displays of ripening fruit, larder-filling vegetable drills and happy farmyard animals hanging out down by the orchards.

I've got nothing against the great Renaissance gardens or the celebrated English Landscape Movement that set out with the single objective of being pretty. All of that stuff rocks, but what really makes my heart sing is a beautiful, practical garden that's full of things I could feed my family with. And that is where these gardens come into their own. Yes, they're pretty. Yes, they please the eye. Yes, they tick all the boxes on the aesthetic check list that add up to good design. But the highest compliment that I can pay them is to say that they, quite literally, look good enough to eat.

The Lost Gardens of Heligan, Cornwall

Barley field in the moonlight ...

... and there's nothing to beat a moonlit stroll through a waving field of barley on a mild night in July.

Sweet dreams,

Bonny x

Finch Foundry, Sticklepath, Devon ...

The other day we were keen to go exploring, but the weather didn't look great and, having got a good soaking on our supposedly rain-proof trip to the Levant Mine in Cornwall, we wanted to play things safe and not stray too far from home. So we decided to mosey on down the road to the pretty little village of Sticklepath, not far from Okehampton in Devon.

My father's grandfather (my great grandfather) was a blacksmith back in Ireland, so my father was interested to see the last working water-powered forge in England. And it proved to be a thing of wonder, which was way above and beyond anything that my ancestor ever operated.

Finch Foundry, Sticklepath, Devon

Corn in the barley field ...

One of the many things I love about being in Devon in July is our after late evening stroll. We've got a lovely barley field just outside, which makes a great place to go to walk off our dinner-time excesses. As the sun sets, we enjoy the magical light of twilight. And whilst the weather hasn't been brilliant in recent days it always seems to get itself sorted out by dusk, allowing the sun to set in a relatively cloudless sky.

Levant Mine and Beam Engine, Cornwall ...

Yesterday morning started well, but clouded over in line with what the weathermen had told us would happen. We had set ourselves up, however, to outsmart the weather. Our rain-proof day out involved travelling down to Pendeen, near St. Just in Cornwall to see an ancient copper mine with a working steam engine, which had sounded really, really interesting ... to Emi and my father.

A mine (underground - and in this case one with workings that crept out for over a mile under the sea) a steam engine and lots of mine housings: what could possibly go wrong with our rain-proof plans?

Levant Mine Buildings, Cornwall

The Giant's Causeway ...

The Giant's Causeway, County Antrim, Northern Ireland

The other day we walked in the footsteps of giants down at the Giant's Causeway in County Antrim. It's funny how many giant stories there are over here, but the one about Finn MacCool, the war-mongering giant, who decided to rely on his wits and not to fight is one of the better ones.

Back in the day Finn was the leader of the Fianna, a fearsome band of warriors, who ruled the roost in these parts. As leader of the pack old Finn boy developed quite a swagger. Some might say he became a belligerent bully. And like all bullies he nursed a serious chip on his shoulder. For reasons that few could ever understand Finn MacCool was a giant with something to prove.

Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge ...

Yesterday Emi, my father and I visited one of my favourite childhood haunts, the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, just outside Ballycastle in County Antrim. I remember coming here as a little girl and being both scared out of my wits and exhilarated with the challenge of crossing the bridge. Reaching the other side safely always felt like a really big deal to my eight or nine year old self.

The wobbly bridge swings in the sea breeze between the mainland and Carrick-a-Rede island, some 100 foot or 30 metres above the waves spanning the 60 foot/ 20 metre chasm over the sea that makes Carrick-a-Rede an island. These days the nice people at the National Trust award Crossing the Bridge certificates to the brave folk who make it out and back again. 

  

Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge, County Antrim

Carrick-a-Rede is an anglicisation of the Gaelic Carraig-a-Rade, which translates as rock in the road. The road here is the sea route of the Atlantic salmon, which follows a westward journey past the island, and the island is the rock in that road. 

Waiting for the Holyhead to Dublin ferry ...

On Friday Emi, the Wonder Dog and I arrived in Holyhead six hours early for our ferry crossing to Dublin. I really hadn't intended to be quite so early, but with the vagaries of what the traffic might be like on the M6 we'd left London first thing in the morning to arrive in plenty of time. As luck would have it we encountered no problems on the roads, but arrived half an hour too late to make the earlier sailing. So what could we do with six hours to spare in Holyhead?

High on the ancient walls of Girona ...

Girona is our local big town out in Catalonia. It's a fab little city that gets a bit overlooked, standing in the shadow of its big brother, Barcelona, just down the Costa. But if you're looking for somewhere with a history that predates the Romans, with fortified city walls that have lived through 25 sieges over the course of their long history, good food (we've got El Celler de Can Roca, the world's number one restaurant in town), loadsa' museums and architecture to swoon over - well, this little city could really hit your sweet spot.

It's a place that's bustling with life and activity where Emi, the Wonder Dog and I spend many a leisurely afternoon strolling around, people watching, imagining the past, admiring the present and all the while enjoying a good ice-cream. Weight-watchers beware: they make some seriously good ice-cream in this part of the world.

Costa Brava cliff top walk ... and the hermit crab derby ...

This afternoon Emi and I headed off with the Wonder Dog for a last walk along our favourite cliff top path. I've written about it before, but it's such a joy I could wander happily along it every day of my life and never get bored. The sea changes every day, and the cliff tops are home to a rich array of plants and animals. Every time we venture up there we find something new.

This is where we started, up above the port just behind our home.