For 30 accumulated years, the River Wye flowed alongside my life. I cannot quite say I grew up on its banks, but from the gates of my first childhood home I could throw a stone, across a road and an …
Why we shouldn’t eat lamb
I buried Robin Hood in his favourite place, the little paddock beside the Dulas. Across the brook, a blackbird sang requiem. Maid Marian was there, of course. She was, after all, his number-one wife. I shed no tears; I’d done …