The airless reception area with its cheerful, exhortative corporate posters made me think of communist Russia. Dark wood. Grey, worn carpet. Grey fluorescent lights. Every so often, there would be a sharp, electronic bleep and the door would get pushed open. A grey-suited figure would scuttle past and the door, on its spring, would creak... Continue Reading →
Hanging up your helmet
The days are, finally, lengthening. That seemed as good an excuse as any to drag the Ural from under its cover and clack-zag though the staggered web of lanes to Bibury. At this time of year the coach loads of travel-myopic, Bath-Stonehenge-Bibury-Shakespeare n' Stratford-inna-day tourists are still tucked up and posting acid on TripAdvisor. Instead,... Continue Reading →