29 August 2011 by Christopher Somerville
K is Kyrgystan – Katboschfontein, Khatyngnakh, Kyrksæterøra, and all the other places I’ll never actually walk. They beckon from the index of my 1990 Times Atlas of the World, a constant resource and secret delight.
01 June 2011 by Christopher Somerville
J is for Jollity – you know, that thing we associate with walking. Don’t we, lads and lasses?
12 April 2011 by Christopher Somerville
I is for Islands – more specifically those gloopy, gluey, marsh-and-mud islands of the Essex coast.
22 November 2010 by Christopher Somerville
H is for Heroes - specifically Hillaby. They say you should never meet your heroes, and I never did catch up with John Hillaby. He was too busy walking.
26 August 2010 by Christopher Somerville
My 10-year-old self lay back on the turf, book in hand, all alone in deepest Dorset. And I’ll never forget the cold pang of terror when I looked up from my book to see an evil little face, with goat-like eyes and the most cynical of smiles, staring out at me from among the tree trunks.
01 June 2010 by Christopher Somerville
F is for Flora and Fauna – my favourite outdoor twins. I’ve been going out with both of them for a long time now.
12 February 2010 by Christopher Somerville
E is for Elephant – and in particular the mighty Maharaja, who decided to assert his right to roam in famous circumstances.
23 November 2009 by Christopher Somerville
D is for Drovers — the hard men who once travelled the green roads of our land. Everywhere you follow the ancient tracks, through holloways in the south country downs or out along cobbled paths across the northern moors, you find signs of a vigorous commerce now vanished.
25 August 2009 by Christopher Somerville
C is for Company Curmudgeon Man – I hear his crusty footfall, coming nearer all the time. Share my water bottle? Well, why the bloody hell didn’t you bring your own? Do you good to go without. Teach you a lesson, won’t it?
26 May 2009 by Christopher Somerville
B is for Binoculars – a bird-watcher’s best friend, but also a walker’s. Why didn’t I think of them before? How many person-hours have I spent peering under my hand like a silly old seadog, trying to identify the minuscule blob of a waymark across a misty moor?