anthony galvin

I haven’t climbed a tree in years, probably not since I was about 14, but at this point there doesn’t seem to be much choice. The crowd is 10, maybe 15 deep on Constitution Hill. The police are stopping anyone getting closer to the finish to avoid overcrowding so I’m stood by the flamme rouge assessing my options. From the PA system I know the riders are leaving Richmond Park, they’ll be here in a little more than 10 minutes. There’s nothing for it, if I want to see anything I’ll need to climb the tree.

I ask the woman in the Italian cycling top if she can step out of the way so I push up off the lampost. I grab one of the low branches and then I’m scrambling up, pushing a grasping until I’m sat high up in one the trees that stands on the run in to the finish.

The PA announces that Wiggins is on the front trying to pull back the breakaway - a huge cheer goes up and the tree shakes a little, but my arms are wrapped around the trunk,  and I have a perfect view onto the road waiting for the riders to swing round the bend and on to the finish.

As the riders fly round the corner, an almighty roar leaps up from the crowd - it’s not the British on the front as most of the spectators would want, but the atmosphere is electric. Even from my tree I can see the steely confidence in Vinokurov’s eyes, there’s no way he’s going to let Uran win this one.

Land, Sea, Sky

Two years on and we went back to one of my favourite wild places. Achiltibuie, Coigach. The effect of the weather on the landscape, and the landscape and weather on the history of the people of these small string like villages is clear.

But when the sun shines and you have time to sit, relax and observe it is a landscape with power and beauty that slowly reveals itself; the abundance of bird life and wild flowers, the way the light changes and plays on the hills of the nearby Torridon mountains, the persistent call of the cuckoo and the sudden appearance of a young deer.

We will be back.

a pair of trawlers working off the beach at West Worthing

Another walk in the woods.

From the top of Ivinghoe Beacon there’s a path that leads along the top of the ridge and into the woods on the Ashridge Estate. It’s a managed woodland, but part of the joy of walk though here is that it’s not overly managed. Clumps of fallen timber and rotting leaves sit under the broad leaf canopy, making it a haven for all kinds of plants, wildlife and hurtling children. 

Yellow.

All over the rolling hills of our part of the world, the fields are a riot of bright yellow. The rapeseed is in full bloom, lighting up the horizon and providing a contrast to the dark browns and greens that are the wet mud and fields - the result of the recent wet weather. 

It's beautiful, but it’s also a reminder that our countryside is the result of human intervention, and in the 21st century that often means monoculture on an industrial scale. What and who the countryside is for is an increasingly complex debate. This is clearly an effective crop for local agri-business and is tremendously uplifting to the soul - so perhaps in this case a win-win situation.  

Growing. 

A weekend of digging and planting, on the allotment and in the garden. The entire family has dirt under their nails and little bit of wind-burn - oh and an ear to ear smile. Brilliant. 

Oslo: Operahuset

Like a glacier sliding into Oslofjord, the opera house is a stunning piece of modernist architecture that stands in a corner of Oslo that is steadily being regenerated.

But it’s not just the location that is refreshing. The Operahuset is designed to be a platform, not just for opera but for people. You can walk up the mountainous slopes that make up the outer walls or stand on the different rooftops at the top of the building and gaze out across the bay. The building embodies the openness and belief in democratic access to the arts by the Norwegian national opera and ballet.

Springtime @ Hovden, Norway

Boarding at Hovden. It’s probably the mountain I’ve ridden more than any other, from freezing night boarding in -20° temperatures to picking my way along in flat flight and great fresh powder days. But this was the first time I’d here ridden in spring conditions. Too warm for a jacket, great views and a brilliant day out on the mountain. Thanks Luke. 

Commuter

I try not to ‘share’ when my commute goes wrong. We chose to live in the village, and yes, it’s not close to the office. Or anywhere (excluding the next village). In fact most of the time, like most people, my commute is pretty mundane.

But. 

Over the next 2 weeks I’m going to commuting by a slightly more unusual set of options, including: private car, folding bike, plane, taxi, @londonmidland train, @amtrak train, tube and (hopefully) snowboard. I’ll try and post back with some good pictures.

It’s going to be an interesting few weeks. 

A walk in Buttermilk wood.

As always, Emma has more (and better) pictures here.