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Mahon, located on the eastern shores of Menorca, is one of the most charming and unspoiled ports to be found in the Mediterranean. A few years ago we enjoyed a very laid-back and quite few days in town - and I really liked the place a lot. I would say it is one of the least spoilt and untouristy harbour towns anywhere around the Spanish coasts. Known locally as Maó, the town is distinct for its large, deep, natural harbour - which has brought it a great deal of history to the area down the centuries.  Mahon's roots date back to antiquity, with influences from the British and Spanish visible in its architecture and culture. Notably, the town's architecture displays a mix of Georgian style, thanks to the 18th-century British presence, alongside traditional Spanish designs. This blend gives Mahon a unique character, distinct from other Balearic or Spanish towns. Needless to say, the interesting heart of Mahon is its old town. Here, narrow streets weave past historic buildings, some housing shops and cafes. You explore at your own pace - there is no need to rush in this community which has a distinct laid-back atmosphere.  As we’ve said, the number one feature of Mahon is the giant and very picturesque harbour. Stretching over five kilometres, it is actually one of the largest natural harbours in the world - and as such it is a significant feature that defines the town’s history, culture, and daily life. Over the centuries, it has seen the footprints of the British, French, and Spanish, each leaving their mark on the town and the harbour. This has resulted in a unique blend of architectural styles and cultural influences evident in the harbour area. Mahon harbour's deep, sheltered waters made it a strategic naval point. It has played host to numerous historical events, including naval battles and trade. Today, the remnants of its military significance can still be seen in the form of old fortifications that dot the harbour's edge. The modern-day harbour is a lively blend of the old and the new. Along the waterfront, one can find a variety of restaurants, cafes, and shops. These establishments often occupy buildings that hint at the harbour's historical past.  Boating and yachting are central to the harbour’s activities. The sight of yachts and boats of varying sizes adds a dynamic element to the calm waters. The harbour also serves as a starting point for various boat tours, which offer a unique perspective of the town and its surroundings from the water. The harbour is also a hub for various events and activities. The annual Mare de Déu de Gràcia festival, for instance, involves a procession to the harbour and is a highlight in the town’s cultural calendar. Additionally, the harbour is often the venue for outdoor concerts and events, especially in the summer months. Environmental conservation is also a focus. Efforts are made to maintain the ecological balance of the harbour waters, ensuring they remain a safe haven for marine life. One interesting aspect is the presence of Isla del Rey, an island in the middle of the harbour. It holds historical significance and is the site of an old hospital dating back to the 18th century. The island, accessible by boat, is a popular spot for visitors interested in history and natural beauty. Mahon Cuisine Cuisine in Mahon is reflective of its cultural mix. The locally produced Mahon cheese, with its slightly salty taste, is a result of the island's sea winds and high humidity. Local markets offer a chance to taste and purchase this and other local products.

Discover Le Marche: Italy’s Underrated and Unspoiled Gem And so to Le Marche, one of Italy’s least spoilt and most beautiful regions. The Chianti-shire effect has yet to spread its posh English roots across the Apennine Mountains that cut a lofty strip down the peninsula’s spine, so you really do get an Italy that feels, tastes and sounds like it should. Exploring the Landscape of Le Marche: From Coast to Mountains From the narrow coastal plain, the land rises first gently, then sharply, to the peaks of the Apennines. The further uphill you go, the fewer the folk you will find. And once you get into the Sibillini Mountains National Park , there are very few folk at all for most of the year. Things, though, do heat up in August when lots of city dwellers from Rome and Milan make for the uplands in an attempt to keep cool. But, as is the case with Dartmoor or Exmoor, you can soon lose the madding crowd if you so wish by the simple expedient of walking more than 500 metres from the nearest road. Staying in Remote Luxury: La Cantina in the Sibillini Mountains The house we rented was far from the madding crowd anyway. La Cantina is situated in its own remote valley near to the mountain resort of Fiastra – a small village situated next to a lake which is just about the only place in miles that draws anything like a crowd. To reach the large old farmhouse we had to negotiate a mile and a half of white gravel track, so that when we arrived we felt quite grandiose in our very own private remote and scenic location. The place can easily sleep ten, it is fully equipped, and you can enjoy the sweeping views from its idyllically placed terraces. Walking and Hiking in Le Marche: A Hiker’s Paradise Once you are installed, you find that Le Marche is one of those places which attract the travel writer’s ubiquitous “something for everyone” phrase. After the journey, lovers of the countryside can chill out by simply walking around La Cantina’s immediate environs. The mountains are riddled with shepherds’ paths and no one seems to mind if you wander where’er ye will. We walked over the watershed and down to the lake one day – a hot and exhausting hike that was rewarded with an icy bathe and lunch in one of Fiastra’s excellent restaurants. Traditional Food in Le Marche: A Culinary Journey Which brings me onto food. Apart from the almost guaranteed good weather, food is one of the main reasons for holidaying in Italy – and visitors to the Le Marche region will not be disappointed. For me, antipasto rules the day when I’m in Italy and in Le Marche mountain salt-cured ham and lonza (salt-cured fillet of pork) reign supreme. After that, the classic primo piatta tends to be some sort of pasta swathed in a meat sauce – the region’s signature pasta dish is vincisgrassi, a rich baked lasagna without the usual tomatoes. For the main course there’s the ubiquitous meat grilled alle brace, but look out for delicious stuffed pigeons (piccione ripieno) and rabbit cooked with fennel (coniglio in porchetta). Experiencing an Italian Village Fete in Le Marche We were lucky enough to be invited to a local village fete – Italian style. Which means it started at night, featured unbelievable quantities of food and even more dancing. The tiny village of Sentino boasts less than 100 souls dwelling in its vertiginous demesne, and yet these few people organise an annual event in a manner that would make Glastonbury’s Michael Eavis turn green with envy. When we reached the top of the mountain, more than 2,000 vehicles were already parked. Each, perhaps, brought four passengers. That’s 8,000 people. Because this is Italy, all needed feeding – and they would not be content with a burger in a bun. They wanted proper food – and they got it. The great meal began with an anti-pasti dish of charcuterie, then came a choice of pasta. My enormous bowl of fusilli punctuated with bits of artichoke is a masterpiece that I shall never forget. Next, the seconda-piatta: a vast collation of sizzling meats. Then there were fields of salad and mountains of chips. All this was rounded off by huge melons and little cakes with the texture of Crunchie bars. Jugs of superb, slurpable, wine were delivered every other minute. 8,000 people. 32,000 courses. Provided by a small team of people from the tiny mountain village. And the really amazing fact? They do it for seven consecutive, exhausting, nights – and anyone can go if they get a ticket. Such events occur all over rural Italy on the various saints’ days during summer, so you may well be able to find one. If you do, starve yourself all day, grab a phrasebook, and go. Discovering the Piano Grande: One of Europe’s Most Striking Landscapes “Is food all you think about?” asked my partner one day. As an act of remorse I took her on a drive up into the central region of the Sibillini Mountains and discovered one of the most amazing landscapes I’ve seen anywhere in Europe. Piano Grande is a huge flat-bottomed plateau ringed by steep mountains – it is 1,250 metres above sea level, eight kilometres long and five wide. In spring and summer it is transformed into a carpet of wild flowers and you see seas of poppies, wild tulips and exotic alpine flowers such as carex buxbaumii. Castelluccio and Its Famous Lentils You will also see lentils. The strange basin in the mountains is famous for them. Italians believe the thin-skinned lentils grown here to be the best in the world, better even than the green Puy lentils so beloved by the French. And, having tasted them, I have to agree. And taste them you must even if your partner does think you are obsessed by food. The little village of Castelluccio is perched on its own mini-mountain right in the centre of the plain – and every one of its restaurants majors on the famous pulses. The place is more reminiscent of Nepal than anything you’d expect to see in Italy – and even when you sit escaping the summer heat under an awning eating your lentil stew, you get the feeling that this is probably a tough and windy place in which to live for most of the year. Indeed, it comes as no surprise to learn that Castelluccio’s church bell is rung continuously during bad winter weather until every member of the village’s tiny population is safe at home. Visiting the Adriatic Coast of Le Marche In the opposite direction from the mountains lies the Adriatic coast – a destination best avoided in August if my experiences are anything to go by. However, the beaches along this sandy littoral are the maritime playgrounds of urban Italy, and so the whole crowded craziness of it all does offer huge amusement value to the amateur anthropologist. The beachside Tannoys blare machine-gun Italian, youths strut, fat ladies wade through ice creams the size of suitcases, impossibly beautiful girls loll scenically, and everyone attaches themselves to brightly coloured and expensive-to-hire lounger chairs. It is all so very, very Italian. You couldn’t be in any other country in the world. Seafood in Ancona: Brodetto and Beyond And, being Italy, there is food. Colossal seafood luncheons are consumed up and down the coast with such relish you wonder how there can be any fish left in any sea in the world. My own little weakness in the coastal area around Ancona is brodetto – a marine stew which must be made with 13 different species of fish – not a fillet more, not a fillet less. Final Thoughts: Why Le Marche is a Hidden Treasure of Italy Sorry, back to food again. But it is difficult, if not impossible, to avoid the stuff in Italy. And who would want to? I’d go as far as to say that when it comes to average food offered in average restaurants, Italy has the best cuisine in the world.

A Journey to the Wye Valley: Where England Meets Wales “Oh sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, how often has my spirit turned to thee!” So wrote William Wordsworth 227 years ago in his poem Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey. And I am repeating them here because I happen to be in Tintern, looking across at the River Wye. Like a great many West Country folk, I have visited this most beautiful of valleys on several occasions and never failed to be impressed by the green and glorious ebb and flow of its waters reflecting the stately forests that divide England and Wales. That is what the Wye Valley does. On one bank of the river you’re on home turf in England’s Westcountry; on the other you’ve gone abroad to Gwalia, to give Wales its archaic, poetic name. Staying at The Royal George Hotel, Tintern I am abroad as I write, looking across the river to England, sitting in a luxurious suite of an ancient coaching inn that has recently been completely refurbished — The Royal George , a fantastic find in Tintern. Having stayed the night and consumed a wonderful dinner and breakfast, I can confirm: it’s a treat. Original Welsh flagstones and timber beams have been lovingly revealed, preserving architectural details and the spirit of the hotel. An earthy colour palette, tactile soft furnishings, rough-hewn surfaces, reclaimed Welsh slate, traditional panelling, and lime-washed paints provide a contemporary, rustic feel. Affordable Luxury in the Wye Valley But the words “ancient coaching inn” and “completely refurbished” might be translated into a single word by experienced travellers: expensive . However, The Royal George manages to offer a first-class experience for less than you’d expect. Rooms start from £165 per night , and a main course in the upmarket Upper Deck restaurant ranges between £20 and £30 . “It was always our intention to create a truly magnificent offering that would also keep the local a ‘local’,” says regional operations manager Joe Costa. “That is part of our ethos, and villagers continue to be an important part of our offering — that’s the essence of what we’re trying to achieve.” Thoughtful Design and Local Connection Greyheath Collections, which also manages luxury properties in Italy, worked with London-based interior designer Camilla Kelly from The Mint List on this Tintern project. The newly revamped inn now has 20 rooms , making it an ideal base for a weekend break or romantic escape in the Wye Valley Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty . “Since our reopening in August after a 19-month closure, the hotel has been immensely popular. Absolutely packed!” says Joe Costa. The Perfect Base for Exploring Tintern and the Wye Valley Of course, the inn’s prime location helps. Tintern is a paradise for walkers, cyclists, and canoeists , offering easy access to Tintern Abbey , the Offa’s Dyke Path , and the scenic River Wye . “It’s about restoring a gathering place that has been woven into Tintern’s fabric for over four centuries,” Joe adds. “We take care of our locals and get involved with any village activities. We offer top London quality, yet the prices are very reasonable.” Rooms with Heritage and Character The Royal George offers ‘Garden Rooms’ (some dog-friendly, others with patios or balconies) and six ‘Heritage Rooms’ in the old coaching inn building. These are named after Welsh and nautical figures, including the Dean Brothers , inventors of the original diving helmet — whose first salvage mission was on a ship called The Royal George . Genuine Hospitality and Fine Dining Part of the inn’s newfound popularity is down to Mr Costa and his team. As someone who visits many establishments for these pages, I can say their warmth and professionalism are exceptional. Joe Costa’s background includes years as a high-level chef on super-yachts for the ultra-wealthy — and he’s brought that sense of quality and service to Tintern, combined with genuine local care. Meet Executive Chef Gareth Hope Another key figure in The Royal George’s success is Executive Chef Gareth Hope , whose menus focus on local, seasonal ingredients : Hereford beef, Monmouth pork, Welsh lamb, and fresh seafood from Brixham and Cornwall. “We simply go for the best stuff,” says Gareth. “We let the beef, the lamb and the seafood speak for itself.” The open-plan Upper Deck Restaurant allows diners to watch the chefs at work, adding to the atmosphere of connection and transparency. My dinner of fresh Brixham crab-cake followed by Cornish plaice was superb — the restaurant buzzing with happy diners even on a mid-October Thursday. Location: So Near, Yet So Far It might feel like travelling abroad for many readers, but Tintern is only 15 minutes from the Severn Bridge — and the inn is just a one-minute walk across the old Cable Bridge from England into Wales, across that famous and scenic “wanderer through the woods”, the River Wye . Visit: www.theroyalgeorge.com Explore More Around Tintern Kingstone Brewery: Local Ale in the Wye Valley During our stay, the Royal George team introduced us to local characters, starting with Ed and Tori Biggs , who run Kingstone Brewery , just up the valley. “We’ve been brewing for 20 years,” says Ed. “We started out selling vegetables, but the beer sold better!” Kingstone produces eight different ales , from traditional bitters to modern citrusy styles. Their Kingstone Gold (4%) is a light golden ale perfect for session drinking, while their IPA (5.8%) nods to the area’s maritime heritage. Visitors can book tastings at the brewery bar and meet the brewers themselves. Forest Bathing and Foraging at Hill Farm High above the valley, Hill Farm offers forest bathing and yoga retreats , run by Tom Court and his team. Guests at The Royal George can join two-hour forest sessions or book massages and wellness treatments. “We’ve been here for seven years,” says Tom. “It’s about slowing down and connecting with the forest.” Hill Farm also collaborates with Jessica Lucas , a medical herbalist and foraging guide from the Forest of Dean . “The wilder and fresher the food you can get, the more nutritional and medicinal it will be,” says Jess. “Herbal medicine and foraging go hand in hand.” Learn more: https://hillfarmtintern.co.uk https://herbalways.net Final Thoughts: Tintern’s Timeless Appeal From Wordsworth’s “sylvan Wye” to the contemporary comfort of The Royal George, Tintern remains a place where landscape, literature, and hospitality meet. Whether you come for a romantic escape , a walking holiday , or simply a good meal and a pint , this part of the Wye Valley will always invite you to pause — and to turn your spirit toward the river once more.

Every now and again a journalist gets to sing the praises of something in their own backyard - and on this occasion I can do exactly that when it comes to talking about the wonders of grass-fed meat, which I happen to believe is NOT something that is going to ruin the planet. There were great herds of wild grazing animals roaming the West Country hills long before humans turned up and they did not cause climate change. Indeed, by constantly “mob-grazing” great areas of mainly upland they helped evolve a complex set of plant-life that in turn created deep and complex soil structures full of al manner of microbes and bacteria that helped lock away carbon rather than shove it into the atmosphere. There are those who call for such a thing to happen again - and I’ll report on that on this website soon. To read about our Exmoor walks click here But a new initiative has started on Exmoor in a bid to promote the national park’s grass-fed lamb - and it is being backed by academics, a famous marketing guru and by a lamb-chop competition which saw local meat being voted best in a blind-tasting this week.  The tasting event was held at Woods wine bar in Dulverton where proprietor Paddy Groves supplied Exmoor lamb raised on his own farm, which was served alongside cuts from Dartmoor, Welsh and Blackdown Hill sheep. The homegrown chops won after 45 diners had taken part in the blind-tasting, inspiring the chair of the Exmoor National Park Authority, Robin Milton, to comment: “Exmoor lamb has definitely got something going for it. We’ve got to celebrate our landscapes and why they’re here and what they are about.  “These uplands are meat producing regions. This is what we do,” added Mr Milton who is also a local beef and sheep farmer. “We are not very good at growing cereals here because they get blown off these hills. So let’s celebrate what we can do.” He was being backed in the claim by a leading academic specialising in animal and meat production. Professor Jeff Wood was one of the lead researchers in a project carried out jointly by Bristol and Exeter Universities which studied red meats that had been raised in a variety of agricultural systems. “The grass-fed came out well in our study in which we looked at beef and lamb produced in a range of pastures throughout Britain - from upland to lowland, from to salt-marsh to all the other variations,” said ProfWood at this week’s Exmoor lamb event.  “We compared the grass-fed to standard produced meat raised on a large proportion of concentrates, and so on. And the grass-fed meat was preferred by all the taste panels - although it was more difficult to pick out a real difference between the types of pastures. “However, the moorland lamb was the one that came out best,” said the professor, who added: “One of the most important features about the grass-fed product is that you have more omega-3 fatty acids in the meat, because that is in the leafy grass and it gets through to the meat. So you not only get a good tasting product, you also get something which is better for human health as well.” The research was carried out over a decade ago, so why did Prof Wood think so little had been done to promote grass-fed meat since its results were published?  “I think we have, up to now, been very reticent about making too much between different methods of meat production because we think people feel squeamish when they talk about that. But probably we’ve backed away too much. “The advantages of grass-fed beef and lamb over feed-lot produced meat are enormous and we should be making a lot more of it than we do,” said the professor.  Marketing guru Robin Wight - the man behind famous campaigns such as the Orange, 118118 and BMW adverts 20 years ago - was one of the organisers of Tuesday night’s event, and he told the WMN: “I was invited by the Exmoor National Park and the hill farmers to help with their Exmoor Ambition project about a post-Brexit strategy for the area.  “I wrote a section about branding Exmoor, which is an incredibly evocative name,” said Mr White. “You can almost taste and eat Exmoor, but it’s never been used as a brand name.  “The major reason for that is under EU regulations all the lamb, for example, west of Bristol, is not allowed to be called Exmoor lamb or Dorset lamb - it is called South West Lamb. Which sounds like a train company. “There is an incredible opportunity to leverage the power of the Exmoor brand,” said an enthusiastic Mr Wight who has moved to the area from London. “I want to get 100 per can grass-fed Exmoor lamb into a major supermarket. In the South West we have huge leverage - we have amazing produce. And if we are going to create new revenue streams post Brexit - both on Exmoor, or Dartmoor, or in Cornwall - we are going to need to pool resources and come up with the best thinking we have.  “I have been in marketing for the past 40 yeas and have been fortunate enough to lead up some major campaigns - we can use expertise like that here in the Westcountry to help showcase what we’ve got,” said Mr Wight…    After the results of the blind-tasting were announced on Wednesday night, Mr Milton did not look surprised… “The grass-fed approach gives us meat from our landscape,” he said. “Exmoor has probably the finest landscape and also probably the finest lamb and beef.  “So let’s bring people back to recognising the value of our food. What our farming communities do is absolutely integral with our national park purposes as well - without the farmers we don’t have the landscapes people love and enjoy so much.” Asked about a long-lost initiative triggered 15 years ago to promote Exmoor Horn lamb, Mr Milton commented: “Let’s learn by the mistakes we’ve made in the past. We set about marketing just Exmoor Horn lamb - now we are marketing all Exmoor lamb, which means any lamb reared on grass on Exmoor. That is probably our greatest strength. That is where the Dartmoor farmers have pitched theirs.  “Let’s learn from the lessons of history and make sure we put out what is really great about the area - the taste of upland grass reared lamb.” He continued: “Probably no antibiotics went anywhere near this lamb. There was a very limited amount of intervention by people We are making the best of a very natural resource. And while we are doing that we are sequestering loads of carbon under our grasslands - which is very important.  “We have a very different climate here from the rest of Devon or Somerset. It rains a heck of a lot. Because it rains, we grow a lot of grass. And that is our greatest value. That ability to grow lamb slowly and come up with a product at the end which allows people to link the landscape to what they eating.  “What I’d like to see is people going into pubs and restaurants and asking for Exmoor lamb - to go in and see it on the menu. Let’s sell the product and the place properly to the people who really want to understand it, rather than sell it simply for a price.  “I have had restaurants and pubs approach me in the past couple of years and ask about Exmoor lamb saying they would sell it if they could always get it . So maybe now is the time,” said Mr Milton. “It is incumbent on the Exmoor farmers, the auctioneers, the hill-farm network and us at the national park… Let us promote what is really great about Exmoor. Let’s give it an identity.”

The official Twitter account for Exmoor's 3 National Park Centres #Lynmouth #Dulverton & #Dunster is running an excellent lockdown quiz at the moment in which they put a photo a day up on to their twitter account and people who see it have to guess the location… The other day they put up a photo of Hoar Oak Cottage, right out in the middle of the western moors, and it reminded me of the day a few years ago when I walked in that direction with Dr Nigel Stone, who was at the time chief executive of the Exmoor National Park Authority (ENPA). He’d invited me to join him so we could see some of the work which had been done to help celebrate the 40th anniversary of the Two Moors Way. If there was a competition category for Britain’s most beautiful, but least known, long distance trails - this north-to-south route would probably win it. The Two Moors Way was relaunched a couple of weeks ago 40 years after its inception, with a new logo that promises that the trail will take walkers from coast to coast.  To read about our Exmoor walks click here The fact that it doesn’t will take nothing away from the path which  wends its way south from the West Country’s north coast at Lynmouth - across Exmoor, through the middle of Devon and over Dartmoor - to terminate at Ivybridge.  But walkers must then join the Erme Trail to hike the extra 15 miles to the south Devon shoreline at Wembury.  A great deal of work has been done to make the Two Moors Ways just that little bit easier and more pleasant to follow. And Dr Stone and I set off over the high moorlands above Simonsbath to see the improvements for ourselves.  We did one of those two-car jobs to make things easier - an obvious boon if you are hiking with other people because it allows you to enjoy a linear route rather than always having to find some circular ramble that takes you back to where you began.  On this occasion we left one car at Brendon Two Gates on the Simonsbath-Lynmouth road, then drove back south to Prayway Head where there’s plenty of room to park.  I don’t know why the dramatic spot above the young Exe Valley is called Prayway - but can guess it was named thus centuries ago by folk who reached this spot, then had to continue out across the featureless Chains. In bad weather, before the bogs up here were messed about with and semi-drained, this would have been a somewhat perilous thing to do.  Many of the bogs remain - indeed, this whole area is being re-wetted as part of Exmoor’s Mires Project in a bid to restore the natural balance of this landscape to how it should be - but the scheme is a long way off the point where bottomless pits will swallow you whole, Hound of the Baskervilles style. Nevertheless, the work being carried out up here on the Two Moors Way is all about preventing walkers sinking knee-deep in mud. This we were to see after we’d strolled west across Dure Down. As we reached Exe Head - the damp birthplace of the West Country’s greatest river - so we noticed the bags of aggregate which will be used to allow the Two Moors Way hikers to pass the boggiest bit of this wet corner. This is not a major engineering project - once the work is done you’ll be hard pushed to notice anything has changed, so it won’t take anything away from the wildness of the place - but it will make all the difference to walkers. At Exe Head we’d reached the Two Moors Way, so we turned north along it to drop down into the dramatic looking coombe that divides Exe Plain from The Chains. If you are looking to experience a sense of deep wilderness - but don’t want to have to walk miles from a road - this is a prime place in which to do it.  It’s just a 15 minute walk to this spot from Prayway Head, and yet stroll down into this coombe and you can imagine you’ve travelled into some prehistoric Britain. It’s as wild and as beautiful a place as any I know.  A little way down the steep sided ravine there are the remains of an old cattle keep - if that really is what the low stone walls represent. Whatever the place was, it gives the scene an even more antediluvian feel because you are now deep in the valley and so can see nothing else man-made at all. There are cattle and sheep, but they somehow have the appearance of wild beasts wondering out on some Serengeti style plain… Down along this part of the long distance trail we were able to see more of the ongoing work which will help the Two Moors Way become more passable. Those cattle have turned some sections into long linear bogs - but, thanks to a recent crowdsourcing exercise, a helicopter was hired to bring in bags of aggregate which will help drain the worst bits.  Just as the hiker is now thinking it would be impossible to feel any more remote, the trail comes up with another chapter in its book of loneliness. I refer to Hoar Oak Cottage, an ancient moorland home which has played host to all manner of tales and legends - to the extent that it has become something of an enigma with its own dedicated website and a society of friends.    The semi-ruined cottage - which I described as “the capital of the Middle of Nowhere” in a newspaper head-line - underwent refurbishment work a few years ago to stabilise its fabric. The ENPA worked with the Friends of Hoar Oak Cottage, the Exmoor Society and Exmoor Uprising to agree a way of stabilising the ruin. This was the first time I’d visited since the work was completed, and I think it was sensitively done. The empty shell would have simply dissolved into the landscape without trace - now it’s still a ruin, but one that will stay that way for many years to come. And walkers can explore its roofless rooms, see the little fireplaces, peer out of the empty windows - and experience the profound sense of loneliness and remoteness that living in such a place must have engendered. For Nigel and I it was a case of getting back to modern civilisation by heading east - up over the open access moorlands past Clannon Ball, all the way to Brendon Two Gates. Given the time and the choice, though, I’d have preferred to hike right on down to Lynmouth which is where the Two Moors Way begins or ends.    If course we are all meant to be in lockdown a the moment - so I would ask people not to drive out to visit the moors. But if you’d like to listen to a short story that includes quite a bit of the Two Moors Way, you can find it by clicking play below…

Here’s a hike local to where I live for my 50th lockdown diary. Many years ago I wrote an account of this walk for the newspaper - this is a slightly longer version than the article which appeared, probably more than 15 years ago… If the lockdown can bring the nation to a halt, it can be a boon to the work of a humble, solitary, writer. But occasionally you need some inspiration… Years ago I set out for this walk in my own back yard – which was a treat because the parish of Old Cleeve is a large and beautiful domain stretching from high hills to the sea. Much of it is inside the Exmoor National Park and the parish boasts no fewer than 71 different rights-of-way. To read about our Exmoor walks click here I know the exact number thanks to an excellent well-researched collection of the hiking routes available in the parish. Jeanne Web’s ‘Old Cleeve Parish Walks’ is just about the best example of an extremely local walking guide I’ve seen. Not only is Old Cleeve one of the largest parishes in the region, it is one of the most diverse. Few mini-municipalities in the country contain such a range of countryside – from the 1,200 foot Brendon Hill escarpment in the south, to the fossil-bearing reefs of the Bristol Channel in the north. We have forests and we have tiny copses; we have meandering streams and mighty waterfalls; high grasslands and luxuriant, impenetrable, thickets. There is limestone, sandstone and slate; and there are hamlets that appear untouched by the passing of time and we also have a busy main-road village. So what I decided to do was follow one of the 24 walks which appear in Mrs Webb’s book, and lengthen it a bit. The hike starts halfway up the slopes of the Brendon Hill escarpment, above the village of Roadwater, at a place called Felon’s Oak (map ref: ST 018 389). This is a couple of miles south, up single track lanes, from the main Minehead-Williton road. There isn’t much at Felon’s Oak, save for the odd felon hanging from the boughs of the tree. Or, at least, there would have been a few centuries ago, but most of the sheep stealers have long gone and Judge Jeffries no longer dishes out harsh justice in these quiet backwaters. There’s room to park on the five-cross way (obviously, I walked up from my home). Following Mrs Webb’s route we head of down the lane where we see a sign for Croydon Hall. There’s an exciting and rather mysterious story attached to this large country house - a remarkable German gent once made a fast departure from here at the outbreak of the First World War. He was called Count Conrad von Hochberg – and as my old editor Jack Hurley once put it: “The imaginations were busy creating out of whispers on the wind the cloak and dagger elements of espionage.” Was von Hochberg a German spy? Well, I am ashamed to say that long dead colleagues in the journalistic trade would have it that way. The Count was in fact, an Anglophile and the last thing he wanted was to take up arms against the country he had fallen in love with. He died in Berlin years later and the only hymns sung at the Church of England funeral service were in English and the sermon was preached in the same tongue. But, back in the dark days of 1914, the hacks were making Buchanesque noises about his “Fortress on the cliffs”. They didn’t go quite as far as to mention the 39 Steps – but in the interests of accuracy I must tell you Croydon Hall is hardly a fortress and it is three long miles from a sea-cliff. Back to the parish walks guide... We go past the hall and a couple of cottages then turn right onto a farm track which takes us along the contour of the hill before we take a left down the side of a long hedge that takes us due south. This field enjoys the luxury of wide headlands – which in spring is a wonderful thing to behold as all sorts of wildflowers grow attracting goodness what insects, and therefore birds.  In fact, Mrs Webb tells us: “The field scabious (knautia arvensis) and the pink musk mallow (malva moschata) can be found among the common hedgerow plants.” She adds: “The view towards the Brendon hills extends to Timwood and Comberow and the right-hand horizon and straight ahead Kingsdown Clump caps the skyline.” It’s all most picturesque in a uniquely Brendon escarpment sort of way. We swing right – downhill – at the bottom of the hedge, and head for the woods. Once inside the trees we find ourselves walking down a sort of miniature coombe, in which, according to the authoress, we see: “male fern (dryopteris filixmas) and hart’s tongue (asplenium scolopendrium).” Now we enter the village of Roadwater via Tacker Street – which is a tiny southern annex of the community. Across the stream and past a few houses, we reach the Luxborough road where we turn left past the excellent Valiant Soldier Inn. A minute after the pub (which i am very much looking forward to frequenting again one of these fine days) you will see a tiny road dipping down between houses on the right – walk 50 metres along this and you will come to a Y-shaped junction – keep left and hike 30 metres up the hill to find the Coleridge Way path (on the right through a field gate).  This splendid thoroughfare now strikes off south wards along the contours of the valley, taking you first across a field and through what used to be a pinewood – then introducing you to another field, which in turn is followed by a second wood.  This is a delightful stand of young beech trees and on its far side you will spy a beautiful hamlet consisting of a couple of classic West Country thatched cottages. This is Lower Hayne and you must stroll down to it by taking the footpath that leaves the Coleridge Way. Cross the lane, and another path leads through the gardens of the cottages before climbing the opposite slope of the valley.  This ancient overgrown track ascends until it reaches the Leighland lane where we turn left to walk the few hundred metres past Stamborough Farm. Just after this another lane veers to the right and we stroll up its length until it is dissected by the Stamborough Farm road.  Directly opposite you will see a path leading to the village of Treborough. This necessitates another climb across fields – which isn’t surprising as Treborough is about 1000 feet above sea level. The path eventually levels out and arrives at a junction where you will see the hamlet’s church straight ahead.  Make for it, but before you reach the old temple take the lane on the right by the old schoolhouse. This little used road climbs for a few hundred metres, then begins a long descent. We go down it for about half a mile until we come across our old friend the Coleridge Way again. It touches the road briefly here – and we must take its right-hand fork which will convey us down across fields and into Langridge Wood.  The long distance trail descends a ridge inside this forest to eventually reach the Luxborough road – and what we do is cross straight over, past the house called Peterswell Lake. Close to the garden gate, we join another footpath which takes us back - in a rather muddy and overgrown way – to the Washford Stream that we crossed at Tacker Street. There’s a wide wooden bridge – and then it’s up into the woods once more, to eventually debouche into a steep field.  The path climbs this to the gate at the high end and now we’re on the track to Greenland. Roadwater, by-the-way, is the only place in the world that has Greenland on one side and Egypt on the other – though why the folk of yesteryear should name their hamlets in such an international way, I have no idea. And I must say it can feel like Greenland in the snow – Egyptian weather was like a dream from a distant planet.  Our track now turns into a tarmac lane, and we simply follow it back to Felon’s Oak, having enjoyed fine wintry views of the eastern slopes of Exmoor National Park. Fact File Basic hike: from Felon’s Oak (map ref: ST 018 389) down to Roadwater – taking in the Mineral Line valley and the Coleridge Way we climb eventually to Treborough before returning down to the Luxborough road and then back up to the start via Greenland. Recommended map: Ordnance Survey OL 9 Exmoor. Distance and going: Seven miles – can be muddy and a bit steep in places.

When I put up a recent Lockdown Diary a lot of people contacted me regarding Selworthy Sands - its seems that Exmoor’s lonely coast is a place people like to read about. No public right of way in the world captures the imagination quite like the South West Coast Path - I’ve met all manner of individuals who, in some way or another, have been entranced by all or some part of the 630-mile trail.  Some have had jobs maintaining the path, others have merely used it for pleasure, some have rescued people along it, written about it, painted it, studied its geology and even collected fossils from under it.  To read about our Exmoor walks click here And I’ve found myself questioning my own fascination for the most beautiful path in the world. As a walks writer for 20 years, I was forever pacing up and down the coast path – but what was it that first drew me to the long thin strip of loveliness by the sea? I found part of the answer this week while looking through my father’s dusty files. He was a journalist and I recall him telling me stories about a mysterious correspondent who called himself Afghan. It was the rich vein of anecdotes from this enigmatic man that first captured my seaside imagination beyond the boyhood call of bucket and spade.  Afghan, who would not have his real name printed in a newspaper, was a font of knowledge when it came to the most lonely section of the coast path – the 12 mile stretch between Porlock Weir and the North Devon Foreland. The vast vertical shoulder where Exmoor meets the sea. Here’s what my father wrote about Afghan some 40 years ago. “His notes contain references to the paths which contour through the hanging woods high over the sea on the ramparts of Exmoor. Some of these paths were little more than game trails widened by the ancient men who passed among these hunting grounds between historic Caesar’s Camp and the mysterious Guild Hall over Embelle Bay. “Landslides are not infrequent on these unstable, seawards cliffs of the moor and many of the paths which were passable in Afghan’s younger days are now unused and overgrown terminating in sheer precipices where the land has fallen away.  “According to Afghan, a former landowner went to the trouble of bringing mountaineers over from Switzerland especially to construct some of these scenic paths. In steep places they worked with Alpine techniques using ropes and ice-picks. A century’s storms have swept away much of their fantastic work, and much of the remainder is quite overgrown and hidden away. “Afghan’s notes refer to Apple Dumpling Point and Cherry Tree Steep. The first is a rocky outcrop on the Culbone Path, which apparently got its name when a group of workmen, toiling there a long time ago, grew weary of hearing one of their mates boasting about his wife’s apple dumplings. While his back was turned the opened his lunch box and, to use Afghan’s phrase, ‘abstracted the apple contents from the dumplings and substituted some rubbish.’ He goes on to speak of the merriment of the workmen at their meal break, when their mate bit into his vaunted viands. “Whether the glorious cherry tree which gives its name to Cherry Tree Steep was planted by the monks of Chapel Knap, or grew from a walking stick which sprouted from being carelessly struck in the fruitful earth, Afghan seems uncertain, but he was more sure of himself on the matter of ghosts on these paths. “Big yellow dogs, strange figures all in black and unseen, ghostly presences all figure in his reminiscent notes. He pointed out that one part was strangely avoided by woodland birds.” As a boy I was taken to this eerie section of coast beyond Culbone – and indeed, there were no birds. The vertiginous area certainly does have a strange, sepulchral feel to it – which may or may not be to do with the Graves of the Forty Doones that are situated not far away. What exactly the barrows of that name are – who put them there and why - not even Afghan knew. But he did know all about the customs officer who used to patrol this most lonely of tracts. His job was to patrol the path between Porlock Weir and Lynmouth each and every night. Writing from Afghan’s notes, my father recorded: “This gentleman carried a swordstick. With it he made furious passes at a ghostly figure which insisted on accompanying him. In the end he got fed up, slashing at empty air, and in time he learned to value the company of his silent companion on the solitary night time vigils.” But my favourite of all the Afghan reminiscences is an anecdote relating to a mysterious man of true and tremendous style and élan. Again, I refer to my father’s notes: “It seems that in a little dell beside the Culbone pathway, Afghan once saw a man walking about in ever-widening circles probing the ground with a sharp-ended stick. “Curiosity getting the better of him, Afghan approached the man and asked if he had lost something. ‘No,’ was the reply. ‘But each year, when I am in this area, I always bury a couple of bottles of beer so that when the next holiday comes around and we are dry with walking, I can mystify my companions by asking them if they are thirsty. And then, as if by magic in this lonesome place, I produce the much needed drinks.’ “Afghan said nothing but watched the stranger dubiously, until the man suddenly stopped probing with his stick and began scraping aside the mossy earth. Presently he dug up two bottles of beer.” In all the years I’ve been trudging up and down the celebrated path, I have never succeeded in emulating this moment of panache. But the remarkable little tale is the reason I first fell in love with the nation’s favourite long distance trail and so I have the mysterious plucker of bottles, and Afghan, to thank for all the seaside miles I’ve paced. The 40 Graves Where are the Graves of the Forty Doones? Exmoor's vertical coastline stretches from Porlock out towards the Somerset-Devon border with hills dropping more than 1,200 feet down to sea-level. Along the way there are countless coombes with myriad paths running through thick woods where all you can hear is the cry of the peregrine and the crash of the waves. To make things worse the modern Exmoor Outdoor Leisure map makes no mention of either bandits' graves or Guildhalls - or anything else that might lead to a clue. But a 70 year-old map I have of the area does contain information... 'The Guildhall', just below Sugarloaf Hill and above Yenworthy Wood. The name 'Yenworthy' rang a bell and I looked in a cuttings file and found an old photo of the 'Doone Long Gun'. In the picture it's being held by Farmer Pile who, some thirty years ago lived at Yenworthy and for some reason kept this extraordinary weapon. Blackmoor had the Doones being shot at by just such a gun at a farm whose description fits Yenworthy exactly. In the story no-one is at home save for an old grandmother and, upon hearing that the Doones are on their way to rob her, she loads the long barrel with gunpowder, nails, tacks and anything else she can find. As the marauders arrive she shoots, causing them to retreat in "great discomfiture". She had every right to do so - the last time they'd come a-calling they'd thrown the baby on the fire. With such discomfiting thoughts I dropped down over the hill into the steep coastal woods. And when I say dropped, you'll see that's no exaggeration - if you're ever lucky enough to visit this stunningly beautiful corner of the West Country. Everything is on the perpendicular around here, and if you were unfortunate enough to stumble upon the Guildhall from the south, you certainly would drop. There's a sheer 60 foot cliff face on one side of this rocky ravine. But what an eerie place the Guildhall is. There can be no geological reason for this dripping, mossy chasm, but oddly there are no records of there ever having been a quarry in such a remote location.

Around about 30 years ago I did a lot of flying about the place in various aircraft, hanging out of open doors filming. You wouldn’t do it today - you’d just get yourself a drone. And it would be a lot more steady and manoeuvrable - and far far less expensive - and the quality thanks to modern technology would be much much better. But it wouldn’t be such fun. On this occasion we somehow managed to persuade a crew from the old SAR (Search and Rescue) flight at Chivenor to take us around Exmoor one afternoon. in fact, they took us on several flights as part of their training. This is just a quick taster of the footage but if people are interested I will digitise more and put it up here… To read about our Exmoor walks click here

Someone asked how I cold possibly stay in lockdown for more than 60 days. These photos perhaps provide part of the answer - I took them all on a 30 minute dog-walk just now. If you live somewhere like this perhaps you don’t need to be belting around the place looking for somewhere else to go. To read about our Exmoor walks click here What would we do without red campion? Of all the hedgerow flowers we see in the West Country, this delightful little pink marvel must be one of the most prolific and most constant.  I say constant because very few months seem to go by without a sighting of its pretty flower.  There’s one up the lane from where I live nodding its pretty little head at the moment - despite the fact that the deep old pack-horse trail where it grows was deep in snow just a week ago. The world seems just that little bit milder for having seen it. Best not pick it – people used to believe that if you did, your father would die. Why they used to think such a thing – and what logical connections the idea had with anything to do with reality, I cannot imagine.  The other big belief about red campion was that its seeds were capable of curing the agonies of an adder bite. How you managed to pick the plant in order to pound up the seeds and save the snake-bite victim without also killing your father, tradition doesn’t say.  Nor, of course, does any learned folklore tome anywhere tell us who discovered this useful anti-venom ability, or how. But so widespread was the belief that campion is also known as adders’ flower.  It enjoys other names too – like jack-by-the-hedge, cuckoo-flower, red mintchop, soldiers’ or batchelors’ buttons and scalded apples. Batchelors’ buttons might suggest it was once worn as a buttonhole by young unmarried men - as for the latter name, I have no idea. Campion looks nothing like apples, scalded or otherwise.  I’m told the root was sometimes used as a soap substitute for washing clothes – apparently people used to simmer the roots in hot water, then mash them up to make a slippery substance. Maybe they did. But I have seen a campion root and there isn’t much to it. You’d need an awful lot of dead campions – and therefore possibly numerous dead dads – to tackle the average family washing basket.  Its Latin name is silene dioica – the genus silene is a large grouping with around 700 species of annuals, biennials and perennials. Red campion grows right across Northern Europe and in some places they used to believe it offered protection against scorpion stings. Like so many old fashioned beliefs, though, it would be pleasant to learn that this were true. Not that there’s any way would I ever want to be in the position where I had to put the theory to the test. Oh, and please don’t forget to purchase a. book of my coronavirus shorts stories - of the mood takes you, that is. All about raising funds for Hospice UK - Tales From the Lockdown

We’ve been locked up indoors too long and some people are getting claustrophobic. One option is to go somewhere very empty like the roof of the West Country - if you’re that way inclined. Personally speaking I am sticking to my home patch because I do not want to clutter up the national park any more than it is already in this sunny weather. I’m a bit of a pessimist and feel there will probably be a second wave to this dreadful pandemic. Anyway, when it’s all really over and done with, the bit of roof I’m talking about isn’t that far from me – and by then I will need altitude and lots of it. To read about our Exmoor walks click here Here in the West Country we are lucky because we have some of the best spaces imaginable that can assuage the yearning for the wide open emptiness which only highland wilderness can offer.  Dartmoor has it swathes – Bodmin Moor has some excellent sweeping scenery too – but there is one central area of Exmoor that particularly fits the bill. The great waste, to use that word in the old fashioned sense, that lies west of the Dunkery range and provides the young River Exe with a vast bastion to guard its northern banks – is Southern England’s answer to the Russian steppes. It is a primeval landscape which has more or less been untouched by the hand of man. Stand in its midst and the only straight line of man’s making you may see is the vapour trail of an airliner. Everything else will be as nature intended.  There’s an increasing argument over what these islands may have looked like before humans turned up to chop, clear, farm and eventually mess the whole place up. This landscape is, in my opinion, as close as you will get.  This is the England of the giant aurochs – a massive, extinct grazing beast twice the size of a modern cow. This is where great herds of big animals would have once roamed unmolested. This is the great emptiness. The great void. Birthplace of rivers. Home of fresh air. Shrine of solitude. This, indeed, is the best antidote to modernism I can think of.  You’ll find it by travelling halfway along the Exford/Porlock road - which happens to be one of the most scenic thoroughfares in the West Country, passing as it does along a series of watersheds that separate the Dunkery range and the rest of the central massif.  Eventually you’ll come to an isolated lane that heads west. This will take you to Alderman’s Barrow, before rounding Larkbarrow Corner to scuttle away from the moors again and rejoin its former companion way, way down near the village of Exford. But it’s Larkbarrow Corner that this column loves returning to. We’ve been here before on a couple of occasions because it is a corner rich in walks. But now we’re off in a different direction to soak up the very best the wild savannah beyond can offer.   What I wanted to do was follow the route of the old trans-Exmoor canal. In case you are puzzled, thinking you’ve never heard of such a thing before, then I’ll admit there never was a proper waterway across the moors – nevertheless, the route of some kind of canal can still be seen. To find it we marched west from Larkbarrow Corner out into the middle of nothing - or rather, onto a big bald hill known as Elsworthy - and following the contour high above the deep ravine of the Exe we found the shallow workings of what was planned as a narrow waterway. Why is it here? Who built it and what on earth for? As far as I can make out no one really knows for certain – but the general feeling is that John Knight, the great Exmoor “improver” (or dreamer, depending on which way you look at his work) had plans to build a railway to take out the ore from mines he owned in the central moors.  The idea of the canal, if the hunch is to be believed, was that it would supply water for the workings of a near vertical cliff railway down to Porlock Weir - similar to the one that exists at Lynmouth.   Personally I think this conjecture is daft. The heavy ore would have acted as ballast on its own, with no need for extra water – and even if water was needed there’s plenty of it all over the hills without having to dig a canal to take it from one end to the other.  Anyway, neither the railway nor the mining boom ever happened. Thank God. Because Exmoor would look like today’s post-industrial Rhonda Valley if it had.  Nevertheless, the narrow waterway - which is now no more than a long linear bog - still exists and you can follow it west towards distant Pinkworthy Pond, which is thought to have been its supply reservoir.  Long, long before we get anywhere close to that far flung and lonesome place this walk leaves the waterway as it rounds Ware Ball. Now we simply do a right-to-roam and walk north into the great area of nothing.  We’re heading for a birthplace of a hundred springs – otherwise known as  Beckham – but nothing to do with the footballer, which is just as well because this is probably the last place on earth he’d ever be likely to visit. All I can tell you about Beckham is that you will find it by walking to map reference SS419807. From there we dropped into the shallow valley system which is part of the East Lyn’s youthful river system, and made our way north east to the ruined farm at Larkbarrow.  You can see the ruins of the farm that once stood here defying loneliness and solitude – and you can also see the traces of the bullets and shells that blew the place to smithereens when Allied troops trained on manoeuvres here during the Second World War.  From this desolate place it’s simply a matter of following the track east then south, a mile and a half back to that celebrated birthplace of walks, Larkbarrow Corner.  Fact File Basic walk: from Larkbarrow Corner west around Ware Ball, north to Beckham, then onto Larkbarrow Farm and back to start. Distance and Going: five miles, can be very boggy in places. Recommended map: Ordnance Survey OL9 Exmoor

Many years ago I spent a lot of my time hanging around with some guys I knew from Bath. And I mean, literally hanging around. They were hot air balloon pilots and we used to do a lot of filming while dangling under their vast balloon envelopes in small baskets made on the Somerset Levels. The metal burner-frame located below the balloon but above the basket was an ideal and steady structure upon which to hang an upside down tripod. The two guys I became great friends with were John Clifford and Clain Armstrong-Brown who, alas, has now passed away. John is out there somewhere though - Australia I think - and if you see this John, all the very best to you old mate. We lived in a big house at Luxborough at the time (Chargot) and occasionally the guys would come down for a visit and a few times John brought a balloon with him. We were trying to get sponsorship to do an entire series of films flying over the national parks of the UK - which would have been fantastic had it ever come off. Anyway, we did a couple of experimental flights over Exmoor and I’ve been digitising them from old fashioned High Band U-matic video. Here is the very beginning of one of our memorable flights - - shot early one winter morning after we’d taken off from the low flat fields under Dunster Castle - right next to the main road just where they have the eastern entrance to Dunster Show. Over the coming weeks I’ll put up some more of these balloon flight clips - next time soaring over Luxborough… To read about our Exmoor walks click here

People always talk about going mushroom picking in September and into the autumn, but living where I do I’ve often found the common field mushroom out and about in June or July.  It all depends on the weather. A warm and humid patch after some rain shoaled bring them out. Which is what we’ve had recently - but so far I must admit I’ve only found one single common field mushroom in the valley.  The south of England is supposed to be richer in fruits of the woods than anywhere else in the world - and, given the harvests over the past few days, I believe it. You have to be a bit careful though. There is a commonly found version of the field mushroom called the Yellow Stainer (agaricus xanthodermus) and it will make you quite sick. According the great mushroom man Roger Phillips, "The symptoms are sweating, flushing and severe stomach cramps - but only some people are affected." Beware of field mushrooms that have a yellow tint to them. Break one open and if the torn flesh turns yellow - forget it. A lot of people like horse-mushrooms. I used to be a big fan, but perhaps I've eaten too many. They can be incredibly strong if you get them when they're a little past their best. Actually, I had a couple of young fresh ones from a sheep field on the Brendons the other day and they were delicious. I only had a couple because each was as big as a tea plate and two were almost too much to eat. Another king-sized recent find was a giant puffball. When I say giant - I mean boulder-sized. We divided it and shared it between four families - no point keeping it or trying to store it as puffball goes off faster than anything else I know. When fresh, the soft white flesh is fantastic - like a sort of fungi-flavoured marshmallow. Fried in butter with a little salt and ground black pepper - that's all you have to do.  Incidentally, I have been told that if all the zillions of spores from one of these giants actually fruited and grew as large as its mum - then the earth's surface would be 28 feet thick in puffball. But then, perhaps that's one of those magic mushroom facts.   I have to say that I love hunting for fungi as much as I love eating the stuff. The enchantment of the mysterious mycelium is never lost on me. There's nothing better than a stroll into quiet, dark, ancient woodlands to discover these wonderful morsels peeping out of a mossy bank. I've noticed that, somehow, you get your eye in. The first cep can be difficult to find - but once you've found one, you're on your way to victory.So what to do with your find of field mushrooms? The very best thing is to enjoy them as simply as you can, which means frying them in good local butter, allowing the black juices to evaporate in the heat, before placing them on a thick slice of good bread smeared with yet more good butter. I sprinkle the whole lot with Maldon salt and use fresh ground white pepper rather than black.  Field mushroom soup is as easy to make as it is delicious. Fry the washed and cleaned mushrooms along with a little garlic and one or two crushed cardamom pods, then add as much whole milk as seems reasonable after you’ve taken about a quarter of the mushrooms out of the pan to add later. Bring the whole lot to a warm simmer – add a slosh or two of good quality Japanese soy sauce at this stage – and cook on an extremely low heat for half an hour.  Allow to cool, pick out the cardamoms, then blitz the whole lot with a hand-blender. Add the reserved fried mushrooms to give the soup a satisfying texture. Reheat, stirring in some butter or a little Greek yoghurt along with copious amounts of fresh ground black pepper and a little salt to taste.     To read about our Exmoor walks click here