Another Lundy article - and why not? I am a fan of the island and the place is suffering from a lack of summer visitors this year because of the coronavirus - which is a shame because it costs the Landmark Trust an awful lot of money to keep it all going. Articles can sometimes be a bit evangelistic, as if we’re saying: “Look - here’s this thing - try it, do it, enjoy it…” Well, if you don’t like that sort of approach, best not read any further… Because this article is unashamedly about persuading you to experience the delights of preparing and eating the West Country’s amazing maritime harvest right next to the place where it was caught. It’s a well known fact that, for some mysterious reason, food tastes better outdoors. It is also a fact that localness can help hugely with freshness, when means things are bound to be more delicious.  But the real reason we’re being evangelistic about buying and eating West Country seafood is that a huge percentage of it is exported abroad before it even has a chance to stop flapping straight from one of our trawlers. When we journeyed out to Lundy this week to have a beach barbecue for this article, we were joined by a well known North Devon fish processing worker known to one and all as Birdseye - and he pointed from the decks of the MS Oldenburgh to five trawlers which were chugging endlessly up and down the mouth of the Bristol Channel.  “They’re after squid,” said Birdseye. “Right now they’ll be catching those tiny ones they love so much in countries like France and Greece. Later tonight a big artic’ lorry will come down to Appledore and the whole lot will go for export. Every single one.”  Now, I don’t know about you, but this seems a terrible shame to me. The likes of Appledore ought to be groaning under the weight of permanent fresh fish-stalls selling delicious local catches.  Indeed, Appledore should be one of the West Country meccas for food lovers who turn up in droves drooling at the mouth.  That’s what would happen if the estuarine town was located on French or Spanish shores. But instead of that, we Brits shrug our shoulders - then, after watching TV chefs extolling the delights of fresh local seafood, we try to go out and find it, fail, and return home via a supermarket where they sell seafood that is… Well, that is not exactly still flapping fresh.  There is one man in North Devon who is desperate to change all this - and indeed who runs his own fish-stalls at local markets. I suppose we could have called him Desperate Dan, if his much better known name wasn’t Dan the Fishman. Dan is an unashamed evangelist when it comes to West Country seafood, and as such he occasionally invites me to a beach barbecue or picnic where we get to cook the finest of fresh catches right next to the place where the stuff was taken from the sea.  This week, it was the turn of Lundy - an island famed in fishery circles because it has, for a long time, been surrounded by a marine protection zone - originally put in place by fishermen rather than conservationists - which has helped increase the natural restocking ratios of various species.  And here’s what Dan had to say about our seafood day out which began by us leaving Bideford aboard the Oldenburgh… “I used to be one of the lifeboat coxswains for the Clovelly lifeboat - and living in the village I’ve always considered Lundy to be one of my neighbours - so returning as Dan the Fishman is very special to me. It has a marine conservation zone, so cooking there will be an extra treat.  “Not only are we going to be looking at the sea where the fish are caught, but travelling across it - so aboard today we are preparing a little breakfast of West Country kippers steeped in a hot pan of water, served with - believe it or not - coarse cut marmalade. The combo works! It’s a flavour thing.  “You’ve got to get the sequence right - you’ve got to get the kipper in the mouth first, but you have to dab just a little bit of bitter marmalade on it just like a relish. We are serving that hand-held in a bap, with bread made by a local baker overnight.”  In case you’re wondering if the kipper-and-marmalade combo worked, several passengers were handed baps and a Chinese woman said she believed the dish would go down very well in the north of her native country. Which could mean more of our precious fish will be exported rather than less… Anyway, back to Dan and his Lundy adventure master-plan… “When everything has settled down on the voyage, we are going to feed Captain Jerry, and his eight-man crew, with an early lunch as a little thank-you. It’s going to be a selection of smoked fish from Dieter Wirtz at Plaistow Mills. We’ve got Exmoor smoked trout and a gravlax made of trout - and I’ve made our own smoked trout pate. It’s a really nice combination.” Halfway through the two-and-half hour crossing we took the splendid platter of smoked fish up to the bridge, much to the delight of skipper Jerry Waller. “This doesn’t happen often enough,” he beamed. “We normally have a four star lunch - in the winter it’s a roast and in summer it’s salad - but it is wonderful to taste some local fish.  “The crab and the lobster here are definitely improving,” he said, scanning the unusually smooth blue sea that lay between the ship and the big green island. “The local fishermen have been telling us about a few problems that were caused by the winter storms, but this has been a great new season for us.  “In fact, it’s been the best we’ve had since 2007 - and we are really hoping the summer will carry through August and September. At this time of year we are doing three Lundy sailings a week, and as we move into July that will go up to four.” So that will give readers plenty of opportunity to try this island beach-cooking adventure for themselves… A statement which caused me to ask Dan Garnett (to give the Fishman his real name) what other treats he had lined up… “If we are feeling peckish at any time I have prepared a few local lobsters for some simple straightforward lobster sandwiches - which will have a bit of mayo and Dijon mustard put together in some nice sourdough bread,” said the ever-ebullient purveyor of fish.  “On the island we are setting up with some very simple, small-scale, camping stove equipment to show just how easy it is to get everything into just one rucksack. It allows you not only to just enjoy being by the sea - you can cook and eat outdoors which gives you the whole experience.  “So we’re going to cook it, eat it - and taste the sea. We have the very first of this season’s large mackerel - I have picked out some very nice fish which we will fillet. The mackerel will be a main course - simply fried skin-side down, served with an elder-flower and gooseberry relish and a warm citrussy potato salad.  “For a little starter we’re doing Lundy beach scallops in a simple marinade with Cornish chilli sea salt - served on a bed of small glass noodles - washed down with some beautiful wine which has been donated to us from Bray Valley Wines. The help I’ve had for this little expedition has come from quite a few family businesses - so this can be a fabulous day out that any of your readers can enjoy.” As we prepared to land on Lundy, Dan concluded his bout of fishy evangelism: “The hi-tech lightweight kit you can buy now to cook on outdoors is amazing - so there’s no point in just taking sandwiches. Get adventurous and cook something out on the beach. That is the ultimate way of enjoying this North Devon coast.”  As we went ashore we were met by my old friend Derek Green, Lundy’s general manager, and he welcomed our mission: “We have one main beach in the landing bay which stretches 300 yards, so there’s plenty of room for your readers to come and enjoy the seaside here and have a barbecue.  “Lundy has been leading the way for marine conservation for over 40 years now,” said Derek. “Having a no-take zone here means that areas fully populate, then species spill out to other areas. And the fishermen are benefitting from that - the lobster, crab and scallop catch around Lundy is better now than it’s ever been.  “So we are delighted - it just goes to show how sustainable fishing can actually work in partnership with conservation,” added the Lundy manager who told me his island plays host to more than 16,000 day-visitors a year. “We very much encourage people to come and enjoy the great outdoors which the island has to offer - and on a day like this we will often smell the aroma of barbecues - which is fantastic.” And indeed, it was fantastic. As Dan gutted, filleted and fried, local gulls enjoyed the cast off bits and bobs - and a great gang of human outdoor fish-consumption enthusiasts ate their fill.  One guy who’d come along to help was a retired professional whose work for nearly 40 years had taken him to just about every country on the planet - and as we returned to Bideford quay after a long, long day he said: “On a day like this you couldn’t have a better day out anywhere. And I mean anywhere. The views, the food - the whole experience. I sometimes wonder if West Country people really realise just how lucky they are.” Lundy  Beach Scallops This tempting one pan dish is one of the fastest to prepare and cook. Serve as a generous starter or make larger for a main course. Best served as a summer beach picnic or as a garden treat. Ingredients Serves four 4 scallops per person (with corals) Olive oil (4tbsps) Good pinch of Cornish chilli sea salt  Garlic paste (1tsp) 2 Finely chopped spring onions Finely chopped Fresh ginger (1 tsp) Ground black pepper White wine ¼ glass 1 lemon Small pack of glass or fine noodles Method Cook noodles for one minute in lightly salted boiling water. Drain and set aside, cover with foil to keep warm.  Pour olive oil into small bowl, add pepper and sea salt. Put the scallops into the seasoned oil Heat the remaining oil, add the spring onions and cook gently without allowing to brown. Add 1 teaspoon of the garlic paste and half a teaspoon of the chopped ginger,  cook for a further 2 minutes. Increase the heat and add the drained scallops. Sear for approximately 45 seconds each side. Add the wine followed by the warm noodles. Adjust the seasoning to taste. Heat through and serve with a fresh squeeze of lemon. Enjoy the flavour and the view!

We stayed at a good hotel located in a fantastic little coastal town on the Naples side of the Sorrento peninsula. A fact which offers daily sunsets of fabulous dimensions as you sit on the terrace of the Hotel Mary in Vico Equense sipping gin and tonics watching the great orange orb descend over the distant isle of Ischia each evening.  What I particularly liked about staying in Vico Equense during the end of busy August was that it is just to one-side of the most popular parts of the Sorrento and Amalfi area. Beautiful, yes - but nowhere near as filled with tourists. Indeed, the only visitors you see in and around Vico and its two bays are Italian holidaymakers.  Not that this being slightly to one-side of the main tourist area is in the least bit inconvenient - the entire area is well served by an excellent public transport network which we used to go out sightseeing or walking. The peninsula is served by a fast and efficient railway which is just 10 minutes walk from the hotel and by numerous bus routes - although we relied on a specially chartered coach the one day we took it really easy went sightseeing along the entire length of the Amalfi coast.  So, that’s the basic set-up for the holiday - now for a few details of the things we enjoyed. On the first day we took a look bus high above Vico Equense to eventually alight in one village and walk up to Santa Maria de Castello. And this is where the wow moment hit us - we’d not realised that by walking just a few metres past the church in this altitudinous place, we’d be treated to absolutely stunning views of the entire Amalfi Coast.   With the popular resort of Positano lying many hundreds of feet below, a handful of us decided to ignore the August heat and descend by ancient Roman donkey track, down, down, down, all the way to the shoreline. After a two-hour trek and a pasta lunch in one of the many seaside restaurants amid the crowds, we climbed aboard a ferry to return to Sorrento - a truly picturesque voyage which took us right out around the cliff-lined peninsula.  It was then a matter of taking the ten-minute train ride back to Vico to end what was one of the best days out I’ve had in years.  Another day took us to Pompeii - and, again, there’s not much about this I can say here because everyone will have read many things about this hapless town before. However, I must mention the guide used by RWH because, let’s face it, endless old ruins can become a bit wearisome no matter how historic - especially when you’re among giant crowds on a cripplingly hot day. But Gaetano Manfredi is simply the best historic guide I’ve ever witnessed in action. Born and bred a few metres from the ruins, he is a third generation guide to the place - and he really does what he boasts: i.e. put flesh on the bare bones.  I was enthralled by every minute of our two-and-a-half hour tour and would recommend anyone planning a visit to Pompeii to contact Gaetano through his website - www.pompeiitourguide.com . After that we let a four-wheel-drive bus take the strain - and what a strain it was. It hauled us nine-tenths the way up the mountain which caused Pompeii so much infamous grief.  The final 25 minutes to the top of Vesuvius was done on foot, but there’s a well laid path that takes you to the lip of the volcano where you not only see the smoking crater but get unbelievable views of the Bay of Naples. I’ve mentioned another day when a luxury coach came to pick us up and ferry us along the coast to Amalfi, which is a fabulous town despite the madding crowds. From there the bus climbed all the way up to Ravello which is stunning - boasting, as it does, not one but two gardens of worldwide renown. We went to the exquisite demesne at the Villa Cimbrone which was a favourite haunt of the Bloomsbury Group. Most famous of all though is the fact that Greta Garbo and her then-lover, the conductor Leopold Stokowski, used the villa several times as a not-so-secret secret bolt-hole in the late 1930s. The Belvedere - or Terrace of Infinity as its sometimes called - offers the best views of any garden in the world. I am by no means the only person to have made that claim, but, be warned, do go out there if you suffer from vertigo. By the way, the great thing about doing all these things with a Rambler Worldwide Holiday guide is that they know local traders, like the owner of a little cafe in a back street near Villa Cimbrone who will spoil you once he knows you are with RWH.   On another day we explored the streets of charming Sorrento - yet another location that needs no description from me. This world famous resort is every bit as charming as its endless travel write-ups claim it to be - but I must put a word in for the excellent Foreigners’ Club which boasts endless panoramas of the Bay of Naples and the best gin-and-tonics south of Venice. If you like the novels of Graham Greene or the short stories of Somerset Maugham - then this place is a kind of wondrous living museum. Another day saw us travelling right out to the very end of the Sorrento peninsula by local bus to an aptly named town called Termini. It really is the terminus - you can’t go any further - but you can hike to the top of the church-crowned hill that looms over the actual point (Punta Campanella) to enjoy some of the best views available from one single spot anywhere in Europe.  This really is a land of panoramas and belvederes. A vertical world of fabulous food and wine, great charm and some secret corners that still remain available only to those willing to don walking boots and hike.

11 Cardinham Woods Cardinham Woods is the place which gives the lie to the mistaken adage that the best of Cornwall is always found within 100 yards of the sea.  The forest is beautiful – and although lots of it is the kind of coniferous timber woodland planted as a cash crop, there are sylvan swathes that remind us what a great deal of Cornwall must have looked like before mankind started clearing everything he could. We don’t tend to think of Cornwall as being a wooded county – there are too many coastal heaths and bare downs for that – but actually there are still plenty of forested corners and the Cardinham valley plays host to one of the biggest and certainly the most visited woodland west of the Tamar. We can make the claim because the Forestry Commission has counted the number of people who turn up each year to enjoy Cardinham Woods. And at the last count a truly impressive 100,000 visitors called by to enjoy the 650 acres of mixed forest which lies deep in a valley just east of Bodmin – and they did so despite the £2 fee which you pay to park there. For this is nowadays primarily a recreational forest. So much so that the man who looks after Cardinham Woods for the Forestry Commission is called a recreation manager rather than a forester. And it was Chris Mason who explained how the woodlands are dealt with in a different, more visitor-friendly, manner than most. There are four main way-marked walking trails in the wooded valley system. The shortest and easiest is called Lady Vale Walk after the ancient Chapel of Our Lady which stood beside the river back in the 12th century. Just one-and-a-half miles in length, this is an easy access route suitable for wheelchairs or pushchairs.   The one we were on was the three mile Wheal Glynn walk which makes its way up to the old lead and silver mine of that name. The engine house and chimney can still be seen tucked away amid the trees in a steep sided valley – and you can only wonder how tough the men must have been to not only work here, but to have walked to and from the remote and difficult to reach place each day. As you walk among some of the tallest trees in Cardinham Woods there is a short strenuous ascent, but you will have wonderful views over the forest and a leisurely descent to look forward to. Distance: 3 miles. Time 1.7 hours. Difficulty 4/10 12 Blackdowns Ridge, Somerset  This is an  excellent hike on a spur of the Blackdown Hills high above Taunton. Within a minute of taking to the trail you will be confronted by vast vistas stretching from the Bristol Channel north-east of the Quantocks, south across the great flat redundant seabed otherwise known as The Levels, south again across a series of what were once noble headlands jutting now into nothing more than meadowlands, and south once more to the hills of undulating Dorsetshire. Find Castle Neroche by embarking on a 10-minute car drive from the motorway at Taunton, south up into the steep woodlands of the Blackdowns just above the pretty village of Staple Fitzpaine.  That name might give you some clues as to the origins of the fortress high above. We're into 1066 and all that, with the Normans grabbing what they could of England's green and pleasant land. It was William the Conqueror's half-brother, Robert Count of Mortain, who had the ramparts constructed so that he could keep an austere eye on all those bothersome new subjects. The forest is still there, though nowadays its run by the altogether more democratically organised Forestry Commission. This hike begins by following a section of this east from the car park at the top of the hill. Here you are walking along the ramparts of the old Norman fort, and pretty spectacular ramparts they are. Apart from the breath-taking views the very slopes of the Norman workings are astonishing enough with near vertical drops plunging 70 or 80 feet down into the trees. The path threads its way along the edge for a quarter-of-a-mile or so before dividing, with the Forestry Trail swinging down to the left and our own route continuing right along the top of the escarpment. The path works its way east through fields following the edge of the Blackdown escarpment as it begins to descend in the general direction of Ilminster. Swinging gently south, and always downhill, it avoids Hisbeer's Farm and weaves its way through all manner of hedgerows, enclosed lanes, and copses not to mention crossing a few ditches and streams. At last we reached the hamlet of Hare and the lane which would begin to take us back up onto the hills. We head west eloping a narrow lane which will take you all the way back to Castle Neroche but, never one to take the easy route when there's a convoluted and complex alternative, I turned left halfway up the hill - along the tiny road leading to White's Farm. At the first sharp bend a footpath branches off to ascend the curve of this amphitheatre-like a valley. We turned right once the path had taken us to the lane at the top of the hill and walked the quarter-mile back to Castle Neroche where the ghosts of Norman overlords were beginning to stir.  Distance: 5 miles, Time 3 hours. Difficulty 6/10 13 Trelissick Woodland Walk, Cornwall The hike around the estuarine peninsula at Trelissick in southern Cornwall is perfect in so many ways. It’s centred on one of the most famous National Trust properties in the region; it offers sweeping views containing great sparkling sheets of water; it offers a sense of intimacy with the landscape; it has history, charm and interest in bundles; and lastly it is ideal in length for those who wish to take a pre-breakfast, lunch or tea-time amble. The estate at Trelissick is situated on a spur which is bordered on three of its sides by the River Fal and two of its creeks. This walk takes us around the spur, beginning at the car-park behind the big house. From here our clockwise circumnavigation takes us along the old drive through parkland to what used to be the lodge. After the lodge the walk crosses the road and drops down through Namphillow Wood to a stream which leads into Lamouth Creek. By the small bridge here you'll see what remains of the old watercress beds and you can decide whether or not to extend your walk by strolling out to Roundwood Quay. This is a sort of branch line to the main course of your circular walk, but one well worth taking if the weather is fine and you’re not too lazy or, in my case, hungry. It runs through the trees along the north side of the creek and eventually ascends slightly to what remains of an Iron Age fortress in roundwood itself. Back up the creek and it’s simply a matter of walking down the creek’s southern shore. This rounds North Wood and brings you to the River Fal itself.  As you walk down towards King Harry Ferry the beauty of these riverside woods can sometimes echo with the amplified voices of tour guides aboard the pleasure steamers plying up and down. Other noises join in the general clatter as you approach the ferry crossing,  namely the rattle of the chains which the vessel crosses on and the engines of cars awaiting to embark. Cross the road, and you'll soon be back amid the silent reaches of arcadia as the walk passes down through South Wood to turn the corner into Channels Creek. This superb stretch of the hike takes you down what would - in my bovine analogy - be the cow’s face, and as you proceed down its southward pointing  its nose so you will be treated to better and better views of the Carrick Roads. Eventually you will round the lips of the small peninsula and enter the shores of short and sweet Channals Creek.  Now we turn up the slope to ascend back towards Trelissick House, which you will see on the ridge above. Turn around as you climb and the panorama of the Carrick Roads and the distant sea just gets better and better every step of the way. Distance - 3.5 miles - Time - 1.8 hours - Difficulty -3/10 14 Golden Cap Golden Cap is the highest point along the entire English south coast. It has a bald summit, but it is the first and last parts of our hike which pass through forests.  Golden Cap, by the way, one of the most highly protected places in the region being a key point of the Jurassic Coast World Heritage Site, and being owned by the National Trust as part of its wonderful Golden Cap estate. To find the altitudinous demesne you must reach a hilltop village called Morcombelake on the A35 between Charmouth and Chideock. Just past the garage, over the hilltop heading east, watch out for a tiny lane on the right.  Then, once you've negotiated your way onto it (and be careful, if you’re heading east you must cross a nasty bit of road), follow the turn left marked Langdon Hill car park in the hill-top forest. You'll find the parking place in the woods and from here you have a choice of numerous walking routes. At just over 600 feet the car park is at much the same altitude as the top of Golden Cap itself, so when at last you come to the edge of the trees you are delighted to discover that only a small dip separates you from the great and famous hill.  From this particular angle Golden Cap looks like an Alp - perfectly conical so you think the top must be crowned by a small peak. It's not, because the peak stretches in a tiny escarpment toward the sea, but you only find that out once you've descended a little way down into the dip, crossed a field or two, and then climbed the steep footpath to the top. This first portion of peak allows for breathtaking views of the coast to the east. There is Seatown deep in its gully a long way below, then there are the rolling ridges leading up to Thorncombe Beacon past Doghouse Hill. You cannot see Eype Mouth which is hidden beyond all this, but further still there's a glimpse of the quay at West Bay. It's only a few hundred yards past the Bronze Age burial mounds before you reach the other end of Golden Cap’s plateau, but at the edge of the cliff you are treated to yet another stupendous view. This time it's west, down across the gargantuan landslides that mark this coast - past a million dinosaur fossils to Charmouth, and on again along more of the region's Jurassic Park as the coast rises, reluctantly, at The Spittles - the jumble of cliffs that so haphazardly lead the roving eye around to Lyme Regis. We return by taking the western loop around the woods that crown Langdon Hill. Distance: 2 miles. Time 1.5 hours. Difficulty: 3/10 15 Sticklepath-Belstone Circular The National Trust’s excellent Finch Foundry at Sticklepath is only minutes off the main A30 near Okehampton, and so easily reachable to anyone who happens to be plying between Devon and Cornwall. It also sits at the beginning of a beautiful and satisfying walk.  The foundry is a symphony of water-power – a living working example of how the energy of our fast-flowing streams can be harnessed to make beautiful and practical objects. In this case it is the River Taw that does the muscle work, issuing - as it does - from the bowels of Belstone Cleave.  It is the Cleave, or gorge, which is the venue for this walk.  My advice is to call at the foundry for a visit before starting the hike. Having admired the workmanship of the foundry-men, find the beginning of the walk by following the signposts to Belstone situated across the green at the rear of the car park.  The path wends its way pleasantly all the way up the riverside. Eventually we swing north, crossing the river via a footbridge,  and take the path that leads diagonally up to the village of Belstone. This is a quiet, scenic village full of the joys of mountain air - a highland community that is forever witnessing the donning of walking boots. And Belstone somehow exudes a sense of times past.  We leave it to continue our hike by walking into the moors south of the village. There’s a main track which strikes off under Watchet Hill following the Taw which tumbles down its valley 100 feet below.  At a narrow point we crossed this to gain the westerly slopes of vast Cosdon Hill, which we climbed to the place where Lady Brook meets up with one of Dartmoor’s many disused leats. The old man-made waterway provides a useful guide that shepherds you around the contours.  At its northernmost point we leave the leat and strike off down hill to the point where the moors and therefore the right-to-roam area cease at a corner above Skaigh Warren. Here a pubic footpath strikes of directly down hill to enter Skaigh Wood - and here we turned right to take the path along the top edge of the trees.  This eventually does a dramatic zig-zag and descends sharply to join up with the Belstone Cleave path just a couple of hundred metres from the foundry. Distance: 5 miles. Time 3 hours. Difficulty 5/10

Yesterday we featured five of my favourite forest or woodland walks in the region - today, being another scorcher, I am putting up the next five… 6 Frenchman’s Creek - Cornwall Pure unabashed, unashamed romanticism, that's the theme of this hike. Frenchman's Creek has more of novel's atmosphere than any other literary waterside location. If the tide is out the place literally oozes with the stuff of legend. If it's in then the shimmering tranquillity allows you to mentally plunge straight into the derring-deeds of Daphne du Maurier's brilliant tale. I recommend taking the little foot-ferry that plies across from Helford Passage. There's something special about arriving at the beginning of a walk by boat and anyway, the hamlet on the north side of the river-mouth is a lot easier to get to than the alternative of negotiating the tortuous lanes of the Lizard peninsula. It only takes a couple of minutes to cross to Helford. Du Maurier wrote: "Helford hamlet was no inducement to a sailor ashore, the few cottage folk dull-witted and uncommunicative..." There's nothing dull-witted about the person who can afford one of those cottages now. A lane leads along the creek, past the pub and picturesque abodes, and eventually crosses a stream at a point close to where a footpath sign points to Manaccan. We take the track through the trees until a junction allows us to turn right into Under Wood and climb the hill towards the farm called Kestle which is an ancient farm full of character situated on the ridge of hill that divides Helford from Frenchman's Creek.  Walking through the old farmyard on the public footpath the thought struck me that Du Maurier’s description of walking to the creek fits exactly with the track that leads west from Kestle, down over the hill and into the trees: "Yes, there once again was the glimmer of water that had surprised her. The trees were thinning, she was coming to the bank - and there, suddenly before her for the first time, was the creek, still and soundless, shrouded by the trees, hidden from the eyes of men." The National Trust owns the woods that run from Frenchman's Pill up the eastern bank to the creek and its staff have laid a path along the waterside so that we can enjoy its hidden secret delights as long as we are willing to make the effort of walking there. After half a mile or so the path departs from the waterside and hauls itself up the hill to meet what must be a drive to a hidden house. Turn right here and follow it up to a junction and take another right to follow the road another few hundred yards until you see a public footpath sign upon your left. This takes you down through yet more Trust-owned property - again, deep and beautiful woods - until the right-of-way deposits you in quaint Penarvon Cove. Now it's simply a matter of taking the track to the right which will lead you the quarter-mile or so back to the ferry landing-stage. Distance: 2.5 miles. Time: Under 2 hours. Difficulty: 3/10 7 Lerryn to St Winnow circular Another of my favourite wooded walks - and another which features Cornish creeks. There are rolling hills with panoramic views and there are the deep and silent woods which inspired a corner of one of the most famous books in children's literature. I am talking about the Wild Wood in Kenneth Grahame’s Wind in the Willows .  I begin by crossing the concrete stepping stones cross the creek at Lerryn - then it's up the lane opposite and left through a small housing estate to a public footpath which leads across the fields in front of a grand house called Ethy. Now we enter Wild Wood. That's not it's real name but it really did inspire Grahame to write a chapter in his famous children’s book. After a while you are out of the wood and into what can only be described as a sleepy hollow. Here it’s a matter of finding the path which will take you over the hills and fields to St Winnow.  There is a dream-like atmosphere about this heavenly hamlet which is perhaps propelled at you by the cry of a heron and the ghostly white flash of egret wings. For the second half of the walk we enjoy what must be one of the loveliest riverside strolls anywhere in the West Country. There is not much you can say about this V-shaped route through the woods, which follows the Fowey south before turning north-east into the Lerryn Creek - except that it is a sylvan idyll. The basic walk is just five miles in length - it is fairly level and not too muddy or slippery - and it is one of the very best in the region.  Distance: 5 miles. Time 3 hours. Difficulty 5/10 8 Croydon Hill - West Somerset  Luxborough offers some of the best forested walking country in the South West. You are spoilt choice. The three-part community - consisting of Kingsbridge, Pooltown and Churchtown - is surrounded by forests and hills. But Kingsbridge (where the pub is) is as good a place as any to start and finish because there’s a car park situated nearby just beside the impressively large village hall.   I decided to go up through Chargot Wood so I could catch a glimpse of my old home. To do this I followed the lane due south from the hall to Pooltown and then swung right up the steep road that's marked Dunster. After about 400 metres a track descends left off the road, just opposite Hall Farm. This leads down through some trees, over a stream, past an attractive cottage and then swings due west to ascend gently through some delightful meadows. High above, to the north, on a shelf on the side of the hill, you'll see splendid old Chargot nestling beneath its giant cedar tree. The track continues on into the deep coombe marked on the map as Chargot Wood. The thing to do is take the first forestry track on the right which turns back on itself to climb the slope westwards toward Collyhill Wood. We are now high up on Kennisham Hill, and it's worth mentioning that this entire area was riddled with iron mines a century or more ago. You may have managed to catch a glimpse of an old chimney stack high above Chargot Wood - it's more-or-less the only obvious evidence left that any of this huge industry ever existed. Lype Common lies just to the west of Kennisham and you'll notice that this area is criss-crossed with public rights of way. Here we can either head west to eventually hit the Heath Poult Cross and Timberscombe road, or descend due north to find the track that crosses directly to Luxborough's Churchtown. If you do the former, you're in for a longer walk - a truly enjoyable one that takes you down to the road, right for a hundred metres, and then down the footpath to Old Stowey, before turning east along the bottom of the valley, past Throat Cottages - to Westcott Farm. We followed the right of way descending due north into the valley before making the short climb up to Churchtown. By turning left, or west, at the church we walked a few hundred yards up the lane to find the footpath that heads north across three fields to eventually arrive at a wide track. If we turn right here we can make the gentle climb to yet more vast pinewoods – this time we enter the great plantations which crown massive Croydon Hill.  This is an exciting and fruitful walking zone in its own right – you could spend a week hiking in and around Croydon Hill and never really have to take the same route twice.  On this occasion we are merely skirting its south eastern edge by striding up the higher flanks of Perley Coombe. Keep to your right all the time and after half an hour’s walking you will arrive at a crossroads of tracks on the edge of Withycombe Common.  Our walk requires us to turn sharp right at the crossroads and begin our descent down the eastern edge of Perley Coombe. Down, down, down we go – once again on the border between pine-forest and fields – to eventually arrive at what used to be the Forestry Commission’s local headquarters. From here it’s simply a matter of walking 100 yards down the lane and turning right to stroll the last quarter of a mile back to the Kingsbridge part of Luxborough and the pub.    Distance - 8 miles. Time - 3.7 hours. Difficulty 7/10 9 Holford-Crowcombe - the Quantocks This is a a linear hike that crosses the Quantock Hills from one side to the other. Which is not so difficult as some people might think because the Quantocks central ridge is long but thin - from one end to the other would be another matter.  You could easily walk the four miles from Holford, up Hodder’s Combe, over the Quantock ridge and down to Crowcombe, then return via alternative paths. But we were having lunch at the excellent Carew Arms, so did just the one-way jaunt. In short, this walk is a delightful blend of hauntingly beautiful coombes best enjoyed with a sprinkling of literary banter (I’m referring to Coleridge and Wordsworth who often walked here), followed by lofty ridges with an Ancient Mariner's view of the sea, all washed down with a pint of best bitter in a cosy flag-stone floored English pub.  The hike starts at Holford, a village which is at the foot of one of the most beautiful wooded valley systems anywhere in England. It's easy to find both village green and car park and from here you simply head for the heights on the track to the right of the hill which divides two valleys. This is Hodder’s Combe, and up it you must go to the crest of the main Quantock ridge.  Up here you will be treated to enormous vistas before heading down hill towards lunch. To do this, turn left along the ridge track and follow it in the direction of Crowcombe Park Gate, but take a sharp right before you reach the metalled road. The idea is to get onto the footpath which descends around the northern limits to Crowcombe Park eventually entering the village near Grime’s Farm. From there it’s just five minutes stroll to the Carew Arms, which happens to be one of my favourite pubs - although I admit to having quite a lengthy list of these. Distance 4 miles. Time 3 hours. Difficulty 6/10  10 Lustleigh Cleave, Devon The leafy perambulation around Lustleigh Cleave on the flanks of eastern Dartmoor is one of the finest walks to be enjoyed anywhere in Devon - and the thatched Cleave Inn, located at the centre of the pretty village of Lustleigh, is one of the best pubs I’ve visited in the county. When it comes to alluring place-names, surely few locations in England can boast more seductive an appellation than the valley at Lustleigh Cleave. Author William Crossing described the place as, “One of the loveliest nooks in the whole of Devon.” We are heading for Sharpitor which must be reached by ascending steeply through the woods just south of the hamlet of that name. The narrow track is clearly marked and passes between two gardens before issuing out into the trees. After the climb we are introduced to the spectacular, gaping abyss of Lustleigh Cleave. We can stand on a rock called the Nut Crackers and admire at the vastness of the great rift and see Houndtor Wood just opposite, curving up its steep coombe to Becka Falls. Higher still there’s lonely Manaton guarding its distant marches. As we proceed north-west along the edge of Lustleigh Cleave, so the views between the trees open up to reveal the mysterious and complex flanks of Dartmoor's north-eastern territory. The rocks at Harton Chest make the most glorious picnic spot I know. Further north-west we come to Hunter's Tor - a massive collection of granite bed-rock and boulders that dominates the corner of this spur of hill. Now we bid farewell to sweeping views and descend by taking the footpath past Peck Farm and swing left down under Hunter's Tor to Foxworthy. Here we find the bridleway that weaves its way through woods under the ramparts of the Cleave. Just below the Nut Crackers there's a chance to turn right downhill, and this path swings around to join a track to Pethybridge. Now we simply find the footpath that curves around the little hill, through the wood and onto the tiny lane that leads back down to Lustleigh and its community orchard. Distance 6 miles. Time 4 hours. Difficulty 7/10

“If we sing of the woods, let them be woods of consular dignity,” wrote the poet Virgil in ancient times.  I’ve never really understood what that means, but this region’s woodlands retain wondrous amounts dignity, consular or otherwise. Which is one reason I like walking in them so much.  And today it’s hot. Tomorrow is meant to be even hotter - so walking in a cool forest could be a good plan… Trees are good friends to mankind in all manner of ways. We can make things out of their wood and they provide a fabulous habitat for all manner of plants and creatures. They also act as a valuable carbon sink in these times when humankind seems so hell bent on wrecking the planet with our love of cars, consumerism, convenience and easy indoor living.  But these things come at a price - and I’m not just talking about the planet’s atmosphere. Humans were not really designed to live in the modern rat race or in vast cities made of concrete - and trees, or forests, offer a kind of gentle salve or cure.  Research studies carried out in many countries over the past decade have show that when people walk or spend time in forests, they relax, calm down and generally chill out - all of which can conjure better health. Some countries like South Korea are now planting large forests in and around large cities to afford their hard working populations a natural way to tune their ravaged souls and feel better about life.  Here in the West Country we have a great many forests, copses and woodlands. And we have the excellent Forestry Commission which owns and manages large tracts of land across the peninsula. And the good news about the FC is that it has changed the way it plants trees down the years - no longer do they cover massive acreages with big black forests of endless, lifeless, conifers. Carefully selected mixed planting which incorporates many indigenous species is more the order of the day - which makes such forests far more pleasant to walk in.  Also the Forestry Commission welcomes walkers to stroll its many tracks and rides unless, of course, large scale clearance operations are underway - which they happen to be in several of my favourite forests at the moment.  The other things about forests and woodlands is that they can offer wonderful shelter belts for walkers to enjoy at this time of year when midwinter storms are raging through.  I can remember one day in particular a few years ago when I was intending to do a walk on Dartmoor and the wind and rain were so savage my car was swaying from side to side as I drove past lonely Warren Inn. A few miles later I pulled into Bellever Forest and enjoyed an hour-long hike in the most gentle of conditions. I could hear the gale booming in the distant outer trees, but where I was in the heart of the forest you could have dropped a feather and it would have landed at your feet.   Walking is an important form of exercise for those of us who do not play regular sport or go to the gym - which is why its a good idea to keep putting one foot in front of another even in winter. A recent Natural England survey found that a massive 57 per cent of people said a walk or a ramble was the main activity enjoyed on any kind of outdoor leisure visit they made. “It’s been shown that the great outdoors is the best motivator to keep people walking and active,” said a Natural England spokesman. “It’s also the easiest form of exercise to make part of your daily routine and the significant effect it can have on reducing or coping with stress really can make a difference to peoples’ lives.” Exercising outside can improve concentration for several hours afterwards and makes you more resilient to stress or helps cope with stress. Walking protects our joints from wear and tear thanks to muscle build-up - and it improves your immune system for up to 24 hours after a walk which can help prevent you from catching a cold. If you walk for 30 minutes a day you can burn off 2,000 calories a week (the equivalent of six Mars bars) or 150 calories per mile. That may not seem like a lot but walking and keeping fit also increases your metabolism, so it’s good for you even when you’re not doing it. As I’ve mentioned above, research shows that our stress levels fall within minutes of contact with nature – good for body and mind And walking crosses all generations so everyone can get involved. Research has shown that if children haven’t had the opportunity to be in the natural environmental on their own before the age of 11, they’re unlikely to use the great outdoors in later life and therefore benefit from the stress relieving qualities the outdoors can bring. So - taking this dual theme of walking and forests - I put together a list of some of the best woodland hikes in the South West for you to enjoy. I’m not claiming that every step of every walk will be surrounded by trees - some are but others will include copses, woods or forests along the way.  Here’s the first 5 - will put the second 5 up tomorrow, and so on… 1 Bicknoller-Weacombe Circular - the Quantock Hills This is an example of a walk which includes woodlands, but which also features high ridges and moors. A variety which makes it one of the best short walks in the region. The basic hike, set in the north Quantocks, starts at Bicknoller and runs along the fringe of the moor to Weacombe, then turns up that valley to Bicknoller Post before returning down Bicknoller Coombe. At Bicknoller you might be best advised to park down in the car park down by the village hall because there’s not much room in the lane that leads up to the coombe. Walked up to the entrance of the valley and, before entering its hallowed confines, turn left and take the footpath that fringes the hills as it heads for Weacombe. This is a particularly pleasing part of the jaunt as it affords sublime views of the Vale of West Somerset. Weacombe announces itself with the dramatic abruptness that is typical in hills carved out of soft red sandstone. The tiny stream has had a relatively easy job of it over the years, and now the coombe is deep and steep. We turn right into it and proceed up the stream-side to enter the bosom of the hills… Up and up Weacombe goes, to eventually fork at its upper end. We take the right hand path and climb to Bicknoller Post. There is, indeed, a post there to announce the fact… It marks the watershed junction between Weacombe to the west of the ridge and the Holford complex of coombes to the east – curiously, the head of Bicknoller Coombe is another mile to the south.  here we are on the main ridge of the Quantock Hills - which boasts some of the best 360-degree panoramas you will find anywhere. We walk along it for a while, keeping right when it comes to the assortment tracks which would take us further along the ridge. What we’re looking for is the next big groove that falls away from the hills to our right – for this is secret Bicknoller Coombe. And all we have to do is walk down it to find the place where we started – or, better still, to continue on into Bicknoller where there is an excellent pub to hand.  Distance: 4 miles. Time: 2.5 hours. Difficulty: 4/10. 2 Bellever Tor Circular - Dartmoor The great thing about this short walk is that the exercise you get by climbing Dartmoor’s most central tor is richly rewarded by fabulous panoramas from the top.   Park at the small car park on the Two Bridges-Moretonhampstead road at Higher Cherrybrook Bridge. From here a track ascends gently to the east. After a few hundred yards it enters the forest, where it’s simply a matter of continuing east until you come across a wide, deforested swathe of land that sweeps southward to Bellever Tor.  It’s one of the only tors which offers views exclusive to the national park. In other words, Dartmoor is all you see. That’s because Bellever is situated plonk in the middle of the national park’s central plateau and you cannot peer beyond the edges to the larger world beyond. People have been living in or visiting this area for a long, long time - the whole area is rich in archaeological remains such as cairns, cists and old field systems.  To complete the walk, descend due east of the tor to re-enter the forest at a point where a small path threads its way down the hillside to eventually join one of the Forest Enterprise tracks. Following this north along the contour, continue until you reach Kraps Ring – the remains of an ancient settlement at the opposite end of the clear-felled swathe to Bellever Tor - then simply return west along the forestry tracks to Cherrybrook Bridge. Distance 3 miles, Time 1.5 hours, Difficultry 2/10   3 Ashclyst Forest - Central Devon From our earliest age we are made aware of big dark forests – they are fairytale places where big bad wolves live and where we humans get horribly lost. Novice hikers might be tempted to take a bag full of white pebbles with them, like Hansel and Gretel. Far be it from us to suggest readers deposit any kind of object into one of our environmentally immaculate forests. Instead, let’s go to Ashclyst Forest – one of the largest tracts of ancient woodland in the region – situated not in the back end of ancient beyond but just a short witch’s broom-ride from the M5. It is rich in way marked walks and it should be impossible to get lost. Ashclyst is not only easy to reach, but hugely enjoyable - having been well preserved by its owner the National Trust. There are several car parks but the main one, situated at OS grid ref SY 001995, has an interpretation board showing the various way-marked trails which vary from 1.5 miles to a total of seven miles in length.  The board also gives a brief potted history of the forest, which is interesting because you get the distinct feeling that up here - out of earshot of the modern world - this is how much of England used to be. We recommend the Trust’s Butterfly Walk - leisurely stroll along sunken lanes and woodland rides and through broad-leaved and coniferous woodland, good for fritillary butterflies, white admiral and other butterflies. It can be a bit muddy in winter on this clay ground - for directions see the interpretation board or visit www.nationaltrust.org.uk/killerton . Distance: 4 miles. Time: 3.5 hours. Difficulty (when wet) 6/10 4 Heddon’s Mouth Woody Bay circular - Exmoor Coast Another hike that passes thought woodlands but which also features a wild, rugged and extremely scenic coast. This walk always features in my Top Ten of Wonderful West Country Walks. The perpendicular plod which meanders from Heddon's Mouth to Woody Bay and back again would certainly be up there among the best-sellers. It boasts views by the vista-load, history by the ancient, dusty, book-full and enough solitude to wither a lonesome pine. The first part of this hike is down Heddon's Mouth Cleave - which really is one of the steepest, deepest valleys to be found anywhere in the West Country. It runs straight out of the depths of Exmoor down to the sea, and the fact that there's an excellent hostelry deep the bottom of the great gulch is almost thrown into insignificance by the grandeur of it all. You can park near the pub in the small car park opposite the National Trust visitor centre which will tell you all about the remarkable terrain. Then, walk past the inn (you will need refreshment on your return) and follow the road around the bottom of the valley towards Trentishoe. After a quarter of a mile you will see the footpath leading to the beach on your right. It's a riverside mile down to the sea - one of the most dramatic miles in England. In 1827 a local farmer called Jim Hoyle was caught with no fewer than £1,180's worth of brandy hidden under his stable floors. Customs and Excise confiscated the 262 tubs of booze, but lucky Jim escaped through a back window. And now we cross the river to find the coast path which heads in an easterly direction - albeit vertically - out of the valley and along the coast on a section of the right of way which is not for those who suffer vertigo. Eventually there's a climb through the woods towards the upper section of the scattered community of Woody Bay.  Many of the paths around here were put in place by James Hannington, a local curate, and after that an African bishop - who found himself 'rusticated' from Oxford and forced to learn the duties of his calling at nearby Martinhoe. You'll see this rugged little hamlet across a few fields later, but you won't see poor old Hannington who was eventually done to death by irreligious natives deep in the Dark Continent. Eventually we reach the old carriageway near Woody Bay, where we turn right back towards Heddon's Mouth to enjoy the breathtaking views that sweep across the Bristol Channel.  The dramatic headlands which punctuate Exmoor's vertical coast fall over themselves in a queue as they enthusiastically line up to show just who's best at being jagged and dangerous. There's Crock Point, Duty Point, Hollerday Hill above Lynton and Lynmouth and, of course the North Devon Foreland with its lighthouse blinking intermittently above the grey sea. Along the way we pass the remains of the Roman signal-station in which Italian soldiers must have once frozen on guard-duty. After that the track turns into the massive Cleave and takes you dramatically back to Hunters Inn.  Distance: 6 miles. Time: 4 hours. Difficulty: 6/10 - Fernworthy Reservoir Circular 5 Fernworthy Reservoir Circular - Dartmoor Another Forestry Commission treat, way, way up in the moors.  To find the three-and-a-half-mile walk that circumnavigates this reservoir high on Dartmoor you can either follow the brown road signs up into the hills from Chagford, or follow the signs from the Moretonhampstead-Princeton road. Either way is narrow and full of bends. But don’t be put off – Fernworthy is a wonderful place to visit – both in a watery and an arboreal sense. There’s a visitor car park and a scenic picnic area for those who simply wish to stop and admire the reservoir and the magnificent forests – or there’s a choice of hikes for those who fancy some exercise. The round-the-lake walk is probably easiest and most desirable. There seems little point in setting out directions here: a) because a large illustrated map adorns the interpretation board by the car park, and b) because the route around the lake is obvious. The only difficulty is in making up your mind as to whether you should walk clockwise or anti-clockwise. Having looked at Fernworthy on the map, you could assume that the walk would be an unbroken belt of dark conifers. You’d be wrong. After a brief walk through the dark trees you soon find yourself on the other side of the gloom and walking across what used to be ancient fields belonging to the three farms that once made a living up here. Indigenous scrub trees line the way and looked most colourful on the day when we did the walk. It was in 1942 that Torbay council built Fernworthy Reservoir. There’s a plaque by the dam which tells you all about the wartime opening ceremony. There’s a boardwalk that skirts through the trees to the western end of the forest. The wooden way eventually ends in moorland – and now we were on the western shore of the lake. As the reservoir narrows towards the dam you can look across at the remains of a Bronze Age hut encampment on the far bank.  Eventually the path descends under the dry side of the dam. Unlike some of the region’s larger reservoirs, Fernworthy doesn’t have a dam that you can cross. The path winds its way down through a jungle of rhododendron before crossing the river and climbing sharply up the other side. Here we turn right and walk a quarter of a mile or so to regain the car park. What more could you ask for? A lakeside walk complete with forests and moorland views - plus the novelty of historic sights you may never see again.  Distance: 3.5 miles. Time: 1.4hours. Difficulty: 2/10

In the article next door but one, my friend Tim Bannerman mentions a trip to Switzerland taken a long time ago, in which some of his ancestors went up to Zermatt - presumably to look at the Matterhorn. Exactly four years ago this week, I was there. We took the train up to Zermatt, but before going to our historic hotel in that altitudinous and busy town, we caught another train up to the peak Gornergat, which is more than 10,000 feet above sea-level. Indeed the train station up there is said to be the highest outdoor terminus in Europe - the one at the Jungfrau being underground inside the mountain.  The panorama is considered by the Swiss to be one of the most stunning in the country - which is saying something. The view includes the Monte Rosa Massif which boasts the highest mountain in Switzerland (the Dufourspitze at 4,634 m), and a view over the Gornergletscher which is the second-largest glacier in the Alps. Dominating everything is the mighty Matterhorn. After that trip up into thin air we were glad to descend to Zermatt’s Hotel Monte Rosa - a charismatic establishment with a fascinating history. Located at the very centre of town, the Monte Rosa was the mountaineering headquarters of Edward Whymper, the man who made the first ascent of the Matterhorn.  It is said to be Zermatt's oldest hotel and it certainly breathes history from every brick and bedroom. I will never forget the two days and nights I spent there, exploring the mountainous hinterland and hiking right up to the base of the Matterhorn.  I did that after a long night’s drinking and partying in town. The next day all of the press group I was with went off back to their various homes across the world, but I stayed on to explore the region on foot. And at first I did it with a hangover. It took the cable car right up to the terminus just below the Matterhorn, then went on a day long walk which took me around the northern flanks of that extraordinary mountain and then down down down to Zermatt. Alas, I am now too old and unfit to dream of climbing that great rock tooth, but I did enjoy luxuriating in my historic hotel after long high altitude treks in the summer heat.  I visited with the help of the Switzerland Travel Centre e-mail info.uk@myswitzerland.com - for packages, trains and air tickets go to sales@stc.co.uk ). And I stayed at the Hotel Monte Rosa**** Bahnhofstrasse 803920 Zermatt Tel. +41 27 9660333

These two phots of Henry Blofeld taken by Richard Austin remind me of a day I spent at Edgbaston watching cricket with the BBC Test Match Special team. Many years later I interviewed Henry at a hotel in Taunton where he was doing a talk - and I am desperately looking for the recording I made that day because, as usual, Mr Blofeld was highly amusing. But in the meantime, here the report I write for the newspaper immediately after my day in the commentary box many years ago… It wafts across gardens and allotments, it drones in tractor cabs and cars, it echoes in artists’ studios and squeaks in tiny hidden headphones worn by men supposed to be at work. It is more quintessentially English than a cucumber sandwich at a vicar’s tea-party – it reeks of genteel shires more than any old fashioned rose… It is, indeed, the sound - the clarion call - of this nation’s summer. Three letters sum up this audible kingdom: TMS. Test Match Special. Once I loathed it. I used to ask: “How dare the men of cricket hijack my beloved Radio 4?” But that was before I succumbed to its cheerful companionship. Now I am addicted. There’s something reassuring about the day-long, ball-by-ball coverage that is broadcast by the BBC. Something matey and endearing about Blowers chuckling and twittering on about a pigeon. Something sublimely comforting about the occasional, unmistakable, thwack of leather upon willow. You don’t even have to be interested in cricket to enjoy TMS. While the rest of Radio 4 obsesses about women’s illness, world events and consumer affairs, the cricket is a mesmerising experience that can induce hours of reverie.    So, when I was recently invited to one of the high-altars of sports broadcasting – the TMS commentary box at Nottingham’s Trent Bridge – I jumped at the chance. Would the faces behind the voices match my expectations? Would Aggers, Blowers and CMJ be quite as charming off-mic’? Would there be cakes? England were going about the business of gaining their third Test victory over New Zealand, and before I reached the ground I could hear the men from the BBC were in fine voice. The commentary box is situated high in the new Radcliffe Road stand and I had to pass several security checks in order to reach the hallowed eyrie. My first impression was of a library in a gentleman’s club. At the rear of the box three men, surrounded by books, were working with an intensity I hadn’t expected, given the programme’s jocular approach.  The BBC’s cricket correspondent Jonathon Agnew, seemed to be straining at a laptop, while veteran commentator Henry Blofeld referred to Wisden after Wisden.  I’d seen ‘Aggers’ on TV before, but I instantly recognised ‘Blowers’ thanks to his immaculate, rather up-market form of dress. Henry is highly critical of the sartorial eccentricities of others, but his own gear is not exactly low key. On this particular day a chequered blazer was set off by a rakish silk cravat. He has, arguably, the best known voice in British broadcasting. It has the sort of velvet texture that could be produced by a mouthful of port and Stilton – and there is a definite hint of plum too. Blowers employed the voice in hushed tones to welcome me, and moved some books from a chair so I could sit down.  The third student in the library was ex-England cricketer Angus Fraser. His giant frame was hunched over yet more books and he seemed lost in a world of his own. Between us strode a man. Producer Peter Baxter paced up and down like one of those big cats you used to see at zoos where the cages were too small. Up and down he went, constantly glancing at the sheaves of schedules that were attached to a clipboard. Mr Baxter nodded to me in a friendly way, and then continued his endless procession. He paced between the commentators and a table laden with the legendary cakes which female listeners delight in sending to the team.  And there, at the front, by the open window – were the men in the hot seats. Christopher Martin-Jenkins, better known as CMJ, was doing most of the talking. He didn’t look in the least bit like I’d imagined – he is tall and noticeably slight. CMJ invariably speaks with the mannered calm of an airline pilot about land. Much is understated and all is dry.  On his left sat the best known cricket scorer in the world. Bill Frindall, ‘Bearders’ as he’s sometimes known, had yet more books - some open, some shut. His corner could have been renamed Wisden World. He was also using a computer upon which he kept score. And to CMJ’s right was a fellow Westcountryman. Vic Marks is chairman of cricket for the Somerset county team. He seemed to eye me with some suspicion. Several times I noticed him looking across. And then came a moment I shall never forget. When ‘Gus Fraser took over the summariser’s seat, Victor came over and asked which newspaper I was from. When I told him he said: “You’re Martin Hesp. I read your stuff. Get the Morning News everyday.” Talk about chuffed. That a man from TMS should know the likes of lowly me… But it got better. Victor sat down and we began a long chat that covered just about anything and everything. I was rather surprised no one ticked us off for making such a noise, but was too full of a sense of self-congratulation to care.  Aggers put down his laptop and joined our conversation and then Blowers slammed shut a Wisden and told me something of his many years at the microphone.  Suddenly I was bathing in the warm and relaxed sense of friendship for which the TMS team are renowned. Blowers was saying: “I started this lark in 1972. Can you believe it? But Bill has been here longer – he started in 1966. Why do I go on about pigeons? Oh, I love ornithology. I saw a heron only yesterday, and a kestrel. At least, I think it was a kestrel.” I asked Jonathan Agnew what he’d been doing on his laptop. “Emails,” he groaned. And then he asked me how long it had taken to drive from Exmoor. He seemed deeply interested to know why I was up for the Test. Was it so I could grill Vic Marks on Somerset’s recent bad form, he asked. By now Henry was at the mic’ babbling on about helicopters and old fashioned aeroplanes, but soon it was Aggers’ turn and he left Victor and I to carry on chatting. I asked the Somerset man how he’d made the transfer from playing cricket to commentating. “It was in the West Indies,” he replied. “I was 13th man and wasn’t likely to get a knock, and something went wrong with one of the TMS summarisers. Delhi-belly or something. Anyway, they asked me if I could give it a go, and I did. “I don’t think it was a rip-roaring success,” he mused, humbly. “But suppose I must have done something right because they’ve been asking me back ever since.” At this point we could hear Jonathon Agnew telling the cricket listening world something about there being a West Country journalist in the commentary box. I think he referred to the WMN as the Western Morning Gazette – and he said something like: “I don’t know what’s going on in the back of the box, but Victor Marks is being grilled by a West Country reporter who wants to know why Somerset are doing so badly.” Victor tried to correct him about the name of the paper, but by then it was too late. Someone far below was bowling and the all-important cricket once again took centre-stage. My moment of fame was brief and very vague – and it was over. But it was a visit I shall never forget. Every time I’m lazing in my deckchair listening to the sound of summer, I shall recall the warm and friendly atmosphere of its Wisden-laden source. TMS STORY Test Match Special hit the airwaves in 1957 when the BBC became the first broadcaster to cover every ball of a Test match. The slogan for the programme in the Radio Times was: “Don't miss a ball, we broadcast them all.” They still do, but now on Radio 4 198 long-wave rather than on Radio 3 where TMS spent 30 years.   John Arlott was one of the programme’s most celebrated presenters. Bill Frindall remembers the day he met the great man. “He said: ‘I hear you like driving. Well, I like drinking - we're going to get on well!’ So I was John Arlott's chauffeur for 15 years. He was marvellous.”  Blowers will never forget the famous moment when pent up laughter dominated the airwaves for minutes on end. “I suppose my classic memory was at the Oval in 1976 when England were doing better than usual - they were 81 for seven I think. Brian (Johnstone) suddenly announced to an unsuspecting world: ‘Well, I can tell you the bowler’s Holding the batsman’s Willey.” The resulting hilarity has gone down in broadcasting history and has featured on Radio 4’s other perennial favourite, Desert Island Discs, several times.

Here’s another photo which my friend and colleague Richard Austin took a long time ago when we worked together as a reporter/photographer team. I imagine he has others far more embarrassing than this - because it was taken when I was subjected to an entire day of pampering at a place called Cedar Falls, in Somerset. I’ve grown far more used to the concept since then. I must have visited a couple of hundred spas during my press trips around the world - and I’ve been massaged from head to toe. With the exception of one area of the body, I hasten to add, because I am not talking about that sort of pampering. The thing is that when I wrote the article below, I was pretty new to the whole idea. I am of an age where, for most of my life, the idea that a man should have his nails done or anything along those lines was simply out of the question. When I was a young reporter I used to regularly go to a place called the Williton Working Men’s Club where any mention of such stuff would have been so outlandish you’d have been booted out he door. Men wore cloth caps, not cucumber face-masks designed to smooth those wrinkles. Anyway, I’ve got over my male qualms. Perhaps I’ve been in touch with my female side. I don’t know. Nor do I care. But when my pals at Grifco PR and others take me away on exciting press trips to exotic locations around the world and organise pampering sessions for me in expensive spas, I never say no. Just go along with the flow and soak up the experience. .. However, this is the article I wrote some 18 years ago after a day at the Cedar Falls spa… The world of pampering and physical mollycoddling is, traditionally, the preserve of women. Men, certainly those over a certain age, do not tend to put beauty and body-tweaking treatments at the top of their wish-lists. Which is why I was rather surprised to find myself being thoroughly pampered by professional pamperers the other day. And I mean so pampered, I fell into a trance and dreamed wondrous and ecstatic dreams. Which isn’t the sort of thing a forty-something working class lad from a West Country council estate expects will ever happen in his life. Men like me were brought up to avoid physical intimacy with anyone other than our chosen female partner.  In our formative years our bodies, if anything, were things to be protected from punches and kicks dealt by other youths. They were certainly not regarded as things to be beautified or pampered. So imagine how I felt lying propped by pillows in nought but a towelling robe on a comfortable couch as a women approached my bare feet with meaningful intent. Within a minute or two of her massaging the said appendages I had slipped into a rather pleasant half-slumber, which was interrupted when she said: “So you’ve just started suffering a little lower back pain recently?” And she was right, I have just begun to notice a regular discomfort in my lower back, thanks to spending too damned long writing at the computer. But I shouldn’t have been surprised at the accuracy of her assertion – Margaretha is reckoned to be one of the top reflexologists in the UK. So, an hour after entering the hallowed and healthy environs of Cedar Falls health spa near Bishops Lydeard, just a few miles outside Taunton, I was already losing my male-dinosaur take on the subject of professional pampering. By the end of the day, after having just received my full body Clarin’s massage, I was hopelessly addicted. I have not felt so entirely relaxed for many years. If I could afford it, I’d go and spend a day in a place like Cedar Falls at least once a month – and I can recommend the concept to women looking for birthday present ideas for men. Because, as I say, most middle-aged or older chaps in particular wouldn’t dream of booking such a day for themselves.  So here’s a brief outline on my interesting and luxurious day out at a health spa. It began with a swim in the large outdoor heated swimming pool. Then there was a quick burn-up in the sauna, followed by another dip in the indoor pool. I was keeping myself busy in order to keep my mind off that reflexology appointment.  I mean, how could anyone enjoy having their feet rubbed? Far from being fun, that surely would be purgatory?  In fact, it was extremely pleasant. Margaretha’s talk of bodily meridians and so on went a bit over my head – as did her anatomical announcements on this bit of me and that – but the overall effect of the treatment was unbelievably relaxing. Eventually I had to spend 20 minutes sitting on a recliner in the shade of a tree in the beautiful grounds in order to muster energy for lunch.  Which, not surprisingly, was a healthy affair. The leek and potato soup was a model of its kind and the salad buffet was enough to fill a normal fellow at lunchtime without the rather tasty mains of cous-cous and lamb that followed.  One little observation I made in the dining room was how much food my pampered companions were shovelling down their female throats. I say female because Richard Austin and I were the only men in the room. Both trenchermen of note, we were amazed at the massive portions these women – many of whom were overweight – were putting away.  Whether or not it was my own large lunch that caused me to become so soporific during the next treatment, I do not know. But very soporific I became. Carol, the Indian head massage therapist, suggested I might like to undergo a stress-release exercise before the treatment started in earnest because I’d told her about my son being rushed to hospital with a badly smashed arm and how stressed it had made me. “And your job,” she smiled. “Working to deadlines on a daily newspaper must be horribly stressful.” I didn’t tell her that I actually enjoy tight deadlines, which is maybe why she went full bore on the relaxation stuff. Anyway, the result was that I fell into a rather pleasant state of semi-consciousness and remained in it as she massaged my head and shoulders. I was enjoying it immensely. I could feel shoulder muscles popping and relaxing and it all felt wonderfully soothing. And then, suddenly, I was gone. Way, way into some sort of trance I went and can remember walking along a beautiful sand beach in a state of incredible ecstasy.  I can still see that beach now. I jumped when Carol gently awoke me and felt bemused when she said I was one of the most relaxed people she’d ever treated.  That little adventure required another 20 minutes on a recliner. Richard Austin looked at his dozing colleague askance and seemed envious when I drooled over where I’d been. A swim and a steam-bath later and I was ascending the stairs to the beauty section at Cedar Falls for my final treatment. Now, my wife uses Clarins products and is always going on about how good – and expensive – they are, so I was sort of aux fait with what might happen. Or I thought I was. But I hadn’t read the small print on my invitation. It said “full body massage”. Actually, I could have them of the trades descriptions act for that description because, of course, there are some bits more-or-less around the middle of the body that are left out during the massage. Which suited me because I am not that sort of bloke and Cedar Falls is not that sort of place. But every other bit of my body was massaged by the jolly, and extremely professional, Trish. “Oh dear,” she said when working on my mid and lower back. “You are full of knots.” And I was, I could feel the muscles popping as she worked. Back into netherworld I went – this time without the feeling of pure ecstasy – and was only woken by my own snoring.  To be honest, I was so relaxed I don’t how I drove home. Indeed, later some friends who do massage told me that three such treatments in one day were really too much for even the craggiest of male dinosaurs.  Apart from my blissful grin I did have proof of my day’s pampering – I smelled like a million dollars thanks to all those aromatic body oils, and my skin felt like a baby’s. Having experienced such a relaxing series of treatments I now believe that my boss ought to pay for me to go every month. Failing that I am going to leave this article out for my wife to read in the hopes that she will take a hint next time my birthday comes around.

The whortleberry is an ingredient essential for one of our most delicious regional dishes - and I am hearing that the little purple orbs full of juice and Vitamin C are out now. Whortleberry pie and clotted cream is a West Country speciality that wins in so many ways. The cooked whortleberries inside the pie have a unique dark velvety flavour than melds so, so well with thick clotted cream made from cows that graze on the region’s rich grass pastures. The whorts or wurts, as they’re known locally, are a type of bilberry and part of the great delight lies in the actual hunting of the diminutive spheres full of flavoursome juice and vitamin C.  And whort picking used to be part of Exmoor's rural economy. Tom Court, writing in the Exmoor Review in 1967, recalled: "Before and after the First World War whortleberry or 'urt' picking (as it became known) was quite an industry. “Children, sometimes accompanied by their mothers, would set off for the moor early in the morning, with a basket and sandwiches to last all day.... After picking started it was a point of honour not to have our dinner until a certain quantity of whorts had been picked. A mark would sometimes be made with a squashed berry on the side of the basket.” Mr Court went on: “It was everyone's ambition to get a full basket. This didn't often happen, only on a very few occasions when whorts were plentiful, or, as we termed it, 'they were like black hail' did we succeed.” On the one hand: “Great rivalry existed between the different parishes and each was jealous over what was considered our territory.” On the other: “Sometimes, on the way home one of us might be unlucky enough to trip and upset our precious whorts: as many as possible would be gathered up, and the rest of the children would give a handful from their baskets to compensate for the loss.” A far cry from our competitive day and age. As was the fact that the children picked to earn money so their mothers could buy winter clothing. “We were allowed to keep what money we earned on the last day of whorting, so we were usually very energetic on that day,” recalled Mr. Court. In most European countries country people use a simple device which takes the tedium out of picking and which allows you to fill buckets in no time at all. It's a sort of comb with wire prongs that you stroke through the bushes in an upwards motion. These prongs have the effect of popping the berries off the stems, whereupon they fall back through an open flap into a receptacle to which the handle is fitted.  When you finish your stroke and plunge the device back down among the bushes for another go, the flap is shut by gravity - allowing no whorts to escape. You'd think that this system would also pull in any number of stems and leaves, but surprisingly it doesn't and you are left with huge quantities of unsoiled berries. Having used one myself in Finland I can vouch for the efficacy of the whort-picker, and for years I thought the British had somehow missed out on this simple bit of technology. But I have since found a couple of examples in the excellent Lyn and Exmoor Museum.  Years ago for I wrote a newspaper report about how the Australian cricket team visiting Somerset on an Ashes Tour had been served whortleberry pie and cream in a Taunton hotel - a few years later something of a minor media storm was caused when they returned and demanded a repeat of that most delicious of all our regional dishes. That time around the posh hotel in Taunton was for some reason unable to come up with the goods and eventually someone else had to be found to provide the Antipodean cricketers with whortleberry pie and clotted cream. On that occasion the Aussies went on to win the Ashes…

Delights of Catching Your Own Prawns Around UK Coast My friend and colleague Richard Austin took this photo of me many years ago when I still looked comparatively young, although what had happened to my hair on that particular day god only knows. Anyway, the point of this article is to talk about prawns and prawning… There’s a Van Morrison song which ends with a simple observation borne of absolute contentment. “Wouldn't it be great if it was like this all the time,” mutters the old Irish crooner in a strange lilting and poetic little number called Coney Island. “Stop off at Ardglass for a couple of jars of mussels and some potted herrings in case we get famished before dinner…” says Van Morrison as he speaks the words in his gravelly Irish brogue rather than sings them… Not many rock stars intone the delights of preserved seafood in their work. But I have been to Ardglass on Northern Ireland’s east coast and eaten mussels and potted herrings - and then gone on to be lonely but satisfied and nourished on tiny uninhabited Coney Island - so I know just how good such a journey can be… And I would repeat his observation: why can’t life be like this all the time?  That is certainly what I was thinking on a Devon beach last week as I finished a wild foraged prawn cocktail in the sunshine and reflected that it was probably one of the nicest things I’ve eaten this year. Perhaps ever.  And the prawns in question were not preserved, frozen, bottled or jarred. They were very fresh indeed, having been caught by myself and by my chef-lecturer pal, David Beazley, just minutes before. Lovely, juicy, sweet prawns. The most pinky-orange and flavoursome prawns I have tasted a long time.  And at this point I’d like to reflect on the extremely satisfying activity of catching your own food, then cooking it right there and then on a beach. We did it the other day in these pages when we hooked a few mackerel off Lyme Regis - but perhaps I liked this prawning thing even more, because it reminded me of my West Country childhood when we regularly netted these lively crustacea and cooked them for lunch. Okay, so it’s hard work and you‘re going to get wet and maybe cold - and all for a little bag of prawns that you could buy in a supermarket for a couple of quid. Which is immediately untrue because no shop-bought prawn in the world will taste anywhere nearly as good as a fresh one taken from West Country waters… But my point is as much about mental satisfaction as it is about flavour.  As kids, those prawn sandwiches we’d make after we’d nicked a pan and a camping stove off mum would be the very finest things on our summer menu - even if they did only consist of white bread, butter, salt and loads of white pepper.  But the thing about growing up and getting wiser and more experienced as a cook - and befriending someone like the talented Mr Beazley - is that you can do so, so much more with foraged ingredients like the humble hand-caught prawn.  “I just know those leaves will work really well - especially that sorrel,” said David as he put together our prawn cocktail. “Although I am a forager, I am a chef as well - so I know what to pick then I use my cheffy skills to perhaps do something more adventurous with it.” We’ve met David before in these pages - he is a chef-lecturer at Exeter College and he was telling me the other day that he does indeed take his students out on foraging trips. “So many chefs do not know where their food comes from. They pick up a phone and the ingredients are with them next morning. Apart from anything else, going out to where the food comes from can help give you ideas.” Like David’s concept of picking wild leaves growing up on the sea-cliffs above the cove to make an altogether different, more interesting style of prawn cocktail…  “I’ve picked some yarrow because it’s quite structural and looks nice - and its got a mild flavour - some people says its slightly medicinal but I’d disagree with that. It’s quite mild, not grassy - like spinach,” he told me. “I put some sea-beet in, which is actually quite salty - then I put some sorrel leaves in which are quite citrus - so you’ve got that natural lemony cooking-apple taste.  “I’ve put those mixed leaves in the bottom of the bowl just like you would with an iceberg (lettuce) and then I’ve put the peeled prawns on top of that and put some dressing on top of the prawns. A little flick of hot paprika on top - very traditional.” Well, traditional - but with a distinct foraging take. And that is my point. If you know what you are doing you can combine the things you pick or catch and make them into something called a dish. And David prepared another assembly with our fresh caught shellfish, which was a Japanese inspired prawn cocktail that looked a perfect cheffy picture on the plate on a sandy South Devon beach.  It combined a scarlet lick of foraged home-made elderberry conserve with the greens of sea-lettuce and laver seaweeds, both of which David had picked and dried. There was also a white radish, or mooli, he’d picked from his garden. This was finished off by a few spots of bright green shop-bought wasabi paste. Apart from the last two ingredients, the dish really was the cove on a plate. There were elderberries growing up on the cliffs and both seaweeds were abundant down at the low tide mark which is where we’d caught the prawns using a sturdy landing-net David had bought at an angling shop. I won’t give away all David’s secrets - but basically you shove the net along the side of reefs at low tide. Where the rocks meet the sand there tends to be an overhang which is draped in a forest of seaweed - and this is where the spawns hang out to graze, or whatever it is prawns do. The prawners along my own native Bristol Channel coast do exactly the same thing at Watchet - with one big difference… There you cannot see what you are doing in the mud and silted coffee-coloured water, so you are forced to work blind. The resulting hard-labour can be frustrating and punctuated by trips and falls.  Along the South Devon coast the water is clear and you tend to wade across firm areas of sandy sea-bed. The live prawns on both coasts are brown in colour (the Bristol Channel examples tend to be larger, probably thanks to all the nutrient rich silt) - and both turn orangey-pink the moment you throw them into salted boiling water. But the south coast prawns definitely turn a prettier, brighter orange-pink than their Bristol Channel cousins. In these days when environmental concerns about over-fishing etc must, quite rightly, rule the roost - do I think the odd half-hour prawn-hunt does much harm? Perhaps it would, if the entire nation went out and did it. But all the hard work required for a child’s seaside-bucket worth of prawns means it’s never going to become a popular pastime - and I cannot believe one bloke with an 18-inch-wide net can do any damage at all in a chilly 30 minutes.   So is all the fuss worth it? Probably not for a lot of folk. But for me it’s the best thing I’ve done all summer. Indeed, I really do ask myself - wouldn’t it be great, indeed, if life was like this all the time… David Beazeley’s two foraged prawn cocktails and an easy-to-make bisque Peeled prawns Baby sea beet leaves Sorrel Yarrow Cocktail sauce 100g mayonnaise 25g tomato ketchup Squeeze of lemon juice Pinch of paprika to finish Simply build the prawn cocktail as you would using garden lettuce, but use the foraged leaves instead. Japanese style prawn cocktail Dried sea lettuce Dried laver seaweed Shell on cooked prawns Wasabi paste Thin strips of radish Elderberry puree Elderberry puree 100 g elderberries 10g sugar Place in a small sauce pan, cover and simmer for 5 minutes Rub through a fine sieve, add a pinch of salt Arrange all the ingredients on a plate in the most imaginative and attractive way you can - and admire your handiwork while knowing such a dish in a London restaurant would cost you more than 30 quid. Prawn bisque (using the shells/heads from peeling the prawns) 500g shells 100g roughly chopped onion  100g roughly chopped carrot 50g roughly chopped leek/celery 15g tomato puree 50mls brandy 40g butter 40g flour 1 litre water 50 mls double cream Salt Pepper  Melt the butter in a saucepan, add the chopped vegetables and cook gently for a few minutes without colouring them. Add in the brandy, broken up shells, tomato puree and the flour and stir well. Add the water and bring gently to the boil, cover and simmer for 1 hour Pour through a fine sieve into a clean saucepan, the resulting liquid should be the consistency of double cream (add a little water if it is any thicker). Add salt and pepper to your own taste. Before serving reheat, add the double cream and any prawn meat that you managed to save.

During the lockdown I managed to write a 100,000 word novel called The Lemon Tree Forest. I’d dearly like to see it published, of course - but that is difficult for an old country hick like me. But earlier I came across some camera footage which i shot the winter before last when I was in Lucerne with the Swiss Tourism people on a press trip. Here are a couple of paragraphs from the novel… “The village of Weggis is the fourth port of call for the ferries that leave Lucerne, and the first stop after the boat crosses the entrance of a fjord-like bay that extends the lake north to the town of Kussnacht. After the gulf, Lake Lucerne’s northern shore is dominated by six thousand foot Mount Rigi and Weggis is located in a wide bay just beyond the junction of the fjord. The south-facing village extends up across the alpine slopes, which at this point are not as steep as they are further east. After Weggis the ferry goes on along this vertiginous shore to Vitznau, where passengers alight to take the cog-wheel train that climbs almost vertically out of the village up the slopes of Mount Rigi.  It must be one of the most scenic boat rides in Europe. Great mountains come down to the lakeside and they seem to get bigger as the boat cruises east toward Weggis. It’s all  stunning, especially in evening light.  So scenic, that my sense of surrealism had been joined by a vague feeling of romanticism as I stepped down the gang-plank.  Mark Twain visited twice and on the second occasion lived here with his family for ten weeks.  Who could blame him? I remembered the words he wrote after he climbed Mount Rigi and looked out at the view… "We could not speak. We could hardly breathe. We could only gaze in drunken ecstasy and drink it in.”

As we began thinking about some other stories we could put up here on my site my friend and colleague Richard Austin - the famous press photographer - sent me this image of my dear old dad. Needless to say, I could write a book about the man most of the world knew as Peter Hesp, but for time being will repeat a press article I penned 13 years ago… “If you’ve got one of the most interesting jobs in the world, what on earth do you do when you retire? Journalists in particular often face this conundrum because they spend their lives in the thick of things minding everyone else’s business and generally reporting on stories that are interesting enough to make headlines. As roving writer, the distant retirement question is one that often haunts me, but perhaps I ought to be looking no further than the example set by my own journalist father.  Peter Hesp was a well-known journalist working in the West Country for the best part of 40 years – he used to write columns just like mine and generally paint word-pictures of the goings on of the day for his readers. Now he paints pictures in soft pastel.  This weekend the 78 year old will be staging his 15th consecutive annual exhibition since he retired from the wordy world of newspapers. It may seem a little nepotistic of me to be writing about him, but seeing he pinches the odd Hesp’s Hike photograph from me we thought we’d give him a plug. “For 40 years I was writing feature articles trying to please the readers by taking them on imaginary walks on Exmoor,” my father told me. “Then they were wrapping their fish and chips in my words, which was always a little disheartening. Now I’m doing the same thing in visual terms, but at least the paintings last much longer.” Peter specialises in West Country subjects like the rolling moors high above his Selworthy home in the Exmoor National Park. He also loves to paint the coastal scenes he comes across on his regular visits to Cornwall and South Devon.   “When I was a junior reporter in Hull, the women’s page editor was married to the principle of the local college of art and she showed him some of my sketches,” recalls Peter. “He liked them and gave me permission to go into the life class whenever I wanted without actually having to join the college - so whenever I had a spare moment I went in and did some sketching.  “Then I was on a paper in Birmingham and I occasionally did the line drawings for the children’s page so that the kids could colour them in. When I came to the West Country after working in London I started illustrating some of my feature articles with pen and ink drawings, and they seemed to go down well.” So Hesp-senior never had any doubts over how he’d spend his retirement. “I always work in soft pastels,” he told me as he prepared to mount the annual exhibition at Allerford Village Hall. “I love oils but they take too long by the time you’ve mixed them and left them to dry. If you do that you can’t keep the price down to match the market we have here in the Wes Country – but by working in soft pastels I can work faster and therefore keep the price within the range of a regional market.”