Blue Sky Travel

  There are some Sundays that don’t ask anything of you. They simply open the door, hand you a pair of sturdy shoes, and whisper, Go on then — off you go. This was one of those days. Angela and I set out beneath a sky so blue it looked freshly painted, picnic packed, boots laced, spirits already a few notches lighter. Our starting point was the magnificent eight‑arch bridge at Bosherston Ponds — a place that always feels like it’s been waiting patiently for you to return. The ponds were a sheet of stillness, broken only by the soft rustle of lily pads. There were so many that, with a little imagination (and perhaps a touch of foolish confidence), you could almost believe you might step out and walk across them. A heron stood in the shade of the overhanging trees, perfectly still, as if posing for a postcard no one had asked for but everyone would be glad to receive. We followed the familiar path up over the hill, the air warm and quiet, the kind of quiet where voices seem to...

  There's something about the first genuinely warm morning of summer that makes you want to do something worthy of it. That's how we found ourselves setting out from Broadway, the Cotswold Way stretching ahead of us and the sun already pressing warm against our backs before we'd even found our stride. The path rises steadily out of the village, and almost immediately the world opens up. Sheep were scattered across the fields we crossed, heads down, intent on the serious business of grazing. There's a sound sheep make — that soft, determined rip-and-tear of grass — that you don't really notice until the countryside is quiet enough to let you hear it. On that morning it seemed like the whole hillside was making a kind of steady, earthy music. Lower down, where a small stone bridge carries the path over a stream, we came across lambs standing ankle-deep in the cool water, cooling themselves in the shade. Their calls were thin and bright in the still air, quite di...