Not previously published on Wayfarer's . Please note that the links in this post are to the Internet Archive which is currently very slow. It has recently closed down to guard against cyberattack and may be again. Click the link above for source (BBC Radio 4 "Today", 12/12/11 @ 8:20) See also this link for more… Continue reading What is the greatest invention of all time?
Author: Vincent
In One’s Strength
HEALTH WARNING As Bryan has mentioned—see his comment below—this post and its predecessor may be so incoherent and lacking in worthwhile point as to cause nosebleed and/or blackouts in sensitive readers. But let it stand, as readers have taken the trouble to comment. (Continued from previous post) Extract from first day’s transcript, typed up 25th… Continue reading In One’s Strength
The interconnectedness of all things*
* as in Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, by Douglas Adams I’m glad I went to the doctor about my backache. I feel much better now. I learned a great truth which I can’t wait to share with you. It wasn’t the doctor who revealed it, quite the reverse. But he was the catalyst—the midwife!—to… Continue reading The interconnectedness of all things*
The Garden of Remembrance
I walked this morning through Old Amersham, attracted by the flag of St George on the church tower. I felt strong in myself. The beauty of this chilly, sunny morning uplifted me. I was not possessed by the necessities of life, not driven by problems and desires. The present moment was sunlight kissing old stones, well-pruned… Continue reading The Garden of Remembrance
Becoming Animal
I had thought of writing a review of David Abram’s book, Becoming Animal, but the breadth of its vision, the variety of its original ideas, the density of its poetical descriptions would take a long time to digest, before I could say anything of value. It would have been easier if I didn’t admire it… Continue reading Becoming Animal
Infinite are the depths
Some days are special gifts but it takes something else, some extra gift to be able to share them. When I say days, I mean moments within days. And when I say special, I refer to some magic visible only to the inner eye. A day is a torrent of moments which pass us by,… Continue reading Infinite are the depths
Gilgamesh, a book for our time
The Epic of Gilgamesh is the world’s oldest written tale, going back 4000 years. (See timeline at foot of this article.) It has survived by virtue of being impressed on clay tablets buried in the desert in “cuneiform”, the oldest known form of writing, which dates back 5000 years. Only with the work of generations… Continue reading Gilgamesh, a book for our time
An exercise in Unknowing
But it is looking like something new in philosophy, and we hope entertaining too, as well as deep. When I say deep, I mean that the reader will be inspired to go deep, without the intellectual exercise being at all painful. The aim (that is, my aim—Bryan can do what he likes) is to understand… Continue reading An exercise in Unknowing
Capturing the Moment
I was going to write about Wales. And then I was going to write about child looters rampaging the evening streets of English cities. I probably won’t finish either of these essays though they exist in partial drafts. So here instead are a few photos of a recent camping trip. You can click on them… Continue reading Capturing the Moment
When memory strikes
Why do people remember where they were when they heard of the death of President Kennedy? I have a mental snapshot of my precise surroundings when I heard of the deaths of King George VI, Marilyn Monroe, John Kennedy, John Lennon and Princess Diana. As to when Martin Luther King and Elvis Presley died, I… Continue reading When memory strikes
Life-illusion
My last ended with these words: We make ourselves blind to the fact that our lives are not actually ruled by reason. They are ruled by pursuing whatever makes us feel all right. We then apply reason to tell ourselves that what makes us feel all right is “the truth”. This thought needs full explanation.… Continue reading Life-illusion
Mission
The photos alongside were taken on a walk in Flackwell Heath I confess to a constant need: to have a sense of mission. I don’t suppose this makes me any different from any other man—I specifically mean man as opposed to woman, child or any other specimen from the imaginative catalogue of God’s creatures. I… Continue reading Mission
Fight Club: the Movie & Book
originally part of this post. I might feel different from everyone else in some ways, but in other men I do recognise myself, at any rate in literature and film: for example in Fight Club. Have you seen it? Edward Norton’s character, the nameless narrator, was me. Through his eyes I too was fascinated by Brad Pitt’s… Continue reading Fight Club: the Movie & Book
Museums and Women
Lately I seem to be getting more from literature than from life. A misleading observation, since reading is an act performed like any other, in life, as opposed to a dream. Again, this is misleading. Leisure reading fires the imagination as dreams do. By "life" we sometimes mean living, in the sense of an interactive… Continue reading Museums and Women
Sisyphus and the Rolling Stone 4
I've always been irritated by the stilted translation of Camus' famous book by Justin O'Brien, and offered my own to the publisher, Penguin Books.They informed me that this translation was copyrighted as the only translation, so my efforts were a dead duck. I'd read French and Italian literature for my degree at the University of… Continue reading Sisyphus and the Rolling Stone 4
Homer’s Odyssey
It matters a lot which translation of a book you read. I confess to being super-fussy about these things. I hear a piano concerto or symphony, for example, and compare it unfavourably with one which impinged on my consciousness years ago, perhaps in my teens. (You’ll have to trust me on this. It’s the impinging,… Continue reading Homer’s Odyssey
Affinity
Why do I write, if I can’t write any better? But what would become of me if I didn’t write what I can, however inferior it may be to what I am? In my ambitions, I am a plebeian, because I try to achieve; like someone in a dark room, I’m afraid to be silent.… Continue reading Affinity
Dreaming spires
Oxford is everything that my own town is not, and it’s only 30 miles away. I decided Park and Ride was the best way to enter in triumph, using my new electronic bus pass, on a superb day in June, discovering that the students are in exams and the streets are a motley of tourists.… Continue reading Dreaming spires
Blessed by the sun
I step out of the house for the daily ritual of meeting Karleen from work. My route involves shortcuts through alleys. A perfect ritual has no practical purpose, no sense of obligation. It’s done for joy alone. Its sacredness within the rhythm of daily life increases on every repetition. Its tendency to sameness draws attention… Continue reading Blessed by the sun
Head and Body
Excised from accompaniment When I practised as a therapist I would sometimes get frustrated at my patients’ use of the pronoun “I”. Despite being taught that the sense of self is composed of “head” and “body”, they couldn’t stop speaking from a head-mind which functioned in proud isolation, peopled with its own constructs. They often… Continue reading Head and Body
In the thistle-field, at dawn
I lie in bed watching dawn’s rosy fingers light up the house opposite, creeping lower as the hour advances. This street is narrow, its houses joined together (‘terraced’) in a continuous chain on both sides. You’d think there’d be scant room for the low-slanting rays to penetrate. But our house is near the street’s eastern… Continue reading In the thistle-field, at dawn
In the thistle field, at dawn
I lie in bed watching dawn’s rosy fingers light up the house opposite, creeping lower as the hour advances. This street is narrow, its houses joined together (‘terraced’) in a continuous chain on both sides. You’d think there’d be scant room for the low-slanting rays to penetrate. But our house is near the street’s eastern… Continue reading In the thistle field, at dawn
By Bus and Canal
When I take a bus ride, I journey to the past. Subconsciously, this is my intended destination, for I could have taken the car instead, and “saved time”. I have no reason to save time any more. Now is my invitation to spend it freely; to use if I wish to sift my past, like… Continue reading By Bus and Canal
Lisbon
To mark a double celebration, we took a few days off in Lisbon, a city of beauty and charm which I’ll try and convey in snapshots rather than words. Click on any picture to enlarge it. Our hotel was not far from the great Praça do Marquês Pombal, above. I didn’t discover who the Marquess… Continue reading Lisbon
Perspectives and Remembrance
The emblem of this blog is a weathervane with a gilded Centaur, standing above a cupola on top of the 18th century Guildhall, in the market square of High Wycombe, built where two main valleys cross. There are smaller valleys too. Wherever thou goest, thou canst lift up thine eyes unto the hills, like the… Continue reading Perspectives and Remembrance
Possessed by a god
Suppose I took it on myself to explain what a blog is, to someone who’d never encountered the idea. How would I go about it? Is there a common root to which all blogs are connected? I’m not thinking so much of topics, which are clearly as diverse as the authors themselves. But I wonder… Continue reading Possessed by a god
Your diary
By way of distraction from the mind-blowing world of Friedrich Nietzsche, I’ve been adding new functions to the diary mentioned in an earlier post. We live in a world where new technology must sometimes struggle to compete with the tried-and-tested. I’m very fond of fountain-pens. It is easy to be sentimentally attached to the flow… Continue reading Your diary
Bin Laden Dies
Ghetu asked me what I thought, as a ‘common Britisher’, of Bin Laden’s recent death. I responded as follows: I’m more of an uncommon Britisher, but I’m pretty sure there are others who think like me. America deliberately chose its fight with Islam after the end of Soviet communism. America it seems has to have… Continue reading Bin Laden Dies
Groping Blindly
I’ve been in a ferment, witness to a cascade of interconnectedness, from which it is surely possible to construct an overarching meaning—but I won’t try, and that is an instance of laziness (or what-you-may-call-it) which was a theme in my last: something which seems to me like a great creative principle. In Nature, or perhaps… Continue reading Groping Blindly
Not trying too hard
I left the car at The Fox and Hounds in Christmas Common, and made my way down Hollandridge Lane, which has never been more than a cart-track, but offers glorious vistas on a perfect spring day. Not a farmhouse in sight, not a fellow-wayfarer or dog-walker, not even a sheep till I reached Pishill, and… Continue reading Not trying too hard
The Search for Meaning
I had a gift token to spend at the only bookshop in town, didn’t see anything I wanted. But then I was drawn to a certain book. I looked at it the first time rather idly, and thought to myself, “No, this is written by a Viennese psychiatrist. I have had enough of them.” I… Continue reading The Search for Meaning
Keeper of Souls
The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: yea, it is even he that shall keep thy soul. I saw this on a tombstone at Hambleden, a tiny village that doesn’t seem to have changed since the Middle Ages. For all I know it may be still enmeshed in the feudal system, though its origins… Continue reading Keeper of Souls
Southward
I live in a valley, in one of the Victorian workers’ cottages that fill up the space between the small factories in which they worked. It’s a fold in the Chiltern Hills and unless you follow one of the rivers, upstream or down, you have to go up a hill to get anywhere. So at… Continue reading Southward
Unfettered
When you have a computer with Web access, you can find photos of almost anything, taken by better photographers with better cameras than you and yours. But it doesn’t stop us from indulging in the global festival of digital photography, that celebrates “I woz here!”—though mainly in the sunshine. In my outdoor shots, it’s usually… Continue reading Unfettered
Books
I haven’t been writing because I’ve been reading so much. One book leads to another and the Kindle Reader has a lot to answer for. Snuggled in bed late at night, cradling the thing in its handsome leather case and its own light just bright enough to illuminate the page of black and white e-inks,… Continue reading Books
Wittgenstein
Restored to its original form after some unwise revisionism in 2021 The other day I was writing about being nineteen and somehow feeling the same way fifty years later. But it was a mysterious feeling because I could not adduce a single instance of nineteenhood to illustrate my point. So it is a coincidence that… Continue reading Wittgenstein
Discovering Wittgenstein
The other day I was writing about being nineteen and somehow feeling the same way fifty years later. But it was a mysterious feeling because I could not adduce a single instance of nineteenhood to illustrate my point. So it is a coincidence that I first discovered Wittgenstein at that age. Discovered is hardly the… Continue reading Discovering Wittgenstein
Annie Dillard
“In blogging, less is more. Discuss.” That could have been an essay topic in the days of my youth, had blogging then been a word. An old friend who used to post as Rob. and later Bob, did it for the interaction rather than the self-expression or self-revelation, in which genres he was reticent. His… Continue reading Annie Dillard
Reason to Celebrate
Today I celebrate a milestone. It is exactly fifty years since I reached the age of 19, a special number for many reasons, and the last year of one’s teens. This morning I was given a mug bearing the words, “Today is all about YOU ... and there couldn’t be a better reason to celebrate!”… Continue reading Reason to Celebrate
Encounters on the Phoenix Trail
It was the most spring-like day this year and the urge to be out in it without delay overcame lengthy consideration of where to go. I considered the Phoenix trail to be unfinished business (see post before last) because I hadn’t walked its full length. Still haven’t, as a matter of fact. But there are… Continue reading Encounters on the Phoenix Trail
Pilgrimage
I’m on this path. I don’t know how far I’ve been, I don’t know where I am on the map. I hear planes criss-crossing distantly above the fog. I’m on the crest of a slope, looking out on rows of stubble, which bristle in parallel stripes over the curved surface of the fields. The landscape… Continue reading Pilgrimage
Seven stylish things
Bryan M. White, that onlie begetter of Nuclear Headache, has burdened me with an award nomination as a Stylish Blogger. Never fear: if you are already in my blog-list below, and have taken the trouble to read this far, you’re ipso facto stylish enough. There is, as always, a catch. You can’t win the lottery… Continue reading Seven stylish things
A moment
One thing that language can do, and I think it only possible in written language, is to unwrap the content of a moment of consciousness, to examine and share it. Perhaps such moments are rare, and the stuff of poetry. Such a one occurred today as I crossed a car park to enter the supermarket.… Continue reading A moment
Preface Mark III
Not previously published on Wayfarer's Notes I still haven’t given up on “the book of the blog”. When I do, this place can become “the blog of the book”, but don’t worry, it will be the same blog, going off in the same haphazard directions. In December last, I dashed off a Preface followed by… Continue reading Preface Mark III
The yet-to-be-invented eWriter
The 1980 Microwriter. Source: Wikipedia There is more to inventing something than having the idea. I had the idea of the eWriter in 1978 but never did anything about it. Never mind my inability to build a prototype. I lacked the skills even to write about it coherently. Let’s see if I have improved at… Continue reading The yet-to-be-invented eWriter
The Phoenix Trail
The trail largely follows the route of a disused railway line, the Wycombe Railway, which connected Princes Risborough and Thame with the city of Oxford. The line through Thame remained open until 1991 to serve an oil depot based in the town. (Wikipedia) It's open to pedestrians, horses, dogs and pedal cyclists. This is from a site… Continue reading The Phoenix Trail
Our Kindle Readers
Comment in October 2024: this was written in 2011, after a friend had persuaded Karleen to invest in the latest Kindle, now extinct and called the "Paperwhite" on account of its screen technology. See this contemporary review. I bought one for myself. These days we are content with an up-to-date model, for reading aloud in… Continue reading Our Kindle Readers
The Walk to Marlow
I’ve never taken this trail before, this walk to Marlow on the first day of February, on a cloudless frosty day. How often it happens, on my wayfaring, that something triggers a memory, perhaps of a single second in my life, usually in childhood, for it was then that I most frequently encountered something for… Continue reading The Walk to Marlow
Sisyphus and the Rolling Stone (3)
My objective in producing a new translation of this philosophical essay has been to write as Albert Camus might have done, if English were his native language and he had used it as the medium for dashing off his fevered ideas. This translation work has come to a halt, perhaps permanently. But if I do… Continue reading Sisyphus and the Rolling Stone (3)
Man Creates God
This post was lately called "God begins with a Word". It'is now restored to its original title, above. I was brought up to treat God with respect, regardless of what I might think personally. In England there was and possibly still is a law against blasphemy, which demonstrates a legal as well as moral imperative… Continue reading Man Creates God
The worm in the apple
I’ve finally answered the God-question. Whether I’ve solved it for the world, or just for myself, is for the world to decide. When a discovery is made, it’s important to know how and in what circumstances; for they are not plucked from some realm where all the answers sit waiting to be claimed, in some… Continue reading The worm in the apple
The Old Testament
I last read The First Book of Samuel fifty-eight years ago, long enough not to by blinded by the reflective glare of familiarity. It starts off with a simple tale which arouses interest and sympathy. A man has two wives. One has borne children, but the other is barren. Her name is Hannah and he… Continue reading The Old Testament
The boy Samuel
One doesn’t just read the Bible. One does so within a context. It’s very plain to me that I would not be undertaking it now, except as a process of retracing my steps: to revisit the ten-year-old Vincent and see through his eyes. It helps me see what I am now, and also how the… Continue reading The boy Samuel
On reading the Bible
When I read, I like to make an orgy of it, especially on a rainy winter’s day, curled up in my armchair in front of the glowing embers of a log fire. One book is not enough, I want to be surrounded by them, drawn into their world where time and space are condensed into… Continue reading On reading the Bible
On Christmas Eve
The Christmas spirit is a special thing. What is this “Peace on earth, goodwill to all men”? It’s tangible, that’s certain. I always feel that I receive it from others, never that I impart it to them. Or if I do emanate any of the glow, I feel it has been ignited first from a… Continue reading On Christmas Eve
Happiness machine
Matt Lowe of the blog “Liberal Jesus” wrote a post pointing to an article in the New York Times. Matt admitted “I can’t figure out quite what I think about it. I need a little goading I think.” I hastily appended my own working definition of happiness: that it's when one can say "I don't… Continue reading Happiness machine
The soul just feels
The soul is feminine, I mean passive. It initiates nothing, does nothing but feel. It seems helpless to assert itself against will and intellect; like a slug on the sidewalk after rain, defenceless against accidental or deliberate squashing by human feet; or like a majestic brooding silence, the silence of a wilderness, defeated by the… Continue reading The soul just feels
Will and Intellect
Intended as preface to a book I was planning in December, 2010 The soul is feminine, I mean passive. It does nothing but feel. Will and intellect are the masculine elements, delighting in action and creativity for their own sakes. In young men is a naturally warlike instinct: to fight, regardless of the cause espoused,… Continue reading Will and Intellect
Then and Now
My life is full of half-formed ideas and mothballed projects. Far from being a self-pitying lament, this is a grateful realization. For in discovering who I am, by means of observation rather than vain wish, I can devote myself to it wholeheartedly, to the general benefit. Sometimes I’m a conscious exile from the Forties and… Continue reading Then and Now
Lambs and us
All you need to be a philosopher is to ask “Why?” By this standard, most three-year-olds are philosophers. When he hears the obvious answer, a philosopher thinks, “I’m not satisfied with this. There must be more to it!” The three-year-old responds to every answer with a further “Why?” until the adult tires of the game.… Continue reading Lambs and us
Sisyphus and the Rolling Stone (2)
Le Mythe de Sisyphe: essai sur l’absurde Albert Camus © 1942 Éditions Gallimard Translation © 2010 Ian Vincent Mulder Continued from extract (1): So what is this mysterious feeling which deprives us of vital sleep? A world explicable with reasons, even if they are bad reasons, remains a familiar world. But take away the illusions,… Continue reading Sisyphus and the Rolling Stone (2)
Sisyphus and the Rolling Stone (1)
Le Mythe de Sisyphe: essai sur l’absurde Albert Camus © 1942 Éditions Gallimard Translation © 2010 Ian Vincent Mulder I've decided to publish extracts of my new translation, which remains unfinished, on this blog, starting below: This book is about a certain sensitivity, which I call “the absurd”. You will find traces of it scattered… Continue reading Sisyphus and the Rolling Stone (1)
How I came to inhabit this body
Most days, I walk down the Desborough Road, to observe in passing the extraordinary variety of human life-forms on display. Suddenly the “brotherhood of all mankind” comes into my head. As usual, I’m glad to be me, thankful indeed. But then I reflect that my birth was no more of my choosing than theirs was… Continue reading How I came to inhabit this body
Creation Myth
In the beginning was the void. How big was it? How long did it last? It’s impossible to say because time and space had not yet been created. Let’s imagine it as an empty matchbox. The Prime Mover, impatient for things to start, opened the box and the void escaped like a genie from a… Continue reading Creation Myth
The Denial of Death
According to Ernest Becker, the wellspring of human action is the fear of death: correction, the denial of the fear of death. In his Preface, he actually says that the “prospect of death . . . is the mainspring of human activity” (my italics). He makes short work of the real fear of real death,… Continue reading The Denial of Death
The Joker Chuang-Tzu
Raymond Sigrist, by doing nothing and making no recommendation, finally got me to start reading Chuang Tzu. When I write about books, I adopt the same strategy as an unscrupulous professional reviewer: read a few pages, then rush headlong to the typewriter. Not that I can’t be bothered to read it through, but there’s nothing… Continue reading The Joker Chuang-Tzu
Hell! said the Duchess
Hayden commented on my last with some excellent remarks on how to start a story, including the following: I love broadness and specificity in a beginning. A sense of mystery that isn't addressed by the ample facts stated. The facts situate the event in a time and space, anchor it if you will. The mystery,… Continue reading Hell! said the Duchess
Pygmalion & Galatea
Said Lehane, commenting on my last: “Would it also be sad to say that, through you, I’m kind of infatuated by this girl? Maybe on the way to falling in love with her.” Therein lies a phenomenon not unknown in the world of fiction. If a reader may fall in love with a character… Continue reading Pygmalion & Galatea
The secret life of strangers
How is it possible to remember a moment when nothing actually happened? I don’t know, but such moments are the ones I remember most vividly. There were some major works being done on the railway line which affected the bridge above, in the middle of the village’s main street. In consequence, traffic on the bridge… Continue reading The secret life of strangers
God is silent: angels are here
It's clear to me that there is no almighty God. My prayers and faith are directed towards freelance angels. I don’t know what they are “really”, only that they are real. Each one of us is vulnerable, so long as we are somewhere between birth and death. Being alive entails having everything to lose, bit… Continue reading God is silent: angels are here
Improvisation
Said Hayden, in a comment on my last: “I continue to think about your comments, Vincent, on your “magical” experience and the whisper in your ear. I'd love to hear more about it directly. Not the abstract philosophy that flows from it, but what you remember of the experience itself.” I didn’t know which experience… Continue reading Improvisation
The Chilterns
This is specially for Ashok, for comparison of the Chilterns with his real hills at Nainital. Here, the height above sea-level is never more than 200 metres. These vistas are all within walking distance of my house, which is near the middle of town, in the factory district. St Lawrence’s Church & Dashwood Mausoleum, photographed… Continue reading The Chilterns
Death will win
This sky is my paper, asking me to write on its clear blue surface, perhaps in sepia ink with my new fountain-pen. But it doesn’t tell me what to write. I don’t care, for my pleasure is in the writing more than the content. Gazing at the blue sky, I welcome the little clouds. Uninterrupted… Continue reading Death will win
Angst and Angels
Abstract ideas are all very well but unless you can feel them in your body or soul, you have no way of knowing if they are real. They might be the bastard children of human intellect mating with heaven-knows-what. So when Raymond proposed that existential angst is a universal experience, it left me unmoved. I… Continue reading Angst and Angels
The Grand Scheme of Things
I’m on a section of the “Round Aylesbury Walk”. If you go clockwise, the town is on your right and level countryside is on your left. I talk to myself as I go, into a digital recorder. 'Suppose everything is just as it should be, already? Suppose everything goes on being just right, no matter… Continue reading The Grand Scheme of Things
Don’t be abashed
I’ve agreed to help publicize DBA Lehane’s competition, which is to help publicize his website. I don’t normally do much to publicize anything. Perhaps I just want to show you my own entry. I’ve never written a short story before, never mind a short short one. It is exactly 500 words and the title had to… Continue reading Don’t be abashed
Panspermia
Ashok in a blog post called Heaven, Scientifically Speaking refers to a theory called Panspermia. He thought I would be interested, or in his words, “excited”. I was in fact curious to ask myself why I am not excited. First his title. To me, Heaven, which featured in my recent post The Grand Scheme of… Continue reading Panspermia
Not understanding much
A BBC magazine programme about science, Material World on Radio 4, reports an ongoing study into the possible homing instincts of snails. I was interested, as a regular reader of this blog would not be surprised to learn. They are marking the snail shells with white correction fluid for identification; moving the snails somewhere else;… Continue reading Not understanding much
Bird-talk
I’ve been interested in the conversations of birds since a day in March 1971, in the churchyard of Hinderwell, a village in North Yorkshire. I had chewed a small square of wallpaper, which had been soaked in LSD. I learned the language of the rooks, almost. But that is a story for another day. This… Continue reading Bird-talk
Let them be
I’ve been interested in the conversations of birds since a day in March 1971, in the churchyard of Hinderwell, a village in North Yorkshire. I had chewed a small square of wallpaper, which had been soaked in LSD. I learned the language of the rooks, almost. But that is a story for another day. This… Continue reading Let them be
Graffiti
Further to my last, Rebb and Ashok doubtless speak for a majority in their negative attitude towards urban graffiti. I’ve evolved a different view, as expressed in several posts—see excerpts below. The illustrations are taken from this post on 27th April ’07. But where do the people walk? Yesterday in the drizzle I stepped carefully… Continue reading Graffiti
Alley creatures
At the weekend, Karleen and I went walking on a hillside meadow, full of wildflowers, that you can see across the valley from many vantage-points. Amongst the blooms was lots of ragwort, notorious for being poisonous to grazing mammals. I looked carefully for any sign of the cinnabar caterpillar, but none were to be seen.… Continue reading Alley creatures
Gerrards Cross and the wayfarer
I spent the morning engaged intensely in ‘writing’, if you can call it that. Needing a break, I revisited Gerrards Cross, keen to see if the Odeon cinema has changed since the photo (from the Sixties) that I published the other day. Never mind that. Does Gerrards Cross welcome the wayfarer? Consider the evidence. A… Continue reading Gerrards Cross and the wayfarer
Gerrards Cross
My wanderings usually take me through wild footpaths and unpretentious housing estates. I’ve had no occasion to visit the village of Gerrards Cross, which “has a reputation for being very upmarket and exclusive, with house prices being considerably higher than average. Located in the commuter belt of London, the village is the most expensive postcode… Continue reading Gerrards Cross
a wayfarer’s notes 