The solar eclipse of March 20th left us standing in a hybrid light. As if Space had closed in, to become more of itself vast, absolute, the only act on stage; a conjuror steadily veiling the comfort of the apparent, better to reveal an alternative reality.

Recent work and work in progress and anything else that interests me. Are memories inherently melancholy? When in the form of objects or photographs they do seem to be. Vitrines from the museum are now on show in London, at Somerset House. A Turkish form of melancholy.

Navigating the interface between landscape history and deep topography;. Exploring landscape - an evolving gazetteer of landscape on the web. Thursday, 4 January 2018. Pathways through long winter days until bright Phoebus shines down again. A quick ramble here through an assemblage of mid-winter cultural highlights. If record shops are a species indicator of a civilised polis. Store A first wander around the racks yielded Bright Pheobus.

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.

Some things I think about. The Presence of the trees. Acrylic on canvas 116cm x 89cm.

You only live once, but if you do it right once is enough. Or else come and say hello on Twitter.

The 10 Principles of Power. What does it take to be a true leader? To start with you must be willing to embrace your strengths. 1 Leaders keep the end in sight. They let this vision guide their critical decisions.

A guide to the psychotopography of Somerset. Giving names to your topographical prominences is a serious business; you end up spending more time poring over the map than pounding the earth beneath your feet. But here and there .

One month with The Vegan Pledge. Will winter ever end? Butternut squash, leek and thyme risotto. Here in the UK winter is dragging on, with cold, grey weather and snow lying un-melted on the ground. In an attempt to keep things warm and cheerful I made this earlier today for my family. I had some issues with stomach pain that felt like bad indigestion pain, and that, coupled with a significant mood .

The diary of a struggling writer. Looks like the lure of the nineteen-eighties has got the better of my alter-ego. Last time I saw her she was slipping guiltily into her bedroom with a canister of Shock Waves. Well, maybe not forgotten, just terrified of rejection again. Dear María Inés de la Cruz. And admiring my own reflection. At the top of her voice, can I? .