I can feel the palpable weight of history in this place. Here, alone in the heart of London, I am surrounded by the echoes of an empire whose spokes once spread out across the globe. And this statue was the empire’s hub. Continue reading The Hub of Empire
In my imagination, I can see two worlds: the Victorian and the digital rendered at once in black and white and shimmering colour. Digital screens displaying departure times and advertisements flash alongside the 19th-century ironwork and tiling. Amid the 21st-century hustle, echoes of the Victorian era subtly reveal themselves in the characters around me. The man in the smart suit, intently checking his iPhone, could be a Dickensian bookkeeper hurrying to his cellar-room counting house behind a wooden door with a rattle in its throat. Continue reading In the Hall of the Railway King
In days gone down, this river carried with it the germ of empires, the seeds of countries, the dreams of uncountable millions. Some of these seeds took root in colonies at the uttermost ends of the Earth. My great grandfather, Charles Robert Blakiston, sailed down this very river in 1864, bound for the goldfields of Victoria and then, to the fledgling settlement of Canterbury. Continue reading The Pool of London
Here, in the cathedral’s shadow, I am still enveloped in its hallowed calm, a secular pilgrim at the gates of history. In this pause between the old stones and the sky-reaching Shard, it seems as though the burden of the present is perfectly balanced by the gravity of the past. I am standing at a crossroads in time, the very air around me saturated with a sacred stillness. Here, in the shadow of spires, I discover a sanctuary in the stone and stories, a threshold to the new Jerusalem. Continue reading The New Jerusalem
In their song Jack in the Green, Jethro Tull uses the folklore figure of The Green Man to explore the way the natural world holds sway over the artificial urban world. Jack-in-the-Green is a symbol of nature’s enduring spirit, a guardian of the green amid the grey. He’s the slightly mischievous, unseen force who taps his cane upon the ground, awakening life in the most unexpected places. The fox, the ivy, the dandelions, they’re all part of Jack’s work, his quiet rebellion against the urban sprawl. Continue reading Jack-in-the-Green
London is a living entity where new buildings rise, adding to the skyline, yet the historic heart of London remains. The city honours its past while boldly embracing the future, a testament to human endurance and creativity. Continue reading The Gordian Knot
Our Elizabeth Line train, now at rest, seems to pause and take a breath. Our journey from Heathrow to Paddington has conveyed us from the viridian whispers of London’s periphery to the beating heart of its centre along a seamless conduit through time and space. And here in the Hall of the Railway King, our adventures begin. Continue reading The Elizabeth Line
Tuesday morning on Carnaby Street. The early rain has cleared leaving a bright sky draped with torn remnants of cloud. Puddles gleam in the gutters, sending up effervescent vapour as the sun warms the asphalt and concrete. Reflections shimmer in the pools along the sidewalk: shopfronts and buildings bent and moulded into convex shapes and concave contours. Continue reading Sympathy For The Devil
At seven bells in the afternoon watch, Charles and I step aboard the afterdeck of HMS Belfast. There is no wailing of bosun’s pipes, sprung to welcome us aboard. No stamp and clash of Marines presenting arms. No doffing of hats, no white-gloved sideboys, no parade of midshipmen. We are simply two more civilian tourists coming aboard. Continue reading Ship of the Line
We climb the staircase to the club’s first floor. From the high-ceilinged corridor, oak-panelled doors lead to discreet rooms and chambers, each one bedecked with portraits of military men and scenes from great moments in military history: the retreat from Kabul, the Battle of Plassey, Captain Oats leaving the tent in an Antarctic blizzard: “…I may be some time.” Continue reading Lunch at the Club
TravelWriterLife 