5 contemporary artists... says Tate Britain

apparently the choice was random... 5 contemporary artists...at Tate Britain. There was absolutely no recollection of the Venice Biennale earlier this year. Clearly, these 5 british artists are not avante garde in the european sense. In fact there was very little distinct or unique about these pieces of work. I only really appreciated two of the five; Tomma Abts and Gillian Carnegie, but sadly I learned very little about either... but then, not sure if I was meant to!

unmoved by Art Under Attack at Tate Britain

The renovated front entrance to the Tate Britain opens up a new and open friends room under the dome, and a stylish marble spiral staircase. It was fun to create new geographical connections and I was keen to visit the new exhibition, Art under Attack, which aimed to describe the history of British iconoclasm, through three main themes of religion, politics and aesthetics. There was quite an effort to define iconoclasm, as image breaking, but also conversely meaning innovation.

It was difficult to interpret the dissolution of the monasteries as innovative, rather than the egotistical machinations of a crazy king. The children of King Henry VIII were variously catholic and protestant and sought to impose their new found laws as religious leaders. Therefore, it seemed inevitable that they would abuse their new and misunderstood power. While I detest the wilful destruction of art, I wonder where to draw the line between art that is propoganda, in the form of educational paintings and political statues, and art that conveys an accessible artistic message. When the message is no longer important, is destruction of art just another form of clearing out?

Further, what exactly is vandalism? In the streets of Berlin and other edgy cities, it has been described as art, but when it interacts directly with traditional art, that is not so acceptable. But then, so little of current art is in any way interactive, that it seems inevitable that tensions will overheat. While the concept offered so much, the actual exhibition seemed a little bland and conservative, representing the current status quo of repaired materpieces with photocopies of patterns of dissatisfaction.

inspired and impressed by Paul Klee at Tate Modern

We begin with the quote "Art does not reproduce the visible; rather it makes visible...and so begins the journey tracing the life and art of a truly gifted man. Paul Klee was born in December 1879 near Bern, in Switzerland and was an accomplished violinist before becoming an artist, teacher and writer. He lived through a tumultous time in German art and history, which has surely influenced his life and art.

He joined the expressionist 'Der Blaue Reiter' group near Munich in 1911. Here he was influenced by the bright colours and move towards abstraction of Wasily Kandinsky, Franz Marc and Gabriele Muenter. I remember visiting the Yellow house and Museum in Murnau, in the beutiful lakeland hills south of Munich.Such a pity this idyll was dismantled at the start of the first world war.Ten years later, he joins the teaching staff at the Bauhaus in Weimar, relocates the school to Dessau in 1925 and eventually resigns in 1931. He is named as one of the degenerate artists by the Nazis and moves back to his native Switzerland, where he dies early from a degenerative disease in 1940.

This history merely provides a backdrop of world events which also mirror some amazing changes in his creative strategies and work. It seems that he was pre-occupied with lines, squares and colour gradations from the beginning. It is not clear whether his ability to teach influenced the logic and repetitive rigour of his work. What is clear is his creative experimentation with styles and techniques. He loved texture and experimented with mixed methods in so many ways. He demonstrated the magic of the square, and interspersed them with rectangles, triangles and other shapes, in simple and complex tonal patterns, with impressive effects. I am particularly fascinated by his oil transfer technique where he traces over a wet oiled paper for a stunning effect.

He also uses small motifs to create patterns and stories. It feels like some of his pictures are visual dairies, and then I realised that he did actually write and reflect on his work. He seemed to be able to mix the logic of design and colour with the spontaneity of abstraction and surrealism in a visually balanced and aesthetically pleasurable manner. I felt that he was able to connect art and science in his work, and wonder whether being a teacher helped him to make that more transparent for others. I especially loved his quote "where intuition is is combined with exact research, it speeds up the progress of research". The current retrospective exhibition at Tate Modern is brilliantly curated, across 17 rooms, with works from public and private collections across the world. It is both moving and educative. I had trouble choosing one favourite, as I would have liked one form each room, or genre of his painting.

Space fantasy comes to life in Gravity

Every now and then we need a little escape from our own realities. While I have never harboured a passion to be an astronaut, I was curious about the recent space thriller, which brings science fiction into reality, almost... So I convinced my movie buddy to visit one of those expensive automated theatres without volume control, too many slick adverts and trailers of films I would never pay to see. Eventually we donned our 3D glasses for our very own trip out there. Interesting to note that the concept described by the title Gravity, is almost entirely absent. However the visuals of earth in shimmering blue contrast to the bulky astronaut suits and floating leggo space stations are impressive. Movement and speed are severely distorted as Sandra Bullock and George Cooney go weightless, swooping in slow motion while tethered together. Then it all goes so terribly wrong; falling and twisting sequences are sped up to reflect the seriousness of the situation and the real threat of flying debris. Time slows down again when she makes it back into the space station and we enjoy seeing and almost feeling the range of floating objects amidst the high tech screens and controls everywhere. The technical skills and wizardry almost take you there, as at times I felt my muscles tensing to reorient myself to the moving upright position! So I guess it is inevitable that the technical prowess has won over the script, which is pretty thin; a disillusioned Dr Ryan Stone (Sandra) needs to escape her earth life after her daughter's death and is tentatively saved by the congenial space veteran Matt Kowalski(George). Throughout, we are wondering whether she will and can choose to save her life and return to earth! Allusions of this film as a religious parable, an ecological script or a feminist triumph are a bit too out there. But it was a seriously engaging and entertaining visit to a world away from mine - that left me happy to return!

Surprised by Philomena

This was not just another remake of the tragic Irish story, but a brilliant exploration of the raw feelings between a mother and her son, as mirrored by a disillusioned journalist caught in a mere common interest story. Steven Coogan explained to Andrew Marr this morning that he wanted to move through cynicism, past sentimentality towards sincerity and authenticity. Yes he was moved by reading the true story, and he gave himself the lead role because this was his chance to portray an alternative to the comedic Alpha Papa series. The script was authentic and it prompted independent thought and discussion about why the noble catholic church would sell illegitimate babies for cash at the same time as ignoring the mothers' feelings in the haze of punishment and penitance for carnal sins. It was easy to relate to Martin Sixsmith's anger, as a lapsed catholic. What was more challenging was to accept that Philomena was truly happy to receive confirmation that her son had considered her and that was sufficient to enable her to forgive such potentially damaging untruths. I personally could not believe that the nuns were so capable of blatant lies in the face of human suffering, but then perhaps theirs is not a normal life!

I was further incensed when I read more about Martin Sixsmith's journalistic challenge. It transpires that her son, the American Michael Hess was also tormented by his past and had visited the orphanage, to be turned away twice. I had under-estimated the real tragedy of both mother and son being unaware that they were trying to find each other, against the cruel manipulative lies of the church. How many other mothers and orphans have hidden similar stories of lost identities? A victory for human greed over spiritual compassion... All the while, Dame Judi Dench played the Irish mother with humour and integrity. Steve responded with a dry wit, announcing that he “now knows what a lifetime of reading romance novels, the Reader’s Digest and the Daily Mail can do to the human brain”. Together, they transformed this dire story into one of compassion and hope. Truly inspirational entertainment...

Flesh and Bone in Oxford

The Ashmolean Museum in Oxford has achieved national recognition for its exhibition titled Flesh and Bone, which contrasts the sculpture and drawings of Henry Moore with the paintaings of Francis Bacon.

Both lived through two wars and were intimately involved with them - but while Moore produced some amazing drawings of people sleeping in cortorted shapes in the bunkers and later transformed these into amazing sculptures, Bacon distorted solitary figures in large almost invisible cages. Despite similar abstract shapes, I was able to acknowledge a deep empathy in Moore's painting and to a lesser extent his sculptures, I only felt displaced anger in Bacon's grotesque paintings.

Perhaps there is a link to contrasting childhoods, where Moore was a loved child, growing up in southern England, and Bacon was a child in a harsh and critical family in Ireland. However, they are linked by their shared fascination with the human figure. For both men, art was about bones; ribs, forearms and eye sockets; and the contrast with surrounding flesh.

Vermeer and Music

It is not every Friday night that I can relax to a documentary about an art exhibition that I did not see. The National Gallery, in London, had a major exhibition of 30 paintings surviving from the mid 1600's by Johannes Vermeer, painter of the Girl with a Pearl Earring. Vermeer painted a lot of women with musical instruments, so it was good to find out more about these instruments and what life might have been like at the time. The film was bigger than the exhibition and offered many insights into Vermeer's life. I really enjoyed listening to Tracy Chevalier, the author who created the story around the girl with a pearl earring.

Trekking in superbly Happy Valley in the High Atlas

It was originally a choice between the Tour du Mont Blanc and a much shorter trek in the High Atlas Mountains in southern Morroco. As is often the case, I opted for the less familiar and little known Morrocan trek. I was quickly removed from my comfort zone in Marrakech. The small Riad Imilchil introduced me to thick stone walls, archways, inner atriums, lattice windows, and geometric tiles; not to mention roof terraces, mint tea and congenial hospitality.

A spider web of small alleys took us to the main square, Place Jemaa El Fna, which was guarded by the mosque, but alive with snake charmers, monkey owners, and water carriers. Alongside were the familiar souks and later that night, the food market stalls and local musicians and dancers. We spent the afternoon visiting the Jardin Majorelle, a tropical oasis, which has been restored by Yves Saint Laurent.

Early next morning we set out in the comfort of our very own minivan to drive south. It was fun to stop and explore the markets at Azilal, where it was possible to buy anything from carpenty, beds to fresh herbs and goat meat. I enjoyed trying to mingle in with the locals, and starting to strip down my daily needs.

We travelled to Ait Bougoumez and arrived in our traditional gite in the village of Imelghas at 1760m, in time for another rooftop sunset. We enjoyed the first of many traditional meals cooked by our trusty team. Lots of cumin and coriander, fresh vegies, mostly aubergines, courgettes, and potatoes, and some tasty lamb! I really started to appreciate the local knowledge and organisational capacities of our Berber guide, Jamaal. For three days we trekked from the fertile valleys through a large gorge and up into the hills. We camped half way up to the pass at 2700 m.

As we walked, 6 mules carried our packs, tents and 2 large cooking and dining tents, complete with utensils and table and chairs! I have so much respect for these calm and strong animals. No wonder they are the most valued possessions of the local Berber people. We stopped for a freshly cooked lunch each day, often in shady orchards. I loved seeing shepherds with their mixed flocks of sheep and goats.

Most of all, I loved the combination of physical challenge and the space and beauty to just quieten my mind and enjoy the small and simple things around me. I really must do this again, and regularly...

the Royal Academy educates about Australia...

So the art establishment has decided that it is time to revisit Australian art... it has been 50 years, almost 2 generations since the last significant retrospective...and as the colonial parent, it has a role to inform the masses about what has happened to those wayward children expelled in the early 1800's. There is a small recognition that some English (and many Europeans) voluntarily took their chances to start a new life in a distant (and alien) place. It was with mixed emotions that I acquiesced to sample the Royal Academy's paternalistic mission to mount a retrospective of Australian art simply titled "Australia". I decided to ignore the assumed arrogance of their capacity to summarise 200 years of civilisation through 200 two dimensional art pictures.

It became clear that their focus was to showcase the natural landscape through 2 familiar genres; the original (mainly European) landscape painters who captured the idiosyncratic colours and unique southern scenes, albeit often illustrated with a token aboriginal and kangaroo; and the early 1900's impressionists who captured many English traditions down under. I was so impressed to see my absolute favourite picture from Queensland Art Gallery (Sydney Long's Spirit of the Plains), together with quite a few of the cigar box paintings by Tom Roberts, Charles Conder and Arthur Streeton.

I can understand how they might have wanted to use familiar styles of painting to make contrasts with the light and natural beauty - but I was sad that there was not sufficient context for people to understand what was actually happening in Australia at the time. I was quite shocked to overhear 2 educated women being astounded that they had lots of buildings, even church steeples out there... in 1865!

Politically they were wise enough to begin the exhibition with some very impressive aboriginal art - the big names and classic styles were well represented, and we saw an enormous black and white panel of Emily's Big Yam dreaming positioned high above eye level and some art displayed just above floor level, to demonstrate the aerial effect of evident contours. I was looking for some detailed explanations and I suspect most people saw this 'primitive art' as interesting and colourful. Clearly many established art critics had absolutely no idea what they were looking at.

As we moved through to the last 2 generations, I was pleased to see Brett Whitely, John Olsen and Fred Williams. I was impressed that they had suspended Olsen's "Sydney Sun" so it could be viewed from below. But again, there was no real context or attempt to explain how life was quite different out there!

The last few galleries were tokenistic and random. I left with mixed feelings...as an Australian, it was fantastic to see some wonderful old and new friends, but I fear that most of my english peers have no idea about life down under and this limited representation of Australian art did not really move them out of their own comfortable critical framework where any significant misunderstood difference is seen as evidence of lesser intelligence and civilisation...

Someone who'll watch over me...please

3 men in a cell in Lebanon; an American, Englishman and Irishman...reflected as 3 men on a small dark stage in The Theatre at Chipping Norton. This quaint auditorium was transformed into a small theatre in the round, and we really felt like we were in there with them...not the usual fun Saturday night frivolity. I was taken back over 20 years to the media stories of John McCarthy, Brian Keenan and Terry Waite. I had read their books and was deeply engaged in their personal and public struggles. So we were brought back to the shared cell where the hostages were barefoot and chained, but determined to survive, despite personal and nationalistic differences. We saw the personal struggles to maintain sanity and variously compete with and support each other. At times this dramatic dialogue confused insanity and humour. I was so grateful to be able to go home to my own space, on my own...

life is good but cheesy...About Time

I loved his earlier films: Four Weddings and a Funeral, Bridget Jones's Diary, Notting Hill and Love Actually. So it seemed logical to see Richard Curtis's recent film, About Time. This time, Domhall Gleeson plays Tim, the 20 something geeky lawyer, in search of love. However, I do think I preferred Hugh Grant, or perhaps I am over that deep seated insecurity that audiences find so endearing. This time, the movie adds a new dimension through exploring the relationship of sons with their dad. Bill Nighy plays the father who confesses to his son on his 21st birthday, just as his father had confessed to him, that men in this family can travel in time. It provides the perfect cover for Tim to relive those awkward moments and become the masculine hero he wants to be. But his transformation seems very forced and the resonant British stiff upper lip seems pervasive to me. Sadly, I wonder if his cute American wife Mary (Rachel McAdam) is meant to attract her country's viewers. The comparison to the movie Sliding Doors does not convince me. Perhaps I have grown out of these quaint English eccentricities?

an oasis for modern art in Venice

The Peggy Guggenheim Collection - an amazing, creative and peaceful experience in a city overflowing with art...From the shady entry courtyard, sculptures were planned to fit in with the trees and garden. I felt like a personal visitor to Peggy's previous home, the low profile Palazzo Vernier dei Lono. Although there were only 4 rooms, I was constantly surprised at the range and choice of all the greats of modern art over the last 100 years.

So many paintings were recognisable by artist, although I had not seen many of them. Of course there were some wonderful surprises; sleek sculptures from Giacometti and early colourful shapes from Pollock. Peggy had collected art with a passion and she seemed to know who would become great. A highlight was the private terrace facing the busy Grand Canal. There were great views from inside also. The cafe also provided great coffee for reflecting and enjoying the garden.

Venice Biennale - looking to the future

This enormous exhibition takes place every two years in Venice, and seems to summarise what's important and predict future trends. Quite a challenge, really, but it is shared across 2 different thematic contributions, and distributed across the 2 major locations and across lots of other city venues. Most of the 88 national pavilions are located in shady boulevards in the Giardini. While there are national pavilions, some represent their own artists. The messages are all mutli-layered but very contemporary. In the Japanese pavillion, the video artist Koki Tanaka invites groups of hairdressers, potters, poets and pianists to collaborate, and links this to strategies for survival after the recent earthquake.

The Russian artist Vadim Zakharov is inspired by the Greek legend of Danae, and lust and greed are epitomised through the corrupting influence of money separated into male and female dominions. The Korean artist Kimsooja reshapes the Korean pavillion into a larger than life kaleidoscope, complemented by a dark soundless room. In contrast, France and Germany swapped pavilions and then Germany invited Ai Weiwei along with several other german artists to present a room each. So there was a global theme within the national pavilions.

The other half was a gigantic curated exhibition, shown in both sites titled The Encyclopedic Palace. This represents 150 artists from 38 countries and aims to describe how we know what we know! It is phenomenal and overwhelming in every sense. I felt a scientific reductionism towards obsessive detail and exploration at the most basic levels. There was almost a post-surrealist revival with a lot more video options. I tried very hard to understand and then gave up, accepting that I could only engage with and appreciate a small proportion. I wonder if these will be the artists who emerge from the masses to direct the future for us all...

Marc Chagall writes his own My Life

Marc Chagall's early autobiography was written when he was living in Moscow in 1922, when he was 35 years old. This quirky self-illustrated memoir describes his childhood in Witebsk, Belorussia and alternates between his survival in poverty as the eldest of 8 children and his search for artistic inspiration. He managed to live in Paris for 4 years from 1910, and then returned to his hometown as Commissioner of Arts, during and after the Bolshevik revolution. But he left Russia in 1923, never to return, living first in New York and then back in Paris - I would like to read more about his later years, but it seems he did not document them, in the same way...

childhood innocence vs adult dysfunction

The film title "What Maisie knew" is truly accurate - we see the world from the perspective of 7 year old Maisie. The impressive New York apartment is punctuated by parental arguments, as we realise her aging rock star mother Susanna (played by Julianne Moore) has little in common with her art dealing dad Beale (played by Steve Coogan). They are both obsessed by their own careers, and while they proclaim love, buy presents and hug Maisie lots, they are incapable of the regular routines associated with parenthood.

So the scene is set, after the divorce, for her father to marry her nanny, the lovely Scottish Margo; and her mother to marry the young suave bartender, Lincoln. Of course, they both have time for Maisie and while she learns to love them, she sees a repitition of adult dysfunction in both marriages! More arguments, self-obsession and lots of waiting for absent parents to pick her up. The acting is superb, great music and screen shots and while the ultimate message is somewhat predictable, it really is a warm and insightful film... should be obligatory before any discussions of divorce!

magic and mystery of Chagall

I have always been totally entranced by Chagall; every picture tells a story...and that is why we drove 180 miles to the Tate at Liverpool and back to see this exhibition of his early work in Paris. He is a totally talented romantic who loves colour, shapes and form. He captures his love for Bella in lapis lazuli blue and then sends her flying in a purple orbit in another painting. He experimented with cubism, constructivism, surrealism and ended up just painting what he wanted and what was important to him. His paintings are alive with colour, emotion, memories and meaning. What more is there to enjoy and appreciate...

loved The Pitmen Painters

I had heard about the great reviews in London, and that was enough to convince me to check out the group at the Playhouse in Oxford. It was based on a book and true story about the Ashington group of painters in 1934. They were a group of miners who decided they wanted to learn about art. All dressed up and ready to learn from the best, but they did not realise how they had no real base 'knowledge' of art to learn from, so it seems they really had to paint to learn about what was art. A great turning of tables. There were plenty of north vs south sentiments and there were times, when the accents were so broad, that I really had to concentrate hard. The class stuff was also there, with the expectation that only the upper class can really fully appreciate art. So sad that the talented working class artist could not take the opportunity offered to him by a rich patron, as he feared he would lose his connection to his mates and meaning, and perhaps also the source of his creativity....But in the end it was a great discovery of the role of art in our society, more than just an academic endeavour, perhaps even more like a way to experience life...o so wonderful and true at its core!

enjoyed escaping reality with Frances Ha

two fun girls, great friends, but perhaps Frances was dreaming about something more than she could achieve...what's wrong with that, you ask? it takes a little while to find out! Meanwhile Sophie had got on with life,but does it really matter in the end...so long as you have fun along the way...and the New York girls yearn for Europe, or is it just somewhere different from where they are?

disappointed by Hume at Tate Britain

He is a contemporary British artist, one of the Young British Artists, and so the Tate Britain, showed his work alongside Caulfield. Sadly, there is no comparison. Ok he does bright colour, painted like glass onto aluminium, which makes the colours cold and clear. But sadly his designs are so esoteric that only the absolutely educated art elite can interpret them. I enjoyed his textured flowers and the slightly angular snowman scultpure. But I think the emptiness of the gallery suggested I was not alone in my alientation from his artistic genius.

Caulfield represents European pop art at Tate Britain

Simple designs and superb use of colour contrasts makes you stop, smile and appreciate. The window at night is ajar, the perspective is slightly tilted and you are instantly imagining what is inside. Patrick Caulfield had a great appreciation for northern Italian lakes and the Mediterranean and he shared simplified representations of key objects, views and memories. I found this small exhibition uplifting and inspirational.

Lowry reflects real life at Tate Britain

What hidden gems; paintings of everyday people, going to and from work and school, alone, in groups, laughing and having fun, fighting with each other, walking with their pets and young children. The paintings are timeless and it is clear that they are engaging crowds of people, transfixed, curious and just enjoying the modern day parallels amidst excellent perspective and design. Yet, it seems Lowry has challenged the art establishment way back and they will not stop criticising him. He dared to show how life was in the industrialised north of the country - lots of dirty factories, tiny terraced houses and people enjoying football and fairs. The beauty of his honesty and painterly capacities was largely ignored. Although the Brits claim they started the industrial revolution, there is an ignorance of what it really meant to the physical and human environment - and the audio guide frustrated me as a piece of patronising propaganda. Lowry was portrayed as a failed middle class as he had to work as a rent collector for over 40 years. He was criticised for being a conservative, when there is no way that if he was, he would have painted the Welsh coal towns in the way he did. He was more prolific in the Parisian art salons than in London during the 1920's and 30's. Clearly the stuffy London art world wanted to live in ignorant bliss about what really happened outside their country estates and they could not even appreciate the brillant contrast of painterly people and perspectives, with impressionistic skies.

Oxage: street theatre in Oxford

I love seeing open air theatre in Oxford during summer. Most summers see the performance of several Shakespeare plays in different College quadrangles. Small audiences with limited props and great actors all combine for some memorable events. This summer, I have started with a walking play, written and performed in the streets at dusk, while everyone goes about their daily business. We met in Turl St, and about 20 of us followed the actors, listening to small scenes in quiet lanes. We enjoyed a flautist and a guitar playing singer to complement the action. We are caught between worlds of good and evil and the protagonist Alex looks for clues to understand her situation. We are all scared by the dark, masked Gators who seem determined to get Alex - and luckily, they cannot see us, the audience, who exist somewhere between both worlds. There is a love tryst and two deep revelations; one that surprises and the other satisfies... so I guess it leaves it open for two more plays! It was great to walk back as a group to the Turf Tavern to have drinks with the cast, their families and a few interested newbies.

We steal secrets: a version of the story of WikiLeaks.

This political documentary, written and directed by Alex Gibney, takes us through the twisted story behind the revelation of American state secrets in Afghanistan and Iraq. We are introduced early in the film to the infamous Julian Assange, as a young idealistic radical supporter of free speech. He confessed in a broad Aussie accent how he likes 'crushing the bastards'. I was mesmerised by the story of how Bradley Manning, a lonely, cross-dressing military intelligence analyst, was betrayed to the CIA by the young bisexual, and emotionally aloof hacker Adrian Lamo. Julian's idealism about sharing the truth prompted him to create his controversial website as a safe way to share this enormous amount of secret material with the world. The film interviews an impressive array of high profile people who seem willing to speak honestly, but there is a real absence of any interview with Julian, so we are left a little uncertain of his view of the parody of events. It was reported in The Big Issue that he wanted $1million to appear, which suggests that he has moved to the other side - has power corrupted him, just like everybody he turned on? As the film gathers pace, the traditional media seem to spark the truth telling but then quickly turn on Bradley and Julian, as dangerous and deranged individuals. They are targetted as irresponsible wistleblowers while the inherent enormity of the truths revealed have been largely ignored by governments and media corporations. It is as if they are being punished for their ruthless presentation of the facts, and for not understanding or managing the consequences of this truth-telling. I walked out feeling very despondent about the way power corrupts individuals and how organisations attack the messangers when the message is one they don't want to know.

a coast 2 coast cycle adventure

Having left my car at our destination of Robin Hood's Bay, we drove across the country to start cycling at St Bee's, on the west coast of the northen Lake District. There was warm sunshine over a large almost empty beach, and it was fun to gradually climb out of the village and into the Lakes.

Small, shaded and windy roads, great views over Scafell and Scafell Pike and lots of dry stone walls filled the first hour.

Then we started slowly climbing up towards the Hard Knott pass, a single lane tarmac track that winds up the side of a running brook. There was the scary sign, warning of 30% inclines, which were mostly on corners! It is one of the classic passes and driving it later was actually more scary than cycling it! So I gave it my best shot, but with the cars going up and down, and the lack of gears to go any slower, I interspersed walking with cycling, while Mark made it all the way on his montain bike with road tyres.

The views on the summit were amazing and it was a test of my brakes as I slowly made it down, to the quiet valley. This was the first of 3 passes on our way into Great Langdale, and it was a real treat to enjoy a drink at the Old Dungeon Ghyll, with lots of walkers, before we settled into the evening at the local climbing hut. We had cycled 50 km in just over 3 hours.

On the second day, we cycled through undulating foothills in the very green Lakes, alongside Easthwaite water and up to the ferry across Lake Windermere. It was fun to cycle on and off the ferry and we headed up through the hills to pass north of Kendal before leaving the Lake District.

We found a quiet A road and covered 75 km before staying overnight in Nateby, a quiet village beside the more infamous Kirkby Stephen, which is also a key stop for coast to coast walkers.

On our third day, we headed up above the Yorkshire Dales onto the high moors to visit Britain's higest pub, the Tarn Hill Inn, at 1732 feet above sea level.

This is where our route crossed the Pennine Way, another classic north-south walk. It was great to cycle through this barren moorland on a wide undulating road, before we descended into Swaledale, a classic Yorkshire valley. The road was mostly shaded, bordered by more and slighly lighter dry stone walls, and it crossed the babbling brook several times between many absolutely gorgeous villages. We cycled about another 70km to stay overnight in the northern city of Northallerton, where we found a great curry house to stock upon carbohydrates!

Our last day was the longest and most challenging in terms of height gained (almost 2000m) as we cycled through the Yorkshire Moors. At first, they were undulating and I was impressed at how the hillsides were completely covered in bright green bracken. Everywhere, there were sheep, and it was uncanny how they always found some shade to rest in. But soon, we entered steep valleys with villages at the bottom, the top and along the way.

This was truly hard work, but it was ultimately rewarded by great coastal views as we flew down into Robin Hood's Bay. Over 4 days we had cycled for almost 19 hours, covered 280 km and climbed 3,900m. What a brilliant adventure!