The Isle of Wight and the lost trousers

A catalogue of disasters on a simple weekend break and a symphony of “lost”….from lost trousers (while I was wearing them), lost reservations, lost the car, parking fines, lost camera battery, and obviously Maria got lost in Canary Wharf which is what kicked it all off….

Foxhill Manor and then there were none

A retreat into utter escapism, dubious footwear and a near miss on unintentional nudism

The Cotswolds (A green escape from the city)

A cocktail of sheep, dry stone walls, “singing” and forests with trees. The magic of the Cotswolds (if you are able to pronounce it) awaits.