The world from my window

It's morning and the town square is buzzing. Not as much as it was last night, mind you, when there were stalls, music and plenty of rain. Today, there is a large cockerel crowing in the ramshackle garden next to my hotel. A caged bird sings five notes, over and over again, and not necessarily in the right order. The smell of coffee wakens visitors from their slumber. A new day begins. Here in Salento, Colombia, the town is making the most of Advent. At night, this little place west of Bogota, on the verdant coffee growing slopes of the Andes, literally lights up. There are candles in the most inspired cardboard holders in front of shops, bars and houses. Strings of white lights delineate doors and window and a decorated palm tree stands in the middle of the square. In the church where I light a candle for family I have lost, the nativity scene is resplendent with sparking lights, a little town of Jerusalem covered in tinsel. Christmas is coming. Out in the hinte...

Oh Prague, how beautiful you are. Bohemian, divine, sad and surreal, sublime.       Architectural detail wherever you look. Along with true t ales of heroism in an ancient land which recent history has treated so badly. And there was I, worried about running into stag and hen parties. Plenty of people, it's true.  But the place is so lovely, so interesting. I saw through the crowds to hear the music of Dvorak and Smetana in the air. I absorbed the art of Mucha and architectural detail wherever I looked. And the light, oh the light... Well, Prague, you ticked all my boxes, you really did. Easy to get to, wonderful to get around and so much to see and do. Although I can't say I liked your food much. Potato dumplings, ham, sausages and enormous smoked ribs are not my style. But I loved your beer and your wine. And with the aid of our Lonely Planet guide, we found some wonderful places to eat. My taste for the bizarr...

When we moved into this house on Corfu, the first thing I wanted to know more about was the bookshelf. The house we are renting belongs to the family of a successful author, you see, and I was curious about what books would be in her Corfiot library. Especially when I discovered that, years ago, she lived in the next village to mine in Dorset. Maybe it was an omen. If I sat in her chair on a daily basis between eight thirty and one o'clock in front of my laptop, her writing prowess would rub off. Having said that, when I went up to Mount Olympus last month, armed with pen and notepad with a view to reaching The Plateau of the Muses and the height of inspiration, I was thwarted by bad weather. Mr Grigg and I had to turn back within earshot of the Muses playing snowballs with the gods. Huh, I thought. Another sign. So close and yet so far. However, who can fail to be visited by the muse in this environment? The birds are trilling, the sun is shining, the primary school ...