Read: Fleeting Moments...

Thousands of fragile tree leaves can be seen silently moving in the breeze; their tubular connecting stems enable each leaf to gently sway

We are walking along the quiet lane that runs through the woods; the afternoon is gloomy, overcast, it feels much darker than it should for this time of day.

The sun has only been up for a short while, but its warmth has already started to melt away the brittle layer of ice that covers each blade of grass.

The London bus is crowded, its passengers are the normal blend of working-class, multicultural Eastenders.

We are halfway through one of our regular drives from London to Wiltshire. We have just passed the grey, built-up suburbs of Reading

The small seaside village of Westward Ho! is not only famous for being named after an imperialistic historical novel; it’s also known for its extensive sandy

The summer of 1980 was an exciting time for me; I had turned sixteen, left school, and had moved away from home. I was working and living on a smallholding in Wales.

I leave the supermarket with two loaded bags of groceries. I’ve just spent fifteen minutes in a checkout queue and am glad to escape the noisy, chaotic,