After two successful book launches — one in the Wiltshire village where I live and another at Andrew Edmunds in Soho — I filmed myself reading a couple of poems and posted them on my Facebook author page before flying to South Africa for my annual visit. I grew up in Johannesburg in the 1950s. It has changed enormously since then, in many ways for the better, though the continuing poverty, corruption and crime remain troubling. Yet South Africa is still magnificent. Racial te

KwaZulu-Natal and Home Back in England from the glories of KwaZulu-Natal, two memories linger most vividly: a quiet Methodist service in a small chapel, and the exuberant pottery of the world-famous Ardmore Ceramic Art, founded some forty years ago to support local, underprivileged artists. The result has been a truly African outpouring of creativity. Both chapel and studio sit amid lush pasture, grassy hills and ancient forests rich in wildlife: parrots, cuckoos, snakes and

On a recent trip to Northern Ireland to see my nephew and his family, I found myself reflecting on the memories stirred by the long drive north. My wife and I travelled via southern Scotland, taking the ferry from Stranraer so that we would pass through the country where my much-loved Scottish grandfather had grown up. Driving up the M5 past my childhood home in the Midlands, the spire of Tewkesbury Abbey came into view and with it memories of my mother, who loved it deeply.