Once Upon a Seventieth (and an Eleventh) – Sherwood, Trees and Time
Anyway, on to the actual bit. Two birthdays. One rather large, round one – I turned 70. And one brilliantly elastic, full-of-bounce one – Matilda turned 11. So we did what felt right. We gathered the tribe and disappeared into the trees. Four nights in a log cabin in Sherwood Forest. It felt symbolic, somehow. Ancient oaks. Big skies filtered through branches. The sort of place where time slows down, whether you approve of it or not. The Setting The cabin sat tucked into woodland, timber against timber, as if it had grown there rather than been built. Early mornings carried that cold-fresh smell only forests seem to manage. You open the door, and the air feels cleaner than it has any right to be. There’s something about tall trees that recalibrates you. They’ve been standing there for hundreds of years. You arrive with your birthday cake and your slightly creaky knees, and they’re completely unimpressed. It’s rather grounding. We walked. We talked. We wandered without much of a p...