When I was a child, we had familiar and regular walks into nearby countryside. If you can call it that: across agricultural fields, and up to a rough area of open field and woodland, where the former was used for motorcycle scrambling. But it was pleasant. I particularly remember autumnal strolls along leaf strewn paths, and a springy tree branch which hung over a steep hilly descent. For my brother and I, it was the chief delight and we called it the “boing tree”. My father would pull it down, we would grasp it tightly, and it did indeed boing, carrying us up with it. The area was called Canada Heights, and I seem to recall it was generally a Sunday expedition – the one day my father rested properly.

Short, relatively local walks are nice. There’s a place near to me called Lyme Park which is a substantial National Trust area, that you have to pay to enter. Unless, that is, you proceed by an (entirely lawful) back entrance which leads into woodland and hills but which is, nonetheless, the back of Lyme Park. I’ve walked around this area many times. And in the last year or two I have discovered that it borders onto some pleasant walking terrain, which makes for a happy afternoon. And I’ve taken some pictures which please me:

Finally, this is not in Lyme Park but somewhere in the Peak District. I don't have a place for it but it was taken during winter 2002-3: