it was a bright sunday morning . . .

it rained and thundered and there was lightning flickering around like snake-tongues across the yellow-grey sky.

sometimes the rain smells like the sea. sometimes it smells like soil. yesterday it smelled like a fast-moving river. clean.

it washed the air and left a clear-sky evening with lots of stars. i looked for the space-station but i dont really know where to look so i just saw the blurry flickers of far-away stars.

the summer holidays are times of remembering and recharging the many batteries that allow steven to be.

probably the most powerful and direct recharging source i have is reading. i read as much as i can during the school year but it is fragmented and often at the time when i am least focussed - one half hour before i fall into the dreamless sleep that characterizes true tiredness. i am careful to read as many new books as possible but there are some that i can read over and over.


among my many many favourite books is one written in 1969 and set in the 1930's. a semi-autobiographical account of a journey undertaken by the author. the story begins . . .

"it was a bright sunday morning in early june, the right time to be leaving home. my three sisters and a brother had already gone before me; two other brothers had yet to make up their minds. they were still sleeping that morning, but my mother had got up early and cooked me a heavy breakfast, had stood wordlessly while i ate it, her hand on my chair, and had then helped me pack up my few belongings. there had been no fuss, no appeals, no attempts at advice or persuasion, only a long and searching look. then, with my bags on my back, i'd gone out into the early sunshine and climbed through the long wet grass to the road.


it was 1934. i was nineteen years old, still soft at the edges, but with a confident belief in good fortune. i carried a small rolled-up tent, a violin in a blanket, a change of clothes, a tin of treacle biscuits, and some cheese. i was excited, vain-glorious, knowing i had far to go; but not, as yet, how far. as i left home that morning and walked away from the sleeping village, it never occured to me that others had done this before me."

as with all journeys that are worth anything, this one is rich with discovery, trials and tribulations, but through it all the author maintains his sense of wonder coupled with an awakening awareness of a world that is rapidly changing. the early approaches of the war that would forever change the world colour what might otherwise be an idyllic tramp through europe in the 1930's.

oh by the way, this excerpt is from a book by author laurie lee entitled as i walked out one midsummer morning. this book was nominated by england's telegraph newspaper as one of the top twenty travel books of all time. to view the other nineteen, go here.