Yesterday, we went to visit the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, just off the coast of Northumberland and reachable via a causeway only when the tide is out. It's a beautiful place.
I haven't been for a few years, and although it doesn't change much - that's part of its charm - there is now a maze made of maize. I was worried it was going to be a bit Craggy Island -
- but Ned, Joy, Dad and I decided to tackle it.
Once I was in I realised that mazes are completely wasted on me, as I have a genetic bypass on sense of direction. (Truly. Turn me round twice and I'm lost. And don't try to explain to me that uphill is not necessarily north, because I just won't believe you. Many have tried. All have failed.) So actually, the feeling you have in a maze - that's my life.
I decided the best thing to do was relax and enjoy the walk. (After all, I had no idea I was going round in circles.) And I did. Who wouldn't? -
It was one of those half hours that have the restorative power of something much longer, greater more profound. Although I do think that the medical profession could do worse than prescribing a bit of Northumbrian sky.