Near a rest for weary travellers, hemmed in by acres of tarmac and a miasma of fumes, grows a tree whose existence might only be appreciated when it is no longer there.
A challenge to fans to remember the roots of their favourite game provides a cracking conundrum. Hopefully they won’t need the help of a third man while they queue to make their worship in the summer sun.
You already do so much for so many, but can I ask you for a special favour?
You are young and have much to experience, but as a friend explained to me once, the day you stop learning is the day your life ends. Explore everything, keep the best. John Evelyn, 1620-1706
There is a tree, on a hill, in a shire where there are few trees and even fewer hills. Long long ago the tree attracted a poet. The man was not a great poet, at least he never ascended to greatness, though he is still remembered for crafting a poem in the bark of the giant beech tree.