‘Poached.’

I assume it is Hiberno-English, or perhaps just part of the vernacular of farming life in rural Ireland.

‘Poached,’ describes the areas around gateways to fields and water troughs during wet times of the year. Anyone wintering out livestock will be familiar with grass that has been poached. Green pasture transformed to deep, clagging mud by the heavy tread of cattle.

The first time I heard a farmer declare that he could not turn out cows onto the fresh grass of spring because the ground was so wet that …

Sitting on a bench in the park at Auvers-sur-Oise yesterday, I pondered the face of the statue of Vincent van Gogh. Walking through Giverny this afternoon, there was a sense of how different were Vincent and Monet.

There is an episode of the Eleventh Doctor Who when the Doctor, with his companion Amy, encounter Vincent. In a moving moment, the Doctor transports Vincent to an art gallery in the 21st Century so that the troubled artist can eavesdrop on the words of art lovers who are enjoying the brilliance of …

‘Sir, you are looking very bright today.’

‘It’s summer,’ I said, ‘I have switched to summer uniform.’

Linen jackets have been procured in various charity shops, they are part of a rotation that includes a jacket with particular memories

It was a jacket that was banned when I lived in Dublin before. ‘You look like a farmer heading to the mart.’

While this did not feel an uncomplimentary comment, it seemed a reason to bar the wearing of the checked-patterned fawn-coloured jacket with its bright yellow lining when going to …