Fuerteventura

We were picked up from Fuerteventura Airport, on the second largest and oldest of the Canary Islands, by the arty surfer and guesthouse owner Franco, whose very cool, 300-year-old farmhouse he has restored using re-purposed beams from the original building and being as 'green' as possible. That means solar panels on the roof, collecting rainwater and re-using the household water for the garden, and growing organic vegetables in raised beds, both for his and guests' use. All the rooms of the house lead off an inner courtyard and, as it's in the middle of nowhere, there is no light pollution to interfere with star-gazing. Also, as he is an artist, everything is done with a creative eye, so there are things to look at wherever your gaze falls. He and his Chinese wife have been planting olive trees and aloe vera, and the garden is a welcome oasis of green compared to the barren landscape beyond.

In fact, if I'm honest, my first thought when I saw Fuerteventura was that it was ugly. I know - what a thing to think! But where were the trees? The lush tropics? Nowhere, was the answer. This is a dry place. If it rains 10 days a year it's remarked upon – and people did, as it has been a wet winter and we even experienced an afternoon downpour. But, as the days went by, I started to see it with different eyes. I found I liked the stark contrasts between the volcanic black rocks and the white sand; the bright blue of the sky and the brown of the islands.

We stayed in Corralejo, in the northern tip, which meant we had views of both Isle de Lobos, which is uninhabited and has been designated a nature park, and Lanzarote, which sometimes looked close, sometimes far away. As well as the ever-present reminders of old volcanoes – the calderas; the volcanic rock, both black and white – the other defining element of this island is the wind. It blows so constantly that it feels cool, but underneath, of course, the sun is baking down. At any event, over the centuries, people have built round enclosures out of the rocks for protection from this wind.

More recent ones are ranged along the white sand of the Grandes Playas and these are maybe 10ft in diameter, so that a couple can lie inside and sunbathe without being battered. But we had the experience of going inside a much older one, built to contain animals, way on the west coast of the island at Los Molinas.

It was a fairly big circle, maybe 30-40ft across, and would have held – most likely – goats, which are probably one of the few animals that can forage enough food in these conditions. To get into the enclosure, the walls of which were roughly 6ft high, you needed to duck through a small square left open on one side. On the opposite side was an opening that led to a smaller enclosure, which might have been used for sectioning off part of the herd, and it was into this we went on our last night, led by the infectiously perky Karen, who runs Stars by Night.

Along with Karen was the uber-knowledgeable Enrice (I think I've spelled his name wrong but I will fix this when I find out), who brought his telescope and showed us the moons of Jupiter, the star factory of Orion's nebula and the moon's craters and mountains; and Simon, who was there to take night photographs.

There was a wonderful feeling of being on the edge of the world with enthusiastic folk who wanted to share their passion with us visitors and it was a great night that will stay with me.

What else? Well, there was an extraordinary bicycle ride, again along the western edge of the island along an unmade, dirt road. Although we were passed by the very occasional car and other cyclists, again there was the feeling of being somewhere unexplored and empty that was exciting.

One day, walking back from the beach, we passed a house whose roof was covered in sculptures and whose walls had all sorts of things sprouting from them, like legs, colored fish and surrealist objects. As we were admiring it all, an older man with white hair and beard opened the gate of his driveway and came out. We asked if we could see inside and he said to come back the next day as he was going out. So, the next day, off we went and rang the doorbell and he invited us in to his garden. It turns out he is the artist Carlos Calderón Yruegas. An architect by trade, he told us that when he works as an architect, he must do what his clients want and follow certain rules and regulations. But with his art, he is free – he can do as he likes. I liked this idea very much – that there is a realm where you can do anything you feel like because you are only pleasing yourself. And, if it pleases others too? Then it's doubly good.

I ended up buying a print from an etching of his, and we sat in his garden and talked about art and he was so welcoming and kind – it was as if we were old friends. He asked where we were going next – to the beach, maybe? We said we were going to do some painting and at that he very kindly gave us sponges and a container of water to wash brushes out, as well as paper towel to dry them on. He invited us back and said we must return and he would teach us how to do etching. A lovely man and a wonderful artist. I felt very at home with him and in his space – there was something about it that reminded me of childhood and the homes of my parents and their arty friends.

So, by the time we were leaving, rushing along in our airport shuttle van, I looked out at the volcanic mountains, the endless shades of dun and brown and black and white and blue, and thought, Actually, I like this place very much. It's beautiful.

Most important things first: Happy International Women's Day to everyone! Even in my short life, I have seen the leaps and bounds women and girls have taken, and it's almost unbelievable now to think that, when I was a child, it was still considered virtuous for girls to be self-sacrificing, self-effacing and quiet. Men and boys were the important ones – we had to learn to take a backseat. Yes, really! Now the mere idea of this is laughable – thank goodness – and hopefully it won't be long before all women everywhere on our planet can take equality for granted. In the meantime, keep up the good fight.

On other fronts, this week saw me going to the huge construction site behind King's Cross in north London. This area is seeing an unprecedented amount of change. It's gone from being a seedy, red-light, low-rent district with a few old railway workers' apartment blocks and lots of sidings, to being a completely new village with huge glass office buildings, apartments and – crucially, lots of open public spaces. Equally important is the way in which even remnants of the old railway buildings are being preserved and used as elements in the new builds, as can be seen in the careful way an old wall is being preserved behind scaffolding, awaiting its next incarnation as the front of a line of shops.

I'm not usually a fan of huge construction sites, but this one is actually making good use of an area that was not going to be green any time soon and the open public spaces are interesting and inviting. The one in front of the Granary Building, which holds both an art college, a bar and a restaurant, has very cool fountains that seem to be dancing to unheard music. All around are benches, tables and chairs under trees and, along one side, are street-food vans serving all kinds of interesting dishes. It's a feel-good place workers want to go to. And, as an extra bonus, the Regent's Canal runs there and steps down for both getting to the water and sitting in the sunshine, have been installed. A place to go check out even if you have no business there.

Taking advantage of yesterday's clear skies, we went for a walk, first through the Hampstead Heath Extension and then across a road somewhere up near the top by White Stone Pond. That's when I found myself thinking: It's happening again – I'm somewhere I've never been before and I truly thought I knew this area inside out. We'd come to Hill House and while I still haven't found out exactly what it is these days, I have learned that it started life as a private home - though a private home big enough to house an institution. The garden walkways are open to the public and they're rather picturesque. In fact, there seemed to be a fashion photo shoot going on, so I'm obviously not the only one who thinks so.

There were also one or two signs of spring: a tree sprouting blossom, a bush with camouflaged green flowers (see below), and the sun actually felt warm when it was out. To anyone who doesn't live in a climate that so meanly doles out light and good weather, this must all seem very repetitive, but it's astonishing what a big impact it has on mood and general joie de vivre when you don't routinely have it.

On other fronts, son has announced he plans to move out next month. There will be financial upsides to this: no more buying enough food to keep a young man fueled, he can be taken off the car insurance, the household bills will go down as he has been home a lot before getting his job, I expect I'll be filling up the car less and, as for personal energy, there will be fewer dishes to pick up and less dirt in general to clean away. Plus - and until you've experienced it's opposite, it's hard to impress how satisfying it can be - when I come home at the end of the day, the place will look like it did when I left it in the morning. But even for all this, the truth is, I will miss him terribly. It has been a wonderful treat to get to know him as a fellow adult and human being, and hugely warming from the inside out to find myself discovering over and over again how much I like him - which is a very different thing from simply loving him because he's my son. He's a wonderful listener, and gives considered answers and opinions; his heart is very much in the right place when it comes to kindness, and he has been fantastic company. I know I'm only saying all the things every mother has probably ever said about her child when they stretch their wings and start to fly, and knowing others have traveled this road is a comfort - but that doesn't stop it from being a big life event.

 Saturday saw me attending a Great British (or should that be great British?) cultural tradition: football (that's soccer to those of you west of the Atlantic Ocean). Crystal Palace, to be exact. This is a team that has only just this season risen to the heady heights of the Premier League. There is a sense that no one can quite believe it and so it's all about staying in this giddy position. Still...

The experience began with a visit to The Albion, a nearby pub painted purple and red, which is - you guessed it - the Crystal Palace colors. A handwritten sign in the window read: 'Supporters only' and to get in, you had to show your season ticket to the guy standing outside the door. On every street corner in the vicinity were at least two and sometimes four police officers in their yellow day-glo jackets but, to be fair, they looked pretty relaxed. Gone, it seems, are the scary days of the 1980s when I lived near the Arsenal ground and my heart would pound when I saw a crowd of skinheads assembling before or after a match.

So a swift one and then on to Selhurst Park itself. It's a bit of a rough and ready place – one might even describe it as dated and down-at-heel – but this is its charm and may it ever be so. The atmosphere is close and cozy, the seats wooden, the ladies' toilets clean (though I heard horror stories about the men's – something about standing in an inch of p–– But no need to go there!) and probably the only ones in London you don't have to queue for, the ratio of men to women being in the region of 100 to one.

Pre-game entertainment included the two mascots – one male, one female character yellow eagle, going around the pitch, waving to the crowd; the Crystals – a troupe of young ladies with glittery pompoms doing low-key routines to the pop music that could just be heard beneath the roar of the crowd; but best of all was the real-life American bald eagle who flew from one goal to the other several times.
Finally the match began: Man U were the visitors and sadly for Palace, they won 0-2. But still, considering I have almost zero interest in watching competitive sport, I found myself silently urging CP on: Please score! Please get a goal! And the verdict? Good fun. As the other half said at some point during the day, "This is my tribe."

Well, it's what we all hanker for, isn't it? To be with our gang.  And so finally it all makes sense: to be one with them and get behind a common cause.

The legacy of all the wind and storms since Christmas is this big old oak, which went over in Alexandra Park, here in north London. Not sure if the sheer enormousness of the trunk comes over in the photo, but if I stand next to it, it comes above my waist - that's pretty big! Some of the older trees in the park go back several hundred years and I'm guessing this was one of them. Too bad it went over.

On other fronts, I just had a surprisingly nice birthday. I say surprising for a couple of reasons. One is that I'd been pretty low-key about it
– that is, I didn't announce it ahead of time and had decided a meal out with my son would be celebration enough. However! Come the day (thanks mainly to Facebook but, also, to a couple of dear souls who remembered it and sent cards – yes, cards! Still the most touching thing to receive on a notable day – that arrived on the morning), the lovely team easyJet Traveller folks took me out to lunch in Shoreditch, which meant pricey if delicious burgers (a fish one for me, I hasten to add, as I'm a pescatarian) and they picked up the tab, plus, they gave me a delightful pineapple plant and card. Awwww....

Then, after work, I headed to Farringdon and the most northerly branch of Burger & Lobster, where I met my wonderful son. And yes, we had East Coast lobster! I know, a terribly un-green thing to do, but such a treat. I actually had to close my eyes and pause for a moment when I bit into my lobster roll for the first time. Was a taste of Maine, Martha's Vineyard and home. Delicious. And my son simply the best company. Plus? He gave me a card and a very nice bottle of wine.

But the second reason it was such a nice day, aside from all this merrymaking and recognition the birthday brought, is this: All day, I kept waiting for the ruining. You know, that thing that would slam me down and remind me that, just because it was my birthday was no reason something – or more likely, someone – wouldn't be horrid. Can I share? When I was a child, my big brother was very good at thumping me and this was often the ruining of many a birthday. A bit later on, when I was possibly too big to hit, a father with an uncontrollable temper was equally good at ruining. So, though I quietly expected that moment of ruining even all these years later (we get well and truly conditioned when we're young!), it never came! It was just an all-round very good day. So thank you to any and all who had even the smallest part in making that happen! And thank goodness for the ability to grow up and take charge of life in a positive way. Phew! And yay. Roll on another brilliant year!

I know it's part of the British psyche to complain about the weather and, all around the world, it is rolled out as part of their stereotype, but truthfully, it has been quite Day After Tomorrow-ish here, pretty much since early January. It's all down to the Gulf Stream, which has shifted and so no longer visits these shores, combined with the artic air coming from the west rather than the east – or something apocalyptic. The upshot being that the wind has raged and the skies have opened and acres are under water and the coastline has shape-shifted.

At any event, to say it was good to see the sun yesterday is a bit like saying it was nice to eat after a three-day fast. That is, along with water, food and sleep, sunshine must be up there with the necessary ingredients to survival – at least mentally. Or, at least, for me.

And so to the Chilterns and, in particular, Ivinghoe Beacon on the Ridgeway, to get outside and soak some up. Delicious!

That was yesterday. Today we have slid back to Overcast Grey. Not as chi-chi as Elephant's Breath or Borrowed Light – in fact, if I'm honest, it's pretty depressing – but it is still February, after all. I'm practically holding my breath for Fuerteventura, which is where I'm headed next. I've never been to any Canary Islands before, so tips most gratefully received! I'm hoping that, as it will be March, it will be too early for the whole 18-30 crowd and too late for the Saga sun seekers. My driver for going is star-gazing: it's been designated one of the world's four top spots for this activity, due to the low light pollution, and the highlight of our trip will be a guided evening looking up and getting to use a whopping great telescope.

Here in the UK, the one night of the week you'll find the movie theaters full is Wednesday, because mobile-phone network Orange offers a twofer deal to its customers. And so to see Dallas Buyers Club at the local Odeon (home-brought popcorn and bottled water in our bag. I know, so cheap, but otherwise defeats the point of a low-cost night out). Did not know what this film was going to be about, beyond the poster picture. Personally? I refer seeing things without knowing much about them beforehand. If it's any good, you don't need a trailer to let you know the entire plot and you certainly don't need (or want?) half the office to tell you all the good bits ahead of seeing it. (By the way, what is that compulsion to reveal the storyline, high point, etc? Must be some psychological reason for wanting to be The One Who Knows.) Much more entertaining to allow the story to unroll like life, in which you don't know what will come next. Anyway! On that basis, all I will say is that I loved Jared Leto in this, had not seen him before so didn't know who he was, which made his performance even more believable.

Above is Seven Dials, which I have walked past the last two lunch times on my way to catch up with West End-working friends - a bonus of being based in central London for a couple of weeks. It's a wonderfully curious intersection of seven streets, all meeting at this point in London's Covent Garden. The 'dial' is a sun dial, one on each side of the top of the monument and though this place was for a long time the epitome of slummy urban London, at least until the first half of the 20th century, it is now surrounded by upmarket, single-designer shops; expensive restaurants; a theatre showing Matilda the Musical and prettily cobbled to make it pedestrian friendly. Gentrification: good thing? Bad thing? Discuss.

Meanwhile, the UK continues to become a vast lake district under the weight of tremendous rainfall and lashings from practically non-stop storms. The eastern half of the USA, I hear, is braced for another monster snowstorm and California is as dry as an overcooked chestnut. The West is becoming more and more like a natural-disaster movie.