Whitewebbs House to Leila's Shop

"You should go to Whitewebbs," said the nice man at one of the offices I work in. "It's a pub now – they have an all-you-can eat lunch on Sundays." Not sure what this says about his opinion on my appetite(!), but I'm always up for an old house, so off we went last weekend to Enfield to take a look.

Surrounded by well-visited woods (think dog walkers, young families and running clubs) on one side and a golf club on the other, all on what must have been the estate's once-upon-a-time grounds, Whitewebbs House is now a Toby Carvery pub (www.tobycarvery.co.uk/whitewebbshouseenfield). I can't offer an opinion on the food or service, since all I did was wander in and take a look at the pretty downstairs rooms, which still give a hint of what it might have been like to live here back in the day (fyi, the mansion was built in 1791 and, as far as I can find out, has no historical significance beyond being a rich person's mansion back in the day, though a nearby house with the same name, which was demolished before this one was built, had 'an association' with the Gunpowder Plot [think Guy Fawkes], but that's really not a lot to do with this!). Still, it's a terribly pretty building and, if you enter by Clay Hill and park in the running club's car park (they didn't seem to mind when we did this), you get to see the matching pretty little lodge, now painted pink, that must once have guarded the entrance to the house.

It's not far from London – maybe a 20-30 minute drive if you're already on the north side – and makes a nice, if quite populated walk – you're not going to stumble over any wildlife here, aside from the ducks in the pond or an irate golfer who's missed his shot.

The best place these days, if you want to find 'authentic' oldie worldie stuff, is probably East London. Just off Shoreditch High Street, on Calvert Avenue, E2, nearly at Arnold Circus – which is a wonderful architectural/city-planning bit of space to sit in and gawp at what is arguably the world's first social housing development – is Leila's Shop (facebook.com/pages/Leilas-Shop).

It's so pretty, you just want to walk around and look at the displays. And, if you like what you see and feel hungry, you can pop next door and eat some of it in Leila's Café (open 10-6, or 10-5 on Sundays).

My wandering companion bought walnuts and a little jar. Not walnuts in a little jar, walnuts and a little, empty jar. To put tea in, she said. It's that kind of shop.

I'm getting fast and loose here with the photos I took, but you get the general idea: food out with it's brothers and sisters, not wrapped up in loads of packaging; the whole looking like a child's version of what a shop should look like. Although it was an idealised version of what we imagine British shops once were, it struck me as very French: the essence being that things should be lovely for the sake of being lovely and enjoyed. At any event, if you're in the area, definitely worth stopping in, if only to take a look. Though you couldn't go wrong buying a couple of those artichokes. We heard they were making soup out of them next door, but – alas – had to go back to work.

And now to thoughts... What a week! Crying tired, my mother used to call it, and she wasn't wrong. Working 'til 6pm in one office, then battling against the commuters of Liverpool Street into central London for an evening shift in another office, where we've been working on a magazine redesign. Yes, it looks amazing. Yes, of course it's going to be a huge success. But, after working weekends as well as evenings, last night saw me unfit for anything. Enough. Done. Kaput. I thought, as you got older, you were meant to work less? Hey ho, it should hopefully settle down this week and then, next weekend? Off to Dunwich, in Suffolk, on England's amazing east coast. Watch this space...

The American Cemetery at Colville and D-Day Landing beaches, Normandy, France

We started at Sword Beach, near Ouistreham, by way of Pegasus Bridge on our way from Caen, on a whistle-stop tour of the D-Day Landing sites. But of course, you can't really do that. That is, you can drive by and see a gun emplacement here (Juno Beach), a bunker there (Sword), tanks just about everywhere along the route, which is clearly signposted from Ouistreham, but it doesn't leave enough time to visit the museums, which is a shame, as athe films in particular, that attempt to recreate the drama of Operation Overlord, look worth a watch.

What you can get, though, is a bucket full of moving moments. Perhaps the most touching of all was on a wreath fashioned out of plastic red poppies, left on a tank by a memorial inland, with a handwritten note in English that read:

You gave up all your tomorrows and for that we are forever grateful

Making it more touching still, the woman who signed it shared the last name of the man it was left for. Wife? Mother? Sister? Granddaughter?

There were also those along the way clearly making hay, as it were (#giftshops).

And there were some extraordinary sights, like the remaining floating pieces of the 'temporary' harbour made for the Allied Forces at Arromanches. So French that they are there still, where anyone might swim out to them. I said this to a French man I know, this way that in France you can take a walk in woods and discover rusting train carriages left over from WWI even and signs warning you not to step off the path in case of unexploded mines.

"Well, the war took place there," was his explanation, missing the point that, in the USA or the UK, chances are good all traces and relics would have been swept away and put in nice, safe buildings for the public to pay to see – not left scattered about where anyone might – heaven forfend – hurt themselves on them.

I hope I'm making it clear that I prefer the French attitude: we are our own guardians and don't need officials to clean up the world in this way for us.

As we traveled along the coast, there was an unspoken knowing: that the American Cemetery at Colville-sur-Mer, above Omaha Beach, would be the culmination of our day.

Of course, it's quite a sight and you would have to be made of stone not to experience the eyes filling, chest tightening, lump-in-throat sensations. In fact, testament to the fact that most people simple can't trust themselves to speak is how absolutely pin quiet it is around the first memorial you come to, even though there are hordes of people of many nationalities looking, reading, digesting. Though a sign at the entrance asks for respect, nowhere does it request silence, yet that is what there is.

Two American flags were flying high in the pure blue sky. Over and down the bluff was an extraordinarily pleasing contrast of dark blue sea, white sand, green grass and trees, and clear blue sky with a few light clouds. The air was a comfortable warm that didn't require a sweater but wasn't strong enough to raise a sweat. In short, it was beautiful. How was it possible that such a peaceful, pretty spot could have seen so many lives literally ripped apart?

We may have all seen the lines of simple, plain crosses stretching away, but when you stop to read the names, place of birth and date of death on them, it is easy to see the individuals from so little information. So many seemed to come from New Jersey and Pennsylvania, at least in the section we explored, though Ohio, New York, Rhode Island were also represented, as were a pair of brothers.

It is also important, I think, to note that not all the markers are crosses. There are Stars of David and, I found myself wondering, what about those who might not have classified themselves as Christians or Jews? But then, a cross has, I think, possibly jumped the gap and can represent simply that the body of a soul lies beneath.

In fact, it was those with the least information that were the most moving of all, reading only: A comrade in arms, known but to God

Ultimately, though, this was not a depressing visit. It's thanks to these men – and thousands of others like them – that we in the West enjoy the lives we do. I don't condone war, but like the woman who left the wreath, I will be forever grateful these men gave up all their tomorrows.

Brittany Ferries, Eurocamp & Mont St Michel

Left Poole Harbour on a murky morning via a Brittany Ferry bound for Cherbourg, Travelling Companion and I feeling extremely tired from our 4am wake up. Tip: yes, you really will need 3 hours to drive there from London. However, once on board, things brightened up considerably: the sun came out and, being September, the hordes were absent but, best of all, we had a charming cabin to rest in during the 4-hour crossing to Cherbourg.

The beds were comfy, it came with a private bathroom that had a toilet, sink and shower, and was blissfully quiet. It meant that we could actually sleep and wake up in time for a cup of tea before disembarking, feeling fresh and lively for the rest of the driving. Thank you, Brittany Ferries!

We're staying as guests of Eurocamp in the Domaine des Ormes resort near Dol de Bretagne and, having stayed in many campsites, I can report that I've never stayed in one quite as well equipped as this. On the massive site is a full-blown chateau, 18-hole golf course, hotel, various swimming pools, lakes, bars, restaurants, shop, horse riding, playground and high-wire course in the woods, which we discovered when we went for a walk.

Tip: bring insect repellent. We've never encountered mosquitos the way we have here either, and these woods are where they congregate.

This is also where the high-wire course and tree houses are. Being end of season, it was so quiet it was almost eerie in here.

After walking through the tiny town of St Leonards, which was having a Sunday beer-frites-and-music fest, we carried on, meandering down empty French lanes past a jolly hay family, cows (though a particularly beefy-looking one with horns could have fooled us), apple trees heaving with fruit, and fields and fields of corn – though we have seen none in the shops. Very tempting to do a bit of scrumping (that's Brit-speak for taking uninvited), but restrained myself.

Think we ended up walking something like 9 miles, but it was so pretty it just kept tempting us on. Big collapse at the end of it though – so much for our 'do-nothing' day after all the traveling!

You can't come to northern Brittany and not go to Mont St-Michel. It's just a given and, especially as TC had never been, we – and everyone else in northern Brittany – went.

It is an extraordinary sight, looking as if it's floating in the distance. These days too, the French have put a lot of effort into reinstating the original look after years of the surrounding area silting up due to a poorly thought-out dam being put in. Now, they are out-greening themselves, having dismantled the old dam and reused the parts (love this way of upcycling) wherever possible, and put in a new sluice that helps to sift the silt out before it gets to the 'mont'. So, with every tide, the  sea water is moving more silt away and the sluice is preventing more from arriving, so it will become an island once again. Very cool.

Also nice is the new, environmentally sympathetic walkway out there. You can also take the free shuttle bus or, even, a horse and carriage.

Tip number three has to be if you don't like crowds, go as high up as fast as you can. There are literally traffic jams of people inside the ramparts and a very long queue to get into the Abbey, which costs €9 per adult.

We skipped it and headed round the back and onto the slippery clay-like silt. The vast plain of it stretches as far as you can see to the horizon out to sea – you can see those reclaimers back at the sluice have their work cut out – and people and horses were walking about, some heading for the little island further away.

We spent a happy half-hour slip-sliding through the squiggly stuff, before making our way back to the car. Better than an old cathedral any old day.

Natural History Museum, London

There's nothing wrong with the exhibits in the Natural History Museum, but the show stealer is the building itself. Designed by a young architect, Alfred Waterhouse, in 1865 and opened in 1881, a visit here can be all about looking at the decorations rather than what's being displayed. All the amazing attention to detail – those individually painted ceiling tiles depicting plants, the terracotta columns and animals running up them, was overseen by Richard Owen, the museum's first superintendent and also the person who pushed to give natural history its own museum (it had previously been given cramp quarters in the British Museum up near Russell Square).


Tip: if you visit on a summer Saturday it will be crowded and there will be a long line to get in. However, if you pre-book timed tickets to whatever temporary special exhibition is being staged, you can simply walk up, show your tickets and be allowed straight in – even if the time of your visit to the ticketed exhibition isn't for hours. We unknowingly did this – that is, bought tickets to see the Ice Age exhibit for 3pm – rocked up hours earlier and were instructed to walk past the long snaking line of folks patiently waiting over 45 minutes to get in. Definitely worth the tenner (that is £10) each to save all that time, plus we got to see that Mammoths: Ice Age Giants exhibit, which was interesting if not fascinating. Yes, it's aimed at kids, but don't let that stop you: there's some cool time-lapse-style film that takes you back about 20,000 years, which is fun; plus a couple of benches which we found thankfully empty so we could sit and chat awhile. If you've been squeezing your way through the hordes in the main museum since you entered, this is almost worth £10 on its own. And, presumably because it wasn't free, this exhibit was blessedly unrammed. If this one interests you, hurry: it ends on the 7th of September 2014. (ice age giants exhibit)

As well as those woolly mammoths, we stopped in on our old favourites, including the blue whale, who is astonishingly crammed in with not just every other kind of sea creature you can think of, hanging from the ceiling, but counts elephants and hippos as his bedfellows. This hall is wonderfully anarchic and reminiscent of the sort of stuffed-owl museums you sometimes come across in small-town America. I expect it won't be long before they separate all these species, but for now, it's charming.

We gave the dinosaurs a miss – as they're the star attraction for most folks, there was an additional long, snaking line to shuffle past them. Instead, we went up as high as you can go in the great hall to take a look at the redwood tree trunk slice. These are di rigour for capital city natural history museums, but worth the space they take up for the way they chronical human history with the little stickers, pointing out the ring when, for instance, Sir Walter Raleigh brought the potato from South America and showed it to the first Queen Elizabeth.

It was about now that we started to suffer museum fatigue, so took just a cursory swing through the minerals hall, where once again it wasn't the diamonds or 4,000 ton meteorite that demanded attention, but the beautiful wood filing drawers. With all our wonderful technology, there is still nothing like useful, skilled craftsmanship for human-made beauty.

Entry: free. Open: 10am to 5.50pm, 7 days a week.  Natural History Museum, London

London Japanese food, fire, BBQ and rainbows

Sushi Hiroba ( www.sushihiroba.co.uk ) calls itself a Korean/Japanese fusion restaurant, but we didn't notice anything particularly Korean. My son and I ordered a lot, even though it was lunchtime – maybe because it was lunchtime – and everything was very good, from the tofu bags stuffed with rice to the California roll. It's what I would call mid-range price-wise (we really did order a ton of dishes and it came to £20 per head), but if you're near Holborn and in the mood for sushi, this is your place.

The temperature here in london has gone from mid-70s to upper 60s. Just enough so you take a jacket with you when you head out for the day. Mostly though, the sky is still blue, but with a definite autumnal tinge to the air... Which put a friend of mine and I in the mood for a burn. This means sitting in her backyard and burning sticks and various pieces of wood found in skips in a metal brazier. Bottle (or two!) of white wine is requisite and we managed to talk the night away, catching up as we hadn't had a chance to do for some time. I ended up walking home at 2am and the only other living thing I came upon was a lonely cat. Was nice to learn that, in fact, this city does sleep. So often nowadays, if feels like, whenever you go out, there are always folk driving around, whatever time it is. For once though, all was quiet.

I was lucky enough to get invited to two BBQs over the weekend. This meant that a) I got to sit in nice gardens and b) I got to eat nice food that I didn't have to make. Perfect combinations!

In between the sunshine though, we have also been having heavy showers. As an aside, yesterday I read a weather forecast that went like this: 'Sunshine and heavy showers later in the day.' Um, so what was going to happen earlier in the day? Anyway, pedantry done with... The mix has meant plenty of rainbows. Two double ones sighted in one week and last night an extraordinarily strong – that is, bright – one, so that is what I leave you with. Let me know if you find those pots of gold!

Greenwich, London

Went to Greenwich at the weekend. I haven't been there much over the years – there being such a big North/South divide in London – and to the park here maybe only three times, so it's still a novelty to stand surrounded by greenery and ancient trees, and look across such a 21st-century city. London is expanding like mad right now, mostly toward the east.

I imagine one day, if we could come back in a couple hundred years or so, we'd find it stretching all the way to Southend, overlooking the North Sea toward France. Ye who scoff, imagine what the folks who lived here in 1814 would think if they came back and saw it now!

From here you get a good view of the buildings they call the Walkie-Talkie, the Cheesegrater and the Gherkin (that's a pickle, for those of you from North America). That is not the dome of St Paul's Cathedral, but the roof of the Royal Naval College.

As ever, what I like about exploring London is finding the bits that are little time capsules, so it's pretty cool to be where time begins – that is, the Greenwich meridian: zero hour – and there are plenty of remnants of earlier times still hanging in there. The trees for one. Though this is a heavily visited park and very managed (reminding me a bit of NYC's Central Park), there were some amazing enormous old trees. I believe this park is one of those that's all that's left of some royal's hunting ground, though maybe not... I haven't done the research, but one thing that is here and worth a visit is the Royal Observatory. It has a planetarium, exhibits and such like, but all fairly small scale, as it's very old (unlike, for instance, NY's planetarium and surrounding building, which is vast in comparison).

It all sits up on the top of the hill, looking pleasingly oldie worldie. And, as you come down into Greenwich itself (we'd parked up by Blackheath - another beautiful area, if a little overwhelmed by traffic), you can ooh and ahhh over the little houses built mostly in Victorian times, but with a smattering of even older, like the Plume of Feathers pub, which was built – so its sign told us – in 1691.

We continued on to the Trafalgar, a well-known pub right on the river with fantastic views and a fair amount of outdoor seating, from where you can gaze across at the Dome, which is a leftover from the millennium celebrations (can you believe that's already 14 years ago!) and watch the river buses zoom along.

A recommended outing, so long as you go aware that lots of other people think so too.

The UK has had the most amazing summer weather-wise. The best, I keep telling people, since I arrived here back in the year dot. Even the weatherpeople back me up on this one, and it has got to the point where sunshine and blue skies feel normal. Believe me, this is not how it usually is here – but long may it last.

So this morning I woke to one of those painfully beautiful days: the light so golden and somehow almost poignant with... Hmmm... Maybe the first hint of autumn coming? The tiniest chill in the air, the first time thoughts of September and the darker days of winter have entered my mind for weeks...

As ever, I wish I had a camera or skill that could capture the nuances of light, but here are my best efforts, taken from one of my favourite views: my bedroom window. London, you're looking good just now.