I’m obsessed with landscapes. Fields, cities, moors, motorway service stations—doesn’t matter. What I want to know is: why is there always a random mossy wall in the middle of nowhere? Who built it? Did they get halfway through, think “this is exhausting,” and go home for a sandwich? And that abandoned farmhouse? The one that looks like it’s auditioning for Wuthering Heights. Who lived there? Why did they leave? Was it a ghost? Was it damp? A bump in the night? Was it Gordon? (It’s always Gordon Bennett).

Buildings drive me mad. Is that Georgian? Tudor? No? A 1970s bungalow wearing fancy dress? I need answers. It’s not just the buildings I’m after. I want the human fingerprints. The gossip in the archives. The objects people left behind. The tiny clues that whisper: “Yes, Gordon was here in 1833, and he built this wall for reasons only he knew, but it probably involved sheep.”

So, here’s the plan. From September 2025, I’ll be doing a PhD in Archaeology at the University of York (yes, I know, and at my age, I’m as shocked as you are). I’ll be researching nineteenth and early twentieth century policing in York (the old one in Yorkshire not the one with the Statue of Liberty). I want to know everything about policemen (sadly, no official policewomen in 1836 but, on the quiet, women have been known to give it a good go!). Where did policemen live? And who with? Where did they work? What crimes did they investigate? And buildings, lots about buildings; police stations, cells, courts, lodging houses, terraced houses in slums.

This page will be my visual light-hearted diary: part history, part detective story, part “why am I shouting about a random wall again.” Expect landscapes, archives, buildings, people (alive, dead, and possibly undead), and the occasional academic meltdown disguised as a charming anecdote. And I will mention my age… a lot. And cake (obviously). Here goes!