Simon Barnes Author and Journalist

It was the 26th day of Wild June and I was running out of days to be wild on. But there I was, catching a train to London even though it was promising to be lovely weather. Even the Stour estuary seemed short on wildness that morning: just a cloud or crowd of gull and… [Read More]

Wild June is best enjoyed from the back of a horse. Like most other months. We had walked down the shallow slope to the flood-plain and as we reached the grassy path we rolled into a canter without discussing the matter, for Miakoda, my American Paint mare, knows both the place and the routine as… [Read More]

22nd of July

f you sit out in a wild place with a birder, birds will be noted, no matter how big the subject you are discussing. You could even be talking about England’s chances in the women’s World Cup or England’s defeat in the cricket World Cup — but if a nice bird appears, it will be… [Read More]

A butterfly mind. To us, that means silly, inconstant, flighty, unable to concentrate on one thing for more than a second, always flying off to look at something more interesting – and then going back to the first thing, or maybe another even newer thing.  I seem to have spent most of this Wild June… [Read More]

Once again Wild June had me racing towards London with a book to promote. I was reading Ulysses as the train rattled south and west from Norfolk: the following day was June 16: Bloomsday: the day on which the fictional action of Ulysses takes place, and on which those who love the book will raise… [Read More]

First, apologies. Fallen behind with the blog. Book promotions, lots of running around, little time to look or listen, and even less time to write. So it goes. Yesterday I was in Cromer, for a Jarrolds literary lunch, and in the middle of it I had to take a long call to interview, well, a… [Read More]

Swifts have become the birds of relief. They excite a sigh of gratitude: phew, look, a party of swifts, must be at least a dozen of them flying over the common, well, that’s OK then, things might be very much worse, we haven’t buggered it all up quite yet. I had just such moment, sitting… [Read More]

June 5 Eddie and I were seated on the ground. It was soaking, but who cares? We had our waterproof trousers, which of course are, the next best thing to a super-power: nothing that life could throw at us could cause us grief. So we sat and we drank – beer for me, apple juice… [Read More]

Eddie and I were sitting out on the marsh an hour or so before dusk when we heard the cuckoo again. Good. He – only a male cuckoo says cuckoo – has been hard at it for six weeks now. Cuckoos love this spot, one that we in Norfolk, without a trace of irony, call… [Read More]