Postcard from the Pendolino

I've been a regular on the train between Birmingham and London recently. The Pendolino cuts a high-speed slice through the middle of England, leaning as it rounds the bends. Should I attempt to read, the velocity and jolting make me nauseous. So I gaze out the window at the glimpses of life the panoramic windows display, the soundtrack from the wheels a white noise pitched just too high to ignore.

Anglers drop their lines into lakes, horses and their riders cut across fields and canal boat dwellers take a more sedate journey through the countryside. Into towns, and the land by the tracks is shared between industrial units and housing crammed in painfully close to the rails. A few moments, and I'm back in the country where a Land Rover is mobbed by sheep looking for lunch. Makes more sense than the craziness of car parks – empty, but for one car parked just off centre.

The stations we don't stop for pass in a blur of lights and platforms where solitary passengers are left standing for the next train. Then my field of vision adjusts to widescreen once again as the foreground detail becomes irrelevant compared to the deep vista of woods and hills. Until the buildings appear again and we zoom past factories with advertising claims: you have to go a long, long way to bake a better biscuit. Perhaps a little further than Watford Junction.

Postcard from the parlour

Sunny afternoons in Britain aren't complete until you've heard the chimes of the ice cream van. The discordant rendition of 'Greensleeves' is a more welcome soundtrack to summer than drumbeats leaking from the open windows of passing cars.

My problem is that a Mr Whippy-style dollop into a cone made of crunchy air cannot satisfy the Pavlovian craving the music triggers. Not even if you stick a Flake in it.

I'm certain there's a gap in the market for quality ice cream parlours in the suburbs. I'd love to be able to wander down the road and choose from a range of delicious flavours as I did in the tiny ice cream parlour in Spain, pictured above.

I selected creamy coffee (and a pink spoon), my companion chose decadently rich chocolate (and a blue spoon) – gender stereotypes are alive and well! The gelato texture was heavy and smooth, the flavours intense. My only disappointment was that they weren't playing 'Greensleeves'.

Postcard from the palace

Blenheim, not Buckingham. The Queen has yet to invite me to her home; while the Duke of Marlborough is a little more welcoming to guests – pay up and you can come in. And palatial would be the word to describe the state rooms: magnificent proportions, designed to impress and packed with treasures, both commissioned and collected.

I doubt there are architects and designers working today whose names will last through history as those of the folk associated with Blenheim have. This is just one example of the work of Vanburgh, Hawksmoor and 'Capability' Brown; and it's a good one.

There's another name linked to Blenheim which will resonate for a while too: Winston Churchill. He was born there and was a frequent visitor, producing many paintings of the grounds in between finding the time to be a memorable leader. He was following the example set by his ancestor - the first Duke of Marlborough – in that. Perhaps it's an effect of the credit crunch that we can't afford to let today's architects spread their wings, and we're lacking in charismatic leaders too.

Of course there's more to Blenheim than the dazzling state rooms. Tall yew hedges give the maze an extra frisson of danger, and make you more appreciative of the open parkland once you find the way out. And you could walk for hours in those grounds, build up an appetite for a visit to the café – I can report that the cakes are exceedingly good.

Postcard from the Globe

Not the original building, obviously! London's south bank looks rather different from Shakespeare's day. I don't think there are records of what the first 'Globe' looked like, but this one was constructed using the best available information and traditional techniques. It's certainly more attractive than the concrete hulk of its near neighbour, the National Theatre.

Walking along this stretch of the Thames is an architectural cocktail. As well as the theatres, Tate Modern looms out of the old Bankside power station, the OXO tower casts a long shadow over the river and the path diverts into cobbled streets, including the site of the Clink prison. It's not all grim; there are plenty of pubs and even the odd stretch of 'beach'.

Distinct lack of forest though. Which gives the opportunity to post this photo that nature watchers will realise is a few weeks old. These bluebell woods are in Warwickshire and are reputed to be part of the original Forest of Arden, where Shakespeare may have wandered and which provided him with his setting for As You Like It – a play you could see if you visited the Globe this summer. I don't just throw this stuff together you know!

Postcard from the window

A quiz for the Londoners - work out where I was standing to get that photo! It's quite a view, and would certainly distract me if I worked in that building all the time.

Standing there, taking it in, got me to thinking about a few things, but mainly the fact that you don't often get that perspective on what a beautiful city London is. And the main thing which makes it so is the Thames running through it. Well, that's (unsurprisingly) my take on it. I gave a similar thought to Kerry in Map Reading a while back though. She's up Ben Nevis in this scene, looking out across the Great Glen and reflects:

'Living in London I forget about the horizon,' Kerry said. 'I'm always indoors or on the tube and, unless you get up high, you never get a good view of your surroundings. Then you cross a bridge or look out the window in a tall building and - there it is: London laid out in front of you. It is beautiful, just in a different way to this.'

Quite a contrast in view, but I'm with her – both are beautiful. Apparently, there are studies into the psychological benefits of different types of views. All to do with depth of field of vision, natural or man-made, etc. I don't want to analyse it that much, I just know that variety suits me; I wouldn't want to have to make a definitive choice between architecture or mountains and glens. Maybe it's just the presence of some kind of water in the view that appeals to me.

Postcard from a writer's room 2

That table is incredible. On it, some of the most well loved works of fiction in the English language came to life. Look how tiny and unassuming it is. No room for laptop, notes, reference books or any of the other paraphernalia I pile up when writing. Even if I'm just scribbling in a notebook, I tend to take up plenty of space. But that table was all Jane Austen had. In a corner of the dining room in the house she shared with her sister, mother and a cousin.

The house is completely charming. Jane Austen did not live in luxury, but her brother made sure she was comfortable there and the cramped and shared conditions didn't seem to harm her writing. My other favourite item on show was a woven silk shawl which belonged to Jane. I can just picture her bent over the table, scribbling out the novels, shawl tucked around her shoulders. And ears always alert to the squeaking hinges of the door, warning her that someone was coming and the page she was writing should be hidden. No password protected documents in those days!

I guess not that much has changed about the writing process. It's still ideas moving from brain to page. I envy the simplicity of Jane's method though. Oh, and her genius of course…

Postcard from the towpath

Call me lazy, but sometimes I don't want going for a walk to be a challenge. So a walk along a stretch of canal not overly troubled by locks was a great way to spend the afternoon. Fradley Junction marks the point where the Trent and Mersey Canal joins the Coventry Canal; I guess that means it's been the perfect place for a pub for a while now!

Holidaymakers and boat dwellers were out in force along both canals – taking in the scenery at just above walking pace. It was a bit noiser along the towpaths of Gas Street Basin later that night though. Gas Street Basin, at the junction between the Worcester and Birmingham Canal and the Birmingham Canal Main Line, is also a popular watering hole. They were spilling out of the bars at the Mailbox, although I guess fewer of the patrons had arrived by boat.

I have to admit that I didn't walk the entire distance between these canal junctions, and sadly didn't travel by boat either. But I did take refreshments at both, perhaps what canal junctions have always been best for.