My last sighting of a drinks trolley in the wild was in El Bajio in Mexico City. It was dark wood with very ornate carving, and it was dispensing the finest tequila and mezcal to discerning diners. It was very majestic in its dimensions, and it glided around the restaurant floor as if it was on rails. If I had not been getting on a flight later that day, I would have had a mezcal as tequila and I have a very love/hate relationship (it’s a good idea until it hits my stomach and then it goes catastrophically wrong).

My parents had a gold drinks trolley that lived in the dining room. It was laden with bottles of spirits, a beautiful metal ice bucket and tongs, various types of glasses and a stack of coasters which were acquired on a post wedding/pre 1^st baby trip to Canada to see family. It was regularly wheeled out during dinner parties and other social events that my parents excelled at.

Trolleys in restaurants are not only reserved for drinks. I have been lucky enough to see first-hand the legendary cheese trolley at Le Gavroche (RIP). It was less of a trolley and more of a coffee table on wheels with a huge selection of premium French and British cheeses, each cheese with a diamond shaped named card – my guess is these were necessary to avoid the wrong cheese being dispensed by the cheese sommelier. I am reliably informed by my friend Jack, that the cheese was exceptional!

It was amazing to see such a large object navigating what was a compact restaurant in a basement in Mayfair, London – it was less Godzilla stomping it’s way through the streets of Manhattan and more a prima ballerina pirouetting around the stage awash with immovable objects. The cheese sommelier had obviously attained their advanced cheese chariot license.

Then there is the dessert trolley, ubiquitous with the 1970’s and 80’s in the UK. This multi-shelved colossus regularly toured the byways of restaurants with the desserts of the time being shown off like the crown jewels - Black Forest gateau, rum babas, meringues, profiteroles or fruit salad - all served with an ample dose of double cream poured from the finest China jug.

I would expect the demise of the drinks trolley is as much to do with changing tastes as with the need for restaurants to squeeze in as many tables as possible. But there are some establishments which still believe in the magic of the drinks trolley - The Connaught Bar with its tableside Martini Trolley; The Ritz Restaurant with its exceptionally glamorous dining room and legendary digestif trolley; and Berners Tavern which at Sunday brunch offers the legendary Bloody Mary trolley.

I will continue to campaign—quietly but persistently—for the return of the drinks trolley: part theatre, part nostalgia, part gentle exercise regime for the staff. Because in a world of QR codes, contactless payments and menus that vanish the moment you look away, there is something gloriously unnecessary (and therefore completely essential) about a well-stocked trolley gliding towards you with intent. It says: tonight, we are not in a rush. Tonight, someone in a crisp jacket might dramatically stir, shake or slice something within arm’s reach. And if that someone happens to pour me a tiny, ill-advised tequila… well, at least I’ll have had the dignity of watching it arrive in style before everything goes terribly, predictably wrong.

Until next time, Susan

The first programme I joined was Our Future Health. Their goal is to develop and improve the way we prevent, detect and treat diseases at an early stage, maybe even prevent them from occurring in the first-place vs the current approach which is mostly focussed on treatment once symptoms start to show.

Research suggests that currently in the UK, 54% of people aged 65 or older live with two or more serious health conditions, like cancer, Alzheimer’s, heart disease, diabetes and stroke. By 2035, that figure is projected to rise to 68%.

The programme aims to recruit 5 million UK based adult volunteers who after signing up (which grants the programme access to medical records) complete a health and lifestyle questionnaire then provide a blood sample and have some physical measurements taken including blood pressure.

I think it is important to mention that taking part does not provide participants with any medical results, diagnosis or treatment. Individual data is very limited in what it can tell us about a population but combining the data of millions of people helps the scientists to see patterns and see how genes, lifestyle, and environment contribute to certain conditions.

I’d say in total it took me less than 60 minutes to sign up and complete the online questionnaire. There was a testing station in a local town, so I booked an appointment one Saturday lunchtime for the team to take blood and some measurements which was all done within 30 minutes. 90 minutes of my time along with some medical information to help prevent, detect and treat diseases at an early stage feels like a good return on investment to me.

More recently I have joined the PROTECT-UK study which is longer-term and will be looking at how the brain changes with age and why some people will develop dementia and memory problems. The scientists are trying to understand how to keep our brains healthier for longer and reduce dementia risk. They are looking for 50,000 people over the age of 18 who reside in the UK to take part.

This study is a lot closer to home for me as my mother was diagnosed with dementia, and, we strongly suspect from the information my mother shared with us that, my great grandmother also lived with dementia in her later years. I feel in this regard, the odds are not stacked in my favour so I want to do something to help those that will come after me and hopefully end the scourge of this truly awful, thief of a disease.

Signing up took about 20 minutes, mostly because I had to hunt around for GP details and NHS numbers which are never where I think I left them, then came a questionnaire about health, lifestyle, and wellbeing followed by an online test for memory, attention and reasoning.

I am now in the “heavy lifting” phase of the study where I have multiple questionnaires to complete, at a significant level of detail, on topics like social style and personality (they excluded a section where I can explain the sheer vastness of my sparkling personality!), family history, and everyday emotions (less volatile now HRT is in the mix!). I am particularly looking forward to “Activities-specific Balance Confidence Scale” where I will register an inhumanly low score!

The study will decide whether they want me to provide a DNA sample (I would suggest that they really should because Scottish DNA is world class and the best there is!). Then once a year I will complete the same memory, attention and reasoning tests so the researchers can track changes over time. Let’s hope that like a good wine, I improve with age!

Medical studies are not for everyone but if you feel you can give some of your time, medical information, DNA or blood to these or any other medical studies then I would encourage you to contribute.

By participating in these studies, I’ve gained a sense of purpose and connection to a wider community striving for progress in healthcare. It’s heartening to know that even small gestures, like completing questionnaires or donating blood or DNA, can contribute to breakthroughs that may benefit generations to come.

Until next time, Susan

• a voice telling me that he works in the circulation department of the local newspaper and he wants to check if I received this week’s edition

• a scammer who needs to find their next victim (more on that soon)

• or no one … just dead air on the other end of the line

Back when scam calls were few and far between, I would sometimes adopt a persona to play along with their story of either my internet being hijacked by criminals, my Sky TV subscription coming to an end and it needed to be renewed or my laptop’s anti-virus software was out of date and causing havoc to residents in the local area.

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On one occasion I remember taking the conversation to an extreme to see how long I could keep them on the line. It was a typical intro from the scammers to hook me in – the insurance I had on my white goods in the kitchen was about to expire and I had not replied to any of the emails they sent me so to ensure I still had cover, they were calling me.

When I explained my husband* would deal with that kind of thing (he won’t trust me with our the finances!) they showered me with praise and said I couldn’t be that bad. I acquiesced and said I did have access to a credit card but it had no credit. I made noises that I didn’t want to be without insurance and started to fret, but I couldn’t pay with the only credit card I had access to.

With panic in my voice the call was transferred to a supervisor who asked when my husband would be home. I replied saying that the remainder of his prison sentence for financial fraud was not going to be commuted due to the seriousness of his crimes so, best guess, he would be home in 18 months. No, not at 6 p.m. this evening! The call carried on for several more minutes with the supervisor frantically trying to convince me to speak to a neighbour or relative to pay the insurance.

Having delivered my killer line I’d grown tired of my little charade so I explained my suspicions, told them never to call this number again and if they did my husband would make it his life’s mission to defraud them as well!

In late 2024, O² announced that they had developed Daisy, an AI bot who’s mission is to talk with fraudsters and waste as much of their time as possible with human-like rambling chat to keep them away from real people, while highlighting the need for consumers to stay vigilant as the UK faced a fraud epidemic. I had no idea I was Daisy version1.0 (but without the wrinkles and grey hair).

Mind you, scam calls are not limited to the landline - anyone with a mobile phone will know that. I have enabled all the settings to keep these to a minimum and recently enabled a new feature that screens calls. So far, it has been 100% successful but as these things progress quickly it won’t last for long.

When I was a child, living in Scotland, the phone would ring regularly. It took pride of place on a telephone table with a shelf for the phone book and the Yellow Pages and a comfy seat so when your friend called for a blether (a Scots word meaning to talk at length, often idly, casually, or about trivial matters) you had somewhere to rest.

The phone that took pride of place on the table in the hall was cream with a rotary dial (I think it was standard British Telecom issue for the 1970’s). In the middle of the dial was a reminder to call 999 for the fire, police or ambulance or 100 for the operator. And below these helpful reminders was the town and the phone number – Renfrew 2537. This was how the phone was answered, without fail, with a lilting hello preceding the announcement of the phone number. The excitement of not knowing who was on the other end of the phone was too much for “wee Susan” to handle as I raced towards the phone, trying to get there before anyone else, and have a quick chat with whomever was on the other end before handing the receiver over to which ever adult the call was for.

I am sure we had a party line for a while too. A party line was a shared telephone circuit where multiple households used the same physical line. If you picked up the phone and a neighbour was already on a call, you would hear their conversation! But there was a degree of etiquette in this situation, you’d not listen in, just apologise for interrupting their call and put down the receiver.

I expect when I pull the trigger to cancel my landline it will be a clinical process – a tick in the box to confirm I agree to the terms and conditions of the cancellation and within 7 to 10 days the line will fall silent. Maybe the handset will give a final chirp as the signal fades away to nothing before it too is disconnected and packed off to the recycling centre.

Whilst technology advancements have eliminated the surprise of who is calling, I will always be that little girl dropping whatever she is doing to race to the phone to see who is there … ring ring ring ring “Hello, Renfrew 2537”.

Until next time, Susan

* To be transparent, there is no husband!

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The Angel of Independence sits on a roundabout on the Paseo de la Reforma and is a true landmark with Nike, the goddess of victory, perched at the top of a 36 m column. The statue is made of bronze and covered in 24-carat gold; she holds a laurel crown in her right hand (signifying victory over Spain) and a broken chain in the other (symbolizing freedom from three centuries of colonial rule). In the bright Mexican sunshine, she sparkles so brightly as if she is sending positivity across the whole city.

At the base of the monument is a mausoleum which contains the remains of three historical figures who were heroes of the fight for Independence. They include Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, José María Morelos and Leona Vicario – names which are not well known outside of Mexico but to the Mexican people they are honoured and remembered. The monument was inaugurated in 1910 by President Díaz.

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Paseo de la Reforma is a 9-mile-long grand avenue, often compared to the Champs-Élysées in Paris. It was built by Emperor Maximilian I as he wanted to direct route linking his official residence at Chapultepec Castle to the National Palace in the historic center – its original length was a less majestic 3.5-miles. It reaches its 9-mile limit starting at Santa Fe in the west and ending a short distance from the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe in the north east.

The pavements feel more like plaza’s than pavements, with lots of trees and green spaces, sculptures on plinths and places to sit. The buses run in what feels like a convoy especially during rush hour.

On Sundays between 8 a.m. and 2 p.m. the original section is closed to motor vehicles which transforms it from what at times could be classed as a car park (due to the volume of traffic not going anywhere soon) to a park for tens of thousands of cyclists, runners, skaters, walkers and dogs. It’s a great way to get up close to the city’s monuments without the traffic.

I took a slow walk-through residential neighbourhoods, avoiding main roads to Parque Mexico in the La Condesa neighbourhood. It is a peaceful part of the city. The park is surrounded by a circular walk, Avenida Ámsterdam, which follows the path of the former horse racing track. Avenida Ámsterdam has bustling cafes, bookstores, bakeries, and ice cream shops which serve the locals and tourists as well as the runners and dog walkers who welcome the shade of this well-trodden path.

The park itself is famous for its Art Deco architecture, tropical foliage, and relaxed vibe. At the centre of the park is the Foro Lindbergh, an impressive open-air amphitheater. It features a curved colonnade, pillars, a striking fountain as well as vibrant murals by artist Roberto Montenegro. On the day I visited it was being used for dance practice, martial arts and frizbee. There is also a large duck pond which feels five star with fountains and plenty of food for the residents.

I then made my way, again along residential streets, to the Roma Norte (Roma North) neighbourhood. My first stop was Plaza Rio de Janeiro, a compact open space which at its centre has an impressive fountain with a replica of Michelangelo’s David overseeing the many people enjoying the space.

The park was established in 1903 when the neighbourhood was designed as an aristocratic enclave inspired by European urban planning. By the 1960s, the area surrounding the plaza began to lose its exclusive, residential status. Following the 8.1 magnitude earthquake in 1985, whilst the older mansions bordering the plaza largely survived, many of the newer, taller mid-century apartment complexes nearby collapsed. The aftermath left the area with a lack of housing and rents plummeting. The low rents served as a catalyst, drawing in artists, writers, and urban pioneers who prioritised restoring the area’s rich architectural heritage. In the 1990’s buildings transitioned from mid-century neglect back into highly sought-after apartments.

I feel the journey of Plaza Rio de Janeiro mirrors that of Mexico itself – established by hard working Mexicans, shaped by European influence, disrupted by catastrophe, and reinvented through resilience and creativity.

The shade of the trees and the less busy streets became prime people watching territory. As I stopped for an iced coffee and sat outside, I watched the world pass by. As it was Saturday there were many families, friends catching up, dogs being walked along the streets of Roma Norte.

After more wandering, I made my way back to the vicinity of the hotel and had dinner at El Bajío. It serves delicious traditional Mexican cuisine dishes hand-picked as the best to represent all 32 states. The restaurant was busy, and it was heartwarming to see grandparents, parents and children all spending time together, building relationships that will endure, over great Mexican food and drink.

Mexico City is not a place you simply visit; it is a place that unfolds around you, layer by layer, until you realise you are no longer observing it from the outside but moving within its rhythm. It is a city of contrasts lived in perfect harmony - ancient alongside modern, chaos softened by moments of stillness, and vastness broken into intimate neighbourhoods that each carry their own identity and story. At every turn, it offers something unexpected: a quiet park tucked behind a busy avenue, a mural telling centuries of history in a single (huge) wall, or a café where time seems to slow just long enough for you to take it all in.

What struck me most was the generosity of the city. Culture is not locked behind doors or reserved for special occasions; it spills onto the streets, into public spaces, into everyday life. History is not something confined to museums - though they are world‑class - it is something you walk through, sit beside, and sometimes stumble upon. From the grandeur of its monuments to the everyday rituals of its neighbourhoods and people, Mexico City invites you to look closer, to learn, and to connect.

And then there is the energy - vibrant, constant, and undeniably alive. It hums through the food carts, the parks, the avenues, and the quiet residential streets alike. It is carried in the warmth of its people, in the pride of its heritage, and in the simple joy of shared spaces filled with conversation, food, and life. It is a city that encourages curiosity and rewards it generously, offering new perspectives at every stage of the journey.

Leaving Mexico City does not feel like ticking something off a list; it feels like stepping away from something unfinished - not in a disappointing way, but in a way that quietly promises a return. Because no matter how much you see, there will always be more to discover, more to understand, and more to experience. And perhaps that is its greatest strength - it doesn’t try to show you everything at once. Instead, it leaves the door open, inviting you back.

Until next time, Mexico City!

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The most significant archaeological museum, some say in the world, is Museo Nacional de Antropología (National Museum of Anthropology) which is a mile from Chapultepec Castle but still within Chapultepec Park. It has a massive repository of pre-Hispanic heritage of Mexico and the diversity of its modern indigenous peoples.

This massive repository requires a massive building! The collection is housed in 23 exhibition halls across 2 floors with additional space in the form of exterior courtyards that contain large-scale monuments and architectural reconstructions allowing the pieces to be seen in their natural habitat.

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The interior of the building complex has a huge courtyard which contains a large fish pond (which also serves as a handy place to sit in the sunshine) and a monumental concrete canopy known as El Paraguas (The Umbrella). This 28-metre structure is supported by a single bronze-clad column carved with relief sculptures representing the history of Mexico and its blend of cultures. The water gently cascades from the canopy helping to create a cool environment which on the hottest of days is most welcome.

There are 11 halls on the ground floor starting with an introduction to anthropology followed by the first settlers, then onto the rise and fall of Teotihuacan, the Aztecs, the state of Oaxaca, the Gulf Coast, Maya and ending with the states in the North and South of Mexico.

Due to the scale of the space and the number of artifacts, in the 5 hours I was there, I only managed to see the rooms on the ground floor but they were all equally enthralling and educational. I visited on a weekday, and the crowds were manageable.

I have decided to highlight four artifacts of the thousands on display.

The centrepiece of the Aztec hall is Piedra del Sol (Aztec Sun Stone). It dates from the reign of Moctezuma II, which was just before the Spanish conquest. Following the fall of Tenochtitlan, the Spanish establishment buried the stone face-down in the Zócalo, near the cathedral to quell indigenous religious practices.

It was discovered by workers who were repairing paving near the cathedral in 1790. It remained mounted on the exterior wall of the cathedral until the late 19^th century when it was transferred to the museum and finally put on display to the public in 1964.

It is carved from a single block of olivine basalt, the stone measures 3.6 m in diameter, is roughly 1.2 m thick, and weighs over 24 tons. Whilst the stone used is local to Mexico City it still had to be transported from the quarries to the Zocalo. Archaeologists and physicists have surmised that wooden sledges and rollers were used to move the block across land (this is similar to the way they think the large stones that make up Stonehenge were moved). This was not the only terrain they needed to navigate as they also had to move it across Lake Texcoco which surrounded Tenochtitlan. It is believed they used man-made causeways built into the lake. There are stories that on one occasion the stone broke a wooden bridge, and it plunged into one of the canals, so a huge salvage operation was undertaken to recover it. Let’s not forget, that all this happened at the beginning of the 16^th century – that blows my mind!

Whilst it is commonly referred to as a calendar, it likely functioned as a ceremonial altar or sacrificial vessel dedicated to the sun god, Tonatiuh. It is covered in symbols of calendar signs and at the centre you can see Tonatiuh’s hands, depicted as claws, holding a human heart, and his tongue is represented by a knife, which indicates that a sacrifice was required so the sun would continue its movement through the sky.

Located in the Maya hall is the Jade Mask of Pakal the Great. It is beautiful but also slightly creepy - for context, I can only watch The Walking Dead during daylight hours otherwise I am convinced that there is a zombie behind the sofa – I suffer from an overactive imagination!

It is the death mask of K’inich Janaab’ Pakal I, the ruler who led the city-state of Palenque in the 7^th century. The mask is made of 340 pieces of green jade with eyes made from shell and obsidian. It was discovered in 1952 inside a sarcophagus in a temple. Putting my vivid imagination to one side, it is a true work of art likely made by many talented craftspeople.

Also in the Aztec hall is the Monolith of Coatlicue. Like Piedra del Sol it stood in the capital, Tenochtitlan. According to Aztec mythology, Coatlicue is the mother of the moon (Coyolxauhqui), the stars (Centzon Huitznahua), and the fierce patron god of war and the sun, Huitzilopochtli.

After the Spanish conquest, the goddess Coatlicue was deemed a “pagan idol” and the monolith was buried by the Spaniards. It remained hidden until the 18^th century when, like a lot of artifacts, it was re-discovered. The news of the discovery spread like wildfire and before long hundreds of indigenous people started to converge on the plaza. They held candlelit processions around the monolith and left offerings of food and flowers. This behaviour terrified the Spanish who fearing there would be an uprising buried it again. It was excavated and re-buried several times until it was eventually moved to the museum in the 1960’s.

What makes the monolith so striking is it looks human yet contains no human parts. Every element is constructed from symbolic, sacrificial objects that tell the story of her cosmic decapitation.

In the gardens of the Gulf Coast hall sits Olmec Colossal Head No. 6 (feels like a very appropriate use of colossal!). A 1.5 m tall basalt sculpture dating from 1200 to 900 BC. It was carved using stone tools like obsidian blades and jade chisels and is one of 17 carved heads which have been found, most are still in the states of Veracruz and Tabasco.

Like the Piedra del Sol (Aztec Sun Stone) they had to be moved over great distances, and it is thought that similar transport methods would have been used as the Olmec people did not use animals or wheeled transportation.

The carving is of a male warrior or ruler (due to the tight-fitting headgear) with distinctive almond shaped eyes. It is thought they were originally painted and were monumental portraits of Olmec rulers.

In the Toltec hall you will find Los Atlantes de Tula (The Atlantean Figures of Tula), they dwarf all the other artifacts in the hall as they are over 4 m tall. They are not carved from a single piece of stone, instead they are 4 interlocking segments which fit together seamlessly.

The figures carry spear-throwers, shields on their backs and butterfly shaped breastplates. In Toltec culture, butterflies weren’t delicate symbols - they represented the souls of dead warriors, fire, and the unstoppable force of military conquest.

They were originally pillars holding up the wooden roof of the mountaintop temple of Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli and this is how they got their name - as Atlas was the Greek god who held up the sky.

When the Aztecs rose to power centuries later, they looked back on the Toltecs as the ultimate civilization of master craftsmen, artists, and noble warriors; and this is what you experience if you are lucky enough to see these items in real life.

And as I finally stepped back from the scale, the symbolism, and the sheer weight of history housed within those walls, one thought lingered: This is not just a museum you visit—it is one you experience. It invites you to slow down, to look closely, and to feel the echoes of civilisations that shaped not only Mexico but the wider human story.

Whether you are drawn by curiosity, history, or simply the desire to stand in the presence of something truly extraordinary, make the time to go. You won’t see it all in one visit - I certainly didn’t - but perhaps that’s the point. It gives you every reason to return, each time discovering something new, and each time leaving just that little bit more in awe of the world we share.

Until next time, Susan

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It wasn’t always this way; the area was originally a 16th-century agricultural estate planted with mulberry trees to cultivate silkworms. Fast forward a few centuries and it was established as a residential area with large houses built in a mix of Spanish Baroque and California Mission styles. Some can still be seen today and are characterised by their carved stone facades, red-tiled roofs, and verdant gardens.

The roads in this district are evocative of a different era as they are named after famous writers, philosophers, and scientists reflecting the neighbourhood’s intended identity as an intellectual and cultural hub – Dickens, Poe, Dumas, Ibsen and Socrates to name but a few. And yes, you are correct to spot a distinct lack of female names. Across all the thoroughfares just two are named after women - Angela Peralta and Marie Curie. The disparity is attributed to the era in which Polanco was planned - the 1930s and 40s.

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Overall, I’d say Polanco has a European feel to it. Wide, tree-lined boulevards with lush, perfectly maintained parks and a café culture which draws the crowds every day.

It was in Polanco that I had the first sweet treat of my vacation, a stop off a Churrería El Moro. Founded in the 1930’s by Francisco Iriarte following his emigration from Spain. The first outlet was a humble street cart in the Centro Historico.

Nataly had been telling me about a delicious Mexican drink, horchata, and I decided I was jumping in with both feet. It is classed as an aguas frescas (refreshing drink) and is typically served over ice. The Mexican variant is made with rice and cinnamon and is extremely sweet so when paired with a delicious churro or two it was like rocket fuel! The cinnamon is subtle and cuts through the sweetness and I would say it is more a sipping drink than a glugging drink - one was more than enough. The churro’s were light and crispy and slightly warm which made them a delight and a great pairing.

By the time I got home from my travels, I had decided I was going to make horchata so bought all the ingredients which are dutifully sitting in the kitchen cupboard ready for me to rustle up this delicious beverage – I just need the weather to get about 15 degrees warmer to ensure it evokes, at least on the taste buds, a sense of Mexico City.

There are several branches of Churrería El Moro across the city, and they really stand out due to their signature blue-and-white tiles and minimalist Art Deco aesthetic. It really catches the eye, and the tiles sparkle in the sunshine as the queues of customers wait for their sweet treats.

Chapultepec Castle was on my must visit list. It sits atop Chapultepec Hill (Grasshopper Hill), a sacred site since the Aztec Empire. The park sits to the south of Polanco and is regarded to be the lungs of Mexico City. It is one of the largest urban parks in the Western Hemisphere, spanning over 1,600 acres.

You get grand views of the city from the terraces and gardens that surround the castle itself over the city with Avenida Paseo de la Reforma dominating one of the vistas which leads to El Ángel de la Independencia (The Angel of Independence).

I was glad to see the queue at the ticket office was short and after just a few minutes, I was making my way up the steep hill – it was possibly the only hill I had to navigate on my trip, so I did not approach it at breakneck speed. I felt it was busy for a week day morning with people passing in both directions. Within 10 minutes I was entering the grounds, under the huge black iron gates which lead to the courtyard at the front of the castle. The building is made from greyish-white stone which makes it standout against the blue sky and lush green park.

The building serves two purposes. The Museo Nacional de Historia (National Museum of History) and The Alcázar which is maintained as a “house museum” which shows how its inhabitants lived.

Let’s start with the National Museum of History. It houses a vast collection which chronicle Mexico for nearly 4 centuries from the Spanish Conquest to the Mexican Revolution in 1910. The permanent collection covers 12 rooms full of paintings, drawings, sculptures, historical documents, weapons, costumes and accessories. It is beautifully curated and tells a compelling story across the centuries.

There are several large-scale murals occupying covered entry ways and other cavernous spaces on the ground floor. Art can move us in ways nothing else does, it stops us in our tracks and gives us food for thought. And this is exactly what happened when I turned a corner and my eyes landed on “La Fusión de Dos Culturas” (The Fusion of Two Cultures), painted by Jorge González. It depicts a violent battle between an indigenous Aztec Eagle Warrior and a Spanish Conquistador. The colours in the background are punchy to say the least and they draw the eye to the main characters where golden hues dance over the warriors’ feathers and faded green steeps through the conquistador’s plates of armour. It’s less a piece of art around war and more the blending of cultures which has resulted in the Mexico we see today.

The Alcázar is another journey back in time to when the castle was inhabited by monarchs and presidents. The ground level showcases the short-lived reign of Emperor Maximilian I and Empress Carlota with rooms featuring lavish fine European furniture and art.

A highlight is the beautifully preserved Galería de los Emplomados (Leaded Gallery) which depicts five Roman/Greek goddesses representing nature and femininity in an art deco style. Flora, Ceres, Pomona, Hebe and Diana. The Mexican sunlight turns the colours up to 15!

There is more stained glass as you ascend the grand staircase to the roof top gardens which are beautifully landscaped with fountains, sculptures and hedges which have been expertly manicured to draw the eye to the tower where a Mexican flag gently dances in the breeze. There is a wide covered walk way around the gardens which lets you get a 360-degree view of the pristine gardens designed by botanist Wilhelm Knechtel.

The rooftop gardens also provide more stunning views of Mexico City, with the local and distant neighbourhoods laid out over a wide area. Every so often a throng of swallows take to the skies, sweeping and swooshing above the palace and gardens. It’s very peaceful and feels like a world away from the ever busy streets of Mexico City.

On the terrace at the front of the castle is checkerboard walkway which contains six statues dedicated to the memory of Niños Héroes (Boy Heroes, or Heroic Cadets) the Mexican military cadets killed in the defence of Mexico City during the Battle of Chapultepec, one of the last battles of the Mexican American War in 1847.

With not enough soldiers to defend the castle, the cadet force stepped up to fight. When the General ordered defeat and called the troops to retreat the six cadets refused to fall back and fought to the death. Legend has it that the last of the six, Juan Escutia, leapt from Chapultepec Castle wrapped in the Mexican flag to prevent the flag from being taken by the Americans. Their bravery is a source of pride for Mexico, these brave young men defending Mexico’s honour with the ultimate sacrifice.

The cadets are remembered all over the city and country. Another powerful representation of their actions is a mural on the ceiling of one of the grand staircases by Gabriel Flores depicting Juan Escutia leaping from the castle walls to his death. The mural is composed in such a way that it feels like Juan is falling towards you with the castle and detritus of war around the edge - it is very moving.

There is so much to see at the castle, I have just scratched the surface. You could spend a whole day above Mexico City if it were not for the fact that there is nowhere in the castle grounds to grab a horchata and a churro! But rest assured there are plenty of food carts in the park itself as well as boating lakes, an internationally renowned zoo, monuments, fountains and areas for cultural exhibits. There are, of course, plenty of gardens and green spaces which help this expansive city to breathe.

Until next time, Susan

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I had noticed it dancing around my vicinity, not lingering long in any one place. We were cohabiting this space but now I think about it, I was most definitely the intruder.

Before it decided my foot was a perfect perch, I caught sight of it out of the corner of my eye - it was sat on the arm of the bench taking in my every feature as if it knew me but couldn’t place me. Robins are famously bold and often get incredibly close to humans – I just didn’t think it would be that close! Little did I know at that point there was more to come.

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It darted to the other side of the gardens, rising and falling as its wings carried it over the gentle breeze. Before too long it was back but this time at the other end of the bench and then in the blink of an eye there it was on my right foot.

I tried to stay as still as possible, it’s harder than I thought, and let the moment playout as the robin saw fit. Did the robin know that it was on my foot? Or did it just view it as another stopping point on its foraging adventures that afternoon.

It was as light as a feather and if I had not seen it with my own eyes I would not have known it was there. Its feet, resting on my big toe, and its eyes darting around the gardens looking for its next tasty morsel. I trained my eyes on its tiny form as I became aware that this could be a once in a lifetime event. And with the stealth of a big cat, I reached over to pick up my phone and managed to take a photo.

Thinking back, I did have a close-ish encounter with a robin about 6 months after my father died. I was working in the front garden, spring was in full flow, and I became aware that I was being watched. I cast my eyes over the garden trying to track down the source of my discomfort and they landed on a large stone at the end of a bed with a robin resting on top.

Over the next hour or so, as I moved around the garden dead heading the now past their prime daffodils and tulips, watering the plethora of pots and weeding the beds, the bird flitted in and out stopping on branches, walls and the front doorstep as if supervising my hard work.

In the UK, there is saying “Robins appear when loved ones are near” and it is considered to be a sign that the spirit of a deceased family member or friend is visiting to offer comfort or just say hello. The robins lack of fear is often interpreted as a purposeful visit from a soul.

I am not sure which spirit visited me in the park that day, in the form of a robin, but it was a unique experience I am thankful to have had. When I think back to those few moments we shared, a sense of peace comes over me and draws my mind back to those who missed every day.

Until next time, Susan

P.S. Mexico City posts will return next week.

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Today murals are all over the city, whether crafted by old masters like Diego Rivera, David Alfaro Siqueiros, and José Clemente Orozco (collectively known as Los Tres Grandes) or by relatively unknown street artists who are using neighbourhood walls as their canvas to perfect their artistic talents - they all tell a story.

The murals at the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM) are huge in scale and in storytelling. It’s fair to say they are living their best life at this UNESCO World Heritage site (yes, another in Mexico City).

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There are other aspects of UNAM which are huge. The size of the actual campus itself, around 4 square miles. Its scale is such that it has its own bus system (Pumabús) with over 10 routes to help everyone get around. And there are a lot of students too, 370,000 give or take.

The current university campus was built in the 1950’s and was a massive undertaking, involving over 60 architects, engineers, and artists. The original campus dates from 1551 and was built on an ancient lava field, created by the eruption of the Xitle volcano around 2,000 years ago. The modern campus has the dark grey volcanic rock integrated into buildings, gardens and other communal areas.

I visited the campus on a very sunny public holiday (Benito Juárez’s Birthday), so students were thin on the ground. I’ve not frequented many university campuses recently but what struck me was the vastness of the site juxtaposed against the stillness. After I departed the Metrobus station at Ciudad Universitaria I easily found my way onto the campus following a cycle lane into the heart of the campus – it felt like a long way from everywhere.

I walked through car parks, past sports halls and cathedrals of learning and then found a main artery taking me towards the plaza in front of the central library building where all sides of the main library building are covered in a mosaic mural by Juan O’Gorman along with Gustavo Saavedra and Juan Martínez de Velasco. The colours of the mural remain vivid as they come from stones sourced from all four corners of Mexico. Each side of the building tells the story of different eras of Mexican History.

North Side – Pre-Hispanic

This side celebrates Mexico’s indigenous roots, specifically the Aztec (Mexica) and Mayan cultures and depicts the founding of Tenochtitlán (modern-day Mexico City). The design incorporates the story of the founding of the city where an eagle is perched on a cactus eating a snake. From a distance the mural takes on a different form which shows the face of Tláloc, the god of rain, with two large circular calendars acting as his eyes.

South Side – Spanish Conquest

This side shows the conflict between the indigenous people and the invading Spanish. It shows the Spiritual Conquest as well as the Military Conquest. It too has two huge circles which on the left shows the Mexica belief that Earth was the centre of the universe (ptolemaic) and on the right shows the solar system as we understand it today (copernican). The most thought-provoking element, for me, is at the bottom - it shows a pyramid with a temple at the summit with a church overlaid. It conjures thoughts of the layers of Mexican history and, how in many cases, older temples and places of significance are consumed by newer versions.

East Side – Mexican Revolution

This side shows, compared to the others, a shorter period from the 19^th and 20^th centuries, focusing on the Mexican Revolution and industrialisation. At the centre there is a large atom, representing the “Atomic Age” and the power of modern science and progress as well as the migration of citizens from working the land to working in factories and other urban settings.

West Side – The University and Modern Mexico

This side reads like a love letter to the University and modern Mexico. The central feature is the university’s coat of arms and motto “Por mi raza hablará el espíritu” (Through my race the spirit shall speak). There are also references to the Olympic Games, students pursuing their studies and research, the initials of the library itself and images of Mexican culture alongside pre-Hispanic architectural elements.

The plaza along the south side of the building is referred to as The Islands and has squares of grass surrounded with concrete, like a hopscotch grid for a giant!

These are not the only murals on campus as not far away from the library building is the former faculty of science building where another huge story is told this time by Jose Chavez Morado in his mural “La Conquista de la Energia” (The Conquest of Energy). It illustrates the evolution of mankind from cowering individuals through to the revelation of fire through to a scene which includes a glowing atom which symbolises adoption of medicine and science. The final scene shows a man, a woman and a tree laden with fruit (sounds familiar!) which represents human spirit alongside the fruits of scientific labour to better understand the universe. It’s another thought-provoking piece which depicts the humans in a stylised manner mirroring the carvings at Teotihuacan.

The campus was peaceful with families spending time together, small children riding bikes, lots of well-behaved dogs, food carts selling refreshments as well as a man doing a roaring trade in kites. I imagined this esteemed seat of learning bustling with academic staff and students in the coming days, all on a journey to expanded horizons and greater understanding.

About 1.5 miles away is the neighbourhood of San Ángel. Like Centro Historico there are low rise buildings set on cobbled streets with narrow pavements. It is described by many as a “village within a city” because it preserves its 17th-century atmosphere.

Before the Spanish arrived, the area was an Indigenous settlement known as Tenanitla. In the late 16^th and early 17^th centuries, the neighbourhood’s character was reshaped by two major religious orders: the Dominicans and the Carmelites (who established the Monastery of San Ángel Mártir in 1615). The name of this monastery eventually gave the neighbourhood its current name, San Ángel.

Later it became a favourite summer escape for wealthy families from the city. Its high altitude and fresh air made it the perfect place to build grand haciendas and country houses.

The 20^th century brought an influx of artists. After the Mexican Revolution, the neighbourhood’s quiet cobblestone streets attracted the country’s most famous artists including Juan O’Gorman and Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera.

In 1934 San Ángel was declared a “Pueblo Típico Pintoresco” (typical picturesque town), and later a historical monument zone, ensuring its narrow-cobbled streets and stone mansions remained unchanged even as the rest of Mexico City grew around it.

I visited on a weekday, the streets were relatively quiet, but they got a little busier when the local school dispatched its students homeward bound. They brought a level of energy that lit up the streets and squares with giggles and chatter of their busy day at school.

It has beautiful older style buildings with courtyards hidden from view where the only hint of them are the huge jacaranda and bougainvillea trees punctuating the rooftops with colour. Colour is also present on walls filled with urban art. It really does feel like a village, away from the crowds and urban noise that makes Mexico City so vibrant and full of life.

As I strolled around San Ángel, I was struck by how seamlessly art, history, and daily life braid together in this part of the city. From monumental murals that broadcast stories to quiet residential streets punctuated by bursts of bougainvillea and school‑day laughter, Mexico City never relegates culture to the background. It lives outdoors, at eye level, generous and unguarded. Here, art belongs to everyone. And as a visitor, even briefly, you’re invited not just to look but to walk alongside it, learn from it, and carry a little of its colour and confidence with you long after you’ve left the streets behind.

Until next time, Susan

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What is certain is that it was one of the world’s largest settlements at the time – it was home to around 150,000 people - and it went on to have a major influence on the culture and religions of the later Aztec and Mayan civilisations.

The major (in terms of scale) structures at the site are the Temple of Quetzalcoatl, the Pyramid of the Sun and Pyramid of the Moon as well as the 1.5-mile-long Avenue of the Dead. The scale of the place cannot be conveyed until you see it with your own eyes.

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I booked a guided tour with the team at Amigo Tours . Having read that the site can get busy as the day goes on, I opted for a morning tour (which also worked well with my jet lag). We met at the Amigo Tours hostel in the Centro Historico at 6 a.m. and within 30 minutes we were all on the bus. The tour group was small, 16 people, and with our driver and guide, we made our way out of the city heading into the suburbs.

Due to the early start, my morning dose of coffee was non-existent, so I was very happy to hear we would stop at a roadside service station to get refreshments. The coffee did the job and we were soon back on the road arriving at the site around 7.40 a.m.. After a short wait for the car park to open we were on foot at 8 a.m. making our way into the huge site via gate 1.

Our first stop, at the southern end of the Avenue of the Dead, was Templo de Quetzalcóatl (The Temple of the Feathered Serpent) which is the third-largest pyramid on the site and is by far the most ornate in terms of carving and decoration. The decoration includes the feathered serpent deity which alternates with a two-fanged creature (which has been identified as the fire serpent, bearer of the sun on its daily journey across the sky). There are also plumed serpents on the side of the pyramid. Some experts think the temple carvings depict war, while others interpret them as showing the creation of time. Irrespective of what they are meant to convey, they are in astonishing condition bearing in mind they are exposed to the elements.

Like Templo Mayor, Teotihuacan is an active archaeological site which regularly shares it’s secrets. In the early 2000’s a tunnel under the temple was discovered revealing items which had lain undiscovered for around 1,800 years. These included ritual offerings to the gods, from sculptures of pouncing jaguars to crystals shaped into eyes.

We climbed several steps to gain access to the exterior of the pyramid via a courtyard and made our way around the side, navigating steps which I can only describe as steeper than the north face of the Eiger, to a terraced area where we could see in closer proximity the impressive carvings. As with most tours, we were on a schedule so after 10 minutes sat in the warming sunshine taking in the magnificence of the carvings, it was time to re-group.

On the walk between pyramids along the Avenue of the Dead, our guide shared stories and insights into the history of the site as well as telling us to be on our best behaviour so as to avoid being picked for sacrifice later in the day! Avenue of the Dead is around 2.5 miles in length, and every so often we would come across one of the huge sunken plazas . Local’s also use this area to sell their souvenirs. There is barely any shade along the avenue so the locals are suitably dressed to protect their skin and keep them cool.

Our next stop was Pirámide del Sol (Pyramid of the Sun), the largest pyramid on the site (and in the western hemisphere) standing at 66m tall. It’s a mammoth structure with nearly 250 steps leading to the top where there was once a temple where rituals and sacrifices took place. The front of the pyramid is aligned with the setting sun in the west.

Excavations in the early 1970’s directly under the Pyramid of the Sun revealed a tunnel-like cave, ending in a cloverleaf-shaped set of chambers, apparently the scene of ancient fire and water rituals. The location and orientation of this cave may have been the impetus for the Pyramid of the Sun’s alignment and construction. Other theories suggest it was a royal tomb, or one of the chambers containing a natural spring as a reason for its creation.

Although visitors can no longer climb it, we were given time to do a circuit. As I reached the far corner the crowds thinned and a veil of tranquillity descended. The air was still, the sun was high in the sky, nearby birds were fussing around a cactus and I was struck by the history and gravitas of this special place.

As we made our way further north, regularly stopping for our guide to share more insights, the Pirámide de la Luna (Pyramid of the Moon) got ever closer. From further away the Moon pyramid is dwarfed by the mountain behind it, Cerro Gordo. And as you walk closer you reach a point where the mountain has disappeared completely from view and the pyramid takes up all the space in your vision. For us modern day tourists and the people over the centuries who have visited this place, this great view is visually arresting.

It is possible to climb the Moon pyramid and you didn’t need to ask me twice. I foolishly set off at a quick pace and upon reaching the platform, with lots of fellow tourists milling around, I felt somewhat dizzy so I took myself back from the edge (I didn’t need to cause an international situation today!) and caught my breath and bearings. The view from this level really helps to put the whole site into context.

Another element which I didn’t appreciate until I was half way up the Moon pyramid was that the Sun pyramid also had a mountain behind it which mirrored its shape, Cerro Patlachique. Recently archaeologists have discovered that the peak served as a major pilgrimage shrine long before, during, and after the heyday of Teotihuacan.

The descent of the Moon pyramid was at a more sedate pace, but felt riskier as the wave of people descending was very stop/start. We soon re-grouped and after some more discussion with our guide, we made our way off the Avenue of the Dead to Palacio de las Quetzalpapálotl (Palace of the Butterflies). Via the courtyard, we entered a tunnel that led us to the original rooms of the palace. Inside the remains of mural paintings can be found; a procession of jaguars playing trumpets made of seashells and a procession of green birds from whose beaks flow streams of water. It’s mind boggling to think that centuries ago artists were crafting these stylised and colourful images of the world around them which we can now cast our eyes over and marvel at their world.

I was glad to leave the crowds behind us (the reviews were accurate, it does get very busy after 10 a.m.) and we didn’t have time to stop at Teotihuacan Museum as we were on our way to a local craft shop, Artesanias El Quetzal, for tequila shots (not on a stomach which was craving yet another taco), textiles, obsidian and pottery. The staff were very helpful guiding us around the various crafts, talking us through the process to get the raw materials transformed into the objects for sale.

All too soon we were driving back to the city. Energy levels in the bus felt low – I think we were all coming down from the Teotihuacan high! (pun intended). The traffic kept moving as rush hour was still a couple of hours away and we arrived back at the Amigo Tours hostel around 3 p.m.. We thanked the team, left a tip and everyone went their separate ways.

In my opinion, Teotihuacan is not to be missed if you ever find yourself in Mexico City. I read a lot of reviews and blogs before my trip and I have to say that joining an organised tour was the right choice for me – I wanted to really understand what I was seeing and have the opportunity to ask questions (yes, I am that person).

There is a lot of walking, sometimes across uneven ground as well as up and down numerous stairs, and the odd pyramid, so enclosed shoes are essential. As is a hat, water and a well-stocked snack bag to keep energy levels up.

As I reflected on my day over dinner, I found myself holding onto the stillness I had felt earlier, tucked into the corner of the Pyramid of the Sun where birds fussed around a cactus and time seemed to loosen its grip. So much of this vast city remains unanswered — who built it, why it fell, what stories were carried along the Avenue of the Dead — yet its power lies precisely in those silences. Teotihuacan does not explain itself; it asks you to stand, to look, and to feel small in the most humbling way.

Long after the crowds, the steps, and the souvenir sellers fade, what stays with me is a quiet reverence — for the ingenuity of those who came before us, for the enduring relationship between earth, sun, moon, and human imagination, and for the rare privilege of walking, however briefly, through a place where the gods were once believed to be born.

Until next time, Susan

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It is seven miles from the centre of Mexico City and my initial plan to walk to the neighbourhood from my hotel but that was thwarted by two factors – the distance and the major traffic interchanges which I would have to navigate on foot. So instead, I used a local bus service there and back which gave a different perspective on society and culture. The older couple who are going about their daily chores, the parent and child onward to their next adventure and young adults getting their fix of social media before they launch into a busy day of study.

Coyoacán comes from the Nahuatl word meaning “place of the coyotes” and was previously a separate town until Mexico City sprawled beyond its modest city limits. After the fall of the Aztec capital Tenochtitlan, the Spanish conquistador Hernan Cortes used Coyoacán as his headquarters, and for two years from 1521 it became the first capital of New Spain.

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Here are some of the highlights but there is more to see and do in this quiet and colourful neighbourhood.

My friend Nataly told me to book tickets for Museo Frida Kahlo (Frida Kahlo Museum) also known as La Casa Azul, well in advance as they sell out quickly. This is due to the immense popularity of Frida and her works and the house having limited capacity as it is the home that Frida was brought up in and later shared with her husband Diego Rivera. I left it too late for the general admission tickets so instead I opted for a tour with an English-speaking guide which was well worth it.

Frida Kahlo was born in 1907 in Coyoacán, in the vividly painted family home. From the beginning, her life was shaped by contrasts: her German-born father who was a meticulous photographer and her devout, traditional Mexican mother rooted in Catholic faith and domestic discipline.

Illness and injury marked Frida’s early years. As a child, she contracted polio then at the age of eighteen, her life changed irrevocably when a horrific bus accident shattered her spine, pelvis, and limbs. Forced into long periods of immobility and pain, Frida began to paint. What started as a way to endure confinement soon became her means of understanding herself and the world. She famously turned the mirror on herself, not out of vanity but necessity: she painted what she knew most intimately - her own body and experience.

Frida’s paintings are unapologetically autobiographical. She depicted physical suffering, emotional loss, identity, miscarriage, and love with an honesty that was startling at the time. Drawing on Mexican folk art, symbolism, and her imagination, she created a visual language that blended realism with the surreal without aligning herself neatly to any one movement. Though often associated with Surrealism, Frida rejected the label, insisting she painted her reality not dreams.

Her marriage to muralist Diego Rivera was passionate, volatile, and deeply influential. Their relationship was marked by fierce devotion and repeated betrayals. These personal wounds became catalysts rather than endpoints; heartbreak, jealousy, and forgiveness all emerged in Frida’s work as symbolic narratives of resilience rather than despair. Love, for Frida, was fuel for creation.

Despite being respected within artistic circles during her lifetime, Frida never achieved the fame she holds today. Her health deteriorated, leading to numerous surgeries and ultimately the amputation of her leg. She painted to the end, staging her first and only solo exhibition in Mexico the year before she died, and nothing was going to stop her from attending her exhibition, so she and her bed were transported to the gallery for opening night. She died in 1954 at the age of forty‑seven, leaving behind a body of work that continued to grow in relevance and power long after her death.

Today, Frida Kahlo is far more than a painter remembered for her images; she is a global symbol of endurance, self‑definition, and creative defiance. Her life and art resist simplification, insisting instead on complexity, contradiction, and truth. Through paint, pain, and unflinching self‑examination, Frida transformed personal suffering into a universal language, one that continues to resonate today across cultures, generations, and borders.

The house is on a corner, and you cannot miss the vibrant cobalt blue on the walls. I met the tour guide at a local coffee shop and with three other travellers, we ventured into the grounds of the building. The colour on the exterior walls is offset by the natural stone in the gardens as well as the bright red floor and yellow accents dotted around the buildings which leads you to the entrance of the rooms which houses artifacts, clothing and art.

One of the first things I noticed was that this truly was a home, due to the size and layout of the rooms. The curators have done an excellent job to retain the nature of the rooms alongside displaying key pieces from Frida’s life.

In the bedroom, Frida’s four-poster bed remains in place including the mirror her mother had installed after her accident to allow her to paint whilst recovering.

In the studio, one of her easels remains with paints and brushes along with crutches, corsets, and medicines which attest to the surgeries and physical ailments she suffered.

And the kitchen, in the style of traditional Mexican homes, reflects everyday life in the house.

Some of the items on display are from two rooms sealed by her husband after her death. Diego instructed these rooms should remain closed and untouched at least 15 years after his death. Before his death he entrusted the responsibility to a close friend and patron who took this responsibility very seriously and extended the embargo on the rooms and their contents to nearly 50 years.

These rooms contained hundreds of Frida’s most personal belongings: clothing, corsets, medical devices, letters, photographs, and political materials which helped curators and historians gain new insights into Frida’s pain, politics, fashion, and self‑construction. The curators must have felt that they struck gold!

In total, we spent nearly four hours walking around the exhibits, re-grouping every so often for further conversations with the tour guide who shared unique and valuable insights into what we would see. If you are thinking about a visit, I recommend spending a little more on a guided tour.

A short walk away from Frida’s home is Mercado de Coyoacán (Coyoacán Market), a true gem where day-to-day life is lived Mexican style. Walking through one of the small entrances you are presented with a maze of small walk ways lined with stalls and stores selling everything you will ever need! Whether it’s a piñata for an upcoming celebration, fresh produce to prepare the next meal, a new table cloth or a delicious taco or freshly squeezed juice you can get it all within the 4 walls of the market! Its busy and noisy yet there is a rhythm to the movement of the people where they move around each other like a river flowing around rocks. It’s an assault on the senses in the best possible way.

Moving further south in the same neighbourhood my next stop was Bazar Artesanal Mexicano which was very quiet with only a few merchants and visitors around (could have been the fact that it was far too early for any retail therapy!). The market is set back from the road along a wide passageway decorated with murals and coloured streamers hanging overhead. This market showcases a rich array of local crafts and artisanal products and serves as a cultural hub, connecting local artisans with visitors seeking authentic Mexican art and craftsmanship.

Across the road from the market sits Jardin Centenario, a large park and square which is quite the gathering place for locals and visitors alike. The trees in the gardens give dappled shade which was very much appreciated during my visit. In the distance I could hear the fountain where the “Fuente de los Coyotes”, a bronze fountain featuring two coyotes, stands. The coyotes reference the Nahuatl origin of the name Coyoacán. On the day I visited, there was a book fair which filled the square, and gave the place a real buzz.

On the other side of the park, I found a more tranquil space in the Parroquia San Juan Bautista a baroque church founded early in the 16th-century. The exterior of the church gives no indication what lies inside; highly decorated vaulted ceilings, elaborately carved altarpieces with paintings and sculptures dating from the colonial period dotted around the walls.

The church has long been the spiritual heart of the neighbourhood. It remains an active part of the community, hosting weddings, and major religious celebrations. And I have to say that everyone had a lucky escape that day as when I walked into the church, I nearly got myself involved in a procession down the aisle! I made my apologies in very bad Spanish and grabbed a seat to see what was going on.

As I exited the church a stocky yellow building caught my eye, and I knew that was my next stop. Casa de Cortes (House of Cortes) inhabits a space which local legend tells us has a dark history linked to one of the most traumatic episodes of the Spanish conquest: the torture of Cuauhtémoc, the last Mexica ruler, who was allegedly tortured here by the Spanish in an attempt to extract information about hidden treasure (he did not reveal the information). The story shows how deeply conquest‑era trauma is embedded in the memory of this place and across this majestic land.

The building has a quaint feel with a large internal courtyard, a mature tree and a small fountain tenaciously going about its business. Against one of the walls sits statues of Frida Kahlo and her husband Diego Rivera. Today the building is preserved as a protected monument by Mexico’s heritage authorities. It stands as a reminder that Coyoacán was once the centre of power in a transforming world.

It felt difficult to tear myself away from that quiet spot in the sunshine, the distant murmur of the crowds at the book fair, car horns snapping impatiently along increasingly busy roads, and the sharp punctuation of dogs barking in the park. I lingered, aware that I was doing so deliberately, reflecting on how fortunate I am to travel, to observe life as it is lived elsewhere, and to sit, even briefly, within the everyday magic of Mexico City.

Until next time, Susan

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A lot of work is done to retain the history of the area especially since it was designated as a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1987 which means strict rules must be observed.

Here are some of the highlights but there is more to see and do in this bustling neighbourhood.

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Plaza de la Constitucion (also known as Zocalo) is the town square of old Mexico City and is the heart of the historic centre. The huge Mexican flag flying in the middle is ceremonially raised at 8am by soldiers of the Mexican army, then lowered at 6pm.

It is a very impressive scene - the huge flag dancing in the wind whilst in the plaza surrounding it the Danzantes Aztecas dance and chant wearing snakeskin loincloths and shell ankle bracelets. Drummers bang on the huehuetl drum and barrel-shaped teponaztli. This is not a scene solely manufactured for the benefit of the tourists; it is a powerful ceremony typically performed by preconquest Mexicans usually at harvest time.

There is a real buzz to the area with the dancers and drummers in front of the cathedral mixing with sellers of souvenirs, their wears laid on a blanket on the ground with the trinkets and charms basking in the warm sunshine.

Today the Zocalo is the seat of federal and national government, with the Palacio Nacional (the presidential palace) on the east and the Old City Hall to the south. On the north side is the Catedral Metropolitana, with jewellery shops and fancy hotels which line the arcade known as the Portal de Mercaderes on the plaza’s west side.

Catedral Metropolitana (the Mexico City Metropolitan Cathedral) is next to the plaza and its scale compliments the huge plaza and flag. It was built by the Spanish starting in the 16^th century. It is the largest cathedral in Latin America and took over 250 years to be completed. The duration of the build can be seen in the different architectural styles around the building ranging from gothic to neoclassical.

Inside, the scale of the building is staggering: five naves, dozens of chapels, and richly decorated altars. One of the most celebrated features is the Altar of the Kings, a masterpiece of Churrigueresque Baroque design, intended to overwhelm the senses and evoke the divine.

As you’d expect the environment is a lot calmer than the plaza outside, it’s cool and contemplative atmosphere gives way to a slower pace if only for a few brief moments. There is also somewhere to sit which in Mexico City isn’t as common as you would imagine.

Exiting the cathedral via the main doors and turning left will bring you within a few minutes to Templo Mayor, the Great Temple of Tenochtitlan, which was the religious and symbolic heart of the Aztec (Mexica) capital.

It was discovered in 1978, quite dramatically by all accounts. Electrical workers uncovered a massive carved stone depicting the dismembered moon goddess Coyolxauhqui. This find confirmed the temple’s location and triggered one of the most important archaeological excavations in Mexican history. It continues to be an active archaeological site today.

The main temple on the site is thought to have been built in the 14^th century and was re-built seven times as successive rulers expanded the temple, each incarnation encasing the previous so there is a lot of archaeology to investigate.

The temple is unique as it had two shrines at its summit: Huitzilopochtli, the god of war and the sun on the south side and Tlaloc, the god of rain and agriculture, on the north side. Having two shrines, with gods with very different attributes on the same temple reflects the balance the Mexica believed was necessary to sustain the world: war and tribute on one side, rain and fertility on the other.

The temple complex stood at the centre of the sacred precinct of Tenochtitlan, which was itself laid out according to Mexica cosmology. The city was divided into four quadrants, with the temple at the axis mundi - the navel of the universe. From here, ritual, political power, and cosmic order radiated outward.

It was also the site of major ceremonies, including state rituals and human sacrifice, which the Mexica believed were essential to keep the sun moving and the cosmos in balance. Humans were sacrificed at the summit and it was deemed a great honour to be chosen for sacrifice.

The site was lite on visitors when I visited, so I was not rushed around the temple buildings (some covered to protect them from the elements) on the walkway which leads to the museum with many finds and artifacts from the nearly five decades of archaeology at the site including the huge carved stone depicting Coyolxauhqui – it is quite breathtaking to see an artifact so old yet so well preserved.

A ten-minute walk west took us to one of the most historic restaurants in the city, Café De Tacuba. It occupies a 17^th century colonial mansion which was once a private home and the restaurant was founded in 1912 at a time when Mexico was in the throws of the Revolution. Despite political upheaval, the cafe quickly became a gathering place for locals, artists, intellectuals, clergy, and politicians - a role it has maintained for over a century.

You enter through a very plain wooden doorway which gives no clue as to what lies beyond - vaulted ceilings, brightly coloured painted borders, wooden panelling, ornate carvings and vibrant stained-glass windows. The staff are all perfectly turned out, the ladies with huge white bows in their hair and the men with perfectly pressed white jackets.

We arrived early in the day so got a great table. The menu is reflective of traditional cooking so it’s a place where you can, and should, take your time. I was slightly taken back by the theatre of the traditional foamy coffee which had the milk poured from a height. The food is delicious, freshly prepared and I had a healthy respect for the mole (can be dark and deadly!).

Walking slightly further west we arrived at Casa de los Azulejos (The House of Tiles). The outside of the building is covered on three sides by blue and white colonial Talavera tiles from Puebla state.

It is another grand old building now housing a restaurant and a store. The internal covered courtyard is cavernous with a large peacock mural finished in 1919 and another on the main stairwell finished in 1925.

Dotted throughout the pavements of the neighbourhood, the air is regularly pierced by the unmistakable wheeze of the organillo. This traditional street organ is played by organilleros, who are always smartly turned out in their beige, military-style uniforms. The sound of the organillo is as much a part of the historic centre as the architectural landmarks and bustling daily life, weaving itself into the fabric of the city’s atmosphere.

Turning right out of the main door at Casa de los Azulejos brings you, after a few moments, to the end of the pedestrian zone. Off to your right you cannot help but notice the magnificent Museo del Palacio de Bellas Artes (Museum of the Palace of Fine Arts).

It stands proudly in a peaceful setting, surrounded by well-kept gardens which are offset by the white marble all around. The dome of the building is covered in tiles which graduate from a deep orange to a light yellow, it is all the more striking when set against bright blue skies and the marble of this grand building.

The interior of the building is in the art deco style with epic scale murals by Diego Rivera, David Alfaro Siqueiros, José Clemente Orozco, and Rufino Tamayo.

Murals continue to be a key element of Mexican culture. They were born out of the 1910 Mexican revolution to unite a fragmented nation bringing a national identity celebrating indigenous heritage, social justice, and political progress. These works transformed civic spaces with accessible art that promoted revolutionary ideals and pride.

Whether a mural is an old master in an art gallery or a modern, vibrant art work punctuating walls in a residential area they all matter and bring a strong sense of society and culture to all Mexicans and those who are lucky enough to cast their eyes over them.

Next door to the Palacio de Bellas Artes sits the Alameda Central, the oldest public park in the Americas which was established in 1592.

In this long-established green space accessible to all you will find starburst paths radiating from fountains, ornamental features, majestic trees and gardens along with a tranquil moment or two in this bustling, busy city.

The gardens have not always been this tranquil as over the centuries it has been an Aztec marketplace, a site of public executions as part of the Mexicans Inquisition as well as a symbol of elite control through the actions of the Count of Revillagigedo who enclosed the Alameda with a wooden fence, restricting access largely to the colonial elite.

Today the park inhabits many roles; a marketplace for the puestos (street food stalls); a social hub for locals and travellers alike; a meeting point for dog walkers; a rest point for an excited traveller who is no longer simply visiting the city but truly experiencing it.

Until next time, Susan

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Why is this pertinent information? Well, I have just come back from a wonderful 10-day adventure in Mexico City and the one thing I never really gave a second thought to before I arrived was the altitude, a whopping 2,240 m above sea level.

Whilst I was not unwell due to the altitude, my Fitbit did tell me that my breathing and heart rates increased and my effort rating was significantly higher than usual. It took 4 or 5 days to come back to “normal” range.

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For context, the city sits in rare company - lower than La Paz in Bolivia and Quito in Ecuador, but higher than Bogota in Colombia and Addis Ababa in Ethiopia, and almost every other major city on Earth. It’s mountain altitude living on a megacity scale!

Mexico City is home to about 9 million people, but when you include the surrounding metropolitan area, that figure swells to more than 22 million - making it one of the largest urban populations on Earth!

The city sits in the Valley of Mexico and is almost entirely surrounded by mountains and volcanoes. The surrounding mountains trap air in the basin, which contributes to air‑quality problems.

Historically, the Valley of Mexico contained five interconnected shallow lakes, the largest being Lake Texcoco. The Aztec capital Tenochtitlan was built on an island within this lake system. After the Spanish conquest, the lakes were gradually drained to prevent flooding, and Mexico City expanded across the former lake beds. Today, much of the city rests on soft, water‑rich sediments. Interestingly, the older buildings have foundations like those in Venice, wooden piles driven into the ground, which in Mexico City’s case are compressing under the weight of the buildings and causing some to subside and so now exist on levels the architects never envisaged.

The airport is a short drive from centre of the city and is served well by taxis, metro, bus or your preferred ride hailing app. It took about 30 minutes at 4 a.m. to get to the Napoles neighbourhood in a taxi and the first things that struck me were: the volume of people and vehicles around at 4 a.m. and that the taxi driver was auditioning for the next Fast & Furious movie! That being said, I arrived safely at the hotel.

Getting around the city is a breeze, in my opinion. If you choose to walk you will find it mostly flat which when you understand the physical impact of the altitude, you will be eternally grateful. I walked about 110 miles across 10 days.

The public transport system is a dream, clean and modern trains and buses with aircon in some. It doesn’t cost the earth (I am aware this is relative) and with a Tarjeta de Movilidad Integrada you can tap and travel on majority of buses, trains and metro. You can purchase a card in any of the major stations, and this is where you can also top up. When you tap on the reader at the turnstile the display will tell you how much money remains. There is no need to tap out as all fares on each mode of transport are the same irrespective of distance (except to and from the airport).

The only challenge is rush hour when by all accounts it’s a game of “how many people can we get in this carriage?”. It may appear to the untrained eye to be a chaotic process but on closer inspection it is a beautifully choreographed social interaction at a critical time of day when everyone needs to get somewhere. Boarding is fast, assertive, and unapologetic. Hesitation equals missing out (which I did on many occasions!). There is no polite announcement to “move down”, no tutting, and certainly no “after you”!

Everyone understands the objective: get as many bodies inside the carriage as physics allows and then squeeze on a few more for good measure. With millions of people moving simultaneously, etiquette isn’t about politeness in the traditional sense. It’s about efficiency, survival, and unspoken cooperation. Having said all that, I have to say the system works very well but best to avoid between 7 and 10 a.m. and between 6 and 8 p.m.

This game is also played in London but to more gentile standards which involves soft but direct encouragement to “please move down inside the carriage!” or “can you move down please!”. All these polite requests precipitate an easing of personal space standards from being several feet apart to being able to see what others are scrolling on their phone without straining. I will never complain about a crowded train again!

My hotel was near the Poliforum stop on Metrobus Line 1, the red Insurgentes artery that carries people the length of the city from Indios Verdes to El Caminero.

Metrobus is a rapid transit system with dedicated bus lanes along all seven of its routes. All the stations have the same layout situated around a central reservation allowing easy access to buses in both directions.

As on the metro there are women-only sections, denoted by pink seating, at the front of the bus. There are also women-only entry/exit gates at the bus stations also with pink signage. This is necessary to combat high levels of sexual harassment.

The buses accelerate hard, break hard and do not tolerate other vehicles or people in their designated lane. They do not linger at stops so keep an eye on the screens on the bus to know when to launch yourself towards the doors. And without fail, the elderly and infirm are always given a seat.

There is a wider network of buses serving neighbourhoods untouched by Metrobus, and offer variations like express routes and night buses. Some of the smaller bus services I used were slower, less polished but from observing the other passengers I assessed that they are deeply embedded in everyday life.

The roads are always busy with a mix of commercial vehicles, cars and taxis as well as motorbikes, mopeds, scooters and bikes. There is a hum of noise generated by the traffic and pedestrians as well as the many birds - the city is exceptionally green with trees lining roads and many parks where you can rest for a moment.

Crossing the road in Mexico City is not a passive activity. It’s not something you do while thinking about something else. It’s an experience that demands attention, timing, and a certain recalibration of instincts - especially if you’re coming from a place where pedestrian crossings are treated as sacrosanct. A green man does not guarantee safety. A red man does not necessarily prohibit crossing. The advice I received from my friend Nataly was to look both ways and what matters is momentum: who is moving, who is slowing, and who looks like they’re willing to stop.

Whilst I cannot claim to have conquered the public transport system in Mexico City, I found that with a bit of planning (thanks to Google Maps and Citymapper) I was able to travel confidently and get to my destination. I never felt unsafe, and I am sure if I had asked someone for help, they would have.

Until next time, Susan

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I have resorted to “the online shop” and so every two weeks my groceries are delivered to the door following a quick roll call of items added to my basket usually on an evening commute. A few clicks and it is all paid for and scheduled to arrive just as I finish on a work from home day. Now the longest part of the process is putting the groceries away.

However, there are magical, mystical, joy filled supermarkets out there and they are all abroad. Whether in Italy, Spain, Australia, Turkey or Mexico I roam the aisles like a wide-eyed contestant on Supermarket Sweep, irreverently picking up items I do not recognise and cannot pronounce. I happily spend a ridiculous amount of time staring at shelves overflowing with mysterious jars, biscuits that look like they could change my life, and cheeses that definitely require an import license to transport home.

It’s not just the products - it’s the ambience. Foreign supermarkets are always wonderfully cool, as if air conditioned by angels who specialise in making tourists feel refreshed. After hours of sightseeing in the blazing sun, walking into an Italian supermarket is like being hugged by a refrigerator.

And people abroad somehow know how to grocery shop. They glide. They don’t clog aisles with the chaos of a confused herd. They don’t treat the deli counter like the United Nations negotiating table. They don’t stand, motionless, contemplating pasta sauce like they’re about to make a life altering decision!

So yes, the in person weekly shop in the UK is dead to me — and good riddance. But abroad? Abroad, I’m a supermarket goddess. A connoisseur of crisps. A champion of cheese. A vessel for vino! I am a humble admirer of aisles that make absolutely no sense to my Scottish brain — and that’s exactly why I love them.

Until next time, Susan

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As an adult the box lost its lustre and became the relic which would eventually need to be opened and rifled through upon the death of our parents to find those important papers to work through the death administration tasks (which is a task I have come to dislike passionately).

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If my experience is anything to go by, some organisations are very behind the curve when it comes to technology adoption or bringing their ancient working practices into the modern age. I’ve lost count of the number of times I have had to send a document or certificate via registered post. I should be thankful that no one asked me to fax a copy of the documents because that would have tipped me over the edge!

My parents were very organised people which the contents of the deedbox bore testament to. All important documents were filed, with handwritten notes bringing clarity to what the envelopes contained. There were topics not documented which had already been shared … burial or cremation, location of scattering of ashes, favourite hymns … you get the idea.

My parents were of a generation where you wrote stuff down on a piece of paper. There was a cheque book with an accompanying ledger which recorded who was paid what and when. There were passbooks also recording transactions in and out of savings accounts along with share certificates and other important documents which made getting a view on their financial affairs very simple at a time when simple was what my brain craved.

Most of that paperwork is obsolete now as our lives are lived online through the various apps you no doubt have for banking, insurance, pensions and herein lies a problem which a “death file” is designed to fix.

A death file is where you document important information for the benefit of those who will be left behind in the event of your passing. Instant access to all relevant information, particularly at a time of great distress, is to my mind, invaluable. Keep it updated and keep it safe ensuring you share the location and how to access it with those who will need it most.

Document as much of the following as you can:

• A copy of your will along with details of where the original is kept (may be a solicitor’s office)

• Birth certificate, marriage certificate

• NHS number and GP contact details

• Family and dependants (names, addresses etc.)

• NI and tax reference numbers

• Details of your accountant, financial adviser, probate solicitor

• Bank account details

• Insurance policies, pension details

• List of income and regular outgoings

• Property details and other assets, including car

• Any advance decision (living will)

• Any registered lasting power of attorney

• Your wishes for burial or cremation and any other wishes for the funeral

• Any other reasonable wishes

• A short history of your life and family

• Digital information: usernames and passwords (or where to find them)

I don’t want my passing to be more of a burden than it has to be on those who are left behind so I’ve got my death file collated and ready to go. I urge you to do the same as those you leave behind will be eternally grateful of your diligent approach to life admin.

Until next time, Susan.

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The central concept of the show is the “severance” procedure—a surgical intervention that splits a person’s memories between their work and personal life. This creates two distinct identities within each employee; “Innie” is the work persona, who knows nothing of the outside world and exists only at work. “Outie” is the personal-life persona, who has no memory of what happens at work.

The show as got me thinking, imagine if that happened in real life? How would that change our day-to-day life and our relationships (both with ourselves and others) ?

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Well for starters it would ruin small talk for eternity! We’ve all been to those events where we know no one so we must “work the room” to get through the event relatively unscathed and eventually the small talk gets round to what you do for a job. The response to “So what do you do for work?” could go from the sublime to the ridiculous but at the heart of the matter you know you have a job, you know where you go to do that job and you may well know your job title but that is where it ends. So, a decision must be made to either be honest “I really don’t have a clue!” or to have some fun and wing it.

Same would apply when asking someone how their day at work went, a typical question in many households around the world, when the working day is done, only to hear “Fine, I think!”.

And on Monday morning something else would have to be discussed at the coffee station to ease us back into the work routine as we would have no idea what happened whilst away from work.

We would also leave the stress and strain of work at work. It would be hung up on a peg in your locker before you exit the building only to be collected on the next working day. The commute to and from work would not be laden with planning for the next business day or dreading the unending back to back meetings but instead planning for the time outside of work.

I think it would also shift our identity. A lot of people, me included, have built their identity through their job. It shapes how we talk about who we are, how we spend our days, how we measure progress, and in some cases how we justify our existence.

I remember a time, when I was far less wise, when I announced that in an ideal world I should die the day after I retired as life would have lost all its meaning. I have not felt this way for a long time, and would say I now feel the opposite, life is for living at every stage.

Some people don’t just do a job — they slowly become intertwined with it. The routines, the responsibilities, the relationships, the successes, the stresses, the endless Zoom calls … they all weave themselves into the fabric of how we understand our place in the world.

And in a severed world that would be sliced away. Not the work itself only the memory of the work. No context. No continuity. No narrative thread connecting yesterday to today. Your “innie” would clock in, perform tasks, make decisions, face challenges, and climb metaphorical mountains … and your “outie” would never know any of it happened.

Who are you when you can’t point to your career achievements?

Who are you when you can’t complain about your day?

Who are you when you don’t carry the weight, or pride, of your job outside the confines of the office?

It raises an unsettling but fascinating question: how much of who we believe we are exists only because we remember ourselves doing certain things? If those memories evaporated at the end of each workday, would your “innie” and your “outie” even recognise each other as the same person? All interesting points to ponder.

Back to the show, I must also mention the visual style and cinematography of the show which are exceptional. The colour palette is very simple, the visual designers preferring a stark monochromatic aesthetic. The characters wear “office attire” in muted tones and every so often there are pops of colour (cue balloons) which further highlights the surroundings. The lighting is deliberately harsh and fluorescent in the office, contributing to the unsettling, almost clinical atmosphere.

I’d imagine it’s easy to control on a set but in the great outdoors they still manage to achieve a moody tone. It is perpetually winter in the world of Lumon employees, which aids the colour palette.

The Lumon office complex is a big hunk of concrete set in a wide expanse, and it is an actual building, the Bell Labs complex in New Jersey, USA. The sterile environment lends itself perfectly to the culture of the workplace in this context, it’s not somewhere you socialise, play ping pong, make lifelong friends or even find your life partner. It’s a functional space for work and work only.

The exterior shots remind of me the great architecture of the Barbican Centre in London designed in the Brutalist architecture style from the 1950’s to 70’s known for its raw, monolithic look, using exposed concrete and emphasizing function over decoration which generates its cold appearance.

The framing of shots creates a claustrophobic feeling with the camera tracking around a labyrinth of corridors at Lumon and longer shots burrowing down long concrete corridors.

One thing I have noticed is that I need to give every episode of this show my full attention so I can take in all the elements. I am also aware this show will not be for everybody, some episodes are a tough watch, but the meandering storyline which can sometimes find itself in hard reverse as the story develops is genius. Roll on season 3.

Until next time, Susan.

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Kenny’s goal was not the only heart-stopping goal of the evening, Scott McTominay’s third-minute bicycle kick caused another commotion on the stands, and across the land.

Scotland won the match 4 – 2 and for the first time in 28 years, my motherland qualified for the men’s 2026 FIFA World Cup. If you can spare 10 minutes in your busy schedule I strongly encourage you to watch this highlights real, it will go some way to explaining the utter joy this epic achievement radiated around the stadium and much further afield.

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As of 6^th March, we are on countdown (with 100 days to go) to the first match against Haiti in Boston, USA on Saturday 13^th June 2026. The timing of the match translates to a very late night (or early morning) for the fans especially for those in Scotland as it will be a 2 a.m. kick off the following day. The powers that be in Scotland have made the only sane decision for this overnight match and they have declared Monday 15^th June a public holiday. I imagine that many pubs will already have submitted their application for extended license and opening hours to ensure that those who want to, can watch the match with their fellow supporters and a beverage or two.

After the game with Haiti the other games will be against Morocco on 19^th June and Brazil 24^th June.

It has been 28 years since Scotland qualified for this prestigious event, the last time it was for the tournament in France in 1998. The first match of that campaign was against Brazil, who have become Scotland’s recurring World Cup nemesis. It was arguably the biggest match in Scottish football history and whilst Brazil were the victors on that occasion, winning 2 - 1, Scotland finished the game with pride at holding their own against this goliath of the football world.

Before 1998, Scotland had a decent run at qualifying and played in eight FIFA World Cups with an incredible run of five consecutive tournaments between 1974 and 1990 - Italy in 1990, Mexico in 1986, Spain in 1982, Argentina in 1978, West Germany in 1974, Sweden in 1958 and Switzerland in 1954.

The earliest reference to “fute-ball” in Scotland appears in 1424, showing just how long the game has been part of Scottish life. It is said that during the reign of King James I, the monarchy attempted to ban football because it was distracting men from practising archery (a key military skill at the time). Medieval “fute-ball” barely resembles the modern sport. It was a violent, village‑against‑village free‑for‑all with few rules and lots of injuries.

Also, the first-ever international football match took place between Scotland and England in 1872, with a respectable 0 – 0 score line!

Scotland’s football supporters – known as the Tartan Army – are known for taking their kilts and vocal support to games both at home and around the world. The fans play their part in bringing that infamous Scottish spirit wherever they go.

The tartan army will invade (in a non-threatening way) Boston on Saturday 13^th June 2026 and will bring determination, nerves, euphoria, sun screen, tartan and a joy for football that is hard to beat. They will all be cheering on the 11 hero’s representing Scotland on the world stage. Come on Scotland! You can do this!

Until next time, Susan

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The Highland Cow (or “hielan coo” as it is known in Scotland) is a Scottish breed of cattle which originated in the Scottish Highlands and the Western Isles. Being from this region necessitates being very hardy as the weather, when you primarily live and eat outdoors all year, can be harsh and unforgiving. It is said that it’s an environment where no other cattle could exist.

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They are equipped with an unusual double coat of hair. On the outside the hair has an oily texture which keeps out the wind and the rain. The hair underneath has more of a downy texture to keep in the warmth. The coat also has a beachy wave to it, which any hairdresser would be hard pushed to replicate on a human. And there is a forelock (a fringe to you and I) which falls gracefully between its inquisitive and piercing eyes.

Typically, a highland cow is portrayed as having a reddish-brown coat, but this only applies to around 60% of the population globally. The remainder come in colours from yellow, pale silver, black, bindle or dun (tiger striped).

They also have long, wide horns. On bulls, the horns come level out of the head, inclining slightly forwards, rising towards the points. On the cow they generally come out from the head squarer than in the male, rise sooner and are longer, preserving their substance and a rich reddish appearance to the tips. There is another variation on the cow where they are set further back with a very wide sweep. Either way, you cannot miss the horns, just try to stay on the right side of them.

When you see a Highland Cow it will stop you in your tracks. They are such majestic, calm, intelligent yet friendly animals but keep a respectful distance especially if there are calves in the fold – mind you, the calves will come bounding towards you if you have some food for them.

The breed has remained largely unchanged over the centuries, and we know this due to the written records that go back to 1885 when the first Highland Cattle Herd Book was published.

Today the Highland Cattle Society is protecting and promoting Scotland’s iconic Highland cattle. It safeguards the breed’s unique traits through stewardship, DNA verification, scientific research into breeding and sustainable farming, and advances in environmental protection through conservation-focused initiatives. The Society also champions animal welfare, provides education and guidance for breeders, and fosters a strong sense of community. The society are also keen to encourage the continued use of Gaelic names for Highland Cattle.

Just as in human life, there is a structure and hierarchy within the fold. Social standing depends on age and sex and males dominant to females. Calves from the top-ranking cow are given higher social status.

“Hielan coos” are an iconic symbol of Scottish heritage, representing resilience and the rugged landscape of the Highlands. They are deeply rooted in rural history and are a major, beloved attraction for visitors to Scotland.

Until next time, Susan

https://www.highlandcattlesociety.com/

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But the introduction of moisture, be it rain or snow, changes EVERYTHING. It’s no longer the straightforward walk from A to B as I now need to factor in the drenching I will no doubt receive caused by the vehicles driving towards me and the water now languishing at the roadside. It’s less of a walk and more of a commute through the medium of modern dance!

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Lets break it down …

The first factor are the many dips, potholes, clogged drains as well as the sheer volume of rain running off the road surface that all conspire against everything and everyone on the pavement.

The second factor is the volume and variety of vehicles from bikes, cars, buses, vans and lorries all making their way across the poorly maintained highways of the UK.

The third factor is me, and my need to be as well presented as possible when working at the office. Garments are pressed, jumpers de-bobbled with everything nicely accessorised to present the semblance of someone who knows what they are doing. To date this approach has fooled many!

My normal operating mode in the damp conditions tends to start very confidently as the start of my route is downhill. Within a few minutes I am on the main road and need to wait on a sliver of pavement as the vehicles speed by. My only real protection mechanism here is to turn my back if a tsunami is incoming.

Now onto the long stretch of road, not always well lit, which is the real danger zone. Large cavities in the road full of dirty water swilling around like the brew in a witch’s cauldron. It’s a case of looking at three things at once. The flow of the traffic; the size of the vehicle; and the dimensions of the body of water. At its core it’s a job of assessing risk (which is challenging as I’ve not sharpened my senses with a coffee at this point).

I am often seen retreating away from the road seeking shelter on a driveway until I see a gap in the traffic which precipitates me breaking into a Kerbside Chasse, the Gutter Grapevine or a Tsunami Turn only deployed if I have completely mis-judged the whole sorry situation and get soaked. This carries on for an inordinate amount of time until I reach the shelter of the train station where my step count is at an all-time high for the short distance I have travelled.

It is worth saying that my commute home is just as challenging as it has the added complication of the oncoming traffic being behind me!

The interesting point is that the drivers of the vehicles are completely oblivious to this dangerous practice I am engaged in. They appear so laser focussed on getting to their destination that soaking the pedestrian is a price they are willing to pay. So, you will be as surprised as I am to find out I have the law on my side! In the UK, it is illegal for drivers to soak pedestrians by driving through puddles, constituting “careless, aggressive, or inconsiderate behaviour”. Motorists face a fixed penalty notice and three penalty points, and I am confident when I say I doubt that a penalty notice or fine has ever been issued never mind paid.

As they say, there’s no such thing as bad weather, only people who thought the puddles (and the drivers) would show some mercy.

Until next time, Susan

And here’s an afterthought. I saw a Waymo car in London recently (I assume it was on a steep learning curve learning about driving in London as well as making allowances for the kamikaze pedestrians) and now I am wondering if there is someone at Waymo HQ who has thought about the pedestrians and whether they are factoring in programming their self driving cars to drive around the puddles instead of through them. Time will tell.

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The last plants my parents planted were two clematis, one purple the other pink, which brought bright seasonal colour on the bare garage wall. I took personal pride helping it to meander in and around the trellis and ensuring it was well watered during the summer months.

At the beginning of 2025, we had to do some remedial work to the gable wall - what is commonly known in my friendship group as “blue job”. So, builders were engaged, scaffolding was erected, and render was removed from the wall like a knife through soft butter. Within a few weeks new render was being applied, and we were well on our way to the job being completed.

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It was early March 2025, and I could see that there was new leaf growth on both the clematis which made me disproportionally happy, mostly because I felt this signalled that spring was around the corner. A few days later I noticed that the leaf growth had stopped which I thought was odd, but being a novice gardener, I decided it was normal. A couple of days passed and still new growth wasn’t noticeable. It was only then when I looked to the base of the plant I noticed the damage to both plants, my heart sank, and I stood motionless not knowing what to do.

Once the scaffolding was removed, I got to work removing the vines from the trellis and sat on the doorstep perplexed about what do to next. I could only see two options; replace them or leave them in place on the off chance that they would do something. I went for the latter as it was too distressing to replace them.

A few days passed and as a dashed out the door to make my way to the train station a thrilling sight caught my eye … new growth. It wasn’t much but it didn’t need to be. Maybe all was not lost, maybe I wasn’t as incompetent as I felt in the realm of gardening.

Days turned into weeks and before I knew it, I was stood twine in hand at the altar of the clematis tying the new vines onto the trellis. This went on for many weeks; it was growing at an inordinate rate - I was out there every other day securing the new growth.

The middle of June came round all too quickly, and this ushered in the arrival of tiny buds, so many it was staggering – they were everywhere! Then, slowly at first, they began to respond to the warmer weather and longer days in a dazzling display of pure joy. It was only in September that the flowers started to die back, I thanked the plant for all its hard work and secretly begged for spring to come around again.

The clematis was teaching me life lessons, but I wasn’t taking any notice at the time. What looked, at first glance, like a tangle of damaged stems became an unexpected lesson in how both nature and humans find their way back from hardship.

Nature has an extraordinary ability to push forward, even when the odds seem stacked against it. Beneath the soil, in quiet and unseen places, healing happened long before anything became visible. The clematis reminded me that recovery often begins in stillness - growth pausing not because life has left, but because it is gathering its strength to begin again.

And when that first tiny leaf appeared, it was enough. Nature doesn’t rush; it follows its own patient timeline, and yet it always seems to know exactly when to return.

Somewhere along the way, I realised my own resilience was tangled up in those vines. The moment I chose not to dig the plant up — not to give up on it — was the moment I gave myself permission to hope too. Every time I tied a fresh piece of twine around a vine, I was tending more than just a clematis. I was tending my own belief that things can recover, even after they have been knocked down.

Both of us grew that spring and summer: the clematis climbing the trellis with quiet determination, and me discovering that resilience doesn’t always look like boldness. Sometimes it looks like patience. Sometimes it looks like showing up every other day with twine in your hand. Sometimes it looks like waiting.

What the clematis taught me is simple, and yet not simple at all. Life pushes forward; healing unfolds in its own time and hope often begins as something small — almost easy to miss — but powerful enough to transform everything.

Until next time, Susan

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John’s approach to porridge was very simple and is reflective of his Scottish roots – he just added water and pinch of salt – and watched it bubble away on the stove until it was ready to be consumed as a hearty breakfast before he departed for work or a round of golf. He never deviated from this true breakfast of champions!

As a child I too enjoyed porridge, but in the highly palatable form of Ready Brek. It too was made on the stove and was made with full fat milk laced with a hefty dose of sugar. My great grandfather would have been appalled. On the odd occasion when I was left to my own devices at breakfast time, I would dive into the world of extreme Ready Brek-ing which involved a hefty dose demerara sugar (purloined from the sugar bowl which lived in the sideboard along with the other crockery which was saved for best) and not a drop of milk or water. ZERO liquids! Dry Ready Brek was not for the faint hearted as with every mouthful it sapped all the moisture from my mouth and the surrounding soft tissue. I am confident I would lose a couple of pints of fluids with every bowlful.

Porridge is synonymous with Scotland, but it is not from these parts, it’s European. The etymology of the word is attributed to the French language and there is evidence pointing to Italian Palaeolithic hunter-gatherers eating a wild variety of the grain some 32,000 years ago.

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It is said that when the Romans came to Britain, they brought oats with them. The combination of long, light summer days, plentiful rainfall and acidic soil made for ideal growing conditions and as such the crop slowly made its way north.

Highlanders and islanders adopted the grain as their own as it was relatively easy to grow in their small holdings, known as crofts. Every piece of land needed to work hard to sustain the community during the long and often cold winters.

At the centre of most homes there would be a huge cast-iron pot hanging over the fire, full of porridge. Porridge is expected to be smooth in consistency so those who wished to receive the highest praise of their porridge would employ a spurtle – a traditional Scottish wooden kitchen tool, dating back to the 15^th century. Its rod-like, tapered shape prevents porridge from forming lumps. It is often made from hardwoods like beech or maple and traditionally features a carved thistle on the handle. A Druid belief passed down through the ages denoted that luck could be ushered in by exclusively stirring your porridge in a clockwise fashion to reflect the direction of the sun.

Spurtle, along with purple and murder when spoken with a Glaswegian accent is hard to miss. Scottish accents tend to roll their r’s but Glaswegians roll them hard! So purple becomes “purr-pul” and spurtle becomes “spur-tul”. You get the idea!

But I digress. In days gone by, but similar to current times, it wasn’t a food solely associated with breakfast. It was eaten throughout the day to sustain everyone in both an economical and nutritious way. A common way to serve it was cooled and set in the “porridge drawer” (yes, an actual drawer), cut into slices and packed to be taken into the fields or fried in fat for dinner.

These days oats and porridge have developed further than my great grandfather could have fathomed. Oat milk, overnight oats, fruit and nuts displayed with flair on top of the porridge or mixed in, added to smoothies and any sweet treat you think can handle it.

It’s no wonder oats are so popular as they are highly nutritious, providing essential fibre, protein, vitamins, and minerals that support health inside and out.

For Scots, porridge is more than a dish; it’s a deep cultural emblem of hardiness, frugality, and pride. Generations of Scots have grown up eating their oats, and many remain fiercely protective of the traditions surrounding them. If you’ve never tried it, I urge you to give it a go … you won’t regret it.

My porridge journey has gone full circle, and it feels like I am honouring the memory of my great grandfather John MacGregor. It is made with water and a pinch of salt. Nothing beats it especially on working from home days in the colder months.

Until next time, Susan

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