Yesterday Speranza bore me from London to Lamesley near Gateshead where I rested my head in a Goatshed. It's actually a rather smart B&B on a farm, but the name was part of the attraction.
On the way we visited the Major Oak in Sherwood Forest – a regular weekend walk when I was an articled clerk in Nottingham, but a place I haven't seen for decades. The old tree has had some surgery since those days and looked – if anything – in better shape, despite its crutches.
Watching little boys' transform themselves into Merrie Men with no aids more than a stick or two, I was struck by the enduring power of the Robin Hood legend. It may be no more than a folk memory of a long-ago plea in mitigation by the creative lawyer of some woodland rogue, but it will not die.
I was also reminded of an old Peter Cook gag about a book of myths he had – "a very detailed account of things that never happened". From there we sped north to Gateshead through pleasant English countryside to visit a more modern myth – the Angel of the North. It's known to the locals as "the Gateshead Flasher" apparently. I like modern art. I even enjoy the fun of distinguishing the genuine article from the "works" of people like Tracy Emin. Her only real "art form", in my view, is to see how far she can go in taking the p**s without the Art Establishment crying foul. I am sure it has provided her with as much amusement as money.
I have to say – suspicious though I am of state-funded art – that I buy the Angel. It has presence. It also has popular appeal. The little car park was full and – as I tried to find an angle for my photograph – many visitors came and went.
Today there is another long road ahead, through some of my favourite landscapes. My destination is Achnacarry, where I propose to vary my usual approach to visiting Scotland by setting up a permanent base for exploration.
The Last Ditch by Tom Paine 
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