The snowstorm hit the city quite unexpectedly, compounding the frustration caused by the transport drivers’ strike action. It was a chilly Friday evening, the kind when most city workers who lived and worked within the urban sprawl hurried to get home. The unprecedented blizzard, one not witnessed in over three centuries, coupled with the ongoing strike, did little to alleviate the frustration and exhaustion felt by the c...

There’s something irresistibly freeing about slipping away on your own every now and then, isn’t there? For me, it’s a short trip to a sixteenth-century pub nestled in the countryside, just a stone’s throw from home. Picture it: dark wooden beams, the smell of roasted meat and ale in the air, and in winter, a roaring fire waiting like an old friend. This pub has a charm that feels like stepping into another time—a place w...

I was on my way home, sat in a warm carriage on the train which, for once, had been on time. Outside, darkness blanketed the countryside, broken only by the occasional glow of distant farmhouses or the fleeting flashes of station lights as we sped past. Small streaks of water slid across the window, catching the faint light, and scattering it like broken glass. The rhythmic hum of the train wheels against the track filled...