My wife Marie (pronounced Marry) and I thought that as we hadn't set foot in a van before it would be a great idea to head off into the sunset in a cloud of diesel smoke; our trusty steed Gemima (the Hymer) wanted to stay at home and Marie seemed determined to maim me. The following is a tale of mechanical mischief, foolishness and an exploration of the human psyche. We visited some amazing places; met some fantastic people and in between the endless problems had a fabulous time. Hope you enjoy it!(From Amazon.co.uk)

    This book describes the experiences shared during this remarkable journey - joining a government 'elephant squad' together with local villagers to chase a band of wild elephants off a tea estate, and making a stop at Parbati's ancestral home, now a virtual shrine to her father's lifelong work with elephants. The importance of this ancient knowledge becomes clear: if not preserved, the Asian elephant stands an even greater chance of disappearing altogether.

    Paddle to the Arctic is Don's diary of his journey from Churchill, Manitoba, north and then west all the way to Tuktoyaktuk, close to Alaska. The voyage took him three Arctic summers. Each attempt almost cost him his life. The first year, aged fifty-seven and "very scared," Don paddled north through the thawing ice-fields. How he survived a spill in frigid waters miles from shore before fighting his way home is in itself an incredible story. On his return to Churchill he was greeted by a local with the words "I was hoping you wouldn't make it back." Why? "If guys like you are successful, it will encourage others to try, and the whole west shore of Hudson Bay will be piled deep with bodies." Undeterred, Don tried again the next year with two companions. Fred soon gave up, but Victoria gamely survived their jousts with polar bears, walrus, and other hazards all the way to Repulse Bay. (For most readers, one of the book's pleasures is learning the geography of the North as Don visits each community in turn.). The third year was the big test. Dragging their sleds across the peninsulas proved to be too tough, and snowmobiles had to be used to get to Spence Bay. Then it was straight across the frozen sea, hauling their kayaks on sleds. Although Victoria had to give up ("My God, he'll kill us both," she told a Winnipeg paper), Don kept on, not seeing another human being for weeks, and risking his life as he waded across the thawing ice ("Fell through the ice up to my neck at least ten times yesterday ..."). At Cambridge Bay he abandoned the sled and threaded his way through the breaking ice by kayak, out into open water. There he confronted storms, giant Arctic seas, and ("August 19 - snow!") the growing threat of freeze-up. The variety of Don's adventures will astonish every reader. "So far on my voyage," he writes, "I have seen polar bear, grizzly, caribou, reindeer, mu

    This account does not go out of its way to endear us to him. With digs at everything from Rastafarianism and the smoking ban to musicians he doesn't care for. From his pioneering work as entertainments officer at Leeds University in the 1980s, to his introduction of many foreign artists to British ears, to his latter-day work as a foreign reporter, Kershaw has had a fascinating life.

    Forty-six buses and eleven days later he disembarks at John O’Groats in Scotland. Move Along Please is his account of that gruelling 1100-mile odyssey; a paint-by-bus-numbers portrait of Britain. Along the way he visits everywhere from the village where the internet enters Britain to the urban sprawl of Birmingham (inspiration for the Two Towers in Lord of the Rings). He samples staples of the British diet from curry to the deep-fried Mars Bar, and uncovers countless fascinating facts about his native land – did you know, for example, that Crewe Alexandra football club is named after the wife of Edward VII, that Loch Ness could hold the water from all the lakes in England and Wales, or that there is a village which rejoices in the name Tongue End? Set against the backdrop of 2000 years of history and with a full supporting cast drawn from that most unusual of species, the Great British Public, this is the unmissable story of a man rediscovering his nation in all its idiosyncratic glory.

    A desert, by definition, lacks it, but when water does come, it comes in torrential, sometimes devastating abundance. Childs, a thirtysomething desert rat with a vast knowledge of the Southwest's remote corners, knows this fact well. "Most rain falling anywhere but the desert comes slow enough that it is swallowed by the soil without comment," he observes. "Desert rains, powerful and sporadic, tend to hit the ground, gather into floods, and are gone before the water can sink five inches into the ground."The travels that Childs recounts in this vivid narrative take him from places sometimes parched, sometimes swimming, from the depths of the Grand Canyon to the dry limestone tanks of the lava-strewn Sonoran Desert. As he travels, Childs gives a close reading of the desert landscape ("the moral," he writes at one point, "is that if you know the land and its maps, you might live"), observing the rocks, plants, animals, and people that call it home. Some of his adventures will remind readers of Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire—save that Childs writes without Abbey's bluster, and with a measured lyricism that well suits the achingly lovely back canyons and cactus forests of the Southwest. By turns travelogue, ecological treatise, and meditative essay, Childs's book will speak to anyone who has spent time under desert skies, wondering when the next drop of rain might fall.

    It was an antique whose value I had realised.’ With these words Bishwanath Ghosh embarks on an exploration of a city that, as a probashi - non-resident Bengali, he has only recently fallen in love with. He probes the lives of its inhabitants - some famous and others faceless - and at the same time strolls along the Hooghly, wanders in and out of Park Street, College Street, Kalighat, Kumartuli, Sonagachhi, even ending up in a dance bar in Salt Lake.With his adventurous spirit and undeniable wit intact, Bishwanath Ghosh pieces together his own unique idea of a unique city.

    He has played on the Old Course at St Andrews as well as on the miners' courses of Yorkshire. He writes about the different cultural manifestations of the game, the history, the geography, and the different social meanings.

    There is the record-holding husband and wife who cross continents to "twitch" (spot rare birds); the disgraced "stringer" who takes desperate measures to falsify a spotting of the coveted black lark, leading hundreds on a fruitless search; and a group of friends who go birding in America only to be plagued by car trouble, drunk drivers, robbery, and an encounter with the border police.Birders is also an inspiring and heartwarming account of the author's lifelong love for his hobby, and the way it transforms him -- from his fetishistic love affair with his notebook and "bins" (binoculars) to his deep mourning for a friend who went missing when he followed the call of an elusive pheasant in the Himalayan mountains. Informative, touching, and astoundingly funny, here is the layman's invitation to share in an unlikely obsession.

    This guide covers the whole of the Iceland with full-color photographs and maps throughout.

    Sebastian embarks on an incredible adventure which sees him Get Shot in Colombia, Crash the Red Carpet at the Cannes Film Festival and Cycle Through Cuba - all in an effort to ensure he lives a life without regrets. Now more than halfway through his list, Sebastian has realised that his journey is part of something so much bigger ...100 Things is a humorous, action-packed story for anyone who's ever dreamed about living every day like it was their last.

    In the film, Johnson – now a Liberian senator – calmly sips a Budweiser as the naked Doe’s ears are hacked off. Unsurprisingly, Dalrymple forms the professional opinion that Johnson is a psychopath.Monrovia was once a peaceful and reasonably ordered city; now, it has been almost completely sacked. Burnt-out cars are everywhere; doors have been chopped up for firewood; rubble lines the streets, with the vandalism forming a systematic attempt to destroy every vestige of the old regime (and, the author speculates, of civilisation itself). The destruction of the university and library, for instance, seems to be little more that the revenge of the ignorant upon the educated. In a local hospital (once the pride of West Africa, now long ruined and abandoned), the professor of surgery’s office has been ransacked, and medical books and papers have been ripped up; in another, infant welfare records have been smeared with faeces. In the wrecked Centennial Hall, the body of a beautiful Steinway grand piano lies on the floor, its legs senselessly sawn off. In a Lutheran church, Dalrymple finds the floor covered in the blood silhouettes of 600 Liberians massacred by Doe’s soldiers.Dalrymple – who achieves the near-impossible by making a book about such barbarism at times amusing – lays much of the blame for what happened at the feet of Western intellectuals and their African counterparts.Monrovia Mon Amour is a profoundly moving and interesting book about a country which is little-understood and less visited.

    Ride with author John Hall into the turbulent world of 1960s bike club culture, from the time he joined an upstart motorcycle club from Dixie, and rose to become Long Island chapter president of the Pagans, a club that the FBI called "the most violent criminal organization in America." Follow him into the Pagan heartland of Pennsylvania where he fell in love, got in a roadhouse brawl over a honky-tonk angel, and eventually went to jail for "takin' care a club business." Now after a career as a journalist and college professor, he returns to the violent days of his youth and smashes up stereotypes like he once smashed up bars, resurrecting long-dead brothers, in a style reminiscent of Jack Kerouac and Mark Twain.  Hall presents them as they really were: hard living, hard loving, hard drinking, hard fighting rebels, but also hardworking, patriotic, loyal, and lovable characters, and a band of brothers whose outlandish behavior forged an all-American outlaw legend in the tradition of Jesse James, Doc Holliday, John Dillinger, and Pretty Boy Floyd.  Outlaws yes, but outlaws as American as apple pie.

    Feeling lost, he decided to pair his spiritual journey with a literal one: a hundred-mile pilgrimage along the northeast coast of England.Inspired by the life and influence of the seventh-century monk Cuthbert, Sheridan travelled on foot from the Holy Island of Lindisfarne to Durham. Taking his friend DJ along for the journey, and keeping a journal by his side, Sheridan discovered not resolution but peace. Not ambition but purpose. Not shouts of convictions but whispers of the presence of God.In The Making of Us, Sheridan invites us to join him as he walks along England’s shores and we trace the borders of our own hearts. Part pilgrim’s journal, part call to reflection, The Making of Us eloquently reminds us of the beauty of journeying into uncertainty, the freedom of letting go, and the wonder of losing our identity only to discover who we really are.

    From 'The hideousness of the art world', 'Being thick is no obstacle to being a successful artist' and 'Painting is a blind man's obsession'; to 'Socialising for party duds', 'Love may be blind, but marriage is an eye-opener' and 'If it can't be explained by science, try a seance'.