Medieval Scribbles

There was snow in her hair. Tiny little accumulations of ice which sparkled like carefully arranged pearls, as elegant as if she were gracin...

January, 1067 “I hate this bloody country.” Henri muttered petulantly as he flexed his numb fingers. The bitter cold had leached all sensa...

Yorkshire, 1165 Horse and rider crested the hill, casting a stark silhouette against the pale haze of sky. The morning mist curled undeci...

Try as we might we all apply some form of favouritism to our lives. For me this can be a particular fondness for a character, or a sentence...

Here we are again at the end of another year. Last year it was my resolution to write a blog (ta-dah!) and this year it was my resolution to...

A kitchen scene, (Luttrell Psalter, British Library, Additional Ms. 42130, f. 207v). Ask me my favourite thing about Christmas and I wou...

This image seems a particularly apt summary of the past week. I feel especial sympathy for the figure on the far right. Tres Riches H...