Tom and I are shortly off on our hols. Our carbon footprint is tiny, more of a toe print actually, so I don’t feel guilty about that. In fact this is only our third package tour trip to the sun. Money, or rather the lack of it, has put the brakes on travelling and I still feel uneasy about taking off even on a cheap deal. But then I feel uneasy, full stop. Whilst Tom has been telling me, for years as it happens, that we need a proper break, I’ve been dragging my heels. We do, after all, live in a very beautiful part of the world and are both, engaged in fulfilling occupations but I accept the fact that I could get a tad too cosy here. But, instead of looking forward to some time out in the sun, I found myself growing more apprehensive. Turning on the TV last week, having returned from the heaving metropolis of Carmarthen with some Matalan T-shirts, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see a plane sprawled across Heathrow covered in foam. My concern is partly to do with being a complete and utt...
Christine Stovell, author and freelance writer, on living and writing in West Wales