Every author’s worst nightmare…a book withdrawn from a library without anyone having read it. Not one of mine, I hasten to add.

#TBT Playing with a Bimota DB2, back in the early ’90s. It was a lovely (and very expensive) little thing.

Emma, after watching yet another programme about railways: “They really changed the world, didn’t they.” Me: “Absolutely, they enabled the spread of epidemics, made the Holocaust possible, and facilitated the exploitation of the Third World.” Emma: “WTF is wrong with you??” 😶

History says the Austro-Hungarian army was starving in 1918, but what does that actually mean? What was the effect of starvation on frontline soldiers? The Minnesota Experiment gives some answers, but few historians have attempted to analyse the effects of starvation. So I’m doing some science…

We have WW1 memorials for war horses, dogs, mules, even pigeons. But where are the ones for the oxen, eh? They are the perfect draught animal — strong, hardy, and when you’re done with them, they’re much more tasty than your average mule.

Another book I’ll never get round to writing.

The best view in WW1? An Austrian machine gun position on Lagazuoi Piccolo in the Dolomites.

The Castello, an Italian WW1 machine gun position on Costabella Ridge in the Dolomites.

Italian WW1 trench near Bosco Malo (Hudi Log) on the Carso, dug in summer 1917, untouched since then (except by brush fires in 2021).

Well that’s frustrating…I hiked for 2 days, crossed a glacier, and climbed to 3306m (10,846ft) ASL on an icy mountain to take a photo for the cover of my book, and people assume it’s a composite, or A.I. 😡

My spell-checker hates my new project.

Researching the Great Retreat of 1915, I thought it would be a good idea to plot where my main protagonists were, and when. And, like many of my good ideas, it’s spiralled completely out of control. Still, if something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing to excess.

Putting together an online photo gallery of WW1 huts on the Italian Front, and thinking I should tap up B&Q for some advertising.

Finally! Someone (other than me) said it out loud. Perhaps they can also address the other elephant in the gravel bike room…tyre widths.

When my son said he was going to the football, I didn’t realise he’d actually be playing.

So, in addition to snakes, ticks, UXOs, tetanus, rock-falls, frostbite, avalanches, and falling off mountains, we can now add Dengue Fever to the list of potential hazards that may be encountered while “walking the ground” on the Italian Front.

This year’s autumnal tree photo.

Today’s handy infographic tells you everything you need to know about Allied foreign policy in the Balkans during WW1.

Contrasting the WW1 experiences of western journalists and Serbian refugees during the Great Retreat of 1915. Foie Gras and roast duck for the former, starvation and hypothermia for the latter.

Bivacco…Italian for “mistake” (to paraphrase a popular saying in the hiking/climbing community).

The “hiking essentials” they never tell you about.

It’s available for pre-order on Amazon, so it must be real. (It’s been six years in the making, and I still can’t quite believe it’s actually a thing)

If I wasn’t so busy, I’d try to make a Pro Cycling ethics league table, based on Amnesty International and Friends of the Earth rankings, and the number of ex-dopers employed by the team. We should know what we’re cheering for. Maybe the cycling media could…oh, wait…

As observation posts go, this is a belter.

Surprising, considering he died 10 years ago. Still, it occasioned a pleasant trip down memory lane. He was an absolute maniac (a common character trait among my dead friends).

The curse of family portraits…you don’t want them on the wall, but you can’t really get rid of them either (heirlooms, and all that). He was a Methodist preacher, she was a vocal Prohibitionist. They would have been rather disappointed to find themselves in my loft.

Battlefield tourism, done differently.

The endless confusion of Balkan historical research… Lioum-Koula Koda Lume Lyumcula Kula Lums Kukës It’s all the same bloody place!

My palaeontology knowledge is a bit rusty…is that a diplodocus or a triceratops?

Books I’d run back into a burning building to save…

Lots of pro-Palestine protests at the Vuelta over the last few days, but this is the most eloquent.

Dear old Leonard Isitt (distant relative) taking the surrender of the Japanese aboard USS Missouri, OTD in 1945.

Have just finished a 8,250-word writing project…the captions for the Thunder in The Mountains website. All 725 of them. I’m going for a lie-down in a darkened room.

Makes a change from mini-roundabouts, I suppose. Britain, 2025 🙄

View of the WW1 front lines (Ortler group), from the lower slopes of Vertainspitze. It’s the FWW, Jim, but not as we know it.

I can’t get over the recent news story about hiking and climbing fatalities in the Italian Alps (nearly 90 in July 2025). The mountains are my playground, my happy place, my obsession, my sanctuary. I know the mountains can be dangerous, but I had no idea that so many people die here each year.

Yes, she’s quite short, but these Austro-Hungarian WW1 trenches above Lake Garda are seriously deep.

This has had some excellent reviews, so I thought I’d give it a go. So far it’s making a pleasant change from Balkan history.

Regarding the 20th Century history of the Balkans, I’m beginning to understand the “what”, but I don’t think I’ll ever understand the “why”.

70% cocoa solids, Fairtrade, 120g, €0.99 at Lidl in France. #RejoinEU

Interesting damage to the loopholes in this WW1 German bunker, on Tête des Faux (Vosges battlefields).

Mysterious WW1 battlefield objects littering Tête du Voilu in the Vosges.

French roadside mountain auberges have a distinctive ambience. Owner: drunk eccentric. Decor: cheap ‘70s chintz. Customers: absent. Food: usually excellent. Experience: always memorable.

France’s refusal to make drinkable coffee is absolutely infuriating. €4.50 for this disgusting slop is a crime.

Last ones from the Vosges, before we transfer to the Champagne sector. German engineers’ positions on Tête du Voilu, and the little village where my 2x Great Grandmother was born (Ban-de-Laveline).

Fair play to the old girl, not many spouses would put up with this kind of thing (six mile slog up a mountain in the pissing rain to look at rusty war crap).

Well, Tête des Faux didn’t disappoint. A huge amount of WW1 remains to explore, and many tetanus opportunities. Loved it.

Inspired by @mightygwyn.bsky.social we’re heading up to Tête des Faux tomorrow. Will report back in due course.

Wait, what? Marmot on the menu? It’s a rodent, a huge furry rat! The Swiss are strange.