There’s always a huge sense of anticipation when I cross the Severn Bridge. I see it as a portal to the ancient and wonderful land of my birth; Wales. This time the portal would let us through to the stunning seaside haven of Newport in Pembrokeshire. Destination: a magical ‘restaurant with rooms’ called Llys Meddyg; the Doctor’s Place in English.
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Bohemian Mojo had heard there’d been a political uprising in Frome (pronounced Froom) which claims to be Britain’s first sustainable town, so we went to find out what had happened. To be honest I’ve by-passed Frome many times over the past decade. Memories of my last visit to the town made me avoid it. Dilapidation, boarded-up shops and an air of social stagnation were the lasting impressions. No getting away from it, Frome used to be a town waiting for the next bit of bad news.  

Well what came next was a remarkable transformation ending in a revolution so the past decade has seen Frome turned from a depressing failure into a switched-on, culture packed community. 

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I have a confession to make. I am a bibliophile. I dare say the rest of the Mojo team are with me on this one.

Books. We love them. We read them. We write them. Honest to goodness real books. The kind you can hold in your hand, feel the weight, smell the pages, and luxuriate in the words. Time spent in bookstores and libraries is an indescribably treat. In today’s world of electronic devices and technology, the printed word is under threat. We at Bohemian Mojo do our best to support local book vendors and reading resources. It’s one small way of preserving history.

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As we walked up the steep track sunk between two moss covered banks Stephanie and I paused to look at the patchwork of trees and fields stretching across the valley.  

As we walked up the steep track sunk between two moss covered banks Stephanie and I paused to look at the patchwork of trees and fields stretching across the valley.   

We were on a quiet pilgrimage walking through an easterly wind stiff with cold sweeping.  Below us smoke curled from the chimneys of  the quintessentially English village of Ramsbury. In the distance its equally picturesque neighbour, Aldbourne, was hidden in the folds of a hill. 

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