A bright young correspondent has chided me for being a touch frivolous. Aren’t I selling myself short, he asks? Tapping this out in the main saloon of an oligarch’s yacht, for it to be winged off by satellite, I am in good condition to reflect ruefully on these remarks. Read more ›

I am such a cowardly and careless yachtsman – and so prone to panic – that I am a little nervous about seeming to criticise the crew of The Ouzo, a small sailing yacht which vanished with all hands on a night passage off the Isle of Wight in August 2006. It was an intensely dramatic story. I have been revved-up by a very good piece in the FT Saturday magazine. It seems a tad timid. Read more ›

Every time I do something un-environmental, I think of Jonathon Porritt. He is the embodiment of my guilt. The other day, the phenomenon was given a twist by my reading a column of his. It was uppermost in a mulch of Guardian pages left behind by a passenger on a short haul flight I was taking. Read more ›

Great news that Princess Anne loves lighthouses, and even better to think that she is following in the footsteps of Robert Louis Stevenson. Read more ›

When it comes to hide-aways, retreats, sanctuaries, I’m you’re man. They are, after all, where I have lived most of my adult life. I dreamed of them for most of my childhood, when my head was filled with Swiss Family Robinson and Robinson Crusoe. So I warmed instantly to Francesco da Mosto’s Croatian lighthouse. Read more ›

I imagine married men find Francesco da Mosto rather tiresome. He purrs and growls like a muscular old tabby cat – obviously one well-used to prowling the alleys of his native Venice. And used, too, one somehow supposes, to having his way with female felines. Good territory for a bit of jealousy, then. In my own case, I envy much of his solo life, as in his new TV series Francesco’s Mediterranean Voyage. Read more ›