09.30 ENCHANTING OAKS

Ages ago, an area of Sherwood Forest was bulldozed to plot the land I now live on. Indeed, deforestation and regeneration of Robin's 'hood has been taking place for centuries. During medieval times, 100,000 acres of oak and birch included designated 'Forest' and the region's valuable timber and game was protected by Royal Law. Today, patches of forestland remain, scattered across only 450 acres of the Birklands.

A great deal of logging during wartime and replantation of foreign trees, including Pine contributes to the changed landscape. It is a shame. And what remains is starkly less enchanting than I had hoped because of its lack of depth. It is hard to get lost in unless you tap into your inner child and really put your imagination to work.

A area of conservation set aside today holds the most ancient portion of Sherwood Forest and is home to the Major Oak, famed because of its girth and age. The tree is over 800 years old and has grown rather decrepit. A 10 metre waistline feeding arteries of thick branches no longer supports the thickened 28 metre spread. Today the heaviest limbs rest on a system of timber crutches.

Watching the tree draws out the tie-dye wearing, granola-eater in me. It could use a therapeutic hug.

Several hundred ancient oaks cover the remaining land of Sherwood. I was especially impressed by this one. The enchanted forest may have lost its lustre, but each individual tree, its branches turning and twisted, reaching out to you is remarkable. A facade of rings and hollows distinguish each bark, mouth wide open, eyes spying. The thinned forest is penetrated by a breeze that rustles the leavy limbs, breathing life back into the old oak.

09.29 OLD MARKET SQUARE

You might agree with the old adage that, all roads lead to Rome, until you visit Nottingham. Its city centre is impossible to miss, with nearly a dozen arteries feeding it from every direction. It seems every direction I take brings me back to the Old Market Square, home to the grandiose city council building and a newly renovated open space where I have spent many afternoons reading the Notts Evening Post under the unlikely British Sun.

Somehow this picture reveals an especially gloomy day. It looks almost the grey of winter, naked trees and all. But it really has been quite mild. Pleasant. Can't complain. And the forecast promises another week's supply of Vitamin D.

On those days when the sun is glaring, the market square is rammed with dropped shoppers, procrastinating students and business people breaking for lunch on the pavement. The atmosphere is great and has succeeded in providing a gathering place for locals. Here we can be social without even socializing; we can watch people people-watching; we can escape the shadows of tall buildings to hide under a cloudy sky. It is a gathering place because it is empty space. That's the irony. But it works.

09.28 MIGHTY HEART

It's a rainy day and I am stuck with a sinus cold. So I decided to have a lazy night and hit the show. I made my way to the Broadway Theatre, appropriately named since it is located on Broad Street, just across the street from a trendy vegetarian restaurant. The theatre is cozy, with cushioned double seats and enough leg room that you can't even rest your legs on the chair ahead of you.

The listing rotates mostly independent and award winning films, and I bought myself a ticket to tongights screening of, A Mighty Heart. Produced by Brad Pitt, its no surprise Angelina is the star of this one. Regardless of any casting bias, her role as Mariana Pearl, the wife of abducted American Journalist David Pearl, had me all choked up by the end.

But I don't cry at movies. Not even the ones based on real life stories.

Those sniffles you heard - yeah, that was the Tylenol Sinus wearing off.

09.27 TASTE TESTER

I have learned from my dad the patience to give solicitors the time of day, to hear them out, let them do their job, because a frustrating occupation it must be to harrass people for personal details and information.

I have learned from my research studies to give solicitors the time of day, because I was one of them.

Today I was asked my a woman working for a market analyst to sample dairy and soya milk products. What's in it for me? Free milk and a couple quid for 15 minutes of my time. She had interuppted my en route to the grocery store for the very purpose of picking up milk.

I get a kick out of participating in this sort of research. Looking too far into the research, I assumed that the milk cartons before me were disguised under the incorrect labels. They can't fool me, I thought. At the end of the study, she informed me that indeed, each product was in its correct container. Maybe deceit would have lead to ethical liabilities.

Nauseated from the sampling, at the end of the study I resolved to survive on calcium supplements for the next few days, looking forward to dry breakfast cereal and black coffee for a while. But the researcher sent me away with four containers of milk products, which would otherwise have gone to total waste. I lugged these home hoping my housemate drinks milk, loves life.

09.26 JAKE

This is Jake. He joined me at 14 Premier last night. It was good to arrive from London to a not-so-empty pad. One of five other photography students who I will be living with this year, Jake is the traditionalist, a film-hungry still-cameraman who wants to escape to the earths extremities to find the money shot. He loves the fundamental art of photography, processing film, being in the darkroom, and just glares with excitement when he gets into the subject. His excitement is contagious and he's promised to show me the tricks of the trade this year.

Jake is a country boy, from the south. His long locks are nearly dreaded from wear, his jeans worn and safety pinned at the knees; wear and tear. He plays the piano, longs to get his hands on some ivory and jam. In the meantime, his CD doesn't skip a beat. He's got loads of albums, a varied mix from folk to indie to theatre. He had The Lion King soundtrack cranked all day. Not your typical uni bloke.

He drinks more tea than anybody I know. Even more than Casey. He has an oversized ceramic pot and a massive mug to match and just chugs. He likes his beer too. The cheaper the better. Starting to sound more like your typical uni bloke yet? I thought so, until he came home with toilet cleaner and a stash of hand soap.

Score. We're gonna get a long just fine.

09.25 CAMDEN MARKET

There are tons of great markets in London. I hit up Camden's this morning...and found myself still there in the afternoon. The Camden Lock area is host to some great vintage and rare shopping along with various artisan stands and plenty of delicious food kiosks.

I did some back to school shopping, had myself a bite to eat, and snapped this photo in the meantime before heading back to the city to say farewell to Fleet Street and catch a train to Nottingham.

09.24 FRONTLINE CLUB

In the Paddington district, just a few paces and around one corner from the train station, you will find the Frontline Club. The dimly lit dining room, shadowed by the orange streetlights of Norfolk Street goes unnoticed, until the corner of my eye is called to attention by the subtle gestures of three men occupying a table by the window.

I nearly walk right past the place. But I recognize the courier letters spelling Frontline horizontally down the stucco wall; this must be it. But where's the door?

I feel like I'm entering a secret society when I finally find the side door - which is the front door to the club. A sign, hung hurriedly on a slant, asks me to buzz for entry. My finger barely touches the bell and the door is opened before me by a young man, the convenor of this evening's screening of, A Crude Awakening.

The film, produced and directed by two European artists documents the inevitable emptying of the planet's oil reserves, the underground stores of this non-renewable resource dwindling as we consume at alarming rates.

In a successful attempt to shock the audience, but without deluding our understanding of the gravity of this issue, the film predicts a regression toward a simplified lifestyle, devoid of the plentiful luxuries of oil-based products. In other words, we will be hitting the highways in horse-drawn buggies and cooking on open fires if technology doesn't advance in time to harness energy from alternative sources, like wind and sun, before the last drop of oil is used. Scientists admit we are already far behind.

The Frontline Club is a gathering place for individuals who value independent and free media. It honours journalists and camerapersons who have risked and lost their lives on the frontlines and provides ongoing screenings, like this evening's, as well as panel discussions on media-related issues and stories that have fallen into the shadows of mainstream news.

Tonight's screening was a warm up to the world I will be immersed in for the next year. I attended out of interest in the topic but also to explore the club, network, and get thinking like a journalist. The session concluded with questions open to the director, followed by some intermingling as we finished our drinks and until I found myself coralled out the door among a small group of filmmakers and journalists energized by he film's powerful message. The chatter continued on the darkened corner of Norfolk, my excitement barely visible under the dim light of the orange streetlamp across the street.