I put on righteousness, and it clothed me

A group of us disappeared for the weekend to Ralph's incredible estate in the middle of the Leicester countryside. On the Sunday afternoon, after Molly and I had sat drinking gin and tonics in the ballroom in front of the fire, we braved the cold outside to walk around the grounds - stables, dairy and all - where I took these pictures with all the clothes I'd brought.

You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream, like grass that is renewed in the morning

We booked late one night in the cold reaches of December to fly to Porto for new year. The train across the countryside to Lisbon framed the run-down, salmon-coloured buildings through rain-misted windows. We walked up and down the criss-crossing sloping streets endlessly, ran to catch the boat back and forth across the river, ate oranges just picked, sheltered in beautiful bookshops, and cat-spotted on street corners. I slept what seemed like longer and longer each day, but felt almost deliriously tired as we wandered around, starting to spot faces in knotted tree trunks, odd backyard swimming pools and potted plants in bird cages.

I saw in my vision by night, and behold, the four winds of heaven were stirring up the great sea

We drove to the coast from Lisbon, to an old monastery with arches running to the drop down to the sea, with the wind pushing us nearer and nearer to the edge. It felt strangely barren, with weeds sprouting amongst the empty walls and the sprawl of empty farmland all around. Just as we were leaving a rainbow formed above us, which made me laugh too much to take a picture, and then we went to eat Portuguese pancakes and sleep some more.