My Father taught me to sail. I was pretty young and found it very frustrating. I remember us screaming at each other across the water, me thrashing about with the tiller and ropes, he leaning out from the family cruiser holding a glass of wine and a cigar. I raced dinghies throughout my early teens and won some trophies. My Father said, rightly, that I lost interest in sailing when I discovered girls. I've only sailed once or twice in the intervening years but I've always wanted to take my wife and daughter sailing. I finally did so during a recent Easter holiday in Devon. We had found a cottage through the internet. It hadn't mentioned the busy road right behind the house but the estuary came right up to the back door and the view was ever changing and lovely. We launched the dinghy I had also rented on the internet and very cautious of my role as captain I explained what I was doing and what they had to do as we sailed away from the house. The dinghy had big sails and the hills funneled the wind through the middle of the estuary. I could see that they were a bit frightened as the boat lurched over alarmingly. It was many years since I had last sailed and I was surprised at how much concentration and energy it took. We didn't capsize and soon arrived at a sheltered beach where we skimmed stones, made sculptures from washed up plastic bottles and watched the sparkling reflections of the low sun. On the last day I took the boat out on my own, it was fun for a while but then the wind dropped and the old sense of frustration crept back as I was forced to paddle against the falling tide

I've been to Tokyo two or three times but this was the first time I had come on my own. I was there to check the progress of a commissioned work and was only staying for a few days. Much of the time I was looked after by my Japanese gallerists but I had some time to myself. I found restaurants and favorite shops that I remembered from previous trips. I went for long walks and used the underground to visit museums and art galleries. It felt unusual being alone and I was reminded of how it was to be single and to wish for someone with whom to share observations and pleasures. On my final evening I went out to photograph the city at night. It began to rain steadily and I had decided to head back when I came across a cemetery. It was on my route and seemed to be open so I wandered through looking at the gravestones. Something jumped near my feet and when it moved into the light of a street lamp I saw it was an enormous frog or toad, bigger than any I had ever seen. It looked wet and heavy and very alive. Walking on I saw that the grave yard was full of them

Taking a break from installing a show in Stockholm, my wife and I had gone shopping in the Old Town. We came across an antique shop selling Russian Icons that I really liked. They were only a hundred or so years old but reminded me of early Renaissance paintings, like those of Duccio or Cimabue. There was one of a Madonna and child set behind a sculpted silver background that I particularly liked. At the time I didn't have the courage to buy one but had promised myself that if the exhibition went well, I would. A year passed and I returned to Stockholm, this time on my own on a day trip. I was there to photograph three people in order to make their portraits. To my surprise the gallerist asked me to make a portrait of himself as well. I took this extra commission as a sign that I should splash out and buy the Icon. As soon as the photo session was over I headed off along the harbor front. I had a lot of trouble finding the antique shop and when I finally located it, it was closed. There was a sign in the window that someone translated for me. It said the owner would return in a half hour. I was running out of time to get back to the airport but I wandered around and bought some presents for my family. The shop remained deserted so eventually I gave up and left to catch my plane.

Despite driving all day I didn't feel tired enough to go to bed. Our baby was eleven months old and wakes at the slightest sound, so I didn't phone home but watched some Norwegian television. The reception was poor so I turned off all the lights and looked out over the bay taking some photos as the light disappeared. My flight back to London was fairly early the next morning. I wandered back down to the reception desk to arrange for a wake up call and a cab over to the airport. The concierge had been rather unpleasant and know it all earlier in the afternoon but now she was more helpful. Although it was the airport hotel and I imagined the North Sea was icy cold I could imagine bringing the family here for a quiet rather old fashioned holiday

In my frustration at missing my flight and assuming that it was a pretty simple hotel I had asked for the best room. They had given me the suite at the very top of the hotel. At first I swore under my breath struggling up the stairs with all my bags but the rooms were great, like a separate little beach house on the roof of the hotel. There were windows all around the living room overlooking the darkening sea. The walls were hung with photographs of Stavanger as it used to be at the turn of the century, each one with an explanation of what had changed since then. I settled down with my book on the wrap around sixties sofa

The huge split level lobby lead down to the Sixties Scandinavian style bar and restaurant. Log fires burned and a wall of floor to ceiling windows lead out onto decking with sand dunes beyond. I had been sitting in the car since early morning with hardly a stop except the ferry rides, so I immediately walked down to the beach. The waves and sand were soothing and familiar. I heard and felt a thundering and was suddenly passed by a horse ridden at full gallop by a beautiful young woman. At he end of the bay the sand gave way to boulders but I carried on past a deserted school stepping stones out to the headland

The ferry landed a long way from Stavanger. The road was much bigger now with dramatic bridges jumping from one small island to another. The landscape and the mood were very different here. The islands of bare rock were low with scrubby dry vegetation. The few buildings were large, modern and industrial with the occasional oil depot. I began to realise that I might not make the plane and became rather erratic in my map reading. If the airport was to the north of town I might just make it but it turned out to be well south of town by the beach. `even if I hadn't had to return the rented car I wouldn't have made it. Sweating and resigned I arranged to take a flight the next morning and took a cab back to a hotel I had seen on the way in. The hotel was the old airport hotel and turned out to be one of the nicest hotel I have stayed in

My luck changed and I just made it onto the ferry. This one was much larger than the others with a covered car deck and a lounge above. The fjord opened up and the mountains became a series of peaked islands. I didn't feel like returning to civilisation and I left the lounge to stand out on the rear deck. The trip took much longer than I expected. If I could find the airport easily I might just still make the flight but for the time being I watched the distant mountains shrinking behind us