Arthurian Legend's outlaws live on a farm in the wilds of Cambridgeshire.
Having himself been brought up in Kent, with its undulating and varied landscapes, the flatlands of the fenlands are not in his blood.
But this Christmas, they got under his skin.
Here are some photos that I took on a walk on Christmas eve.
Concorde. Times three.
A jaunty tree sits amid a lush green field, the hinterland obscured by mist.
The outlaws' house, across the peat earth.
Life can be lonely at this time of year for some.
But other parts of creation rejoice with upspread arms.
Down, but not out.
The green on black provides a vivid visual contrast.
Guess what these are...
Not potatoes. Sugar beet.
Llamas roam the land here. And Michael Jackson's nowhere to be seen.
A giant agricultural watering can. Spot the prestigious NFU number plate.
From here to...King's Lynn (eventually).
The husks of last autumn lie in anticipation of the new year.
"Once back here I got to thinking - 'how do I get out of this?' Perhaps the really haunting spectre is that I would have to turn my back on the lake, and the prospect of the sword." Alan Clark, Diaries - 19th May 1999