burwash rose ... a generous gift from it's maker ...

http://www.traditionalcheesedairy.co.uk/news.htm

... many thanks ... we'll savour it when the loved one gets home this evening

romance open brackets love close brackets divorce marriage

some mildly discordant domestic discourse which failed to ruin our weekend ...

He: "Do you know ?  I think you've never, ever, polished my shoes for me !"

She: "You might like to get on the internet this evening and start researching ... like ... where your nearest soup kitchen will be."

bronze stuff in the ashmolean

a well-travelled saddle

miracles of modern humanity ( chapter 99 ) ... roy and laura

shameless ashmoleans

alas ! poor rudolf ... i knew him well !

thinks: i haven't owned a comb for thirty years

trucker's rest break on a dark day in denbies vinyard

i am sipping from a small glass of torres diez in memory of my sweet friend george collinson who passed away this morning

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VV0RtQ_BOT0

british summer time bites the dust ... nearly but never completely

read, learn, and inwardly digest ...
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-12849630

shocking and distasteful ...

écoutez ...
http://soundcloud.com/kraftykuts/krafty-kuts-radio-1-with-annie

autumn sunbathers ... ten yards from my bus stop at putney heath

fancy floristry at burwash church

prick up your ears and take in eleven minutes of someone else's lateral thinking, a beautifully spoken eleven minute tour of the mind

http://www.youtube.com/user/theRSAorg#p/u/1/dFs9WO2B8uI

a little bit of local colour

rugby fans at the french bar near clapham common at half past nine on sunday morning

how the poor become poorer ... by shopping in oxfam

some of this week's BTs

Walking from the bus stop to the work place on a moonlit night, seen across the dark open space of a newly demolished factory, silhouetted against the brightly lit laundry in acre lane, the elegant black form of a sure-footed young fox trotting sixty yards along the narrow top of a six foot wall.

Later, in the brilliant cloudless mid-morning, in the High Weald, whilst loading the truck on a steep ramp besides a small cheese factory, i lift my head at the sound of horseshoes in the lane, and see two white ponies trotting up the gentle slope towards Stonegate village, silhouetted against the cold blue sky with two stout ladies bouncing in the saddles.

Back in the city, seen from the top deck of the homeward bus, quite unusually, a pair of falcons, unfamiliar to me with short wings and deep chests and dark tails, clearly side-lit in the late afternoon sunlight whilst circling on a thermal for a long time, high, but not too high, above a supermarket near the crossroads at Clapham Junction, where, by an improbable coincidence, there stands a famous Victorian pub named The Falcon.