Oh. Yeah. The reason I was after fork-handles is that I aim to repair a slasher[1] that belonged to Pa ( Read more... )

1971 - Holt Farm, The Cotswolds. Cooker - mongo cream AGA with some dodgy-looking liquid fuel retrofit. Computers - none. Pa may have had a mechanical adding machine. Charlton Abbotts manor had yet to catch fire. Telly - B&W thing that I am not allowed to touch. Nor are we allowed to hold with that terrible Commercial Television. Still, outside ( Read more... )

This doing bog-all business is becoming a little wearing. Not that I'm wishing for Interesting Times. Dear me, no. I suspect it would probably be much nicer were I doing sod-all in Cap Ferrat, rather than BS16. Still, there we are.


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In the future, when I have more money than sense, I shall have both summer and winter residences.

Today feels like summer drew a line in the cloud and went 'Come on, then' in the direction of winter. It's clouding up now, but it was bright and warm on the way in and bugger the downhill slide toward the end of the year.