The other evening I was watching the television news when a London bus hove into view. I was suddenly overwhelmed with a nostalgic desire to be waiting somewhere in the cold and dark, then to hop into the warmth and light of a 97-horsepower omnibus. (No bendy buses for me, thanks and I hear they're bringing back Routemasters.) 'Fool!' I thought, 'Why don't you live in London?' Then this afternoon the weather was absolutely beautiful and forecast to be dire at the weekend. So I walked up to the post office wearing a metaphorical I-Spy badge and for once carrying my camera.
How much longer? And likewise this:
Lane leading to the tumbledown cottage.
Drifts of beech leaves everywhere. There's plenty more to come; the trees have hardly turned.
Holly before the birds get at it.
The war memorial. Heartbreaking to see so many names from the same few families. There'll be a service here on 11th November.
The shy lollipop lady. Even shyer were the horses, away down the bottom of the field today. If I hadn't had a camera with me the contrairy creatures would have been clustered round the gate, saying Hello.
Old Man's Beard or Travellers' Joy. The first picture, BTW, was the cricket ground, the one the supermarkets aren't after (yet). Not so shabby here after all.