we'll ring you

Not all of our red telephone boxes have been removed, and some have been pressed into new life. Not sure that there will be a riot in Latchley any time soon.

Tamar views

Reflections in the river, at Latchley, below Old Solomon's farm.

a different universe

The location of this image is given away by the fine silk strands holding the bubbles.

a strange looking bumblebee, which, even with the help of the Natural History Museum site (see link), I can't identify. It is probably a variant of something common. Only last night we were talking about grey wagtails, and lo and behold there was a small flock of them patrolling on the Inny this morning (the barely visible smudge of yellow on the rocks)
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and so life goes on

We weren't the only ones to go blackberrying today. Strangely quiet without Max to fret about.

the spirit of Max

After a long and slow decline, and a rapid turn for the worse this last few days, Max was put quietly to sleep today.

He was 15 and a bit. He loved being chased by other dogs but often couldn't find anyone to chase him so took up endlessly exploring the garden around the house. He hated water, men with flat hats, and any mention of any part of his anatomy. He was epileptic and needed treatment throughout his life. He wanted to learn but was incapable of instruction. So, having lived all his life here he has been buried next to a new walnut tree along side his best canine mates Cassie and Sophie.

Farewell, old friend.

flower by Harriet Edwards