Alive

To the very kind readers who enquired: I am taking a break. I did mention this three posts ago, but clearly you are related to my mother, who believes that if I do not report in every day, I must be dead in a ditch. It is very touching that you even notice, let alone mind.

I am driving home now, but still officially on holiday until Monday.

In the meantime, here are some pictures of The Pigeon, visiting her southern relations:

And here are some of me, so you may have prove of my continuing existence:

Luckily, I always take pictures of myself at the Beloved Cousin’s house, because she has two of the most flattering looking-glasses in England:

There is something absurd in taking pictures of oneself. But then, I start to realise there is something faintly absurd in almost everything I do. As I told the Old Fella this morning: I have an idiot streak; I must be true to my destiny. (This was when I explained to him that I was going to go via Ludlow to avoid the M6 on a Friday. Actually, I went by Shrewsbury instead. I can’t work out if this is more, or less, silly. Very pretty though.)

Anyway, despite the blatant flakiness of the thing, I like having pictures of myself so, when I am old and wizened, I can see what I looked like in 2012. And occasionally I like showing them to you, so you can put a face to the typing.

And now it is especially important so you can see I am, like Flash Gordon, ALIVE.