Yes, another photo of a field, I confess, but after an evening of said field, pub, fizz and fire in the garden, I think I’m entitled to share more of the wonders of simply being alive.

Time to phlog


Regular readers of my blog will have noted that recent posts have been scarce.


This is down to time – or lack of it – and the gradual realisation that sitting down every week to pen a recount of a recent escapade is about as achievable as developing a liking for George Osbourne.

It’s impossible.

However, it occurred to me recently that I take an awful lot of photos. Usually, these are of fields, bottles of beer or my dog, but there’s the odd one that tells a story of its own. This may lend itself to ‘phlogging’.

I must stress at this juncture that phlogging is not a form of sexual merriment but blogging taking on the form of a pictorial diary. I like the idea of that and, partly inspired by Mike Skinner (of The Streets fame – follow him on Twitter), I’m going to give it a bash.

Those are my last thoughts on a day which proved, beyond any doubt, that the benefit of taking holiday is questionable when the return simply lands you in a sea of unread emails and post it notes. And I haven’t even got a tan.