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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

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

Sorry.

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.