Rode down the lane to watch the end of the Wallingford Festival of Cycling national junior women’s race heading down Shillingford Road to the finish line.
Earlier in the day we narrowly avoided getting mown down by the men’s race by miss-timing the ride into town.
On my way home. I look at stars.
All down to me said Ewok.
I will have gone too far when I start home roasting.
By popular demand, more snaps from the F-trip to London and the Shard
I would have posted earlier, but I got distrated by the view from the bathroom.
Some things never change.
A festival, for trucks. Or maybe that’s the other one.
Mum helped sprinkle some magic over the garden.
Taking Fay and Katie for a walk.
Ewok decided there was something interesting under, or in, the car. Just a little bit slightly chewed. Apparently he’d turn his nose up at anything less than one of these.
To quote Nick the greek. “Dunno Tom. Seems expensive.”
Just like Ewok, Yogi likes the long grass.
Hard work that gardening stuff. Time for a quick snooze.
The path to the river is chest hire in Oil Seed Rape. Yellow, before the oil-pods mature.
A week here for H’s work experience. Very nice. Thanks.
Looking back on the way to a fry-up at the waterfront.
With woof on the left and bark on the right. Or is it the other way around?
Yogi still unsure on why Tony Lane has turned into a lake.
Tradition. White Hut in December. Dinner at The View. Being blown by a gale.
A year ago I had a similar drink in similar circumstances.