I think I might go back to work for a rest.
I know that's a cliche, but hey, I've been too busy to come up with anything original.
Last week was a whirl - yes a whirl - of gaiety.
Tuesday was Mottisfont Day. It's a big annual day out for me and my lovely Mum. We go to look at the garden there, which includes the National Rose Collection, and is just beautiful.
The house is rather splendid too. Look:
I am pleased with the brooding sky in this photo. The whole day was like this, sunny and warm, with "end of the world" weather potential.
The gardens are just fab. Go. Even if you live in Texas or something, it'd be worth the trip, honest. And there's a tea shop and everything, so you know, not a wasted journey.
They've put a fence round the spring now, so you can't fall in unless you try really hard.
Unfortunately I am an idiot, and failed to check the battery in my camera, so these last few pictures were taken on my phone. Sorry.
More impressively dark skies on that one.
Mum and I took shelter in that little tiled hut thingy in the corner, waiting for the downpour. It never came. But if it had, we'd have been dry. Take that, weather.
Later that same week, Middle Sis and family came to visit for a few days. We had a barbecue, and ended up sitting out in the garden with the fire lit till really quite late*. Party animals that we are.
Being the evil thief that I am, I have nicked one of her photos for my blog. Mwahahahahaaaaaaa.
Those are my new solar-powered garden lanterns. Marvellous.
The highlight of the week, though, was the Bath and West Show. It's not as brilliant as the Frome Cheese Show. To be fair, how could it be? It doesn't have the same depth of character, the same terse notes left by the judges, and the same dazzling arrays of prize silage and unfeasible leeks, but it does have pigs. Lots and lots of pigs.
Sleepy ones with a bucket on their head.
And my personal favourite, hugely tolerant ones which were being used to demonstrate "pig handling" by very young children. I did take some pictures, but won't post them on here, what with them being of other peoples' children and all.
Believe me, a four-year-old in a teeny white coat, whacking a huge pig with a stick to make it walk in a straight line is a sight you don't easily forget.
Other attractions included competitive sheep shearers. Middle Sis and I watched them for a fair while, impressed by their skill and dexterity. Nothing to do with the muscles and vests. No no no.
The sheep all looked faintly bored, the ones backstage jostling and peeking over the barricade, watching their mates being shorn. Little did they know it was their turn next.
"Haha, your new haircut makes you look like a dick, Kevin..."
The Army were there, doing lots of fun stuff, including challenging people to run about in the hot sun carrying heavy weights. There was a queue for this. Really.
There was a giant mounted knight made from recycled rubbish. I liked him a lot.
And there was this. We wantssssss it, my precious.
It's got a matching bag to put your shotgun in! How great is that? Perfect for nipping to the shops. The GUN shops.
Saturday night we went to a party for a neighbour's birthday, which was pleasant - marquees and tables in their riverside garden, with food and music and wine and chatting. Most convivial. I have garden envy now, though. I want river frontage and fishing rights.
Sunday I was woken up by the most godawful thunder and heavy rain I can remember, which enlivened the morning. Torrential rain all day, making up for all these past weeks of dry. Dryth? Drought? No rain, anyway.
Today has been lovely, not least because I didn't get up at 5:50 and then struggle in from work, knackered, at 8pm. I could get used to this.
*After 10pm. We're getting old.