Spotted

Autumn time. 

This weekend has seen an end-of-season steam train extravaganza for the West Somerset Railway.

Needing to practise my photography, I agreed to go out with The Gardener, who isn't a train spotter really, but loves an opportunity to take photos of big boys toys all things mechanical. It would make a change from country churches, and as the railway line runs along the coastline, Flossie could come too and lark about on the beaches.

Except that she seemed to be a magnet for these 9-month-old pug pups. 

"Go away!"

"Go away!"

"Go AWAY!"

But the puppies wouldn't go away; they had fallen in love with this big dog, and clung to her like glue.

Eventually, their breathless owner managed to catch them, scoop them up, and roll his eyes at us falling over with laughter; Flossie could then get on with her larking about.

And the trains came in.

And went out.

Flossie waited. Patient girl....

And we managed to see a country church as well.

Normal service has resumed. 

Hiding

No, not really. Just not a lot to say, and feeling generally under the weather*. The very wet weather at that.....

Back soon when I have something to write about that doesn't involve woolly jumpers and waterproof clothes.

*seemingly-everlasting shingles.

Philosophical on Exmoor

For those of you who, like me, hadn't come across Henri before, and like a bit of French existentialist gloom, watch this and the subsequent videos made by this poor suffering cat. You may, like me, laugh aloud.



For those of you who want a bit of uncomplicated joie de vivre and some Autumn colour instead, here's Flossie's take on the Meaning of Life.

Sartre? Whassat? Like sausage? Sandwich? Snack? Stick?

Stick!

Smells!

Leave? Why? Look good enough to eat.....

Paddle. 

Droop. Please hurry up; photographing alpacas is DULL!

Trespass; get scolded. Behind these gates is a nice deep pond....

Climb.

And go home again. Slowly.

Existence for dogs? Simple, if you don't over-think.

Contrast

The Gardener comes in with an armful of flowers, including sweet peas, to fill the house with their scent.

Looking after gardens whose owners are away for months provides joys like this. Keep picking the flowers, and more will come.

In the evening, the air is chilly, the wind whistles in the chimney, and we light the stove. The scent of an autumn wood fire mingles with the  summery fragrance of the flowers. 

Disconcerting, but nice.