My dad lives in a chocolate box Cotswold village so it's always very pleasant to go there. I just take photos with my iPhone, the world really is this colourful, sparkling and brilliant. Being alive is a joy, a treasure, a precious gift from oblivion:
The streaming sun on Saturday before lunch.
I covert the bookshelf doorway.
My dad's painting things
Me, trying not to just wear the same old baggy trousers every day
The majesty of Charlecote Park
It's looming and Tudor.
Tiny garden house in the grounds
Heart shaped leaf. Yes, I went there.
Tiny box hedge patterns
Grandad and the Gourds (good band name?)
Autumn on a trestle table.
Strange and wonderful purple berries
Red red tomatoes
Quince, eggs, chestnuts and melons
I made all these tomatoes into green tomato chutney while I was there. It took me an hour to chop them all.
A couple more of my dad's house: The roaring fire
The kitchen glass wall, designed to frame the walnut tree you can see in outside.
A French book inscribed with the date 1697 - my hands trembled!
This picture is ruined by the IKEA baby monitor and high chair. Apologies.
I've just been speaking to my mum who has just returned from India. Jaipur, Udaipur, Jodphur, Bikaner, Mandawa. She said the women are dressed in the most incredibly bright coloured red sari's, decorated with gold threads and tiny mirrors as she knew they would be - but far more brilliant than you could ever imagine. They walk, beautiful, amongst the chaos, the dirt, the dust and rubbish. Since she was there last year everything is noticeably more expensive and Delhi is even more choked with cars.