Large parts of Britain are being washed away in floods, it seems. But not my bit of it, which is helpfully well above sea-level. Though it has been raining an awful lot, we are warm, safe and dry indoors.
Happiness for some, in fact, is being sandwiched between two furry dog-pillows, on a soft and cosy - ahem - dog-bed.
The days now short on light, it's that time of year when lighted windows exert a kind of fascination, pulling one in to the cosy indoors ...
... looking out and looking in ...
The last rose is hanging on tenaciously in the garden
alongside frost and autumn's debris
I'm not sure who this colourful chap on the lawn is - a woodpecker?
The last rose is hanging on tenaciously in the garden
alongside frost and autumn's debris
The last of the lurid yellow that was carpeting the countryside a couple of weeks ago -
is still hanging around in the city - here in Marylebone High Street
and at St Marylebone parish church, its little park with the orange Victorian facade of the Conran shop, decked out for Christmas, lurking behind the trees; gilded angels keeping watch on the dome ...
but in Fleet Street it's all rush and busy-ness
against a backdrop of stark black branches
Back home, cat free, the dogs reclaim their bed and work their look of abject melancholy ...
... since HRH is now making it perfectly clear that he has no intention of letting them near the fire
