Some people love solitude. They love the thought of living off the beaten track in their own private paradise, away from the foibles and the kids of Mr and Mrs Average.

This is not a slight on average. Average is what most of us are, me included, but still people (like me) dream of it not being so.

Anyway, we stayed in this cabin a few years back. It was way too far off the beaten track even for me, but I enjoyed the stay and I also enjoyed the leaving, and I also enjoyed the early morning espresso coffee we managed to find on long drive home.

Quietly sitting,
not doing anything,
and the grass still grows.

Haiku by anon | Link

Sometimes I do wonder about life, the universe and miracles — and those accidental things that just seem happen.

We have these cactus that have been here for at least 20-years. They were here when we bought the house and they are the most cruddie looking plants I have ever seen. Yet once a year, every year, without fail, they produce a display of flowers that are among the most wonderful I have ever seen. No exaggeration!

I have been trying for two days now to get a good shot — I’m not a close-up kind of guy. So I hope this one gives you some idea. If I get another one I’m happy with I’ll post it too. Maybe if I’m still blogging next year I’ll post a few more. You never know this might become a real convention.

I grew up in London, in the East End. It was a rough and ready place back then. School was a mixture of learning and trying not to get beaten-up on a daily basis. I’m not complaining. I look back on that part of my life with pleasure and large amounts of love. My parents were good — they fed us well, gave us lots of hugs and the occasional thump around the ears, when we stepped out of line. My father is dead now. He thumped the hardest, but he gave the biggest cuddles.

I travelled England for many years as a salesman and I saw what was left of the dark Satanic mills and the awful, awful coal mines that provided so much life and death to so many. Back then (and probably still today) England’s green and pleasant lands were mostly owned by the rich, the so-called noble, the famous and the infamous but they were nonetheless green and very pleasant.

And toward the end of most every summer as I listened to the last night of the Proms and with all those thousand, upon thousands sang with all my voice the words to ‘Jerusalem’, a tear would sometimes form and I knew for all its troubles and its faults, this was my home.

Playing around with textures in Photoshop. The old, the not so old and the very new. Hong Kong has it all — in spades.

I took this photo about four hours ago. The flower grows in large water filled terracotta pot that sits in our yard. It wasn’t until now that I realised it wasn’t quite perfect — one petal has been torn by the Kookaburras that bath and drink there each day. I saw another bud getting ready to flower. Maybe that one will be perfect.