It was possible to walk from one end of the town to the other, from shop to shop and never miss a beat of 'Chestnuts roasting on an open fire.....' Definitely the tune de nos jours. Definitely ad nauseum.
We have the makings of our Christmas dinner - as it says on the box: a goose 'Produced on a REAL farm in Shropshire'. All sorts of thoughts occur. What other sorts of farms are there? Could a fantasy farm rear a tangible goose - a flock of tangible geese even? When is a farm a real farm as opposed to an unreal farm? Or, to distill the arguement down further - what is a farm? What is real?
Anyway here's a view of the clear blue sky over 'downtown' Trelystan:
I think the small white blob on the LHS of this picture might be Stevie, our neighbours' pony. The village church is amongst the conifers towards the centre. (Ancient site. Why there. Don't know.)
......and then bounding over the frosty field is Wilson.
Full of the joys of being a dog on a field.
Full of the joys of just being.