The autumn commences with the traditional massacre of the tress, shrubs and habitat in the yard. Forlorn birds are sitting about looking for breakfast, whilst I'm trying hard not to anthropomorphise all this, especially as our friends are working so very hard to achieve it. 
On a very much happier note, sort-of, Graham and Angela are here. They have the unenviable task of cleaning out Ians house. Dinner at the creperie a welcome break.
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