All weathers

Today's little sojourn was to Sandringham. (You may have noticed that we have returned to (cloudy) England, still lovely in all weathers)

The best part about going to Sanders is that everyone else is a lot older than you. In fact everyone looks like the Queen & Prince Phillip.

Ricardo & I went there at the same time last year but we missed the scary stuffed head room...

Even though Thomsey & I have grey hair we were still the youngest people we saw all day.

Makes one glad to have ones own teeth really. (Small mercies). We didn't have our sprigged muslin dresses on. Just poofy coats today.

It's so GREEN.
When w got home, Richard told us of this lovely poem. Don't you just love google.

Thomas Hardy: Weathers

This is the weather the cuckoo likes,

And so do I;
When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,

And nestlings fly;

And the little brown nightingale bills his best,

And they sit outside at 'The Traveller's Rest,'

And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest,

And citizens dream of the south and west,

And so do I.

This is the weather the shepherd shuns,

And so do I;

When beeches drip in browns and duns,

And thresh and ply;

And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe,

And meadow rivulets overflow,

And drops on gate bars hang in a row,

And rooks in families homeward go,

And so do I.