A close shave

Phew!  That was indeed a very close shave.

I'm very pleased to report that I have recovered.  I think I might have been suffering from post-traumatic sunstroke or something like that.  You see, yesterday was absolutely gorgeous as far as the weather went: warm, sunny, no wind.  In short, a perfect summer's day - except, of course, that as we approach to fag end of September we don't really expect such bounty.  I even mowed the lawns after walking the dog! But I alluded to my (fortunately brief) fit of madness.

I started writing a piece in which I invited you to come along with me on a virtual walk across 39 Acres and round the Roman Camp.  The trouble was that I got carried away and started waxing lyrical, talking about ships steaming down Channel and heading off to the Afric sun and exotic places like Araby and the Orient.  I didn't use those actual words - at least, I don't think I did - but the purple prose would have been most embarrassing had I gone on to hit the "publish" button.  I suppose had I done so I could always have claimed I was doing no more than those old "romantic" poets, Wordsworth and Coleridge, who wrote some of what is considered their best work under the influence of laudanum or opium.

The Roman Camp was indeed where I walked yesterday afternoon, and most delightful it was.  I did not have the camera with me yesterday but this is a panoramic view over Brighton and the South Downs made up of pictures I took a week or two ago from the southern rampart of the Camp.  At the left we are looking to the south-east and at the far right, west or even perhaps north-west.  I would point out some of the landmarks but there are just too many!