My car has been called many things in its lifetime. And it has achieved. It has broken down. It has lost fights with pheasants. It has been to Winchester (no link available – it wasn't that exciting). So it was with great joy that we celebrated a landmark on Saturday evening, together, halfway round the bottom of the M25 on the way back from watching Gillingham draw 0-0 with Bury.
123456 miles on the clock.
I've been waiting for it to come up for a while, and now it's passed, we are ready for 234567, driveshaft permitting.
Dan is a good man. I hope he doesn't mind me using this photo of him that I found on his blog. Sure he won't. He occasionally writes innocent labels for beer money and spends most of his time doing things with film for people. Grows veg, makes chutney, fashions catapults out of squirrel bones (maybe). You should get to know him.
I have had a short blog holiday. It lasted about a month. And now it's done.
In that time many things have changed in the world.
The tankard has returned. It's going to travel once again.
Violet celebrated her first birthday. We wore hats and erected a tent in the living room to celebrate.
And my granddad died.
Morris was a champ. The kindest, most generous man you could ever care to meet. He loved his children and his grandchildren and his great grandchildren. He defeated the Germans by himself (allegedly) and never had a bad word to say about anyone, ever. I've always been so proud to be related to him, and I always will be. I couldn't have had a greater example of how a man should lead his life.