The garden did its usual delightful thing - looking particularly lovely as the sun was going down.
A day in Bury St Edmunds with Mr Drookit, and the Girl, wondering what the houses were like behind these doors.
I started training for a new job, which involved doing a bit of travelling - no hardship in summer, spending an hour on the top deck of the bus, looking out for miles and miles over fields of gold and green.
The garden was filled with goldfinches, and paintbrushes gathered dust for another summer.
A vintage fair in the local church hall drew a good crowd. Much lipstick was applied.
In the middle of August we had our annual Olympicnic - an institution now. We didn't bother trying to find a Commonwealth themed title, in honour of the games in Glasgow, but instead stuck to variations on the theme. Misanthropicnic, myopicnic, and so on. Don't mess with a winning formula, I'd say.