This lovely old house lives in the middle of a field on a back road in Middlesex.
On my way home from Merroir on Saturday, I was able to slow
down long enough to snap a few shots as the sun was setting.
Today I had every intention of telling a story of an unusual recent incident, however technical malfunctions (aka technical incompetence) prevented me from loading a picture without which the story is meaningless.
(I'm not too sure about that last sentence, it doesn't sit well with me. I feel certain my high school English teacher would keep me after class if I turned that in. Or mark it all up in red. At least I'm aware of it even if I don't feel like making it better. What you may not know is that there were three other versions that were far worse. I'm just tired of trying. That I obsessed over it this much is a little disturbing. Also, when the parenthetical sidebars of a blog post are lengthier than the actual intended blog post content, it may be time to reconsider the topic or the blog post or at a minimum change the title to "Utterly Random, Incessant, Mindless, and Pointless Internal Chatter." Speaking of bad sentences, let's forget I wrote that last one. )
Where were we?
I took these on the way home from Merroir the other day and absolutely adore this run-down house.