Photography – Page 2 – Boadicea's Chariot

Let the wind blow high
Let the wind blow low
Through the streets
In my kilt, I’ll go
All the lassies say hello
Donald, where’s your troosers

Not even Doris

A lovely blue day after a bit of a blow. It’s the track going north to the lakes, not our way out.

Gimme yer hand, son

And Justin thought, ‘…………………………………………………………………………………………………………….’

Oh Lord!

The former President cannot have been alone in seeking divine intervention yesterday, but only Auntie managed to read his mind. Some say it was unintentional, others are not so sure.

Meg’s mate

This is your Court correspondent, reporting on the life and work of Snowdon, just call him Tony.

Of course those society snappers faced awful temptations. Some resisted, I’m sure; others, like Tony, indulged. But (again of course, given the the tempora and the mores) the extent of the indulgence was never revealed.

After Meg succumbed to the curse of her cigs, Tony continued to bat for both sides, taking his latest handsome squeezes to be entertained to dinner by ‘friends’.

A full-colour fella, eh? RIP.