The village where we live reminds me of an older English novel, or an Agatha Christie Miss Marple mystery. Fellow residents have told us that it's like England used to be, perhaps 30 or 40 years ago. You know, butchers and milkmen still deliver, the people in the post office/shop know everyone who lives here, sheep graze in random fields, most of the houses are well over 100 years old...
Today I had the latest episode of Old-fashioned Village when the traveling knife grinder stopped in, to see if we had any kitchen or garden tools to be sharpened. I jest not. So I have formerly rusty, now wickedly sharp garden shears and loppers. Cooooool. I think he is a Traveller, as gypsies are called here. Very nice man. He spent the morning around the village sharpening this and that. No, I didn't get a picture of the gentleman, although he did have a very picturesque gold hoop earring.
Then I spent a quality hour out in the knitting house working on the Vanilla Blue socks and gazing out of doors. Check out the progress - I am almost done. Fortunately for me, the first sock took only 1 skein of the yarn - you can see ALL the leftovers dangling from the still-ungrafted toe.
Check out the view from the knitting house door as well. This is its natural state - a little overgrown in the gravel forecourt, some garden tools visible, and Lil's scooter in the corner. That column in the picture is one of my beloved 13th century columns, or so the man at our local castle tells me. They were re-used when the village church was restored in the 19th century. How groovy is that?!