{Iphone Diary: Jurassic Coast}

So earlier in the week, my Father and I got in my little white car, drove through floods and black ice on farmer tracks to get to a family town. We'd been there for a long time and only recently sold a house which we built in 1894, I say we as in the Snook family.


While the roads and paths reminded laced in ice, I lay in the attic room staring at my shoes wondering when I'm going to get out to put some more miles on the legs.


It was when we woke up and looked out to the sky (only slightly instagramed), and saw how red it was that it seemed time to leave before the snow falls.


My leather books are always in my bag, while in the attic room I thought about my late grandfather. He was a writer and beautiful poet, and during his lifetime the attic had been exclusively his space where he'd head up for hours and write. Now, as a spare room, it feels eerie that his space is empty, a few books remain on the shelves, but otherwise it's a strange shell. 


Finally sunshine appeared on the road of out the county, gorgeous...




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