I have spent my day photographing the horses for my mother.

Ok, they are perhaps not quite as animated as some I know, but they are still very beautiful and I remember them all and their names.

This is Cavalier.  He was from Harrods and made by Ayres in the early 20th century.  In his original condition, with removable tack but a replacement bespoke bridle.  He moves on a stand rocker.

I remember being allowed to ride him as long as we didn’t gallop too fast.  He was always kept tacked up.  Wrong, I know!

Next is a darling little unnamed chap who was originally made to be pushed along with a handle with wheels.  Both long since gone.  He was one of Mum’s first rocking horse restoration projects many years ago.

And then there is my absolute favourite.

D’Arcy.

He has been in our family since the early 19th century and has all his original paintwork with no restoration.  At both end of the bow rockers is a seat to carry an extra passenger.

Riding D’Arcy was always a special treat.

So, there are some of the horses who are stabled here.

And, then there is this life sized goat!  Just because there is!

So not really different from my usual day, is it?

I am completely and utterly smitten.

Mum’s dog is wonderful. Such a jewel.

An enormous character, though to be honest I have never met a Patterdale who wasn’t.

I am trying hard to miss BeAnne but it is not at all difficult to be easily distracted!

My parents also have another dog who is very old and much adored.

Her gait maybe wobbly but she still has huge sparkle in her eyes.

I am keeping this blog short as it is nearly killing me trying to get the photos in the right place – they keep moving about when I write another sentence and it is maddening.

So here are a few more photos of the garden –  a small insight into life in the Home Counties,.

Now I am at my parents’ house just outside Wokingham.  Mum is a very keen gardener and has worked on this oasis for over forty years.

The garden is lovely and a place I spent many hours in my youth.  Sadly I was never allowed to put any ponies in it.  Something about wrecking and eating.  I forget.

But the garden has lovely flowers.  It seems to be summer here in Englandshire whereas in Shetland we still have bluebells and it is still cold.

There is a lovely oak tree and watching the  evening sun shine through the leaves is magical.

Veleda has lived here for as long as I can remember.

And joy of joys, I have met the family Patterdale terrier, Pip.  He is wonderful and just my kinda guy.  I expect I will take more photos of this darling chap.

I was at the airport at the crack of sparrows this morning.  The place was deserted.

This is the Departure Lounge!

And this is the best view of them all.  That red bag is my hold luggage and it is obviously going with me.  Happy days!

The planes that fly to and from Shetland are not ginormous but they are practical, serve a function and fly through some fairly horrendous weather.  There are three seats to a row and I was lucky to be myself.

I promptly went to sleep and woke up to find myself safely landed in Edinburgh. The airport has long corridors and, as I walked, I imagined Lambie and BeAnne galloping behind me.

The next plane was huge by comparison and zipped me down to Heathrow.  There was a small unspoken row about who had ownership of the armrests.  I was in the middle seat and stood my ground with grim determination only to feel hugely guilty when my armrest adversary gallantly brought my hand luggage down for me!

Anywho, I am sitting in London drinking Lapsang listening to the unending buzz of traffic outside.

I have a new friend who is very fluffy and makes my nose tickle!

Next I might force myself to investigate the shops.

I am washing, ironing and packing to go south for a while.  Needs must and it is always good to get a change of scene for some thinking.

While the washing machine is red hot and I dusted off the iron, I went outside to see Taktur was queuing up to do some training.

He always looks beautiful, no matter what and he has such enviable presence.

I am not used to seeing this grace and natural elegance in a young stallion.

Try as I might, I just cannot put more weight on Taktur at the moment.  I have to constantly remind myself that he is only just 6 years old and still growing hopefully in every direction.

Icelandic horses are slow maturers.

I called Taktur over to throw a few carrots over the fence at him…..

…. and we had a little chat.  Me explaining that I had to go south and I expected him to look after everyone, big and small.

Taktur, for all his young years, is a very responsible chap and I know everyone is in safe hands – Daisy and Bjørn will also be around to keep an eye.

I will miss my little herd.  London and Reading do not offer me these luxuries but it will be nice to be warm (summer is south) and to catch up with my family again.

Sometimes, I just need to go back.  It is very good for my perspective on life.