Balm

Though we look west from the western edge of the village, we do not see the sun cross the horizon in the winter months - the brewery is in the way. Winter sunrises can be beautiful, but the actual horizon is hidden by the village houses and trees. Our western view though, is a steep hillside, rising 70 metres, and facing the rising sun - a canvas on which the first-light can project its show. Sometimes, only the tops of the trees are orange-lit, a dawn fire. It's particularly effective when, like this, the western sky is dark and threatening banks of cloud - as if the bright spirits of the morning would try to soothe the anger left behind by the darkness

Our grandson watched me toil with ladder, drill and screwdriver - alternately amused by the entertainment and, from his expression, astonished that he should find himself in a world where people do such things. To see him follow every movement, so obviously absorbing and analysing, astonishes me. Lucky boy, he has another grandfather and an uncle from whom he'll learn much better how to handle a toolbox. From me, he can learn the merit of having a go at things that are not your métier. By sunset, the job was done and my sore fingers soothed by his bright smiles