There are, though, far too many photographs taken these days, especially since digital cameras have taken over. Maybe they should put a tax on photography and have uniformed marshalls patrolling the streets and extracting the duties from snap-happy tourists. Selfies would incur the highest penalties, if I was the M.C. of Bath.
All in all, this has been - so far - a good British Summer, with just the right amount of wind and rain to remind us where we are, along with periods of swelter just long enough for us not to get aclimatised to them.
Sometimes, when I am driving through Cotswold countryside past clouds of white cow-parsley with the distant downs on the horizon, I really do think that there is nowhere else on earth I would rather be.
To stop off at a gabled little town and book into a 17th century room above some place which has been used as a hostelry since the pious made pilgimages to Canterbury is my idea of escape. Funnily enough, it reminds me more of the 1930s and 40s than the 17th century.
There is a little village near here called Steeple Ashton. It is almost too pretty for its own good, but thankfully far enough away from any main route to be visited by more than a handful of people on the tourist track. I think it is on the list of locations for film productions though. You may have spotted it in one or two flicks.
You can tell I am in a weekend frame of mind, and this one is augmented by the finishing of one weekday project with the prospect of another good one at the end of the month. I am in the rare mental state (for me) of feeling that I am very lucky, and - for a fleeting moment - all is fine with my little bit of the world.
The work I have just completed involved tinting some new stonework to make it look as though it has been there for a lot longer than the few months it actually has, and the project on the horizon is the restoration of a rustic and ornamental bridge which was designed and built by 'Capability' Lancelot Brown. This involves a material which is so difficult to obtain these days, that I have ordered two tons of it to be sent from Canada (via the USA), and it should arrive in a week or two.
Everyone else who is employed by this estate arrives at 6.30 in the morning, has a half hour lunch break and leaves at 4.30 in the afternoon. I drift in and out, almost as I please, and my excuse for this laziness is my age and experience. I am in the process of getting my patrons to view me as a hands-on consultant. Like I say, I feel lucky right now.
H.I. finishes her last Summer School this week, and I am contemplating us getting into the car and spending a night or two in one of those 17th century hostelries before our dear friend Thomas arrives from Germany in early October.
If only I could pay off my credit card bills (accumulated when I could not afford to drive off for a couple of days, but did anyway), things really would be very agreeable.