Post editing

After last night's rain, there is not a bit of white anywhere. So - short but sweet.

However, my pal Bob was able to take advantage of the warmer spell and come out to house and fit my new post box. I haven't had a post box for a couple of years now, and the postman has just put my post in the shed. Not usually a problem, it does become one when Dimairt is in the garden, as the postie is terrified of dogs, and refuses to come into the garden.

Bob has been saying he would make me this for some time, and he has now completed it. I love the fact that it is made of oak, from old desks which Bob chopped up from the old school. It even had some kids' graffiti on it from the 1960s.

He has positioned it outside the fence, so the postie doesn't have to run the gauntlet of my fierce guard dog.

I think I chose this shot because Bob looks as if he is doing a wee ritual dance in front of the box - in reality stamping in the earth and stones in the hole . Normally, he will not allow a photo to be taken of himself - ain't the telephoto a wonderful lens?