Orders from the frontier.

Orders from the frontier.

Back. Back in Bomo.

And after a couple of days in the verdant bends and bumps of Cornwall, back in the sunshine; I think I have as much colour from various people’s back gardens over this last weekend, as I do from the sunbaked Middle East.

Summer is evidently here. I can feel it with the studio window open. The question is, as I go through my emails and post and phone messages, what will the summer bring?

We’ve managed to see some of the gang since getting back, with afternoon teas and barbecues and the like. Melly and Bobs were down and I made him go through my photos from the Ricoh and tell me how to use it better. But, uncharacteristically, I also suggested we do some work in our own garden, and set-to yesterday, clearing the front driveway of brambles.

I must have sunstroke.

Interestingly though, back from hols and evidently raring to go, I’m wondering where to put all that rare stuff.

After wrapping up so many things before leaving, I’ve returned to an unusually blank canvas for Momo. Various projects on the go, of course – and I have yet to discover whether there are various disasters on the go, hidden from view – but my agenda is open. Perhaps more open than it’s been in years.

Still, it’s not nine in the morning, yet.

The main thing on Momo’s agenda is, of course, the bleedin’ album. And knocking on a few doors on the back of Sophie. The point is, I guess, I may have something I’ve been hankering for for a long time: some space to direct the business. Chase some work I actually want to do.

But the frontier is a weird place. You have to have a pretty sure idea of your direction when carving roads into virgin land; it’s much easier to be told where to go.

I may yet be, before the day’s out.

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