The Dodder is a river I have always known – from my first early memories of Ball’s Bridge, before we moved when I was six, to the corner near the Dropping Well, where these photos were taken this evening, just as the light was fading. I had to escape the house. I had brought copies of my book home, to much excitement, the hero returning with the booty. After dinner, a most curious silence descended, as my mother was in the living room, my father up in his study, and they were both poring over their copies. A very odd feeling. I wandered around the river and took these photos and then had a pint.

I’m a writer now, apparently. I’ve got a book to prove it. It looks great. All in Hot Press chuffed. As am I. First radio interview booked for next week. Hey ho.