I get a lovely email from Jeff to say he's still at the helm and that his outlook is fair, southwest veering westerly 4 or 5, occasionally 3 later. Moderate. Showers. Good, occasionally moderate... which is good to hear.
And turns out the latest upload had not been rebuffed, so much as lost in the wash.
And after all when you think about it, nowadays any number of designs are renders in wholly digital form, like the one above: I'd love one, you'd love one, but Monday morning is suggesting that plywood is more likely to be our lot in life.
How many episodes in life turn on misconception or misadventure? I've a great love for the works of Thomas Hardy and there's the bit where the guy slips a love letter under Tess of the D'Urberville's door; except it slips underneath the carpet instead and the fate of both are sealed.
Tess goes on to an early appointment with the hangman's noose and Angel Clare, her feckless husband, dies in penury designing maritime drones.
The End.
