Dear Ben Pentreath…

… It’s June 29th. Where is your Monday morning post? I love beginning my week by reading your faithful, regular entries; a little glimpse of home for a homesick Brit in the US.  Have you any idea how much we all look forward to checking in with you?  Unless you’re hospitalized, please write soon and don’t be a tease.  

Was a nice comment received yesterday on the blog.

From time to time I’m conscious that probably the most important date in my diary is to write something down here to soften or brighten or amuse your Monday morning, depending on whether I’m writing about Dorset or (which personally I think has rather gone off the boil) or having a quasi political rant. I don’t think I have to tell you… it’s something I enjoy a lot. And I realise also from time to time that I’ve become a tiny part of the regular routine of rather a lot of people, many of whom I’ll never get to meet (although I love hearing and reading your comments); and I’m equally aware… there’s nothing so upsetting to a routine as it being broken.

This is of course all very well but it does depend on Sunday evenings or Monday mornings at home. This Sunday for various reasons I was out of London, staying in pretty-close-to-perfection-world with my friends Kim Wilkie and Pip Morrison, landscape architects, at their farm in Hampshire. And Pip cooked a usual amazing dinner, and I was knackered, and no WAY was I going to write anything that evening, and we had the earliest start on Monday morning… and then I drove to Lyndhurst and to Kent and back, and yesterday evening in London just wanted to… read my book… and so the thing that I wanted to write about this week hasn’t quite been written.

Well, at least you’re not my editor at the FT.

So, for now, here’s a ‘Ben P default holding page blog.’

Some gratuitous photos of the veg garden on Friday evening.

Some gratuitous photographs of Tennyson Down, on the Isle of Wight, where I stayed with Mum & Dad this weekend…

And some really gratuitous photographs of Tom Daley competing in Barcelona. Possibly, after all, the best view of England for homesick brits that I can offer this weekend.

You see, it’s always worth reading to the end.

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