A thin veil of mist hangs over Lush Places this morning, the sun low in the sky as blinded drivers attempt the ascent of the hill out of the village.
Over the brow and in the valley below, Beaminster is covered in a carpet of fog, the tops of the trees and church tower poking out like something from The Lost World.
Down on the allotment, the tomatoes in the polytunnel are putting on a growth spurt, the final push before they are turned into chutney to go with cold ham and turkey on Boxing Day.
But there’s one little fella I just can’t bring myself to eat.
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