A bench with a view

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Love to look at benches. Old park benches in memory of those held dear are joyful. Knackered and split. Painted and jolly. Stuck out on their own commanding a mountainous view or nestled around some greenery and herbs. Smothered in faded floral cushions. Lutyens or bog standard. It almost doesn’t matter.

I will take mine old and silvered over looking this lovely little pond.

(but next week I might change my mind).

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