Back at Mother's, I copied the week's photos from my laptop onto her computer, and printed out a few. Her printer is much nicer than mine. We did some family-tree bashing, with mother riffling through ancient paperwork and me tapping away on her machine. And for the several-hundredth time, I reassured her that there was no chance of running out of disk space.
After lunch, I set off, stopping briefly at Richard's house on the way, where he presented me with about 28lb of pork, accompanied with a story which opened with the words "Well, there was this pig ...".
And so home, amongst all the traffic you'd expect between the West Country and London, on a hot Sunday evening in Summer.