One chipped and battered mug, somewhat over-scoured inside, and ready for recycling. I bought it on my first trip abroad after my father died, to Brussels, on the then newly-opened Eurostar train service, so the mug's been with me 25 years.

It came with the EU flag on it, from the EU souvenir shop, but the flag wore off in the dishwasher some years ago.

Some sort of a metaphor there, as the clock ticks down to our formal exit tonight (not that we shall awake to any immediate difference, let alone to an end to the conundrums of trying to have cake and eat it).

This tree graces the playground of the primary school over the road.

The old-style building remains rather forbidding-looking, despite the play equipment outside (and when one sees inside on election days, the walls are full of cheerful artwork): but in a rather dull and wet January, the early (very early) emergence of flowers makes a nice surprise on the way to the paper-shop.