It was, alas, almost the end of Easter. The Photographer and his Assistant stood at the entrance to the back field, where the hamlet’s inhabitants had created a well worn path along the uneven field and down its steep hill to the stream below. They were watching in silence as the blonde head with the woolly hat and the bobbing tail disappeared from view. It had been a lovely day with good food and wine, but it was over. The daughter and her dog had disappeared from view leaving the two alone on the hillside, thinking of what to watch on the telly as they gently snoozed the evening away. All around the hamlet guests had left or were leaving, some to go back abroad, and some to big cities. The whole place had the feeling of desertion and solitude. Never mind, it was only two weeks to the next Bank Holiday. Who knows who would arrive then?

Back to normal and no more food, probably forever, from the look of the weighing scales.

The next morning, the Photographer was surveying the sky for much needed rain when over it flew in the most casual of manners. It was that wonderful throw back to an imagined dinosaur age. We had a heron in the hamlet, flying straight over the houses. What a magnificent sight, not so for anyone with a pond, of course, but just glorious all the same. He was the shape of a modern plane, with those giant legs drifting majestically behind. He appeared every morning for two or three days, flying from the river and on to an unknown destination. He was followed a few days later by a hovering helicopter. It flew around and around. It was out of sight at first and all sorts of thoughts came to mind. Did someone need the Air Ambulance, a frequent sight heading for the little town’s school playing fields, but it wasn’t that. It had gone on for too long. Possibly, someone was missing or injured higher up on the Moor. The Photographer got his long lens out and, there was much relief when the helicopter turned out to be surveying the electricity cables for any faults. An amazing display of flying took place. You just couldn’t take your eyes off it. What skill!

Delicate flying……and all to check our electricity cables are up to scratch


Having surveyed the water butts, and giving regard to the bore hole, the household embarked on what was usually a summer occupation; water conservation. The blue bucket was lowered into the kitchen sink and stayed there. Washed hands, washed vegetables, coffee grouts and old tea and anything that wasn’t toxic was now carried into the garden on a rota basis. This water kept most of the plants alive, including the lovely pots of tulips, which had bloomed for some weeks now. Next the Photographer kept a daily eye on the oil tank read out. They had turned the oil off, except for heating the water, some weeks ago, the oil price had begun to be prohibitive. The mark had been on three for weeks, but now, it was down to two. The oil supplier arrived in a day and filled the tank. This tankful had just lasted 14 months, which was pretty economic. The installation by Vince, the plumber, had worked. He was determined to help the Photographer install a condensing boiler system, no matter what problems arose, granite walls etc. He had succeeded and they had gained an extra three months oil usage out of this system. All of this meant nothing to the Assistant, who just loved the steam, which came out of the outlet and reminded her of her obsession with the steam train. She thought that the disturbance was worth it just for that!

Tulip Black the rain


There may have been a shortage of rain, but, here was the perfect excuse for all types of work out of doors. Compost, which had been left for a year in its bin was now released and the Photographer turned to with a will. He sieved and sieved, until a cup of tea was really necessary. The two looked down on the compost in awe. Usually, the compost was mainly straw and the clearings from the garden stream Piled up and left for a year. It had never been sifted. They could not believe that the new bin used for kitchen waste, egg shells, waste veg, etc, could produce such a fine product. They decided to bag it up and keep it for very special plantings.

A fine product…….compost to die for!


There were some spare tomatoes in the greenhouse and the Photographer could not waste them, so he put them up on the little town’s Facebook page and they were gone almost instantly. He particularly liked seeing a small child and her mother carrying a couple away. This page is the life blood of the town. Everything that you can think of goes on this site.

Next, the Photographer turned his attention to dismantling and rebuilding a new smaller fruit cage on the veg plot. They both agreed that this would be sensible considering their age! They did, however remember various incidents in the cage. The cage, which was supposed to keep out deer, rabbits and birds, did no such thing. The local squirrel and his family would be regular destroyers of the netting, particularly, around the vulnerable edge of the frame. Naturally, any bird could now enter at will. The Assistant, being the most illogical creature on earth, would stand and just scream at the cage. Marcus, one of the most famous local spaniels, was then in his youth, and was severely distressed at the site of his mistress screaming at animals that he could not get in and catch. What was to be done? A friend offered what appeared to be the only possible solution with strawberries now disappearing almost before they were ripe. He offered a squirrel trap. It would be humane and the squirrel would be caught and could be released onto some other part of the Moor. Yes, that was naive, but we were just starting out! The trap was laced and baited with strawberries. Marcus danced about so much that it was felt he could destroy the cage. He was put indoors. A squirrel was soon captured, but it became obvious that anyone picking up the cage would be severely wounded. A fully licensed shot gun was produced by a helpful local, as per DEFRA guidelines, but do not worry, the squirrel bounced about so much that it wasn’t worth letting a shot off. Anyway, we south easterners weren’t used to that sort of practical solution and weren’t keen. It was decided to let the squirrel out in order to have a rethink. The spaniel appeared, having worked his way out to see where his mistress had got to. He gave his mistress a brave look and barked, Leave it to me, and disappeared over the horizon after the squirrel. Death was swift and the squirrel was swiftly disposed of without ceremony. What can we say?! Marcus was always keen to help in these matters. His love of squirrel chasing never subsided. In his old age, he would cry when he missed one. He is buried very close to where the squirrels now roam free. Poor Marcus! Incidentally, he came close to being the Best Dog in the West, but never quite made it. The best dog, when he was alive, was a resident of Wiltshire called Bilbo, a gentle man amongst dogs, not given to chasing vermin and always an adoring and not a deserting animal to his mistress. Currently, the Best Dog in the West is Finn, another fine and loyal dog. You might think that the Daughters dog, the ever glamorous Marilyn Monroe of the dog world, would qualify, but her appetite for anything, particularly whole lemon drizzle cakes, has ruled her out.

Dear Marcus…..squirrel wouldn’t melt in his mouth!


We are all hoping that this weekend does not produce the madness of the last Bank Holiday where the speed limit on the Moor was continually broken. The top speed on the monitor was 117 miles an hour. This is not a holier than thou attitude, as you know the Photographer is a devout petrolhead, but hit one of the many animals frequently sleeping in the middle of the road, hit it fast and you are dead. That means the Air Ambulance has an unnecessary call out and lots of people are sad. Please be careful! That said, have a happy holiday, out there in the wild, perhaps take a walk with Dartmoor’s Daughter, not to be confused with our very own “The Daughter” whose main preoccupation is now raising funds to help the Chagford Swimming Pool open on time this season.

Watch this space for more news on The Pool

The Photographer’s snapshots can be seen on Flickr (follow link) or the serious stuff is on Artfinder (follow link)

Any similarity between characters in this blog and real people, products or events is entirely co-incidental

Any similarity between “The Little Town” and Chagford is entirely deliberate, Click on this link to find out more. Visit Chagford





By the Photographer’s Assistant


The daughter and the Assistant were dressed in everything you can think of to keep warm and dry. The forecast for the Moor was dreadful. The dog attempted to walk beside them, but it was trying too hard to be good so that however hard it tried, it went around in circles. It was funny, but not helpful. Eventually, she was let off the lead. It wasn’t quite autumn, but it felt close. It began to rain and the rain became so hard that they knew they would be soaked. Cars passed. They were so pleased as here came the Photographer, ready to pick them up.


They were just around the corner from the church and they all quickly entered out of the rain. They stood and surveyed the scene. In four weeks time, the Daughter’s wedding would take place here. Observations were made. Where to place greenery, particularly the ivy from the garden? How many were coming? Where would everyone sit? The discussion went on and Zaney, the dog, attempted to join in by sitting knowledgeably on the floor, sighing, shifting and attempting to direct proceedings. Eventually, the church door was shut and the foursome drove home to a cup of tea and a “warm up” by the kitchen range. The whole event had brought home something other than wedding arrangements. It had brought home the arrival of autumn. There was no denying it.


The wonderful rood screen at Gidleigh Church where The Daughter will be married soon

The wonderful rood screen at Gidleigh Church where The Daughter will be married soon

Here was a reminder to put the coats through the washing machine and apply some waterproofer.
The Photographer thought of the boots and the need to work on them, so that they were warm and waterproof. Laces would be checked and the thickness of soles would be reviewed. The lawn would need cutting at every opportunity. However, this was the last day of real rain. The local reservoir was dry and old buildings stuck out above what water there was left. The Assistant spent hours clearing the garden stream out, as weed unexpectedly took over. The pump inlet for the Victorian water system had stopped filling. Their own bore hole, which was shallow, could dry up, for there would be no warning, just a sudden cessation of the water supply.


What is it?......Answer at the bottom of the blog

What is it?……Answer at the bottom of the blog

On the following Monday, the Photographer and his Assistant went for their usual breakfast at Blacks in the little town. It was slightly chilly, but dry. They sat outside enjoying the fresh air, when a man in shorts walked past. He always wore shorts and the two admired his bravery. They met a friend who had arrived in a full winter coat, large jumper, thick socks and full winter regalia. He nodded towards the man in shorts and exclaimed, “Nutcase!” as he left for the high moor in his giant 4×4. Opinion on the arrival of Autumn was obviously divided.


The man from Endacotts brings the pasties......all will be well

The man from Endacotts brings the pasties……all will be well

Returning from their walk, the two decided to carry on gardening and washing windows, whatever the state the house was in, it would have to wait until the weather finally broke. Frequently, when this happened on the Moor, the weather shut down completely and only the brave gardened until the spring. Your fingers could freeze in just a few seconds. The Photographer decided to mow rather than strim for now. He spent the day mowing neat paths and clearing debris. The Assistant, being of a lazy frame of mind, picked up a small box and started to collect apples. Both the Assistant and the Photographer remarked on a pear possibly missing from the pear tree. Surely not? They decided they must be wrong. The next day, one of the three remaining pears in the garden was missing. There was no sign of it anywhere, not even a core! They sat in the garden and thought about this for a while, over a cup tea of course, there is no point in making a martyr of yourself in the garden. Alan Titchmarsh always said spend time looking at your garden. Now that the two were getting older, they certainly did a lot of this. Having carefully watched Springwatch over a couple of years, and seen a badger climb a tree, they decided one must have taken the pear. There was a back entrance to their home in the garden, and only a few years before the whole family of badgers had driven through the sweetcorn like a bulldozer! The two remaining pears were picked by the humans and the badgers were left some apples on the ground together with the evidence that Mr. Fox had also paid a visit. Some wonderfully coloured jays continued to occupy the same stretch of lawn. The humans began to wonder whether they should sit on their seat at all, considering the number of animals who considered this to be their domain. Zany the dog, meanwhile paid a late visit to the garden and made her presence felt. The two remembered dear Marcus, who died around this time of year. That dear spaniel had taken no prisoners, even tangling with the badgers when really enraged. The two sighed and visited his grave. Life was just not the same without Marcus, then they remembered how very depressed he got in the winter, sighing when it was raining and grumbling during the evening as he lay damply by the fire. You have to be incredibly tolerant to actually live with a proper springer. Their moods are those of a prima donna, no matter how many badgers they have a punch up with!

It does, however, go without saying, that the little town is well up to the arrival of autumn and winter. The aforementioned Blacks was filling up with Chris’s fresh home made soup only this morning. The man from Endacott’s arrived with a fresh load of pasties, they’ll keep the cold out. Casa Magnolia has clothes to keep the ladies of the town looking ravishing, while actually not exposing too much skin to the elements. Bowdens has a large number of individual heaters all ready to go with the frosts that are now arriving. The town’s inhabitants try out various winter garb while surveying the hills for clouds and storms. Spar has had a wonderful offer on various soups. The town is paused, coats are on and The Courtyard Cafe is stuffed full of regulars, some of whom have just arrived from foreign summer adventures and some of whom will now go abroad for the whole of the winter, returning only when friends have told them that spring is here. They will miss the lovely log fires, the smell of the wood wafting out of the wood store as they fill their baskets. Poor John, the wood supplier, will, as usual, together with his team members, pray for a rest on Christmas, as his phone continues to ring in the corner. We will all have a moan, but we’ll really enjoy the chance to catch up with friends, sitting by the pub fires reminiscing about the summer of ’16, when the streams dried up and you had to strip off to keep cool, how the gin and tonic flowed and the beer cooled the working breast. What a summer we had as we await the winter to come.


The end of summer.....a wet empty cafe table. But the sun will be back!

The end of summer…..a wet empty cafe table. But the sun will be back!


Answer to the quiz:

It is the dry spillway from Vennford Reservoir, waiting for the rain to come and fill it up again

and the blog title is by John Lee Hooker from the album Best of Friends



The Photographer’s snapshots can be seen on Flickr (follow link) or the serious stuff is on Artfinder (follow link)

Any similarity between characters in this blog and real people, products or events is entirely co-incidental

Any similarity between “The Little Town” and Chagford is entirely deliberate, Click on this link to find out more. Visit Chagford

By “The Photographer’s Assistant”


On the Moor owning boots of all descriptions is compulsory. You have your wellies where all brands eventually have a hole or two, if you are unlucky the holes are below the water line. You have your best boots for appearing in town and you have your medium boots, which you can risk getting muddy on the way into the little town. Above all of these and far far more expensive are your walking boots and these are so expensive they can easily absorb half of the Assistants state pension.

The scene is the conservatory on an average spring day. The Photographer has just examined the Assistant’s walking boots and has gently pointed out that very shortly these boots won’t be made for walking anywhere challenging at all. A six miler is definitely out. This is a seriously joyless situation. New boots will need breaking in gently over a number of weeks and the camping and walking season is very close.Only yesterday they were talking about camping above a beautiful beach as soon as all the plants were out in the garden. The Assistant was feeling the emotional pressure of a great loss. These were the best boots she had ever had. Being pigeon toed, it was always difficult to get used to new ones. Her last boots were ones from when Ecco used to produce them, and they were now used for gardening and this would have to mean that they would have to be used temporarily again. Above all, she felt angry with herself for not spotting the situation and saving towards it . The Photographer had only just replaced her car and would never dream of making her buy her boots out of her pension. Oh Dear!

The Assistant looked down at the boots. They were lovely. They were ladies Meindl Air Actives. They were leather with wonderfully worn toes and they had lovely stripy laces. Oh Dear! Thinking about it though, they had done an awful lot of miles. It was perfectly possible that they had done a small number of thousands.

In 2009, they had done their first serious walk, ascending Snowdon by one of the more challenging routes. The boots had got marked for life by the terrain, which was relentlessly unforgiving and the Photographer had had to encourage the Assistant a great deal. The summit was literally the high point of Marcus’ life when for a while he was the highest dog in the UK.

The Photographer's Assistant in need of encouragement. (Brecon)

The Photographer’s Assistant in need of encouragement.

Marcus........Top Dog in the UK Sept 2010

Marcus……..Top Dog in England and Wales Sept 2009

There had been a trip to the Brecon Beacons, where Sugar Loaf had been enjoyed and wonderful canal walks had been explored in glorious weather.


Dark Satanic Canal Bridges.......the Brecon Canal

Dark Satanic Canal Bridges…….the Brecon Canal

The Assistant had never been forgiven for very nearly ascending Pen-y-Fan. As she was athsmatic, and the Photographer had had the Snowdon experience, he had worked out a much longer route than the usual one. It was a good gentle route, but he still wasn’t sure that the Assistant could make even this ascent. The Assistant believed that she couldn’t make it and had got up late in a bad mood. The two were late starting and had limited days. Being experienced, they should never have started off, but they thought they would just go a little way. They arrived and parked on the opposite site to most other ascenders. There were loads of very serious looking walkers there with guides. The twosome left them all sorting out their masses of equipment. Some of them must have been back packing.

The day was good, the weather was perfect. The terrain was dreadful and undoubtedly contributed to the Photographers own boots wear and tear. The Airs, on the other hand, just shielded the foot enough. They were just amazing. The twosome were, however, still late and were easily overtaken by some members of the army on what looked like just a stroll to them! The Photographer felt that things were going well. They each had a pork pie and some water and were feeling in good spirits. They had ascended more of the foot of Corn Du than they had expected. They could see walkers ahead of them at some distance ascending the Brecon Beacons. Down below them was some really rough terrain, but there was nothing that they couldn’t just about handle. There were streams and rocks, however for a long way. The Photographer, an experienced Outward Bounder looked at his watch when the submitted Corn Du and discussed the situation with the Assistant. This would be slow walking. Even though it was summer he estimated the time of darkness to be very marginal to make Pen-y-Fan. The two decided to start on a descent, which would take them down through this terrain, then they would walk back the way they had come. They could see people in terrible footwear below, one man virtually carrying his female partner back to the track from whence they had came.The descent was punishing in the extreme. The two would have been in serious trouble if they had gone for an ascent, and were sad, but pleased with their day. The heat away from the peaks was almost intolerable by now. The Assistant was mortified that she had not got up that one hour earlier that would have made the difference. The Photographer, a keen achiever never said a word about his disappointment. It was twilight when the two reached a gate on the track about a half mile from the end of the relentless trek when they met the most extraordinary individual. This happens at twilight when you are walking. It appeared to be a man, with what seemed to be an unbearable load on his back. His head was adorned with a hippy head band, very brightly coloured. The Photographer got his camera out. This was undoubtedly a subject of interest. The man was, in fact brightly coloured all over and his skin was so red and burnt that he had to be the target of the next skin cancer campaign. The man had an ambition, which seemed to be unachievable. It was something like walking the entire United Kingdom with the odd break. He was unofficially wild camping everywhere he went to save money. He also appeared to have grown to hate walking, but was determined. He did have a family, and his wife used to accompany him, but had given up some years ago. His current objective in being on the road was to
avoid a family wedding. He wished us an agonised farewell and disappeared into the foothills. On return to the car, just for once, the Photographer had been so fascinated by the man that he had forgotten to take the picture! It had not been a good day for him. The two made their way to the sheep farm where they were ensconced. There was no internet and no telly, in fact, no communications at all, so it was only a week later, that they discovered that there had been a major incident on the mountain about the day after they had been there and some of the army group, which they had seen had died in the heat! The Photographer and the Assistant were shocked and dumbfounded.

2 other Ramblers on Corn Du

2 other Ramblers on Corn Du


There had been some wonderful walks in Scotland too. One of the favourites had been the trek along the Caledonian Canal. This was a truly magnificent sight from beginning to end. This was a proper shipway. There was every type of craft, from large fishing boats, making their way to sea, to pleasure boats of all types. There were locks and there was a lock keeper, who was very aware of her responsibilities. Those walking the tow path included serious boat spotters, tourists, disabled in buggies and generally all types of people. You could find wild blackberries to eat along the way and it was a strange combination of rural setting and industrial heritage still in use. It was a wonderful flat walk full of excitement and towards the end, it produced a sunset beyond anyone’s dreams. What a wonderful day out with the boots.

A fishing Boat in the middle of the countryside. It even smelt of fish! (Caledonian Canal)

A fishing Boat in the middle of the countryside. It even smelt of fish! (Caledonian Canal)


Caledonian Canal at evening

Caledonian Canal at evening

Now, looking down at her boots, the Assistant thought on so many happy memories that just flooded her mind. These boots had walked a fair proportion of the coasts of Wales and the Scottish islands. They had spent at least five weeks bird spotting in Norfolk. They had done outstanding service. The boots now appeared cheap for all those happy days around Britain with its varied terrain and weather and there were all those fantastic people they had met, some of whom still read this blog.

When you next chose those walking boots stroll down memory lane, ignore the price tag, get your credit card out and just for once imagine what you are purchasing. You could not be happier if you had gone on one of those expensive holidays that sometimes, feel like such a let down compared with this price ticket.





If you would like to see some of the what the Photographer saw whilst the Assistant was struggling ever onwards and upwards, follow the link below and browse the Albums

By “The Photographer’s Assistant”

Marcus: A very special spaniel

Marcus: A very special spaniel

The sad eyed distressed and thoroughly unhappy spaniel looked as if his universe had imploded. He had just been rejected by a small boy. He had already been here a little while. It was not within his character to beg so he lay down with his head on his paws waiting for tea time. What he had not spotted was the bedraggled, undistinguished woman, who was praying that the little boy would not want what was clearly a very dispirited spaniel. The Photographers Assistant could not wait for the Photographer to arrive and have a proper look. Would he be enchanted by this animal? The Photographer was dubious. This was a very miserable looking creature. The Assistant was silent, after all this was his present for Fathers Day. His youngest daughter wanted him to have a dog, but she could only afford this one.

The Photographer got a proper look at the animal and the animal got a proper look at him. Well, as you can guess, it was love at first sight. For a whole week, while formalities were being concluded and the daughter came home to see what she was buying, the Photographer visited the dog and took it for a walk. When the dog was finally collected, it raced towards the family and landed in the back of the car and that was that. The dog came home to the Moor, where it had a totally new life. Getting on anyones’ bed at all, it soon realised, was frowned upon, and he did want to please. Being allowed off the lead was novel and he would trot along to heel until he realised freedom was at hand. He could swim, but he never really liked it unless he felt hot. When the daughter came home, she bought some very expensive boots to persuade him into the river, but he only went in to please her.

Eventually, the dog forgot about pleasing his new family, and like the rest of them, he pleased himself. He sincerely believed that he had achieved human status and began to lead his own life. He complained that his basket arrangements were not adequate and demanded a basket that was big enough to take two spaniels. This was his private space and he objected most strongly to any other person attempting to share it. He had always wanted a basket like this and other people would have to get their own. He wanted at least two large drinking bowls and absolutely refused the type that had a dear doggie emblem or any other such nonsense printed on it. He was not keen on beef and made it quite clear that only chicken or duck would do. The Photographer was puzzled that such a stray creature should want such comforts until the Assistant pointed out that he was a more thoroughbred creature than either of them.

Transport was a wonder to the Dog. Cars were to be worshipped. Any car would do, you understand, but in reality, it was a swanky car that really appealed. The Assistants brand new Ka was destroyed within five minutes of a muddy walk on the Moor. Eventually, her car smelt horrid and she gave up trying to clean it. It was the kennel on wheels. The Dog gave due regard, however to swanky cars, and always waited to be lifted in. His exploits in cars were Moor famous. Any passing delivery van would be eyed for a ride. Delivery drivers always eyed the Dog up with dread. No incident was more spectacular than the day he tried for the visiting post mistresses car. While she was fond of dogs, she was not this fond. The dog was a serious wall walker. He would parade above the drive of his owners as if on an Everest assault. The family would be busy elsewhere, and they would forget the wall walker. On this particularly sunny day, the dog was “on one”. The post mistress was on her way out. The dog was poised. He landed in her lap. She was astonished. She always shut her window after that, and when he went to the post office, she left him to her assistant, giving him a sideways glance from some distance away.

The Dog was a keen gardener. He could dig a wide trench, usually just before the lawn was mowed, around any suspect. He enjoyed the screams of dispatched squirrels and when one had been humanely trapped in the strawberry patch, he had no hesitation in killing it in return for lost fruit.

He loved a trip to the beach, particularly with the daughter, where he would show off shamelessly and in excess. He had a most spectacular accident at Sandy Mouth Bay, where he really overdid it. The family realised, too late, together with a beach full of people, who looked up with terror on their faces, while the dog convinced of a lack of vulnerability, dived at least 60 feet off a sheer cliff face. There was silence. The dog, however, aware that he had committed a serious error in public, pretended that the dive was intentional. He picked himself up, shook himself, and ran around in circles, as if nothing had happened. A small trickle of blood came from his nose, but that was it!


Well..we're here now..lets have a swim!

Well..we’re here now..lets have a swim!


He was always happy to please the daughter with his deep interest in modern art. He really didn’t mind how many works of art he trailed around, as long as he could be seen out with an attractive blonde. However he did take exception to Damian Hurst’s creations and treated this exhibit with total distain, as illustrated here. He was always up for a visit to his friend, Virginia’s studio and thought her garden rather beautiful, however, even here, he overstepped the mark. Virginia had an exhibition on and quite independently of his owners, who were busy in the garden, he thought that he would visit. Unfortunately, on his way in the beautiful garden, he forgot what he was there for and quite thoughtlessly, eat a whole packet of Hob Nobb biscuits. The entire village was aghast, and he had deeply upset his owners. He lay low for at least half an hour after that incident!

I'm bored......why did we leave the pheasants at the top of the Cascade for this?

I’m bored……why did we leave the pheasants at the top of the Cascade for this?


Marcus’ adventures are too numerous to  list here, there was climbing Snowdon, snow, Norfolk RSPB and many many more

He loved the vet’s receptionist with a passion beyond imagining. If he couldn’t have lived with the daughter and the much loved Boyfriend, he would have given all his velvety fur to live with her, but it was not to be.

Marcus ran out of luck and was put to sleep on October 17th after 15 vigorous years. His owners and his community were devastated. We have been spoken to by people with tears in their eyes and no one can have received so many lovely cards about a dog. Marcus has been buried in his beloved garden, where we imagine him in a doggy paradise, sipping champagne in a sports car beside a beautiful blonde, who looks remarkably like Marilyn. She would never be able to resist his charm!


If you would like to see pictures of the Further Adventures of Marcus, just go to:…e-the-captions/
or follow the link:

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