And so with the Olympic flame, Summer arrived. And just as Britain won it’s eighteenth medal, so I finally sat down (therein imitating many of our medal winners, badly) and committed pen to paper, words to CMS, photos to gigabytes of memory. Remarkably less poetic than the motion achieved over the canal in Stratford, but little victories give way to major events, so while me publishing two blog posts in two days still evades my powers of posting right now, we have at least found, reserved, and started to buy furniture for, the most perfect of perfect flats. It wins so much I could make like my performance every time a Briton takes top podium and cry, but I couldn’t even if I tried. I’m so happy I could burst.