I feel such a Muppet dad!

Mistress of all she surveys, or so she reckons, although what she will do with a field of winter barley defeats me. We couldn't find her old jacket this morning so it was time for the Christmas pressy to make it's appearance.

The tiny pimple top left is the St Agnes Beacon, which would have had a few souls cavorting around it last night, setting fire to damp copies of the local paper with damper matches. It will be one of a chain lit during the progress of the Olympic torch later this year. There was a group of hardy souls who had ventured from their base camp on the south col to the summit this morning. The ascent over the final 20 meters is exacting, often requiring oxygen and crampons. At 200 meters this is one of the highest points in the region, still classified as an active volcano; every now and then the earth shudders and a bit of magma is hurled skywards??? OK, I've a vivid imagination. BUT, this actually happened a few weeks back at Hell's Mouth which can be seen from the top of the beacon.

Cliff slide