Well, a couple of weeks ago, I was woken up by gun shots. That was my fault. I parked outside a shooting range. This time, it was chainsaws. Why wouldn't it be?

This sleepy town looked like a good spot for a bit of peace. We hit the sack late, last night, after another hot day and another village walk. The nights are getting colder, and soon, it will be time to batten the hatches and lay low for the winter. Now, though, while I'm still scratching around for my cool shades every morning, before opening the door to find out where we are, I'm still enjoying the heat and the continuous first-time walkies in each village we land in.

I like to wake up around whenever o'clock, have a little ponder about my day, slurp a smoothie and filter a bit of light in through the side ports, before I utter a word to anyone or think about anything pressing. One thing I don't like is the sound of not one, but several, chainsaws. What the hell was going on this time?

It seems I have my answer. Of all places, I had to park up next to the site of a wood carving fair. Not the peaceful hand-carving you see on The Waltons, but the modern-day macho type.

Go on, then. Have a gander at their handiwork.

That's where we are, apparently.

That's not bad, actually.

I liked this guy and wanted to take him home.

Mr Skelington and pals hanging out.

This is the kind of event that you come to because you're curious about all the noise. After a few minutes, you've really seen it. And even though the skill is up there, the statues are a bit huge and expensive, so you probably don't buy them. My question is, what the heck was 'the official photographer' doing for half a day? There's only so many pics you can get in a two-tent carving workshop. Eventually, they're gonna start looking a bit same-y. Can't complain. #NotMyGig