I'm back in the UK after five weeks in Spain and I'm back with the proverbial 'bump'.

I had a wedding to shoot in the heart of the Lake District on Saturday and knowing that a nearly four-hour drive was too much before the wedding, I headed off on Friday morning.  

I expected a leisurely four hour tootle up the motorway but my luck was well and truly out.  That four-hour journey turned into just over ten hours.  Broken Britain.

My mind meandered endlessly back to Spain, the sunshine, the fun, the relaxation but I guess this is the fuel that allows that dream to fire each Summer.

After the wedding, the journey kept on track.  Just around four hours.  I'd gone from 32-degree relaxation conditions to rain, wind and motorway service stations at 2 am in the space of 48 hours.

When I get back I meet our new rescue puppy for the first time.  His name is Monty.  So far, he doesn't seem to like me.  Nor does our Whippet seem to like him.  

As I stare at myself at 3:30 am in the mirror before I hit the sack I ponder, over this cliche image, how things change so suddenly and so dramatically.

I make my way to my bed, to find Albie comfortably hogging my space.  A sigh.  But I can't wake him.

Today, Sunday, we take the puppy for a walk and try and get the pooches to bond a little.  I'm not sure it's working.  Yet.

I love our hilltop town of Malmesbury.  I feel very lucky to be bringing our family up here.  But it's not quite the same as the valley of Mizala in Adalucia.  

Everywhere I look there are memories of our time in Spain.  Rosa is heading off on a school residential for a week tomorrow.  As she checks her notes, she is still basking in the tan, the bangles and the hair braids from the beach.

We'll all miss Rosa when she goes for the week.  She's never been away from us that long.  Gemma and I are fairly anxious.  Rosa, it seems, can't wait.

And the pooches.  There seems to be a bit of a standoff.

I'm sure it will be fine.  Right?