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The Profane Prince, The death of a ruler, the mantle passed to son, a generation long religion, distasteful to the son, now abolished. Without the old ways, the region began to curl up and die, the ancient gods clearly displeased with this heresy. 'Tis a tale old as time, however it's said that the Profane Prince still wanders the world, cursed with an immortality if only to forever taste grief. His noble attire crumbling, his armor battered and broken, held together with the wrappings of the once sacred texts, only his once holy sword, now cursed with corruption still remains a symbol of his now dust, heritage. I worked really, REALLY hard on this, going back to a much more realistic style that I used to do before my current.

A friendly little Goldcrest looking for insects among the Gorse bushes on a bitterly cold day in the Hogmoor Inclosure.

With temperatures well below Zero, the early morning sun shines over Long Valley Sidings in Basingstoke where a Class 450 Desiro from South Western Railway awaits its next trip.

With temperatures well below Zero for several days, icicles have formed on plants next to the road at Stanford in Hampshire!

The Sun rises over a misty Basingstoke. Taken from the Network Rail building?