The rabid excitement of Brittany

I'm very busy sorting through the myriad photos from the recent trip over the channel; there are around four hundred of the damned things. I just can't seem to stop myself pointing the camera and clicking now that 35mm film is no longer an expense to worry about. Ah, yes the wonders of the digital age.

It does mean that I'm able to take a series of photos like these of horse poo being torn asunder by a dung beetle which Mrs The Millbrooker and I spent a very happy ten minutes or so staring at during one of our walks in the Monts d'Arrees. You wouldn't even think of doing that with the restriction of having to get the film developed, would you?

Firstly, the little fellow buried himself into this pile of what my mother-in-law (that'll be Milly, then) calls "umbala", then the little pile of poo seemed to go through a series of shudders an shakes as a fault line began to widen; eventually the beetle got the whole top off and then just wandered away...

Now call me simple minded; call me a poo fetishist - I care not. I thought it was fascinating. It was a delight to have enough time to spend just watching a piece of poo being moved about. Who said nothing much happens in Brittany?