He doesn’t look like Jagger. He doesn’t move like Jagger. But in his own way he might be regarded as a ‘rolling stone.’ He is stone, of course, and he has travelled more than 1200 miles in his short lifetime; not so much rolling, though,  more chauffeur-driven.

We call him, unflatteringly. the Fat Man and we bought him in Scotland a couple of decades ago from our friend, the sculptor Norman Defoe. When the Breckon family moved to Italy  in 2010, the Fat Man came too.

He’s been contemplating the meaning of life in the Watermill walled garden ever  since and gathering a beard and overcoat of moss. Not that his style is going to trouble the designers of men’s fashion, nor supplant the sleek cuts of skilled Italian hairdressers. Lopsided and bedraggled are two adjectives that immediately spring to mind!

In his recumbent contemplation, he may well have discovered the secrets of the universe, but he’s keeping a stony silence.