Help. I can’t stop taking photos of chimney pots. People are beginning to look at me strangely as if they suspect I am from the Fire Commisioner’s office checking to see if their building is up to code or of I am a cat burglar scoping out ways to get down the chimney and steal their silver they got on sale at Peter’s Of Kensington.
Am I addicted? Am I misguided? Is my outlook on life growing too bizarre for my own good?
I don’t know.
All I know is that I can’t deny the cute, compact, functional, something from another era appeal of the chimney pot.
I will continue to love them for as long as I can.