Getting a grip

I was actually wakened by what seemed like a searchlight this morning but was actually the newly-risen sun reflecting off the cheval mirror in the bedroom (memo to self: move the angle slightly before going to bed ...). It stayed marvellously sunny throughout the day, and I wonder if that helped to galvanise us into required action if we're ever going to get that patio make. Whether this was so or not, we marched off down to our local builder's yard to suss out (and in the end to buy) slabs and that stuff you put between them to stop the weeds sprouting up. It was rather jolly, really - the chap serving us, helping us inspect the various options and so on, had been at school at the same time as our sons and was very helpful indeed. One of the less obvious advantages of small town life, this - ten minutes' walk from the house and a bewildering array of ... stuff.

Later we did one of our sunny afternoon favourite walks along Loch Striven. There was a huge RFA ship in at the fuel depot pier - we got a real sense of its size when we were walking in its shadow as the sun set behind it. There was a chilly north-west wind, but the gorse was glorious and the light like stage lighting towards sunset. We were driving home when I realised that there was a dramatic sky going on behind us, so we stopped at Toward Primary school so that I could get out for a photo - which was when I spotted half a dozen seals doing their back exercises on almost-submerged rocks. We've not seen many seals this year; I was delighted.

The news continues to haunt us all. From the distraught friend in the street outside my house, who wanted all church leaders to condemn the approval given by the Patriarch of Moscow to his pal Putin to the mails from very different people in church circles expressing their horror, there is no escape - and we all know how much worse it could be. 

Blipping a new view for me: the centre of a great stock of wood and slabs in the builder's yard. Makes a change from sea, sky and sunsets ...