A Slip of a Thing

Another Grandma day when Edinburgh granddaughter, Glasgow granddaughter with their Mums and an additional Granny came to lunch.

This time though I used the equivalent of the political three line whip to ensure that his Lordship remained by my side. A quantity of alcohol on offer sealed his fate and there he was at a table with six women. This he would normally consider a fate worse than death, but he managed beautifully and everyone had a good time with no recriminations on my part later.

The Meadows put on a magnificent display of snowy whiteness for the visitors even though there was only about an inch of the white stuff lying. Enough however to transform the place and add an extra layer of brightness to the scene.

Early this morning I had recourse to negotiate a path which had not been salted, and it was as though the summer had never been and I was back in the slippery madness of last winter.
For some reason I find it hard to walk without slipping in these conditions and find myself doing a sort of old lady mince while big blokes power past with not a slip or slide under their size 12 shoes, or worse still, students run past in sand shoes.

I have long wondered why I am so affected, being not what you might consider a slip of a thing. Maybe it's the size of the foot or the determination of step, but I can tell you it's getting worse the older I get.
Where it will all end I don't know, but hopefully not in a plaster cast with a shattered camera.

So the visitors have gone on their way, nourished and happy, the dishes are washed and Scotland has won the rugby match against the Samoans. Can life get any better than this?