Tirra lirra ...

Why I should start chanting The Lady of Shallot as I walked by the river in Glen Massan is anyone's guess, but there you are: Tirra lirra by the river/ Sang Sir Lancelot, and so did I.

Actually it was an afternoon worthy of a romantic ballad: the blackbirds were singing their hearts out, a distant cuckoo added a counterpoint, and two small lambs bounced over the river (not here - further up where it's much shallower!) to keep up with their mother. A perfect afternoon.