Bass drop

Another day, another trip out to East Lothian. Why, oh why? I may have slightlly lost my mind, but that's not that unusual an event, so roll with it. Anyway, I boarded the disco bus (the EastCoast Buses 124 is now lit in pink and white, Airlink style, which I wholeheartedly agree with: dimming lights on public transport is probably bad for safety and security, but would be so much better for those of us who'd like to look out of the window rather than at their own horrible reflection, watch the world go by by night. 

Half an hour at Aberlady. I'd seen the pintail, an immaculate silver drake, and, job done, couldn't face actually walking onto the reserve. I fucking hate Aberlady sometimes. Big sky, bloody long walk, no birds. So I got the next bus to come my way, on to North Berwick with the grey-haired of Dirleton, fascinated by my scope and bins that I hadn't bothered to remove before boarding, 'cos really, who cares? I'm way, way beyond being cool anyway, with my salt n' pepper hair squiffed by my hat, my Berghaus shell, my already-red nose from being out in the Lothian air while I strain my eyes at ducks in creeks and drop hot cross bun crumbs down my front. 

North Berwick: off-season picture postcard. Twee. Coffee shops, charity shops, church halls, butchers, golf, dogs, award-attracting loos. "Nice weather, not bad for the time of year" says a stranger as I visit said toilet. The sun breaks through as I emerge on the front, the Forthscape is blue as I step out onto the rocks by the Seabird Centre. It's like Ille Rousse! Just blue not pink, a fresh sou-wester and brittle fingertips not spirit-freeing warmth and flip-flops. The Isle of May is a slice on the sea, Bass Rock gannet-free. A robin chases away the black redstart - typical - and I don't get a photo. 

Sausage roll from the butchers, pastry flakes on the grass, Rosie wants my lunch, dog died on the beach (killer seaweed?), then board the bus once more and my East Lothian adventure goes on...