'Don't it always seem to go.....

.... that you don't know what you've got, 'till its gone....'  Joni Mitchell

I had a rather wonderful day, yesterday , out of nowhere, as it were. First I enjoyed listening to Hearts trouncing Celtic on my shower radio. It’s not that I’m a Jam Tarts fan (I’m a Hibby), it’s mainly that I support the underdog, where available. Then I walked along the canal past the staircase of the Muirtion Locks, and came upon this sight in a garden – a snowman who had fallen on hard times. There was still some ice around, but everything was melting.

Further along the towpath I had a lovely blether with fellow author, Helen Forbes. Helen helped me to edit my book and has a new novel, Madness Lies     out now.  She is an engaging person and it was lovely to see her. We swapped our recent experiences of publishing.

I repaired to the Clachnaharry Inn, and settled in front of the roaring fire to tap out some more of my Peru travelogue. Then some folk opposite, who looked like they were on a works Xmas bash, suddenly got out instruments and started to play. There were two fiddlers, two guitarists and a box player. I seemed to be their audience. I clapped after their first tune, and intermittently thereafter. Despite being of a musical bent myself, I didn’t talk to them, because I’m a shy chap.

Then, completely out of the blue, one of the lovely bar people bar arrived at my table with a pint of Jarl I hadn’t asked for. ‘It was poured by mistake,’ she said. I tried to pay for it, but she would have none of it. I was sitting at the back of the room, so she could have easily offered it to someone else at the bar. Why is someone being so nice to me? I thought. After consuming the Jarl, I said, ‘thank you for your lovely music,’ to the musicians as I left, and walked along the road towards home. I sensed a small tear escaping from my left eye: Must have been the sharp breeze.