This old bridge across the burn that comes down from the Bishop's Glen is so weak, apparently, that they can't repair it - any surfacing work that gets done stops on either side of it. Somehow it seems an apt metaphor for this bit of road that has been so familiar to me for the past 44 years as the way to our church, which you can see on its hill beyond the bridge. Kilbride Hill, with an ancient well dedicated to St Bride seeping out of the side of it, is beautiful, atmospheric - and a wonderfully crazy place to build a church. I love it.
My extra photo is of something I certainly don't love: one of the Trident submarines that make up the UK's nuclear deterrent heading down our Firth of Clyde from its base in Scottish inshore waters. It fair cast a blight on a lovely morning to see it gleaming in the sun, hear the thrum of engines from sub and attendant flotilla. The juxtaposition of my church life and my life of protest got me into a great deal of bother, when all the world was a tad younger.
I hoped the Cold War was over when that period of my life was over, but we seemed to be merely on a weak bridge after all.
I find it interesting, by the way, how the attempt to zoom in on the sub using my phone camera has landed me with something like a poor impressionist painting...