A fisher with his angle ...

For some reason, this view of the Bishop's Glen reservoir, which is a reservoir no longer but retains the dam and overflow of its previous life, brought that absurd title to mind - the English words, in an execrable translation, of a Schubert song, Die Forelle (The Trout). You can just make out the fisherman - he's standing in the water wrestling with something, while on the far shore stands a man with one of the host of dogs which plague every convenient walk around Dunoon and result in the proliferation of sinister little black bags left lying absurdly beside the path or - worse - hanging from fences or branches. (Rant over. For now.)

We were out in the morning for a walk with #2 son, who appeared for the day shortly after breakfast time and left at teatime. A walk round old haunts took half the day, a business matter the other half. It all seemed to be over very quickly - in fact, on such occasions, I can't help feeling that life seems to be over very quickly. I was recalling the day when he and his pal careered past us down the path here on bikes the evening before their Standard Grade exams began, and how I thought it would be a pity for the school if two of their best students bashed their helmet-less brains out just as their work was going to bear fruit ...

Anyhow, it was lovely despite the hosts of midges that descended the moment we stopped moving. They are attracted by our breath - the carbon dioxide - and meeting anyone is a trial. 

In other news, there's a second flower out on the meconopsis ...