Today's been another bleak one in more ways than one. I'll try not to go on about scare stories from Cyprus (apparently they listed the UK as a coronavirus hotspot and were insisting on 14 days' quarantine, then changed their minds) nor about the usual horrors of packing for a holiday while the hailstones batter down outside - except that I've just done it. On the bright side, I was having to recall my CND days for someone who's writing a monologue involving Dunoon's past as an American nuclear submarine base; in many ways it was a difficult time being an activist with two young children, a job and several court appearances (as an expert witness - I was never arrested). It was, however, a crazy time, and one I recall with a degree of enjoyment now.
I didn't intend the link to the photo I'm blipping, but this is in fact the Holy Loch, where the US Navy Site One was, complete with mother ship, floating dock and several Poseidon submarines, upgraded in time to Trident. This afternoon, as a biting wind blew down its length , it was home to what looked like a floating crane and - in this photo - the Western Ferries Sound of Soay tied up at Kilmun Pier. We decided just to walk on the road, as our garden was still full of the hailstones that had battered us this morning, and we didn't want to slide on a path somewhere.
Dinner beckons. It's dreadful when food becomes the highlight of the day ...