The bright side
It's rarely I publish a photo here that I didn't take, but clearly as this is a photo of me I was only involved in the rather annoying business of cropping a bit off the foot of the photo in order to make Blipfoto upload it vertically. (Why does it do this?) Mr PB took it this afternoon on one of our favourite walks, and I thought it might amuse to show the crazy colour of my hair, renewed the other day. (I wouldn't want anyone to think I was trying to look natural ...) I'm perched, slightly oddly, on a flattish stone at the end of a bridge over a small torrent, trying not to look like Humpty Dumpty with the effort of staying put.
Against all the earlier signs, today turned out a good one, in terms of my recent moanings on here. Despite an annoying, doomed discussion-that-turned-into-an-argument on FaceTime in the morning, I was able to settle the possible fallout later; this mattered disproportionately, I think, because these communications are all we've got just now. Another improvement in the day occurred with the purchase of the first Sunday paper we've had since mid-March; Mr PB stressed about reading papers, let alone going to buy one, so we gave up. Our current choice of Sunday paper is The Observer; I still enjoy it but find the news section more and more irrelevant as Scotland distances itself ever more from Westminster policies.
Our walk along Loch Striven was simply lovely. We didn't see too many cars, and no more cyclists than usual, though from where I was sitting on the bridge we could hear the noises from some campers at a wild-camping site just off the road ahead. I was thinking as we walked how incredibly fortunate I am to live here, despite all my moanings recently. The countryside walks available to us are absolutely lovely, and as we've always avoided places where we'd see too many people there's little change there. I'm not alone, and despite awareness of years far beyond my hairstyle I often feel little different from when I retired, 15 years ago. (Maybe it's time to remind myself about the lack of cushioning in the knee joints ...)
Presumably what brings on the gloom when it comes is actually a bout of existential angst - something I first was aware of, if I really think about it, when I was ten. Really. I can remember looking at the little black blobs of soot that used to appear on windowsills in even the cleanest house in pre-smokeless post-war Glasgow, looking past them down to the street far below (we lived in a top flat) and feeling this inexplicable emptiness. Strange child.
But today was good; the sun shone as the afternoon went on, the wind dropped, we walked briskly and took photos, and dinner was excellent. The son who's visiting relatives in France FaceTimed us from his walk with our older granddaughter through the Breton countryside and we laughed at how she's turning into wannyus...
Say it. Say it like a Weegie...*
*A native Glaswegian.
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