Chilly ...

I'm not long back from thundering along this shore road in what the weather app described as a "gentle breeze" but which felt like a brisk south-easterly, coming at me from about 10 o'clock (forgive the touch of the fighter pilot jargon there ...). When I was deliberating about going out, what I'd wear and so on, it was sort of sunny and hadn't rained since morning, but then I saw clouds and ended up in a cagoule instead of a puffa jacket and wasn't nearly warm enough to walk at the stately pace Mr PB's sore knee dictates. So I bashed on ahead and we caught up with each other back at the car. Anyway, I love this stretch of road and its view to Bute and Arran and the setting sun, especially at this dark time of year. 

I shall post another faintly apocalyptic sunset in honour of the news that's just bonged in on my phone that Dominic Cummings has left Downing Street, complete with his box of possessions, while I was chatting on FaceTime to my granddaughter about the relative merits of studying German or Latin. He's just quitting, of course, before the Brexit mess hits the fan (see how delicately I put that?), but I'm enjoying the thought of the current chaos in No 10 and the absurd notion that BJ's bidie-in has a hand in who gets the best jobs. It's a bit like having a good laugh on the deck of the Titanic.

I've been on the go since 7.30 this morning; the main event of the shopping expedition to Morrison's was the discussion I had with the woman manning the check-out.
Me: Sorry to be dithering - don't do well before my breakfast.
Her: That's all right - everyone's upside down with this Covid. Don't know when we'll ever be back to normal life ...
Me: When we all get vaccinated, maybe?
Her: (tones of deep shock) You're not going to allow them to do that to you, are you?
Me: Of course I am. 
Her: No, no, no. I'll never get one of those. You don't know what they've cooked up - it's only been a few months!
(This is becoming tedious. Back to narrative prose...)

My messages somehow ended up in the bags, and in the trolley, but not before she'd told me that she'd never have a flu jab either. She doesn't believe in any of "that stuff". I told her the tale of Typhoid Mary, paid, and left. She seemed totally cheery; I was appalled.

I've been exhausted all day after that. As usual, bashing along the coast road in the cold seems to have helped. And the sherry I'm drinking right now (courtesy of the Christmas cake fruit-soaking) is helping as well.
Cheers!