Pictorial blethers

By blethers


Today was one of these unremarkable grey days which flew past and left me sure that tomorrow is Wednesday (it's not, really it's not.) It began quite early with the knowledge that the gas man could be on our doorstep by 8.30am - though even as I write that I think of Wildwood's early bleepings outside and realise that "early" is a relative term. Even knowing that didn't help, for we were still caught on the hop by his considerate phone call to say he was outside and would we rather he went and did another job first - but we had him in to remove bits of the dead gas fire and discuss our next steps.

My Pilates class was very depleted by holidays today, and it was the six core members from the class I originally joined however many years ago it was who grunted our way through today's exercises. (Am I alone in the world in finding it harder to balance on one knee than on the other? I feel my right knee is ... pointy?) Then I had to dash home to let Himself have the car to go for his class, my usual lift being one of the holidaymakers.

We'd just finished another rudimentary lunch when the joiner called in to make suggestions and look at wonky floorboards, as well as the chap along the road who's collecting our contributions so that something can be done about the back lane. All these large men looming on the doorstep ... Funny thing was that even when we went for a somewhat tedious walk round town we met him finishing work: another chat ...

Now, having slept over the telly again, I'm convinced that tomorrow is Wednesday. I've been checking the calendar - quite apart from the extra services for Holy Week, we have appointments for physio, the dental hygienist and our booster jags, to say nothing of the more esoteric pursuits of collecting moss for the Gethsemane altar of repose, in the rain (it's not long started and is battering the study window.) The good news is that tomorrow is not Wednesday.

Blipping a view of Dunoon from the hill on the outskirts before it turns into Kirn. The strange foreshortening shows how huddled together the older part of town is, with the High Kirk (now no longer in use for church services) on its prominent position to the left. It seems a suitably mundane image for the day that's done. Extra is this morning's view, fiddled with.

Sign in or get an account to comment.