Be Still

Thanks to all who sent virtual grapes yesterday.  I put them in my virtual hothouse.  Thanks very very much.
Whilst it was still dry this morning, I walked to the village to post a letter.  It was easier going downhill.  For folk who still hold a morbid fasciation with the Hoy Hills I can report there are a few remnants of snow.  But, bizarrely, more at the top of the Trowie Glen. Luckily for the rest of you, the crowd funding by the St Albans branch of the ‘PleasestopitIainatCreel#’ means that hill pics are meantime banned until I meet my Blip Probation Officer. 
 
Whilst CMC is in isolation in Hoy I took the opportunity to have a red up in the attic.  I’ve struggled for years but at last I’ve taken down the three shoe boxes of letters I received from Jacqueline Bisset.  They heated the red kettle for a couple of minutes.  Right at the back of the attic (over the ben end) I glimpsed my second cousin who I haven’t seen for a few years.
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It’s eighty five miles between Droitwich and St Albans.  The Office for National Statistics doesn’t record how many people in Carluke can play the trumpet.