St Andrews

‘A little city, worn and grey,
The grey North Ocean girds it round,
And o’er the rocks, and up the bay,
The long sea rollers surge and sound.’

Not much change then, since the poet studied here in the 1860s. It was another grey day, but at least the many golfers on the Old Course got round in the dry, and the wind wasn’t whistling,

We walked on the beach, went to Toppings and staggered out with a big haul of books.
Now watching the tide go out, and being entertained by some very lively calves in the field below us