Not quite in clover...

I reckon I could have expected today to be a day of reckoning for yesterday - the croak, the cough, the devil eyes ... Anyway, expectations were well and truly met, and all had clearly suffered from overdoing things (again) yesterday. 

As my only huvtae was a long-awaited "minor surgical procedure" at the GP surgery, and it not till midday, I was able to sleep a little longer, take my time over tea in bed, linger in my dressing-gown over breakfast - all the things retired people are supposed to do, I suppose. The small operation - a wee bump being removed from my upper arm - passed with a considerable volume of banter with the nurse and the doctor, and remarkably slickly. I think GPs find these occasions a lot more fun than hearing about conjunctivitis, though he did find time to slip me a prescription for antibiotic drops. (It hasn't hurt at all until now - bad timing, huh?)

After some lunch, I fell asleep over the papers and woke to realise that the sun of earlier was on the point of being swallowed by large clouds, but we headed out for a gentle walk away from trees and other pollinators (still wondering if my ailments are allergic in nature) which meant returning to our favourite short walk between the fields and the sea to the south of the peninsula. It rained briefly on us, but cleared away quite rapidly, so that it was really pleasant for most of the time.

That's where the photo comes from: I liked this fat clump of clover with the bright yellow of the lichen on the rocks and the distant line of the Arran hills peeping over Bute. And in the background you can see the remains of a tree caught on a sandbank which for weeks now has fooled me into thinking I can see a paddle-boarder on the water ...