Annual service

No, no - not me: the car. Faithful readers will perhaps remember that a couple of years ago we had to rush to find a replacement car when our beloved Kuga fell apart down below because of rust; today was the second of the annual services that were part of the deal. All very well and good, except that it meant making the trip across the water and driving to Linwood, there to sit for over two hours while outside the weather went from the reasonably hopeful beginning to stair-rods of rain and a rising wind. This prevented our going for a wander round the shops we never see except on such visits - TK Maxx, for example - so instead we sat reading, texting, drinking coffee, and eating rather marvellous fried egg rolls from the wee café inside the showroom. We didn't look at any new cars ...

I did however finish my book: Christ Stopped at Eboli, by Carlo Levi. I've heard mention of the book for several years now, ever since our first visit to Matera, in Puglia, which features in the story of Levi's year in exile in a nearby village, and I've only just discovered there was an acclaimed film too, a shortened version of which I've found on YouTube and will watch. It's not at all the religious book you might expect from the title; it's fascinating and beautiful and extraordinary and I was actually glad to have the time to lose myself in the final chapters today, without interruption or sense that there was something else I should be doing. In fact it reminded me of how I used to be when I was a child and could lose myself in a book to the exclusion of everything else - I thought I'd lost the ability, so I'm delighted to find it still available to me.

The car was more or less fine - a tyre will need replaced at the MOT in a couple of months - so once we'd re-adjusted the seats (they always upset them!) we headed west into the rain. As you can see in the photo, which I took from my bed at 7am, the sun rose redly and warningly over the Firth, and my early afternoon the warning became reality. However, we did stop at the big Tesco in Port Glasgow, where I did the weekly shop instead of having to get up early tomorrow (We'd been horribly early today.) I almost bought some alluringly-named Nightingale Farms peppers until I saw where they came from; later I discovered a red-top running a story about Tesco's recent adoption of rustic-England-sounding farm names for products from all over the globe. I'll stick to Morrison's, I reckon.

When we got home, bouncing over the high tide on the Firth, there was time for a cuppa and a quick exercise session, including a 50-second elbow plank, before dinner, early because we were both ravenous. Then Compline, then collapse - though Surgeons at the Edge of Life isn't exactly restful.

Now I must depart to leave me some time to start a new book before I go to sleep ...