Regular date

As we crossed the Firth on the Western Ferries vessel Sound of Shuna I was standing on the deck in the sunshine looking at the smooth expanse of the water with the V of the wake of the wee CalMac ferry heading for us in a single ripple, and I couldn't help feeling it felt like a cruise - not that the decks of cruise ships carry cars and a tour bus, but because it was so utterly beautiful. We often regard the requisite ferry crossing as a curse, especially in uncertain weather, but today was different. The impression was heightened by the presence of the passengers on the tour bus, who had all left their vehicle to take photos from the upper deck (in photo above).

We were heading for Glasgow and our regular lunch date with my cousins and his wife, this time in The Ivy in Buchanan Street. At the moment, with West End parking questionable and possible industrial action by the Underground staff, it could have been a trial to go to our other favoured restaurant in Great Western Road; despite the nightmare of rolling roadworks and route changes it is relatively easy to get to the parking in Buchanan Galleries and walk down the road. 

I had two courses and an espresso, and enjoyed it thoroughly. We talked non-stop with the ease of long acquaintance and an understanding of differences as well as what we share, and - for me anyway - the lurking threat of loss as contemporaries start to shuffle off this mortal coil (sorry - cliché: it's late). The staff are delightful and the surroundings totally agreeable - all the way to the loos, which are a model of self-contained and totally wildly decorated sufficiency. 

Staggering out a good two hours later, we had a brief visit to Tiso's outdoor shop where I chatted to a young man about the cagoule I bought there last year and, in a slight change of subject, his daughter's schooling. But we were too tired for the city, and it wasn't long before we were back in Buchanan Galleries and heading for the car park - the seventh floor of the car park. Reader, we didn't use the lift ...

By the time we were home I was too tired to do anything other than change and flop in front of the tennis. I realise that these days just watching the competitors  play makes me feel exhausted. I hung around long enough to see the news - the news of our flailing government legislation seems to have superseded the absurd storm about an unknown performer whose words were apparently more harmful than mass bombing and murder. And then there's the weather - always worth a comment, especially when it's hot.

But no. Don't think about the news. It's bad for the sleep...