Lengths to which I go ...

for a blether! Well, whaddya expect from a blipper with my name tag? But I mustn't start at the end of the day ... a horrid sort of day, really, after the bright sun with which yesterday ended. It was grey from the moment I woke, still pretty worn out even after a good night's sleep. After yesterday I'd ditched any thoughts of my usual Thursday morning routine, and instead of shopping I merely washed up and did my Italian. After coffee I forced myself to go up to the study and write a paper on my understanding of the choices faced in our dealings with our church fabric - mainly because my connection to the last vestry meeting was too poor to have me express anything at all. And then it was lunchtime ...

And shortly afterwards, in increasingly purposeful rain, we set off to drive the frequently interesting road to Colintraive, where I'd arranged to meet my oldest living friend with whom I'm still in continuing contact. The mists were swirling on the hillsides of Glen Lean, and we still had to use the diversion at the head of Loch Striven where a bridge was destroyed in one of the recent storms and is currently being replaced by an enormous white crane. (That makes it sound as if we drove over the crane. We didn't.) We arrived just as A's ferry came in from the minute-long crossing from Bute and almost without discussing the craziness of it set off, three of us across the single-track road, to walk along the road where it runs along the mainland side of the narrows. The rain came and went, becoming more vicious and soaking with each pulse, our shoes filled with water, any bit of waterproof we'd left open grew more and more damp, and we talked. We talked ourselves through 11,000+ steps worth of walking, with only one period of sheltering under a not-very-effective tree because the rain was silly at that point, and arrived back in the village with plenty of time to call into the hotel for a coffee. 

Picture us: three small, drookit ancients bursting into the quiet bar wondering where we could put our coats and where it'd be all right to sit in sodden breeks - to be met by the suggestion that we hang the coats above the (warm) radiator in a back hallway and go and sit on the comfy sofas in the main dining room, where we were served excellent coffee and left to finish our conversation.  And then A went for her ferry and we drove home again. 

My photo - one of the few I could bear to take because it meant fishing my phone out of its safe pocket - is of the bay at Colintraive, which is mainly around the ferry terminal on the far side of the curve, with varying sizes of houses and gardens along the side of the water. You can perhaps see how beautiful it is on a good day ...

I've just caught up on Channel 4 with that programme which looked as if it might not be shown - the one about the medics in Gaza. I'm overcome at their quiet heroism and appalled at the inhumanity on display throughout - even though I knew about it all, as I have done for months now. How can this still be going on?

Silence.