High Street Close

How else to lift the spirits on a dark, cheerless and rainy Monday morning other than to indulge in a bit of fashion retail therapy?

Exactly, nothing like it.

And so there I was hot footing it into town with the object of my desire hopefully waiting to be tried on and found fitting.

It did, and with my spirits high and my bank balance much lowered, but with a posh carrier bag almost bigger than me attached to my shoulder by even posher canvas handles, I met up with Daughter #1 for a prolonged coffee and chat in a cafe overlooking the chaos of the Princes Street road works.

I know that I have the reputation of being rather too interested in coffee houses, and indeed that cannot be denied.

In fact, I feel I should have been a man born in the time when the males of the gentry class would foregather to pass the time of day and discuss wordly matters while their wives dropped calling cards at friends houses and the maids were busy on the domestic front.

Alas I am but a woman of a certain age living in the 21st century who can have a few moments of leisure chatting about this and that over a cup of coffee, but who has then to return home and take on the domestic chores once delegated to a lower order.
However I'm not complaining, even if this freedom only comes to those with a bus pass.

Today is my little brother's birthday- little on the age front but graced with the distaff tall genes which are so lacking in me.
When I phoned him today, he told me that he reads my blips from his home in far flung Bath, and that I seemed to be getting grumpy in my old age. Grumpy? He ain't seen nothing yet.

So Happy Birthday, Robin, you're catching me up on the age front this month!