A wee Scottish bluebell.

My my that strong east coast wind was fair flapping at my kilt this morning as I took some snaps of the bluebells that have only appeared this year on the landscaping area facing the promenade.
As the wind flapped at my sporran and tugged at my Broadsword I could smell ma porridge on the hearth, and it was then I felt the "quickening" of my feet as I wus bloody freezing.