Breakfast

'The best laid plans o' mice an' men gang aft agley'.

So said the Bard, and if I had planned to impress Budapest Boy, aka D77, with the attributes of Loudon's cafe, then I got it wrong today.
The necessary WiFi was down and although the required bacon roll arrived on time, it took 20 minutes for the lattes to arrive.

Not only that, but I degenerated into a bumbling idiot as Golden Boy sought to dazzle me with yet more wonderful features of the Samsung galaxy and demonstrate why the Android system is better than Apple. I remain unconvinced.

Why is it that he always has this effect on me when I operate adequately on my own? I think it's the speed at which the information is imparted and the rate of key pressing.
I get that glazed expression which precedes my having to say ' can you repeat that', at which point he rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

Ah the incisiveness of youth; you too will not be immune to the passage of time, but alas I may not be around to witness the deterioration.

My first proper ' let's hurt her' physio session took place this morning, but I seemed to perform adequately, albeit with some silent screaming. I've escaped for 4 weeks.

His Lordship thought to ask why the police were patrolling The Meadows so assiduously, and the reason is that they are concerned that the tented 'not climate change, regime change' community evicted from St Andrew Square were thought to be considering pegging out their guylines in the park.
Given the mess they've made in the newly opened and refurbished gardens of the Square, long may the police patrol the Meadows.