Sinking sun reflections

Poor old Donald had really enjoyed his works night out last night but was less than keen to get going this morning. He waylaid his journey to Glasgow as long as he could but in the end there was nothing for it but to shift himself into action. I watched with pity as he staggered wearily unto the world outside.

I should know by now that floods, rivers, torrents hold no mercy when you're travelling in the opposite direction, as in - the maroon-clad swarms that overflow the pavements of Gorgie Road after a match. The onslaught was great but I overcame it by hopping on a bus. Inside the Diggers windows as we passed were multitudes of heads, probably one belonged to The Pensioner but I wouldn't like to swear to it.