A Touch of the Sun

All the way from Andalucia to the cold streets of Edinburgh - the Seville oranges are here. I checked the box, they were the genuine article.

Then I remembered the ones I bought last year are in the  bottom of the freezer, and there's still a few pots of marmalade in the cupboard. So I left them where they were, outside the greengrocer's, brightening up Morningside Road on yet another grey morning.

I didn't go to singing. I'm still croaking like a whole swamp full of frogs. Maybe next week.

Before we left home we splodged a little of the left-over sitting room paint onto a piece of card, and thanks to the wonders of modern technology, we now have a tin of the exact same shade to repaint the wall. No excuse not to get started tomorrow.