Eleventh Day...

I had a day off from the gym. I think I deserve Sundays off. Besides, I couldn’t be bothered getting up. Well, I had been up a couple of times, at 4am and 6am - Archie seems to have an upset stomach and wants to go out. But the he plays with the football, sniffs every nook and cranny in the garden, barks at nothing, and takes forever to do his business.

Elizabeth took Archie out for the day, JR went to Waitrose, and I watched the Armistice coverage. Some of the personal stories are so moving, eg the old chap who was telling about how his platoon was fighting in the jungle in a monsoon. He broke down as he said their biggest fear was to be 'left behind'. The troop had to leave any injured men - they couldn’t hold the rest of the troop back. And he was left behind. But he found 'a little spark' to keep going, and he walked for four days to catch up with the rest of his men. What a story!

And well done Danny Boyle, for this beautiful commemoration..

It was a sunny afternoon, so I wanted to go down and look at the Rememberance Garden in Princes Street. Sorry, that sounded like something Trump would do - not going because it's raining...

We also popped in to the new, posh, Grand Hotel. What an entrance way! (Extra 1) Big squashy leather sofas, subdued lighting with discreetly placed brass lamps, wood panelling, fresh orchids on each table ... and screechy 'soul' muzak!!!! (Because the barman liked it.) I did complain, and they changed it to quiet jazz. But it was the coffee that annoyed me. Weak, wishy-washy dishwater in fine china cups. I didn’t dare ask for a flat white.

Funnily enough, I have noticed that the presence of leather sofas and brass lamps is indirect proportion to the prospect of a decent coffee. Think of the great flat whites at the wee caravan at Porty Beach, and the artisan cafes with exposed brick walls and recycled furniture... I rest my case.

The light in Princes Street Garden was lovely. (Extra 2)