Quaint

It’s a lovely, relaxing day. I pull staples out of the floor. We walk the beach and clamber the rocks. Claire investigates a potentially disused sewage pipe. How quaint, the idea that a few toilet flushes can be absorbed, without deleterious effect, by the frothing firth.

We take tea at the cafe on the high street, marvelling at their display of knitted cakes (see extra photo). Angus arrives from Edinburgh. Hamish relaxes, on call, earning as he plays his video game. I cook a chicken fricassee and we watch Moneyball.

Tomorrow- home and pruning.