Spot the Duck

Robynn and I had an early morning coffee at the erstwhile Peter’s Yard before she went off for a night to Stirling to visit her old Alma Mater. She had the raspberry bun, I had none although I salivated a little.

Meanwhile, I had a day to myself without having to plan on doing anything in particular. I am giving the gym a miss this week which fills me with a wonderful feeling of relief.
I had a feel good telephone call with Poppy in Orkney who gave an account of life with a 12 week old puppy, (much like a toddler I think) and an exchange of messages from a school friend who lives in North Ronaldsay but is down in Edinburgh at the moment asking me to visit tomorrow.

Later I had a trawl round the shops for a pair of blue denim jeans that don’t have holes or frays or washed out patches: nothing doing. It can’t be cool to have a solid colour of blue.

Later still, I had a quick march round the policies before guiltily succumbing to struggling with my circular needles and my FairIsle hat pattern. I say guiltily, because, like reading, knitting is not something considered suitable for a daytime occupation by Presbyterians, unless, I suppose, it is a money making enterprise as done by the old Shetland women while they multitasked at the same time. I need every brain neuron I have to cope with the complexities of the pattern and the wool.