Collapse of stout party ...

The sun was shining. It was too chilly to potter in the garden, too seductively bright to lurk indoors. The foot that I strained/sprained (jolly painful anyway) didn't feel too bad when I started out, but by the time I'd walked up the Glen Massan road for a mile or so it was screaming at every step. Luckily there was a pleasantly mossy tree stump ...

And that's as far as I got. While Mr PB marched off down the road for the car, I sat in the sun, out of the wind, on this dry, warm cushion of moss. I took this photo; I made a live video and answered the comments of my online audience. No cars passed; birds sang, the burn in front of me gurgled gently. 

Until a car did pass .... Come back! - and Mr PB almost drove on and left me in my lurking place, quite unseen. He didn't, of course, as I got up and yelled. But it was a good place to sit, and I was strangely content.

Foot's still sore, though. And it's going to have to wait till after the coming week, for as a current Facebook gag says, "We're into the little-known season of the church year known as 'I'll see to that after next week".