Getting out ...

This morning there was sun. During breakfast it looked as if summer had returned, and as soon as I'd washed up I made a wee flask of coffee and we headed out before the rain returned. I needed a  good, brisk walk, so we settled for Loch Striven-side - usually peaceful, because the road doesn't really lead anywhere. And indeed we were only passed by a few cars, but the most remarkable incident was our almost being mowed down by a silent cyclist. There was no warning - just a slight crunch of the gravel at the edge of the road as she swerved round us from behind. I was sufficiently incensed to flag her down as she returned - as I said, the road leads nowhere, so I was ready for her. I don't know if it did her any good, but I pointed out that with all the dire warnings about giving cyclists room when we're driving, it was hardly likely to endear us to the cycling fraternity if they went scooshing round mowing down septuagenarians. She barely said a word, but when she did - to say yes, of course she got it - I realised that English was not her first language, so probably the full force of my eloquence was lost on her. (I jest, bitterly). But I wish they'd make bells on bikes mandatory ...

In other news, the loch side was as lovely as ever; the photo is of the wonderful profusion of flowerheads and grasses beside the road. As we headed back towards the car, the first drizzle swept over the loch to meet us; the main bank of cloud meanwhile was massing at the head of the glen.

I spent the afternoon fretting about what clothes to take on holiday. I loathe packing.