Chicken moat

It’s been pouring while I’ve been sleeping. The water coming down the hill exceeds the ability of the drain to carry it, leaving access to the chickens blocked by an expanding puddle. I don’t wellies and change their bedding.

More public transport takes me through to Glasgow where I meet up with Claire. We take a walk through Kelvingrove Park and pass an hour in the Chai Ovna sipping exotic teas.

Then we meet the offspring at an Indian restaurant in Argyll St. Angus has been partying (and working) since Friday - which was his 19th birthday. He’s quite knackered and has a bad cough. Megan, on the other hand, is a picture of health. She has spent the afternoon teaching pole dancing.

We deposit the weans at their respective abodes and head home. At Carnwath we’re presented suddenly with a road closed sign, forcing us to divert via the Biggar road. Still we’re safely tucked up in bed before the witching hour.