Cold ...

My gallivanting son (currently working in Accra; the other day it was Hong Kong) comments that I should look for a house on Loch Striven; presumably he thinks we're always walking there, as we were today. There's a perfectly sane reason for this; not only is is achingly beautiful in all kinds of light, it also gets the last of any sun going, which at this time of year is important if you don't get out until afternoon. Actually there was a fog bank over Bute and parts of Arran this afternoon, so that the sun lost its brilliance rather earlier than expected, but it did make for a great set of photos ...

I've been trying to motivate myself to work on putting together a collection of poems for publication, but this fine weather means I'm fitting it in round Pilates (this morning) and walks. Today I spent over an hour sorting out a possible running order, as it were, discarding some poems to allow for title pages and so on in a given allocation. It's quite a footer, and very tedious. I felt the way I used to when I stayed late after school to get some correction done, as the darkness fell outside and I lost all sense of time until I realised that I still had to cook the dinner ...

I'll stick in an extra photo of Dunoon this morning, when the sun was high ... taken beside Milton House, looking over the town to the sea.