Beached

It was the small matter of a malfunctioning car key that winkled us out of the warmth of the house this morning into another rain soaked day.
His Lordship had an an appointment with a garage in the hinterland of Portobello, so having got this far I had very little trouble persuading him to keep driving down the coast.

My ulterior motive was to get out at Cockenzie and Port Seton and find a blip.
What I hadn't bargained for, was cloud cover so low that the only demarcation between the land, sea and sky was a fringe of white waves at the shore line.

Standing upright in the gale was a feat in itself without holding the camera steady and all the while bearing the brunt of horizontal rain that felt like lead shot.
It was a relief to escape to the Gosford Farm Shop, a hot cup of tea and a slice of treacly gingerbread, allowed since this is not a starvation day.

It was considerably clearer on the way back, with Fife, Arthur's Seat and even the Pentlands appearing in the distance behind the white crested waves on a sea that had turned a lovely greenish colour.