Incongruous

I was struck this morning, as I read the comments on my blip from yesterday, how unifying this pandemic is in its effect on the mentality of so many people who might appear to be quite different in other ways - living half a world apart, living in cities, living in the English countryside, living - like me - among the sea lochs and hills of Scotland, living in historic cities. But here we all are, many of us retired, others still working, all striving to feel normal without the assistance of friends and families. I'm reminded, yet again, of a poem - this time the telling "Aubade" by Philip Larkin. He's talking about the fear of death, but it could just as well apply to the waking moment of so many in this time:
And so it stays just on the edge of vision,   
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill   
That slows each impulse down to indecision.   
Most things may never happen: this one will,   
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without   
People or drink. 


I think it's actually possible to add "or exercise" to that last half-line, because just now it's one of the structural mainstays of my days. At least today was beautiful, if treacherous underfoot in the first few hours until the sun had a chance to melt ice. We headed, after coffee and chocolate cake, back down to Loch Striven, to benefit from a gritted road and sunshine even if it meant walking once again on the level - I've decided it's very trying for the ageing hip joints to keep walking on hard, level surfaces. 

I've decided to blip one of the incongruous aspects of this walk, which can often be silent apart from the sound of waves on the shore - the POL (Petroleum, Oil and Lubricants) depot and pier on the loch side. Today we could hear the ship tied up there before we saw it - the CLYDE FISHER, a Chemical/Oil Products Tanker built in 2005 (16 years old) and currently sailing under the flag of Bahamas. They appeared to be flushing out their bilges - there was a great spout of water pouring out of its side - though there was no-one to be seen. Even two miles further along the road we could hear it, as well as the raucous mirth of a bird perched high in the trees above us.

I'm posting as extra a piece of history in the form of the old schoolhouse at Inverchaolain, which used to serve the children of the loch side in days when it was more populated. It's such a lovely house, sitting just above the road with a view across the loch - I've visited it on several occasions when I knew then then occupants. Now it's a private house, owned, I think, by people from elsewhere, but I can't help thinking how different the school experience must have been for the children who were taught there, looking out at seals and herons and the changing light on the loch.

The rest of today was taken up embarking on the adventure of Click and Collect ordering from Morrison's. After the business of looking through every category to make sure I had ordered more or less what I wanted, I had a few nervy minutes trying to make the site recognise my credit card; I suspect the bank link was busy because of my timing, but I thought I'd just wasted an hour ... I shall report on Friday on how this pans out.

Tonight I feel a tad wabbit. (Is this a term in general use? Predictive text doesn't like it.) I have a sore place where one of my tonsils was in a past life, and suspect that a dose of hypochondria may be adding to my malaise. Perhaps cake followed by five miles followed by tea and toast doesn't constitute enough in the middle of the day? Anyway, bed beckons.

And yes, I did do my Italian ...