Our neighbours

After the brightness and excitement of the weekend, it came as no surprise to see when I woke that the day was already looking ... silvery? The Firth of Clyde looked like molten metal, the sky already dove's wing grey; later there were showers and wind and the world looked very different from the sunlit cheer of the last few days. Despite my tiredness last night, and the fact that I fell asleep almost immediately, I didn't really sleep well, half-waking several times to wonder if it was time to get up. ( I can't think why I would wonder - apart from my online Pilates class there was not a single deadline to be met today, and even the class could have been done later had I so decided.)

The photo is of the view not only from my bedroom window but also from my bed - this is what I see as I sit drinking tea. If you look carefully you will make out the long, low shape of a Trident submarine slipping home to its base at Coulport, with its attendant tugs. Not even the tugs appeared on ship finder; it was as if they were all ghost ships in the silver dazzle of the water. It's strange - part of my mind sees the beauty of the image; the rest of me rages that I have to see it at all.

Apart from the Pilates, I started work on a sermon I shall have to give in a couple of weeks, and in the afternoon we dragged ourselves out for a walk to the south of the peninsula with the view over the vivid green of the fields towards a dark sky and the clouds hiding Arran. I've included one of these views as an extra. I wore new trainers for the first time - my old waterproof trainers have worn down so far that the rubber is hanging in thin shreds from the heels - and was relieved that I managed the whole walk without any suffering. I'll be glad when they mould themselves a bit round my feet - at the moment they're a bit boat-like.

Thanks to all who shared my enjoyment of yesterday - today was always going to be a let-down!