Live bending ...

Lockdown took another step backwards today (I thought I'd try putting it another way) as studios and gyms reopened, in our neck of the woods anyway. I was wakened insanely early by a blackbird on the roof across the road, which was still singing its head off two hours later when I actually got up, so I wasn't at my brightest and best for the first face-to-face Pilates class since before Christmas. Interestingly, the class was full of new faces, including a MAN. The last time one of these turned up he left after one session; he'd thought it'd be easy with all these women doing it ... It was great to be back in person as opposed to solitary peering at the phone because the study is too untidy and I've only once been able to make my phone speak (ie with sound) to the telly, and just lovely to stand outside afterwards blethering to a friend in the unlovely surroundings of the industrial estate (bet you never knew Dunoon had one of these).

Because of the blethering, I only had time between coffee and lunch to do a bit of singing - a new (to me) piece Himself wants me to sing on Sunday. And somehow it was after 4pm before we set off for a walk up Glen Massan in the late afternoon sun. The bluebells are glorious just now - everywhere we looked we could see carpets of them among the dead bracken from last year, among the trees, along the verge. It's actually really hard to replicate them on camera, but I think the photo above is very typical of the woodland beside the road up the gorge. 

I'm being very poor at keeping up with your journals just now: I don't know why I always end up scampering at the end of the day to write this, leaving no time to explore before my eyes close and I fall off the seat. Forgive me?