Playing in the mud

Today had the potential to be truly dismal - the fine drizzle, the grey sky, the lack of interest promised - and turned out to be quite other. There was, of course, the two-ring circus provided by the ongoing sagas of the government in Westminster and the clown that is the Prime Minister alongside the unfolding and unedifying case of Prince Andrew - and that was a joyous moment when Keir Starmer and the rest of the opposition burst into spontaneous laughter at one of Johnson's absurd assertions. 

Then the afternoon, by which time the drizzle was quite insistent, bringing with it an arrangement to meet my bestie up Glen Massan, where I've not been for weeks because of Himself's current state. He was at the physio and I went out to play ... and because we could, we didn't stick to the road, but instead set off up the other side of the river on the forestry track that leads past the houses that belong to Emma Thompson the actor. In fact, we found the forestry road so slippery with moss that we decided to take one of the little riverside paths that Thompson had made for her mother to enjoy - picturesque but at this time of year quite challenging. That's when I took the photo - a crazy photo from a bench beside the river, looking at the next bit of path: across the single plank bridge and up the rustic steps covered in moss among the trees ...

We both got very muddy feet, but emerged unscathed to march carefully back down the main track - if we'd had walking poles, we'd have come back on the small path, but we didn't. As we walked, the sky above us turned pink and lit everything with a wonderful sort of afterglow, and we felt good as we regained the road and the cars. It was dark by the time I got home.

Now, if I get up and walk around a bit, I'll maybe close the final, red ring on my Apple watch ...