And thro' the whins, and by the cairn

Homeward bound after several hours rehanging my shrunken curtains and then giving the forepeak a cursory swabbing. Over the moor beyond Striven the police have been active for weeks. I’m finally moved to google and find that they’re looking for the final resting place of poor Lynda Spence. Not a story you want to re-read unless you’re seized with ghoulish fascination.
All the way I listen to the crunch game at Ibrox - a “must win” for the Gers. They lose, and as I whistle along the motorway near Govan, disconsolate fans in blue are already trooping homeward over the bridges. 
And then I’m home! The boat can wait - May is better weather anyway.