Of subjects and objects and ships that pass

Today felt a very Dunoon-centred day in that we didn't get out of the town at all. There was quite a bit going on, though - a funeral at the church which appears in many of my "views from the window" announced its presence with a lone piper as I was tidying (myself!) after breakfast; friends we've not seen for over 16 years texted to say they were visiting at the weekend; I got my Italian done (again) while I still had my wits about me; I attacked the ironing which has been mocking me for weeks; I unpicked the jaggy label inside the neck of one of Himself's rather classy shirts. Why, I wonder, do superior shirtmaker still sew big, intricately woven labels of hard nylon (with added size ticket) into the necks of soft, comfortable shirts, using tiny fiercely tight stitches that are murder to unpick? Why? 

In the afternoon we pottered down to the West Bay to reserve a table in the coffee shop for lunch on Sunday, then walked round the bay watching the Waverley powering gracefully up the Firth, easily overtaking a lumbering and huge container ship. What I didn't realise was that she was coming to Dunoon pier, doing her customary big circle round to come at the pier from the north. We were passing the play-park when I caught sight of her again, at the pier, bow out into the firth, with the container ship having just passed and several people watching their young at the swings apparently stopped in their tracks to look at the ships. (That's my blip today; I thought it looked interestingly ... cluttered.)

From there we walked on round the back of the town to our church, really just to sing through Sunday's communion anthem and make sure we got the number of verses correct. On our way down the hill for dinner we met The Groundsman, The Rector's Missus and The Rev himself - and ended up having a protracted and increasingly hilarious conversation that actually made me feel a lot better than I had been. (A situation I confess also contributed to by a phone call from my GP deciding to send me for a scan, which seems like a good idea.)

Last laugh of the day came from Rory Stewart, the intelligent Tory who didn't make the cut when Johnson was elected PM. He tweeted an invitation to join " X and I tomorrow"  (at the Festival Fringe), and I couldn't resist doing the teachery bit - you know: Rory, would you ever say "join I for dinner"? 

Reader, he faved my Tweet ...