Somewhere becoming rain ...

What a strange, tantalising day this has been! I'm talking about the weather, of course, of which more anon. It began normally enough except that I felt unable to stir when it was time to get up; all this late afternoon swimming has had a dire effect on proper mealtimes and we've been very late these last few days. I had to make bread for lunch too, which didn't help, but we made it to church in time for Himself to play his voluntary, which is always the reason why I can never actually stagger in after the service has begun. We had a long blether with various people after the service, including my assisting a friend in linking her phone apps to her new car - see how I've come on with the tech? 

Coffee in the garden was actually delightful as it wasn't so hot - not to mention the fact that the cement mixing crew weren't there, so either they were referring to Monday morning or someone talked them out of it. Anyway, we were slightly rushed in finishing our chat over coffee when the first spots of rain arrived; by the time I'd put the chairs under cover it'd gone off again and we promptly retrieved a couple for the two of us to have lunch out. 

As the afternoon wore on the sky became more threatening without actually producing the goods; my social media feeds became busy with excited dwellers further north exclaiming about sheets of rain; I could see rain falling elsewhere - like Blairmore, where my bestie lives, or even Kirn, which is closer. Waiting to see if a walk might end in a soaking, we lingered while I helped Himself to remember how to upload photos - to the desktop, to Flickr - until I could bear it no longer and we headed out, late again, to potter down to West Bay before dinner.

That's where tonight's blip comes from: looking down the Firth of Clyde towards Cumbrae, obviously in the middle of a distinct shower, with brighter sky to the south. The plants growing on the beach (cause of great indignation in some quarters) are burned brown by heat and drought, and the sea is millpond-calm. And it's not raining, and there's no thunder.

We listened to some beautiful plainsong singing over dinner (music by Hildegarde of Bingen, inter alios) which felt soothing and tranquil. Now (coming up to midnight) I can hear rain on the window; it still feels very warm and headache-inducing. Maybe overnight ... 

Title is yet another literary allusion. Pretentious? Moi?