Of not being able to say no ...

We had to read the Essays of Francis Bacon at school, and once I got over the strangeness of them I grew rather keen - which is why I've used his form of title ("Of Death", "Of Revenge" and so on - these two are still sufficiently in my memory for me to recall their opening lines). Anyway, that was me today; if I were to write a Baconesque essay I might begin something like ..."The aged fear inactivity, for it seemeth to waste their remaining years ..."

So it was out in the cold of ten o'clock, puffa coat and warm cardi not quite cutting it either outside or within the church, where a new draught which may just have been the densely cold air from the tower seemed to sweep past my face where I sit in the front pew to make sure the organist stays alert. I'm always glad I've made it there, and always glad to share laughs and seriousness, often in the same sentence, with my fellow-worshippers afterwards. We were delighted to see our friend from Burkina Faso back again - after he was trapped here by lockdown, we feared he might not be able to return, but there he was in his big orange puffer jacket that he keeps especially for Scotland; I can't imagine how he copes with the sudden change in temperature. I sang a duet with Himself at the communion, and I was leading Intercessions today which J referred to by playing as a voluntary the melody he wrote for the words with which I opened and closed them. Satisfying for me - and for friend Di, who recognised the tune and the words.

She came down as usual for coffee with us afterwards, and I distinctly remember saying as she left that I didn't think I'd be going out again now that I'd warmed up... I lied. Or changed my mind, or something. Because just after 3pm we were off again, driving down the road towards the sunset behind the Arran hills (Blipped - taken on the road through Innellan just as the last of the sun slipped down from our sight.) We didn't walk far, as it was getting dark the moment we were away from that blazing sky and the road, though gritted, had moments of ice - just a quick bash up the hill to the tall trees, then down past a field of Canada geese to the Ardyne shore road where another bunch of geese was making an unholy racket  and an even louder noise when they took off in formation and wheeled over their fellows.  Once more we felt we were on a lit stage, with the encroaching darkness all around ...

We tore ourselves away and came home to thaw out. I cooked a spiced lamb casserole, did my physio exercises and did enough Italian to keep me from demotion. Later, I found I was so tired I couldn't sit still - and what am I doing? 

Sitting in the cold study writing this interminable blip, that's what. 'Night!