No fishing

I was so determined to get up and out shopping this morning before breakfast that I was halfway around Morrison's (about whose financial troubles I read over lunch) before I realised just how tired I still was. I managed to convince myself that breakfast ... and coffee ...would sort me out, but by late morning I recognised the horrid truth that days of shared emotion, socialising and vigorous exercise afterwards have their inevitable payback. I guess I'm not thirty any more.

I did manage to make some rather worthy soup with the stock from a chicken carcass and some carrots and parsnips I found in the fridge; I shoved in an onion and some garlic and a couple of rashers of bacon for good measure and sautéed them all with some spice mix that I'd picked up while shopping (yes, I paid for it) which claims to be Persian. Jolly good anyway. Then I dragged Himself out of his chair and out into the grey afternoon to go for a short walk (2 miles exactly) round the strange flat land at the lower end of Loch Eck. There has been farming here for a long time, evidenced by a ford over the Eachaig just to the left of the bridge in the photo - it's quite a sizeable river and the ford must've been quite an experience in winter. You can still see the cobbled approach on the side I'm standing on here. We walked along the river to the right, round the back of Benmore Gardens and back through the gardens to where we'd left the car at the Uig Hall. It's a pleasant walk - and it was the first time I can remember walking there with absolutely no water in the deep puddles. 

We're living in quite an unsettling time in Scotland right now - I feel very distanced from the Westminster crowd, but the changes at the heart of our government, though inevitable, leave a strange feeling of impermanence. But I'm still too tired to deal with that, so I'm going to stick my head in the sand and go to bed. 

No, my bed is not full of sand...

Thanks to all who starred my post from yesterday.