On a wet day

It's not often I've felt my day so circumscribed by the rain, but today that played a big part in the kind of day I had - a tedious, old lady sort of day.  We did get some things done that probably would have languished had I been bounding around in sunshine - we made not one but two trips down the steep hill to Argyll Street (and therefore back up it) to buy first a replacement halogen-type fire for the study and then an alarm clock for Himself, who threw his on the floor this morning as he was putting it off. We also looked round the only remaining clothes-selling shop in town, but I resisted buying yet another fleece top. It just needs to be chilly and/or dank and I'm tempted by the comforting hug of a new fleece ...

After lunch and a long read among the various discussions of experts on the Palestine/Israel issue, Himself announced that he was going to the church to practise. Did I want to come too and go over a Communion piece for tomorrow? The bribe came in the chance of a lift to pick up flour and washing up liquid from the Health Store (it was still raining determinedly). And that's why once more I found myself in the chilly dankness of the empty church, all clean and ready for tomorrow but cold, so cold, even though the temperature had risen. (It's 10ºc at midnight). We sang through one piece and rejected it - it felt too laborious for a communion piece - and then I had an idea for one that seemed more suitable for the serious times we live in. 

In other, cheering news, my youngest grandchild texted to say she'd come top of her class in English, making me feel properly proud. They seem to find out by text messages from their teacher ...

Collage of the church this afternoon: top has Himself playing the organ in his woolly hat, then one taken as we were putting out the lights (I rather like the drama of darkness and light) and one taken through the arch of the doorway of the wet dusk outside.