Fourteen Up

Fourteen years; michty me. And it coincided with minky day so I should have tried harder to get a suitable photo of the wee thing. As it was we had a great morning along at something called “Joy Tots” in Ferry Road, doing a little art class. And we got there and back on the bus without too much drama - she’s going through a phase of being distressed by the wind (as her mother did) - a bad city to live in then, and a bad day to be out in it.
Later, the SK took over and delicious smells were soon wafting from the kitchen while I caught up on other things. Was that really Ms Sturgeon in front of the covid enquiry or has she been replaced by an inferior model which blubbers and weeps? How very odd.
I also sent a reply off to a young woman (a second cousin twice removed!) who had got my name from some distant relative - she was wanting to know more about her great-grandad! How old am I that I should know such things? Luckily I did indeed know as my Dad was very close to him and told me many tales, despite him having died a few weeks from the end of WW2 in North Germany. He had attempted to start an abandoned motor bike which had been boobytrapped. A sad little tale. I sent a few photos over too.
And then - off to the Diggers, where MrT and MrW and McC the elder joined me. Three of our number are off in sunny climes, the barsts.

So, yes, 14 years, so thanks are due to those of you who read and comment of course, and everyone else, and those blip people and the bus driver who steered me home, and the SK who paused Peston and left her snug abode to come and rendezvous with me. Love and kisses. xxxx