Getting on with it ...

After all the emotional upheaval - to say nothing of the alarming drive through the rain and so on - it was back to normal service at church, where despite the absence of several regulars (we often have gaps at Cowal Games weekend because people have family staying) a visiting family remarked on the wonderful warm atmosphere in the congregation. I think the fact that we practically have to be thrown out by whoever is closing up shop shows how interested we are in talking to each other. And the singing was terrific today, with our tenor and baritone at the front and a recently-joined dark brown bass at the back and sundry other chaps totally changing the dynamic that used to be treble voice-dominated. Anyway, it was excellent. And there was a lovely card from our new Bishop and Sarah ...

We were so cold when we and Di got back to our house for the requisite, non-church strong coffee that we were all clutching our cups over a full-flame gas fire, but after that we relaxed and I found myself drifting off to sleep over the Sunday paper. However, the realisation that Himself had snuck off to do some organising of holiday stuff galvanised me to organise some of my packing, so that the spare bed wasn't totally covered in my garments. Trouble is, it's been so long since I had a holiday where there was a chance of being warm that I've forgotten what I wear - and there are two tops bought in the spring that have never seen the light of day all "summer". Very sad. Anyway, there is now a stack of packing cubes looking businesslike ... Have you noticed the sudden rush online of adverts for packing cubes? Apart from their claims to compress garments with a double closure, I can see little difference from the ones I've used for so long that I can't remember when I got them. 

By late afternoon we were fed up being indoors (we're so predictable) and went out in the deepening gloom to walk along the seafront. I took the above photo because I liked the juxtaposition of the flying boat - a regular along the Firth at this time of day - with the Gantocks light; it makes me think of something out of John Buchan. We had an extraordinary conversation with an ex-military chap cutting a hedge whose vocabulary relied strongly on an expletive beginning with f  - don't ask me how it got started, but it ended with midges, disturbed by his hedge-cutting. 

Summer seems to have ended now; it was almost dark while we were at dinner and I've run out of decent candles for the window-sill. I cheered the table up with a nice gin bottle full of lights (we drank the gin first though not tonight). It's an extra for now.

In the light (!) of the label, you might like to know that our quartet is called The St Maura singers ...