On the Lockdown trail

This has been another stupid day of trying to fit more in than I had the energy to cope with, beginning with the pre-breakfast shopping in the absurd mess that is Morrison's these days (I used to think it was quite a good supermarket: no more!), going on through cooking a variant on Greek beans (I tried it with big juicy chickpeas instead - think it's going to be rather good when I retrieve it from the freezer), completing and ordering a calendar, and having the inevitable walk before packing for the weekend...

And the insane walk reminded me of lockdown. If you've been with this journal for a bit you may remember that I counted myself lucky to have a hillwalking area that I could reach on foot from my house. We walked in these hills so often in that unspeakable time that (a)we wore out our knees and (b) I became totally sick of the track and wanted to avoid it. As a result, we've not been back since - but today, as the mist decided whether or not it wanted to be drizzle, we headed out of our back door and up the road.

It has always seemed to me amazing that even living just above Dunoon's main street we have this network of hill paths only 10 minutes' walk away from our door. Today we met only one other person - a dog-walker - and could have been miles from civilisation except that when the trees opened out we could see the Firth and the town below us. The view in the blip was taken on the way down; you can see the spire of St John's church which is at the end of our road, and a white sail on the pink sea, the sky above lit with light from some sunset gleam somewhere behind me. 

It was actually rather lovely, though my knees are feeling distinctly creaky now and I found packing before dinner the last straw. I think I need to manage my life better. But as the man who delivers our fish said today to Himself: "It's good to be busy, surely? Better than just sitting?"

And I suppose he's right.