Comfort eating and other pursuits ...

I realised last evening that it's been almost 11 weeks since I last had my hair cut. This may not seem a problem for someone with longer hair, but since about Christmas I've looked like Medusa - in my own eyes anyway. Today, however, was the day of reckoning and I made the trip over to Greenock for a cut short enough to see me through a week of that which shall not be mentioned lest I jinx it like all the others in the last two years ...

Another clear, chilly morning saw us on the Western Ferries again before 11am - I actually just made my appointment time by the skin of my teeth. The usual catching up with Michael as he snipped - there was no-one else in the salon at the time, so no hair-dryer noise in competition. By the time I was finished Tonino's next door had opened, Himself appeared from a quick trip to Tesco, and in we padded. The top right photo above is of today's choice - that's sriracha sauce on the top of the poached egg, and there's a slice of black pudding under it, on a spreading of nduja. Totally delicious on a cold day - and we treated ourselves to cannoli with our espressos afterwards. 

Thus fortified, we drove along to Port Glasgow and the shopping precinct there, where we bought some goodies in M&S as well as some thermals for Himself. Before returning to the car, I voted we take a look in a shop I'd never set foot in before, The Food Warehouse. I now realise that it's a relatively new operation (2014) by Iceland, and I was certainly struck by how different it was from the likes of Morrison's or Tesco. That's the left-hand photo - we took a wander round and ended up with some French bakery stuff and a packet of blueberries as I'd run out. It struck me as an incredible jumble of goods, and as having some incredible bargains. Rather fun - probably because I wasn't really shopping so much as being a shop tourist. 

By the time we were home we were both pretty tired and feeling the need of an easy dinner, which is the other photo in the collage - pasta with truffle pesto, with onion, garlic, mushrooms, a bit of a yellow pepper, some broad beans, parsley and a hearty grating of pecorino. It was perfect, though I say so myself ...

Now midnight has struck and I'm glazing over. Dunoon appears to be right on the line of the yellow warning of whatever horror awaits - to snow or not to snow? Should I worry about that, or about the possible annexation of Greenland's icy mountains instead? 

Rhetorical question.

The night is nailed to the sky with hard, bright stars. I know that line is not mine, but I cannot find the poem I think it's from. If anyone can find it, I'd be very grateful. Perhaps by Vernon Scannell?