A shiny blue day ...

Actually the photo I've chosen for today, of one of my go-to places which never fails to make me thankful for where I live, rather misrepresents the main thrust of today, which I had earmarked for some work in the garden. I'll get to that in a minute; meanwhile, see if you can spot the lone heron at the water's edge on the low-tide beach at the Ardyne, to the south of the Cowal peninsula ...

I had resolved to attend to two things this morning. I've just realised, 12 hours too late to do anything about it today, that I completely ignored the business of renewing my postal vote. We took it out years and years ago when we were going to be abroad at Election time, and jolly handy it's been too, though I miss the primitive excitement of walking round to the polling place with the sense of participation in democracy.

I did not, however, fail in my resolve to empty the pots on the patio that had failed this winter (the lesser of two thyme mini-bushes, and the unknown plant with the little purple and yellow daisy-type flowers) and renew the contents of the others, pulling out dead annuals and cheering up the compost before seeding them all with the cheap and cheerful plants that please me when I'm at the kitchen sink - nasturtiums, sweet peas - and tidying up the resulting mess. 

After lunch I became somewhat comatose after a morning standing in the full sun and dozed off, but eventually we got out for the obligatory walk, rather hindered in scope because my knee is still acting up and doesn't like being put off balance. When we went out, we realised that the cloud which we'd seen to the north of us on last night's weather forecast was now just fringing the north of Dunoon - and headed promptly south, to walk up the farm road in bright, warm sunshine and then along the shore path for a bit just because we'd not had quite enough and everyone else had gone home (all eight or so of them!). The sun gleamed on the wet sand, the birds sang in the nearby woodland, the heron stood magisterially surveying the vista of Bute across the sunlit water. I felt almost tempted to stick my hot feet in the sea, but was deterred by the fact that my preferred path down to the sand had sort of collapsed and become rather treacherous - I don't think my knee would've liked it at all. 

We drove up the road into the greyness which had now covered the town, but by the time we sat down to dinner the grey had once more receded without any perceptible effect on us. We had more of the Christmas pud for dessert before staggering upstairs to attend online Compline in the study. And then, I'm afraid, I feel soundly asleep and saw only some of the News at Ten. Clear sign of decrepitude, I'd say ...