Chancelot Mill

Today was my yearly m.o.t and blood letting appointment with the practice nurse at the doctor's surgery.
After due input into a computer of data gained from what seemed quite an impressive no of phials of good rich red stuff, the doctor will be able to tell me next week whether or not I have any chance of living for another few years.

It all seemed to go well and there were no sharp intakes of breath by the nurse when she weighed me or took my blood pressure: much improved since last year she said, thanks I imagine, to my self denial on the food front and the penance of extra gym visits.

Later, we rode pole position on a trusty 47 Lothian bus to the northern policies at Granton to hand over the Muscat bound Christmas presents to a family member travelling there next week, thereby saving some postage and allowing me to check them off the list of things to do.

While down in that airt, I took the opportunity to blip the solid shapes of Chancelot Mill.