Feare The Burglar Alarm

If my late mother was trying to communicate with me from beyond the grave on my birthday, by setting the burglar alarm ringing inside the house at 5:30am, then she was having a strop this morning at 3:45 am when the whole shebang went mad inside and outside the flat with ringing and shrieking alarms. No amount of pushing buttons by His Lordship or me shut her up, she was really venting her rage.
Finally she was silenced by a judicious kick in the shins from the concierge and now we are awaiting the arrival of the ADT psychiatrist who will hopefully commit her to a secure unit.

The waiting in has meant the hills of Biggar are not alive today with the sound of HL's singing as he tramps along with his sandwiches, free from the cares of the world.
The Coulter sheep may regard this as a good thing.

This the view over to Fife from Lady Stair's Close where the Writers Museum is situated, dedicated to Robert Burns, Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson.