What an RSA

Even though the snow on the village hill suggested that it would be futile to try to get to work (or at least that a plausible and irrefutable case could be made for not going) I find half-hearted failure more comforting to the soul than outright lying. As it turned out, the buses and trains were all cheerfully chugging their way through the breadcrumb coating on the roads and I got to Edinburgh at the normal time.

I was also in the unusual position of being in possession of my Gorillapod, having found the wee bit that screws to the camera in the pocket of a pair of shorts long lost on the difficult eastern approach to Clothes Mountain. As it turned out, it was only slightly better than useless, collapsing under the combined weight of my 7D and 24-105mm lens, although still providing better than nothing support in its collapsed state. I'm reliably informed that Santa is already on the case. Although I'm also told that one of Santa's thieving bastard elves has buggered off with a nice sun sniper strap intended for my stocking of less than huge surprises seeing as I compiled the list in the first place, which I hope will be a huge disappointment when the package is opened. Fucker.

By lunchtime, Scotrail's website was reporting widespread cancellations on the Fife circle so I immediately bailed out, having demonstrated willingness and taken my snap and preferring the certain comfort of my sofa-desk to the prospect of many hours crawling through the snow on an over-crowded later-commuter train or bus. While I was here a man came and fixed the underfloor heating, wasting no opportunity to point out what a complete arse the builders had made of the original installation. No surprises there. Now the floors are comfortably warm which will be useful when there's some dough needing proved or there's a tent to dry. Playing children will also like it. As will visiting parents when there's no fire burning.