Carboot

Woken up by hundreds of sheep this morning. The caravan walls are so thin that it felt like I had woken up within the herd itself. I tried to roll over and shut the noise out but couldn't. I literally wanted to lob a grenade outside the window. Unfortunately, due to firearm law restrictions, I can't seem to get my hands on a grenade. It's health and safety gone mad!

There was a car-boot sale on today at Muir of Ord in aid of charity. We met my grandparents there. Grandad's got a good eye for collectibles and uses his Lancashire dialect (I stress dialect here, because it's beyond accent) to push a mean bargain. It's interesting watching him haggle with some of the born-and-bred Highlanders. Their dialects are so far apart that each person ends up just guessing what the other person says. It's strange for me, because I understand both accents, bu,t between the dealer and the buyer, often words get lost.

I'm a bit of a sucker for car-boot sales because you never know when you might stumble across an old film camera. I've always dreamed of finding a Leica buried amongst clutter at stall owned by someone who doesn't know it's value.

This guy in the picture was selling all sorts of stuff, from binoculars to box brownies. I asked for his picture because I like the juxtaposed positions of him and his terrier. He kindly let me. I now have internet back too, obviously, so I am a much happier chap.