Easter Sunday

This doorway is an illusion, but as we passed it in a window display of a shop attached to a church at Tollcross today, it seemed a rather fetching Spring like illusion, but reinforcing at the same time the Easter message of a new beginning.

The house is unusually quiet. I can almost hear the clock ticking. My companionable Classic FM has not been switched on because I have been sitting at the dining room table reading the cumbersome Sunday papers spread out before me, and trying to make sense of the shambles the world is in at the moment.

The whole debacle makes me want to go to some remote island out of touch with current affairs and not have to listen to dangerous testosterone loaded leaders rattling their cages. FairIsle might be a good choice. I could have chickens and a cow and knit beautiful jumpers. I could be at one with nature and hopefully out of range of danger.

We humans like to think we are so much more advanced than animals, but in reality our basic instincts come to the fore when alpha males meet alpha males.