Tents at dawn

RIGHT HERE AND NOW, as an old friend used to say, we are in the fluid present, where clear-sightedness never guarantees perfect vision.

I awoke at 5, the dawn chorus smothered by amplified music. The dance floor was empty, an untended computer cycling endlessly through an uninspiring playlist. I turn it off and am immediately challenged. I prevail.

In the walled garden, twenty or so are sitting around the fire listening to a more reasonably sized sound system. It looks like fun, but I don't join them.

I take Megan to the 6:50 bus in Dolphinton. She has her first full day of crèpe making with Mutley's at the Meadows festival. Back home the youth gradually pack up and ship out. Some tidying is done and some naps are taken. The last of them are gone by teatime, including Angus!

Bill and Janette come round for tea. I have six fillets of plaice that I got from the reduced section of Morrisons yesterday. I rustle up an improvised banquet using the paltry remnants of the vegetable rack and the bottom of the fridge. Spring onions replace shallots, celery stands in for asparagus. Dessert is freshly picked strawberries.

Nick arrives with Anna-Maria's dog, as we're finishing. Then it's time to collect Megan from the bus. She has had a good day, and enjoys the remaining piece of plaice.

Nick and I sip whisky and, as the night draws to a close, I let Frank Zappa's Muffin Man lull me to sleep. In the 'fluid present' there may be no perfect vision, but there is contentment to be had.