Fridge door

Went up to the farmers market this morning, but I didn't see anything that prompted me to get the camera out - but that was OK, since we were going across to Rosyth this evening for what promised to be a great 70th birthday party and I would surely find something to snap on the way there or at the 'do'.

Unfortunately we only made it as far as Waverley station before Mr H had to admit defeat and turn back, due to him not only having put his lower back out of kilter but also having an extremely painful wisdom tooth. He had to ring up our pals and make our apologies. Dammit, I'd even gone to the extent of ironing something to wear.....

So we came home, DH in pain but both of us disappointed and blip-less. I did think of blipping a black cat in a dark room but CanCarrier had beaten me to it. So I turned to the fridge (well, there was a bottle of Cava in it) and noticed the picture I'd torn out of the Guardian this week. Poor wee Nick, a newly hatched kiwi, with an expression that suggests horror at the realisation that he's no longer cosy in his snug eggshell. Or perhaps horrified by the size of his own feet.

Edit: it turned out to be sparkling pinot noir from Oz rather than Cava, but tant pis. As well as toasting Roy in absentia, we also raised our glasses to John W who was in the last performance of Carousel this evening, which may turn out to be his last ever stage performance after sixty or more years. It must have been an emotional night. Here's to you, Silver Fox!