Misty Roslin.

I was up quite early (for me) this morning, put the porage on the stove, as normal, then noticed the mist. Grabbed camera, grabbed a Blip and, by the time the porage was cooked, the sun had burnt the mist off. I can’t help feeling that I’ve totally failed to do the picture justice, but then again, I suspect that it is neither possible nor worth the effort of doing it justice.
 
An hour or so later, I met Kaybee at an eight way interclub photographic competition a few hundred yards away, to find that he had arrived early to take pictures of our mist shrouded chapel but, since he arrived while I was enjoying my portion of porage, he had arrived too late. He still managed to take some respectable pictures of the chapel and its surroundings.
 
As far as my club was concerned, the competition was a disaster, with us finishing a well-deserved eighth out of eight, while Kaybee’s was a respectable second. I will, of course, get the blame as I was our club’s recorder; I did offer the result sheet to our secretary to file but was curtly told to bin it.
 
Afterwards, Kaybee and myself spent a pleasant half hour at the local hostelry drinking coffee and eating biscuits; we couldn’t hang about for too long as the place was fully booked for Mothers’ Day celebrations. A tradition that, according to Wikipedia, the Christian world used as a celebration of the mother church until reverting to the pre-Christian, pagan practice of honouring mothers. It was nice that Jnr phoned early this morning to honour his mother.