A Perfect Sunday

A perfect Sunday. Beautiful weather, but no rush in the morning. Toasted bagel and coffee in front of Andrew Marr. Don't actually listen to him unless there's someone interesting on, as I'm blipping and reading the Sunday papers.

What do you want to do on a nice Sunday? Have a wee scenic drive, a wee scenic walk, some culture, a pub lunch (with no muzak if possible) and a blip of two shags drying their wings in the sunset. Check. All but the last one.

We went to Dirleton Castle, to use our new Historic Scotland cards. Disappointingly, there was nobody at the office, but the sign said just come on in, the steward was busy elsewhere. I wanted to show my new card! Fortunately, there was someone there on the way out, so I was able to use it.

It's a brilliant wee ruin of a castle. One of the owners, Lord Ruthven, was implicated in the murder of David Riccio, Mary Queen of Scots' private secretary.

Also in Dirleton is a great wee pub. We went for lunch after our wander and were not disappointed. JR had the roast beef, and declared that it was £10 better than the Ratho roast. Although she only got two wee roast spuds, and couldn't go up for seconds. I stuck with fish and chips. We managed to forgo puddings, although that was before we saw the famous sticky toffee pudding coming out to the next table... Maybe just as well.

On the way home, it was such a lovely evening we stopped at the beach. Not a breathe of wind, not even cold yet, about 4.30pm. A perfect night for all those bonfires. I hung about there for ages, waiting for both shags to hang their arms feathers out to dry. No luck.