Eleven, Eleven, Eleven.....

....fateful numbers. My great grandfather's brother was killed just a few days before the signing of the armistice on the 11th November 1918. As we stood reflecting on the armistice, I wondered how many young people had passed through Bonaly Scout Centre, only to end-up dead on a foreign battle field....too many I fear.

I also wondered what was occupying the minds of the assembled young people from Fettes College, the 11th Broughton Scouts and the 187th Brownies, as our Group Scout Leader called for 2 minutes silence and then read a most poignant poem. I suspect this generation is too far removed from 'world wars' to appreciate what they mean, but every child present has lived at a time when we've waged Mr Blair's wars. I don't hate many people, but I reserve a special place for Blair.......and for Thatcher, of course.

Home now and our reconstruction project is nearing completion; the kitchen is looking fantastic and the floor is......well, present. That's a good thing after discovering dry rot.