fish in a barrel

BAH. That thing where you type for ages then press "submit" only for the form to lose everything gets quite irritating at times. I shall re-type it all as best as I can remember.

Lovely morning this morning. One of those nice sunshine-mitigated-slightly-by-haze days where everything looks cool when not affected by camera-shake or when not bobbing in the slight breeze and thus drifting in and out of focus just to be spiteful because I thought I didn't need to take my tripod. Got plenty of pictures of gorse flowers instead. Not that I was running out of them or anything. A rare spot besides Dunsapie Loch were the little park ranger people, one of whom actually appeared to be collecting litter with one of those grasping pole things. I coincidentally bumped into my upstairs-but-one neighbour on that little spine between the roundabout and St. Leonard's Bank where she was sticking all the beer-detritus which had collected round the bench in the bin. Although it is possible that the cleaning-up would have continued along this bit it is more likely to have been highly unlikely despite the greater need for cleaning up thanks to the dogs whose owners think letting their dog shit all over a narrow path along which I frequently walk at night is a fun idea.

Popped to the Pixar exhibition at the museum after breakfast. Probably worth going to bu not quite worth the full price. Hopefully there will be sufficient exhibitions within the next twelve months to make the friend-of-the-museum ticket worth it.

As well as rationing my night-time-streetlight-architecture-gloom postings I'll have to limit the number of people-doing-silly-things in the Meadows or other popular public afternoon-sitting places now that the weather permits both sitting-about and the photograhic capture thereof. We had barely sat down after trundling there with a coffee and muffin after the museum before a troupe of weirdoes led by the wee guy with the trying-too-hard beard turned up and started doing things which looked suspiciously like improvisational theatrical warm-up stuff. My theory was that the wee guy (or "master guru" as he probably made them call him) had rung round every other male member this morning to tell them it was cancelled so that he got to order the women about all by himself ("Don't look at people. Keep moving. That's it. Don't look at people.") except for the potential audience of three thousand relaxing people. I couldn't be bothered to edge anticlockwise round them to get a tighter-framed shot so the bloke with the legs and his be-sockèd wife are the title blip instead.