Illusive Rainbows...

WonderA, seeing that the curtains were still drawn, kicked me out of bed, demanding porridge and coffee.
Fair enough.
Later, she high-tailed it to Glasgow to party there, leaving me to my own inadequate, low-res devices.
I shopped for supper, went scavenging down by the railway sidings, next to Sir Harry Lauder Road (he was born in Porty 150 years ago you know) and braved the Pictish banter of the B&Q SawMaster before turning for home to catch the first of the Six Nations.
Later, supper prepared and wolfed I had a little time in the bath to muse over the day.
Unlike yesterday, it had at least been a day. Insubstantial, but just enough had been achieved to satisfy my need to appear useful.

All thanks to WonderA’s tough love.