No Picnic

Apparently, on Wednesday the Taliban said it was ready to declare a ceasefire in areas of Afghanistan under their control if they are hit by a coronavirus outbreak. Fekk me, this IS getting serious. Clearly more than a bit of flu if the Taliban declare a ceasefire. Mind you, they have form on ceasefires. 
I spent an unconscionable* amount of time becoming a zoom master, taking two novices through signing up to hosting sessions. At a distance, obvs. 
Then off via the Costcutter DHL drop off place on Inverleith Row. It’s like a typical asian grocers, piled high with everything, no room to walk round their racks, and then, through the back a tiny room of the most tremendous (and commensurately, pricey) wines. 
Back to the boat - hose pipe bits unpacked, masthead light wired up and tested. Just need to put it up the top of the mast now, obvs, again. 
Finally, a fillum, the SK’s choice so a bit of a brutal bit of dystopia, I suspected. Not at all. Black Sea, a thriller with Jude Law (speaking Scoattish!) and a submarine and nazi gold. The laugh out loud moment - they’re down at 60m swimming inside the sunken U-boat. The camera pans around the dark, water filled, skeleton strewn sleeping quarters, undisturbed for 70 years. Pinned (blu-tack?) on a locker - a perfect photo of…. good old Adolf! 


*not easy to spell. Or pronounce. But nice to use.