Blighted

Thursday. 

A real lockdown day. It rained all day, which added to the angst - although of course we're supposed to Stay At Home anyway. 

My interactions with the world outside were limited. None, in fact, unless you count a text from my friend Derek about his ingrowing toenail. I can do some of that new fangled virtue-signalling, and boast about 100% compliance with the First Minister's requirements. 

It was grim. 

I forced myself out for a walk in the rain just before dark. Not perfect Blipping time. It is West Wemyss - the village for a change, instead of the shore or the harbour. 

It is a strange village - half dilapidated and half gentrified. It is blighted by being  owned mostly by the local Lord Something or Other, who manages its decline quite assiduously. 

The clocktower is symbolic of that - a focal point and quite an attractive structure, but the clock has been broken for years.