Saturday

We slept in today. Partly, I think, it was because I couldn't quite get to sleep until I knew my travelling family had arrived - I had my phone on "do not disturb", but the screen lit up briefly at 2am when they pinged me to say they were home. I'm really happy that their holiday so well justified all the palaver they had to get away. Anyway, my late start seemed to result in my spending the whole morning in cleaning activities - two loads of washing because the forecast had said "dry" (it wasn't, quite, but it more or less worked out), the caddy from the en-suite shower, followed later by the shower cabinet in its entirety. What's with that pink mildew stuff? 

That actually took me into the afternoon, and it was after 4pm when I grumpily set off to march up Glen Massan. I've not been up there for several weeks - a combination of hot weather, when I prefer to be near the sea, and Himself's pulled ligaments or whatever it is that keeps making their presence felt when we've just walked up a hill or rather further than a mere potter. This glen is never a mere potter, as it has three steep pitches on the road - I think of them as the First, Second and Third Cataracts, like the Nile, because each hill is marked by a corresponding waterfall in the gorge. Our absence was underlined by the height of the young conifer plantation - the trees were about 4.5 ' last time, and now grow way above my head - and the massive size of the bracken, which was also far taller than me. The rowans are turning - berries not quite red, but glowing - and the heather is purple; the scents were glorious; it was extremely peaceful.

All through dinner I could see the moon moving across my field of vision, so I popped out into the garden before going to sit down. I've chosen the first photo I took for my blip, as the second one looks fine on Instagram but doesn't take the bigger size well. There was a departing bird in it, an elegant black line on the pale sky.

And that was it, really. We seem to be going to sing the parts of the mass setting tomorrow, but with masks on; I think I may not be doing this as I find it ruinous on the voice to sing in a miasma of carbon dioxide. The single hymn at the end of the service was bad enough. I can't bear it when people enthuse about how lovely it is to sing again, even in a mask. Maybe they don't really breathe ...

Breathes deeply and goes to bed.