The high life

So - another health-related moan, or politics? Or climate change activists? Or just revert to being a linear diarist? Hmm. We both made it to church today, despite fears to the contrary - Himself was able to play, but vanished to the car immediately after the service. I sang, a bit. But I was cheered to find someone else who'd had her booster yesterday at the same clinic as I'd visited: she was complaining of feeling far from all right, and somehow the shared symptoms made them dwindle somewhat. (In my case, this time, a sore arm and general malaise, greatly helped by Paracetamol). I'm always cheered up by church, contrary to the Presbyterian expectations of my childhood, and collapsed over my strong coffee afterwards in reasonable fettle.

Much later, after a real old-lady sleep with the Observer in front of the fire, we decided we needed some exercise if we were not to fester totally. It was just a short toddle through little back streets down to the West Bay promenade, and back along the quiet shore towards the town. The sky was a delicate pink, and a crow flew elegantly above our heads as if poised to pick us up. The photo above is of the Argyll Hotel, one of the old buildings that features in many postcards of the town from the beginning of last century. This area was tarted up in recent years, with these lights that change colour and which were actually red when I took this - funny how it barely shows. There was not a soul - just the odd car, and the suggestion that someone might appear looking for a fish supper. By this time we were so intent on getting home to dinner that we had no energy to be depressed, but dusk in Dunoon is not like dusk in downtown Glasgow!

I'm involved in an interesting discussion on Facebook about Greta Thunberg at the moment - it's arousing quite a bit of acrimony. You'll be glad to hear I'm remaining irritatingly uncommitted - in print, at least ...