Back to school

When I was at secondary school (we're talking distant past here, not my career) we didn't give up the subjects we weren't taking at Higher until the end of third year, when we were awarded the Third Year Certificate. Presumably that would be the final qualification gained by 15 year old school leavers, though I wasn't aware of many people I knew doing this as I was at a relatively high-flying selective school. One of the subjects I scored well in was Art, but I couldn't carry on with it along with all the other subjects I needed so that was that.

Today I found myself learning the basics of using water colours, thanks to my friend Paddy, creator of beautiful paintings and illustrator of my poetry collection. Three of us sat round her front room painting; I was the dear absolute beginner and spent my time learning about mixing colours and the magical effects of water on paint. I have what I suspect is an ambitious landscape in my sights, but that'll take time. Meanwhile, it was lovely to be learning again, and with a teacher of immense patience and cups of coffee.

Otherwise today I spent more time than I wanted to haranguing a feckless woman at my bank's call centre about why electronic transfer of funds (using BACS) should apparently take as long as using a carrier pigeon, or perhaps a stage coach.(She couldn't' help, but giggled nervously at my analogies.) I planted some seeds and applied some Lawn Rescue to the grass where the patio-building left it rather bald, and I sat in the sun with the paper and tried not to listen to the neighbours'  conversation through the hedge. We went for a short walk before dinner and managed not to be caught in the rain that had been loitering over the Holy Loch.

Blipping the first bit of paper I was practising on this morning. You can tell I have a long way to go ...