Vanity, vanity ...

No, not the hills of Arran, nor the wonderful blues of the sea and the sky - these are not ephemeral, though the weather may seem so. But you must forgive the aftermath of my preaching at church this morning, on the grim reading from Ecclesiastes ("Vanity, vanity, all is vanity" says the Preacher) and the gospel about the rich man who was joyful about having all his grain stashed away till God spoke and told him "Thou fool - this night thy soul will be required of thee." No, we didn't use the Authorised Version of the Bible, but I always think of these bits in thundering Elizabethan English - and as I thought that I wondered about the vanity of preferring to think of religion of being solely for that age ...

You can tell I felt quite carried away. Dangerous, when you're up there - can make you forget where you're going - but I didn't, apparently.

Our next door neighbour is celebrating "a big birthday" today, and their garden is full of people, as is their house - a house which seems a bit like the Tardis, bigger on the inside than mine, though they are identical. We escaped down to Toward for a walk that went on for longer than we intended, for the weather was perfect and everything sparkled under the sun. Now I'm home and writing this just as the dinner comes to fruition - so I must away, because buzzers are signifying that all is now ready...