Some craven scruple

It's just gone midnight; the bird clock in the study has hooted its midnight owl and the moon has not long risen above Gourock in a vivid red sickle, though it's now vanished behind a cloud that seems to be the forerunner of the change in our weather; there certainly was barely a cloud in the sky all day. Just gone midnight and I'm glumly contemplating the chance that our flying visit to Edinburgh tomorrow to attend the grandchildren's carol service may not happen, in the light of a threatening weather forecast - and yes, sufficient unto the day and yes, that's what I'm referring* to in the title of this blip. 

I was out early in the heavy frost to do the shopping; Himself was out defrosting the car even earlier, because the current one doesn't have the knitting (ie an element) in the front windscreen that the last car had; it spoiled photos taken from the passenger seat but was marvellous on a cold morning. And even though I was early, I had to wait in a queue of trolleys because Morrison's are either so short-staffed that they could only man (woman) one checkout or it's policy to cut down on staff by making us do all the work. (Grump, grump)

After coffee, we decided it was too lovely outside not to take advantage of it, so we combined a necessary errand with a walk along the promenade, which I've never before seen frosted over in places. The collage shows the view in each direction: the larger photo is looking south, where there seems to be a line of cloud south of Arran and where a lone fellow-walker is the only person in sight. The top right is looking north, back to the town over the West Bay; the bottom right shows the tramlines of frost left where the railings over the beach have cast their shadow, and beyond it the Yachtsman cafe which has had many incarnations over the years. 

The afternoon was a bit of a waste of time, as far as I was concerned - I did some Italian but otherwise footered (predictive text doesn't like that word) on the computer for far too long. And the day ended with the unlovely presence on Question Time of Jacob ReSmog ... and so to bed.

* "Some craven scruple of thinking too precisely on th'event" (meaning outcome) : Hamlet.