A Lodberrie

I really thought the gods were on my side as we strolled off the overnight ferry in Lerwick this morning. It was dry and balmy and although there was low mist on the hills, it didn't appear threatening as the sun tried hard to pierce the cloud. There was a chance that His Lordship wouldn't have grounds for complaint and this weekend would be a success.

How wrong.

We booked in at the Youth Hostel, with its reputation of being the best in Britain and got the key to our room. So far so good, and so, ever optimistic, we walked into town to watch all the yachts in the harbour getting ready for their race to Norway. That's when the rain started.

Not your Orkney drizzle, but the real McCoy with the streets turned into streams, my waterproof anorak failing to do its duty and my jeans acting like denim blotting paper. His Lordship, soaked through as well, retreated into silence behind his hood.
There seemed no escape from the deluge, it being early Sunday morning with shops shut, so we turned tail back to the hostel to dry off and reconsider our options.

The lovely out of the weather Museum at Hay's Dock it will be, after His Lordship has recovered his get up and go!