Barra

What a spell of weather we're having. On the way south from Inverness, the rivers were low, and the water as dark as your pee when you're seriously dehydrated. And the maw's garden is turning into a riot of plants. Mostly horsetails which seem to do rather well: I must say I rather like it. Though the faither would be turning in his grave if he could see it of course. How I used to enjoy him birling me about in that barrow.
The sun is still out, the fireplace men have come and gone and I've cleaned up all their stoor. And it's a Wednesday. I do think a trip to the Diggers could be in order. As a French chap on trip advisor wrote of the place, Et une carte de Whiskeys simplement fabuleux.
Just try and avoid the dark dark pee-pee.