A little bit of shortie

Another dismal day of rain, drizzle and mizzle.

I apologised to the potted on drooping basil plants who are in shock (just imagine how those poor Romans on Hadrian’s wall felt), sorted home insurance, baked bread (listening to Oliver Burkeman) and went to do a quick raid on Aldi before heading to the lake for a swim in the mizzle, with low swooping house martins for company and then another litter pick (broken bottles and unmentionables).

Finished off gazing out across the lake with a cuppa and ‘a little bit of shortie’. I can never eat shortbread now without remembering our honeymoon cycle from the campsite on Coigach. It was baking hot and we stopped at a beautiful cottage garden that offered tea. Sitting outside we looked at each other and smiled as the gentle, softly spoken voice of the lady called out from inside the kitchen, ‘would you like a little bit of shortie?’ It became one of those simplest of shared memories that form the unique fingerprint of a union of two souls.