Angels with Bagpipes

I think perhaps this morning was the coldest one I have ever experienced travelling en route to Porty. It was -4°, feeling according to my phone like -9°.  I like to think my skirt and short socks schooldays (yes, it was that long ago) have stood me in good stead for bare legs under my Dry Robe. There is no denying it was a very cold 5minute dip and chilly re - dressing with fingers that didn’t feel connected to my body, but my  buses miraculously arrived at their bus stops at the same time as I did which just goes to show that silent prayer sometimes works.

Last night as I was closing the window blinds,  one in the living room fell to earth with a bang and without warning. I tried to put it back myself  but teetering on the window ledge fiddling with a fairly heavy blind  above my head is not something written on my employment contract and so help has been summoned. It may or may not arrive soon but meanwhile a bed sheet destined for the charity shop has been given a new role as a curtain. 

The domestic goddess has once more been extracated to try and deal with wooden floors showing a wealth of sand, grit and salt exposed to view by the sun streaming through the windows. 
 The sand escapes invisibly from all the towels and accessories that have spent time at the beach while the grit and salt is transferred via shoes  from the salted paths outside the house. I swept and vacuumed but never quite achieved perfection until the sun slipped west out of range and it all looked clean again. There are drawbacks to sunshine.
I passed this High street close on my walk to Princes Street and liked the red gate.  The Angels with Bagpipes is a restaurant above.