And in the rectangular window ...

What was the name of that programme my boys watched when they were wee? There were three windows, and the cameral panned through a different one each day ... 

This morning, having slept like the dead (thanks, codeine!) I was dragging myself to get ready to go out for a dental appointment when I looked up and saw this huge shadow sliding up the Firth in the morning mist that was just beginning to lift. HMS Prince of Wales isn't a bonny ship, but she's certainly an imposing one - I've included an extra showing her as she emerged into the sun that was beginning to break through on her way to her berth. 

The visit to the dentist was thorough and efficient - and I was sad to realise that the delightful woman who poked and analysed and did the x-rays won't be there on my next checkup because she lives in Glasgow and the ferries have been so unreliable this winter. (I don't know if I've mentioned that even Western Ferries, usually only delayed or halted by extreme storms, have been held up by very low tides, either having to wait for the water to rise or taking only half loads so that they don't run aground at low tide.) And the dental nurse turned out to have been in #2 son's class at school ...

On the way home I popped in to the opticians to report on my recent visit to the consultant, then staggered up the hill for the coffee I'd been desperate for - though I have to confess it seemed daft to drink strong coffee over my newly-cleaned teeth! 

Most of the afternoon went on the kind of necessary jobs I usually would complete in the morning. I emptied the peely bin into the compost heap and cleaned it for the first time in months (sluttish, I know) as well as taking out the doormat and brushing it and scrubbing unidentifiable gunge off the floor at the main pedal bin. I cleaned the sink and the chrome basket inside it, and wiped away coffee stains in the corner where I make the stuff. Then I had a stint on the computer - finished off (I think) Sunday's sermon and wrote a commentary on one of my poems that students at the University of Salerno are translating into Italian - a couple of them wrote to me for elucidation. I think translating poetry into an acceptable equivalent poem is one of the hardest things in language - it's a great course for universities to provide. 

After that my back was screaming gently again, so the pair of us went out for an insane walk in the grey drizzle (it was after 5pm by now) round the West Bay and back into town to pick up things from Morrison's that I'd forgotten yesterday when I didn't take my list with me. We felt insanely furtive stuffing bags of pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds and soft brown sugar into our poachers' pockets (it was an impulse  - didn't have a bag) but no-body tried to stop us. ( I had paid, by the way - my watch is always with me!).

The Orange One (Orange Utang?) is a nightmare, is he not? He just opens his mouth - how does anyone ever predict what's going to come out of it? The world order feels more unstable with every passing day. 

This day, however, has indeed passed. Time to go ...