Yester Kirk, Gifford.

Despite much grumbling and negativity from His Lordship, my resident driver, I persuaded him to drive down to Gifford and Bara Wood to see the display of snowdrops there.
It seemed that the newly cleaned car, frisky with yesterday's service the price of a small mortgage, might not appreciate getting sullied on the muddy roads in that part of the world.
This for a car which has no problem battling the filth of potholed tracts south of Biggar every Wednesday, seemed more than a little illogical to me.

We fortified ourselves with hot drinks in the friendly little cafe under the shadow of the newly whitewashed Yester Kirk, before leaving the car parked in a clean spot to tramp through glaur and rutted tracks to see the vista of snowdrops stretching as far as the eye could see, carpeting the floor of Bara wood.

At the foot of the path lay the little lochan around which our cycling club used to sit to eat our sandwiches. If I shut my eyes, I could almost hear their voices carried on the wind soughing through the trees.

With the blips in the can, we headed back to Longniddry to stock up on sandwiches from the Feeding Station there, and park overlooking the sea to watch the wind surfers in action.
It was mercifully warm inside the car, but cold and blowing a gale outside.

There are no grumbles now we're home. HL enjoyed our jaunt after all, and the car is still clean, even if our boots are not.