Woke feeling utterly rubbish; but no time to stop and dwell; it's me and the elder one today. He arrives at 8.30; we saunter in, toast, chat, muck about.

We eventually drift off to Morrisons for essential supplies (salami) and have sharp lunch. I'm a bit obsessive about Shrubhill and we drive up to take a look; as expected the ginormous Cigs tag has bitten the dust; we watch the action for a little while and then back to the 'hood, grab the bikes and head for Cramond Island. The tide is well up and I figure we may not make it out; especially with a tail wind that has us zipping along past the dog walkers, joggers, pram pushers, kite flyers...

Tom has always had a fear of Cramond Island and the slowly receding tide does nothing to alleviate this; he asks about 27 times in 3 minutes what will happen if the tide turns. I reassure him it's fine and we're the first across the causeway; so we got slightly wet feet, but hey... The feeling of elation he got when there, he didn't want to leave. I'm wondering if we should camp there soon; overnight, our own desert island? We'll see.

And home, slowly into a steady breeze. Feed / bath / TdF highlights, he's gone to bed full up and smiling, wearily.

"Touching father / son shot as they contemplate professional help in the form of grief counselling to aid the grieving process as the sad demise of Shrubhill Cigs tag strikes home"