My Boys

I've said this before, oh for the life of a well loved cat, or boy. They specialise in giving lovings. And sometimes dead things, or nearly dead things. Not Sam. He neither catches nor kills mice, as far as I'm aware. But he gives good hugs.

Trip up to Peterhead for work in glorious sunshine, blue sky, harvest gold fields, cheery wave from bearded deckchaired Yes Hub man, toppled lorry at a roundabout shedding its load of beautifully coloured autumn leaves rippling in waves over the road, except it turned out to be fish heads, not autumn leaves, mainly because I need to clean my glasses. And I'm stupid. Why would there be a lorry load of autumn leaves? Due to attend another evening meeting, right up to the wire, but this one had to be missed as my mind and body gave out.


But the biggest moment today? Arriving home to find my Scottish Referendum postal vote awaiting for me.