Six Blue Bottles

What a difference a day makes.
I had written yesterday off long before the uninterrupted carpet of blue sky arrived, too late to offer any solace.

No matter, today has been total sun since sunrise, so that when I exited from the gym, the sunlight was slanting low over the Meadows bathing the trunks of the trees along the paths in an orange glow and elongating their shadows on the grass.
The early sunlight reached and illuminated the group of caravans parked towards the west in readiness for the yearly carnival, but left Quartermile in the shade of George Square and the University Library.

Because our car with the compromised steering is now holed up in the garage for repair, the bus was the mode of transport today. We had hoped to go for a picnic in the good weather, but cycling was out as we had to be back for an early afternoon visit to a stepdaughter in hospital.

In the end we bussed to our garden centre of choice where the selection of cakes is staggering and we partook, as they say. We do that irritating thing of choosing two and halving them so that we can sample both.
What is the point of saving Acronymphomania from himself by divesting him of one or two of his chips but having no-one present to do the same for me today?

Now it's time to bus to the BUPA hospital which houses my stepdaughter recuperating after her big op. I'd like to think private health care has its place, but I can feel a bit of a rant coming on, so I'll keep schtum.

It's enough to say that I'm proud that daughter#2, a consultant of 14 years standing,
works entirely within the NHS, the body that paid for her long and expensive training. I hope she doesn't succumb in the future to making the quick buck.