Blipping Shoes

I woke this morning to find the castle enveloped in a white cocoon of warm, wet mist, so thick and eerie that the castle seemed to have been abandonned in the clouds.

Daughter #3 and family had made good a silent escape in the early hours to catch a flight to Stornoway and there were few clues left behind to indicate that they had ever been with us. They will return on Monday.

I had thought to have an early morning training ride as some sort of feeble attempt at getting bike fit for our trip to the Semaine Federale in Verdun in a fortnight, but there was the possibility of not being able to see the handlebars in the mist far less the road, and so I turned over and went back to sleep in the knowledge that there would be much washing of bedlinen and towels to keep me busy after breakfast.

By the time Cairo boy had to be transported to the airport for his flight to Cornwall to meet up with Larissa, the mist had all but cleared and the sun was making a valiant attempt to gain the upper hand.

So now with all our house guests gone for at least the weekend, and the only clue to their visit being the wet washing strewn around the castle, his Lordship and I are free to do our own thing, or not as the mood takes us.

It's another blip bank day today with a blip of the window of shoes in Armstrong's vintage clothes shop. I think you can guess why it reminds me of Imelda Marcos.