Oh dear– it’s the last day of the holiday & there is so much unfinished. The kitchen taps remain half complete- though this half should be easier.
One class of marking to go.
Why do the yellow-jackets love the Angelica so much. There they are; still out there, all over it, collecting, not stinging. Nothing else in the gardens draws them. It’s the same in the garden centre.
I think I have fallen in love. This time, it’s with Scotland. what was so special- it was the days that cleared unexpectedly, the robin who came for breakfast, the same robin who landed on my shoulder; what about the golden eagle too? Talking to strangers on summits was relaxed, easy and rewarding. Wandering across Rannoch Moor in the mist and rain was sublimely atmospheric.
I can feel an unbreakable thread has been tied between me and Scotland. I’m going back, I don’t know how soon, but I will be. I left there the other day with a big feeling inside.
Nirvana (Tom Waits)
Not much chance, completely cut loose from purpose,
he was a young man riding a bus through North Carolina on the way to somewhere.
And it began to snow.
And the bus stopped at a little cafe in the hills and the passengers entered.
And he sat at the counter with the others, and he ordered,
the food arrived.
And the meal was particularly good.
And the coffee.
The waitress was unlike the women he had known.
She was unaffected, and there was a natural humour which came from her.
And the fry cook said crazy things.
And the dishwasher in back laughed a good clean pleasant laugh.
And the young man watched the snow through the window.
And he wanted to stay in that cafe forever.
The curious feeling swam through him that everything was beautiful there.
And it would always stay beautiful there.
And then the bus driver told the passengers that it was time to board.
And the young man thought: "I’ll just stay here, I’ll just stay here."
And then he rose and he followed the others into the bus.
He found his seat and looked at the cafe through the window.
And then the bus moved off, down a curve,
downward, out of the hills.
And the young man looked straight forward.
And he heard the other passengers speaking of other things,
or they were reading or trying to sleep.
And they hadn’t noticed the magic.
And the young man put his head to one side,
closed his eyes, and pretended to sleep.
There was nothing else to do,
just to listen to the sound of the engine,
and the sound of the tires
in the snow
©2006 Tom Waits
That just about covers the feeling left by the whole trip.
Look here for some photos: Flickr
Good cycle ride: getting home was hard work but I put that down to a poor evening meal the night before.
Good night out: I think I hate weddings more than I hate Christmas.tModern British weddings seem to be orchestrated for the wedding photographer and everything revolves around him. Call me old fashioned, but this feels wrong to me. The whole occasion is turned into a decadent consumerist event. The average British wedding costs as much as a new car, or the deposit on a first time buyer’s house.
Best thing about it was wandering the grounds and appreciating the bats’ efforts to catch moths. The worst thing was, by far, the DJ.
Tinkering with Adobe Premier and uploaded the results to YouTube.
Took a sleeping bag back yesterday that wasn’t the size I asked for. The woman in the shop was quite curt about it, she said “it’s a standard size”, (they come in 3 sizes) but doing this, she was also talking on the phone, how rude. Anyway, it was soon clear why she was in a bad mood. She was dealing with a letter of complaint sent by a woman who’d tripped outside the shop. Enclosed with her letter was a bag of dog-poop. I wonder whether that’s a crime, perhaps assault? She said that the police explained that it’s a “civil matter”.
I got my money back.
I know that when you’re annoyed with someone, the thought of sending a bag of squit has a greater appeal. But to actually carry out the thought is mad. Sad to have to simmer and suffer with that kind of resentment, normally, it just evaporates.
Returned from Nantlle, Snowdonia yesterday. Not as tired as I usually am on getting back. this trip was interrupted by rain so I did fewer walks. The ones I did do were on routes selected for the lower summits because cloudbase was so low. I got some decent photos though and found a very likeable site in Nantlle. 
Hafn is the welsh word for those gulleys on mountain ridges that allow for plunging views downwards, in this picture- looking down on rising cloud.
Micycle 