Saturday was barely recognisable as a day. The dank cloud never broke and the winter sun failed to peek through the rain. I gave up the idea of a cycle and made plans for Sunday.
Unfortunately, when my alarm went peep-peep at 07:00 this morning, I could also hear a lashing, and very cold, rain beating against the bedroom window. Sunday cycling was cancelled too.
I'll paraphrase Herman Melville, but there is something wonderful waking up in a warm bed on a cold morning. Unfortunately there comes a time when I have to give up the soporific comfort of bed and tend to the gentle hints of Fly and her collie ways. Queequeg has nothing on her.
It was a morning of getting soaked when walking the dog, then returning home to a malted loaf I had put on to bake earlier. Fresh coffee too, then out to shift a boat engine for Stuart. A couple of beers in good company in the sailing club with the gas heater hissing away and the rain splashing off the gutters. I put a primer layer on the Heron's rudder and I will try hard to get out for some sort of cycle this week if the weather takes a wee break.
Scottish Rain.
Aye, Scottish Rain.
