Bumpkins.

 

Nine o'clock on Saturday night. The peace of the coastline shattered by a series of loud bangs. Sophie leads us out across the garden and onto the farm track to see what's going on. The organizers of a major golf tournament are having a farewell party at the large 5 star hotel on the other side of the sand bar. There is a firework display that goes on for a full twenty minutes and can't have left much change from a million dollars ( I was going to say a million pounds but the two currencies are the same these days ). Dog and owners stand by the stone walls and watch rockets light up the sky to the north. We may look like country bumpkins but you take your excitement where you can in a small Scottish village. This morning a fleet of helicopters has started to ferry the golfers back to the airport in Edinburgh. Somewhere along the line golf became a ' this is my private jet' type sport.

A slightly less 'red' start to the day. The dawn brings with it a gun metal grey sea. There must be strong winds forecast as there are four oil rigs seeking shelter in the bay.

The village fisherman who sells us langoustine shows up in his new burnt orange metallic Nissan EV. Who would make a car in that colour ? Who would buy it ? It is certainly 'visible'. He knows that Angus likes lemon sole and has brought along four large fillets. ' You'll not find any fresher. Landed this morning'.  

Lemon sole used to be easy to find but is now hard to track down. Is it all sent abroad or has it been overfished ? He'll add it onto the next langoustine bill.

Sophie paddles through puddles then stops to watch the first flock of geese come noisily honking across the fields. They do a 180 degree turn and land in the field by the gate. Life is never dull when you're a Polish Lowland Sheepdog lady of a certain age.

Coming soon to a street where you've parked :https://twitter.com/justcurious1313/status/1575661610147860481