Almost like France.

 

The six  Beverly Hills golfers who've been staying in the pricey Airbnb head off to Liverpool to watch the British Open golf tournament. They return at two am. The slamming of car doors and cheerful ' we're back at last ' banter spurs all the local gulls  into life. A wall of irritated squawking briefly wakes me. I can report that the gull chicks have a wide repertoire of sounds -  amongst them the unusual ability to replicate the staccato beep beep beep of a garbage truck reversing. The grumpy  golfer adds to the commotion by making it quite clear he'd like the gulls to be quiet. He does this in a decidedly Anglo-Saxon manner. His friends tell him to be quiet - 'Don't you know people are trying to sleep ?'. 

This morning bright skies bring out the dog owners onto the beach. The continent may be facing a heat wave but here the day is close to perfect. The temperatures  may get close to 22 degrees this afternoon. There again they may not. One forecast is optimistic, the other less so.

By the end of our morning walk it's already warm enough to sit outside. We could almost believe we were under an umbrella at a street cafe in France. Unfortunately, our croissant  doesn't live up to French standards. It would score a 3/10 on our old marking system. The coffee is, however, remarkably good. Later this morning we'll drive down to the wee house on the coast to see what progress has been made. Yesterday a felter ( not a trade we were expecting to see ), a tiler and a welder joined the cast of workmen putting up the conservatory. Who knows ? The bulk of the work may be finished by the end of next week. 

This book has been a delight. A charming and  ever so slightly sad  account of visiting Britains churches . Many are falling into disrepair as the tide of faith recedes after 1800 years. It captures the sense of old paper , heavy silence and damp plaster that is a part of the nations heritage. All sorts of places, some quirky, are visited. Probably one of the top three books this year for the quality and sensitivity of its writing. Not the sort of book I'd usually read but 'The Font' recommended it and I enjoyed it. I learn that  'eaves drip burials' ( of a type archaeologists find around here ) are where children who were still born or died before baptism were laid to rest next to the walls of old churches. In the early middle ages it was believed the rain running off the roof would be sanctified through contact with the church and would fall and bless the unhallowed souls buried below. The past is indeed a different place .

The Indian restaurant in town has a life sized plaster model of a princess in the window. She's holding a small piece of clear plastic showing which credit cards are accepted. This is a most 'other worldly' sight in a small Scottish coastal town.