The days are getting longer. Not long ago it was pitch dark by three thirty in the afternoon, now it's light until nearer to four. Such things are noted in these northerly parts. Soon the mornings will be bright enough for a walk on the beach by eight. The cheese monger continues to look festive and the little restaurant near the post office has taken delivery of some festively yellow pavement furniture. In the village the ladies are already busy decorating the hall in readiness for the Hogmanay gathering.
The opening lines of the first chapter are a reminder of Mark Twains belief that history doesn't repeat itself but it does rhyme.
The wee house in town now ready for Hogmanay. Even the small ( and neglected ) ground floor bedroom has been made ready by the cleaning ladies. 'The Font' thinks it looks spartan but it's too late to do much about that now. I shall go down later this morning and dead head the roses in the garden. I'll also take the leaf blower as the flower beds are looking a little wild. The year is suddenly racing towards Hogmanay. Later today I shall go in search of my sporran and sgian dhub.
Better than the real John Lewis advert ? :https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w97a6jUbbRw
1 comment:
That advert is beautifull. Such fun.
Do you ever leave the leaves till spring?
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