There are three ducks sleeping in the garden. The other day I walked under the bridge and saw the baby pigeon, which was half mashed into the pavement and looked like a small bag of veins covered in a light pink skin. The next day the body was gone and even though I know it is dead I still look at the nest every morning but now even the parents are gone. Off to mourn and shit somewhere else.
It has been hot and I am struggling in the humidity. But in one week I'll be off on my retreat and I even bought some flip-flops for the occasion.
I keep wanting to write something about Scotland but I can never seem to think of anything. Mostly, I love Edinburgh and enjoy every moment when I walk up the Mile. The recent news is all either about the world cup or the Queen, because there was a fancy lunch to celebrate her 80th birthday. A man Andrew works with has a boyfriend who works at Buckingham Palace and he got to go to the luncheon (what is the difference between lunch and a luncheon, anyway?). So now we have it on good authority that the Queen has excellent skin for a woman her age.
Overall, we don't eat that much haggis and I only made truffles with whisky once. The rest of the Grouse bottle sits in the kitchen window, taking up room with the tomato plants we are babysitting for our neighbours while they are in London.
Finally, this summer, I can look foward to hearing Elton John's "Can you feel the love tonight" set to pipes and drums.
ordinary days
15 hours ago
2 comments:
Yes, please. But I would have to choose wine over whisky, which is nasty, nasty stuff. I could get myself a new thumb piano and play along.
I ate haggis (in some form) every single day the two weeks I was there. And single malt, well, that's not even a question, is it?
Have you ever been up Kinnoull Hill?
If not, I suggest it. Preferably in the rain, in Ocotober, when the clouds hit the side of the hill and engulf you while you climb.
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