just another day

All the way back to December the 25th for this one. I have been dragging my feet about writing up exploits since returning from holidays on the 24th, but with my Tax Return hovering in the wings, any amount of distractions are welcome. I have also been complaining mightily about living in a cold, dull grey outpost of Northern Europe and wondering why I don't move somewhere warmer and with more butterflies. 

Of course there are really nice days; just few and far between. December 25th was one of them and made an acceptable transition from the sunshine and warmth of Tenerife, to cold but sunny Scotland. Some people celebrate a heathen festival of drinking and family squabbling on this day. In anticipation of this and the shops being closed, Mary and I had bought some suitable food which waited patiently in fridge and freezer until we returned, weary from our travels. The journey back was bad, but not terrible, and Edinburgh Airport is so small and domestic you can rattle through it and onto the airport bus (never used a Tram yet, never intend to,) and home without really waking up from the 4 hr flight. 

And what a day to go for a run. The streets were zombie apocalypse empty and it was a joy to fire up the Berlingo and scoot down to Gullane to see the venison in the fields rather than on a platter.

some sherlock holmes mistyness

birds stacked by species,
oyster catchers with orange bills holstered

With caffeine fuelled shadow puppetry we tried to conjure up images of Shiva, but ending up looking more like 2 drunks on a motorbike.

The tree troll was wearing seasonal specs which Mary modelled.

I spent a long time taking pics of the gnats or flies that circulate in the sunbeams. They are often a precursor to butterfly activity and can look like fairies. Sadly no butterflies today. Around this spot a bloke went past muttering commands to his dog but totally blanking M and I. We rolled eyes and raised eyebrows in silent smirk; to not acknowledge other humans when the thin trails push you into such direct contact is borderline psycho.

And yet. About a week later Nick, Mary and I were running over the Lammermuirs and busily chatting and gossiping, pausing to let a lonesome hillwalker pass by. He took great affront to us not hello-ing him mid-conversation and as he went past, let out a grumpy sarcastic complaint. We were all in such a buoyant mood we were surprised by his outburst and had to think hard about how we could have possibly upset this individual so much. Mostly I will share a passing "lovely day..." with fellow travellers but can also pass in (what might seem ignorant) silence if I am deep within the tardis contemplating how to achieve just the right mix and amount of finishing plaster for an upcoming job. And Mary and I always wait till we're out of earshot before contemplating out loud "wonder what's up with that wanker?" It's only polite.

Mary led the way back through the car park at Gullane while I ducked round a little cul-de-sac where flocks of starling / fieldfare mix were settling in for the night. I say fieldfare but didn't get close enough to see if they were redwings or what, before they saw me coming and flew 80yards into another tree. This continually frustrated any kind of decent photos and I didn't want to incur the wrath of khan by chasing them back down the beach for 2 hours while someone sat fuming in the berlingo. I even blew the fly-past photo of a prile of what might be whooper swans as they flew overhead. I'm not such a fan of swans I can be arsed properly id-ing them. Large white jobs. A bit dull. (Also wikipedia says, pronounced hooper swan, can that be right? So that has to be the dumbest W word pronounciation since Whiteadder.) (Latest ambition; to get a photo of Whooper Swans at Whiteadder Reservoir.)

traditional sprint back across Goose Green.
Excellent way to spend the 25th December and not one mention of the C word.

just under 9 miles
then back home for custard on fruit pudding