… but if you should spy the P S Waverley, slap on the factor 10. Or at least plenty of midge cream.
It is the sound of our summer.
A slap and thud of paddles as the old steamer slices its way up the Clyde in regal fashion.
William heard it first today- and we all had to go out for a look.
Hmmm- I am beginning to wonder if someone as got it in for me (“Infamy! Infamy!….)
(Or perhaps someone is really looking out for me.)
I had a brush with danger again this morning. Driving on the narrow road between Arrochar and Helensburgh I encountered an articulated lorry coming the other way, filling the whole width of the road.
I was not going very fast, but our combined speed must have been around 50 MPH, and I met him on a corner.
I had a choice- the lorry or the ditch, so chose the latter.
Ripping two tires to bits in the process and bending one wheel like a banana.
And the lorry?
It did not even stop.
And no, I did not get the company or the registration.
Ah well, in this case, it is only money…
The roads of Argyll- they take their toll on us all.
But there are some compensations to being around here of course-
It has been very cold here recently- like most of the UK, it has been colder than most people can remember over the last weeks.
Dunoon is usually insulated from the deep cold that other parts of Scotland experience, because of our closeness to the sea. But last night, it was minus 7 degrees C outside our house, and the temperature has not been above freezing for weeks.
Along the shore, the rock pools have frozen over, and between the tides, the seaweed collects white frost.
We have not had the heavy snowfalls here that have been common elsewhere. Glasgow and Paisley (but a few miles away) are deep white, but we have the remains of snow, turned to ice for the most part.
Apart from in the hills that is.
So I decided to go look for some.
I wanted to find virgin snow- the high up powdery stuff that does not ball under your crampons. It has been a while since I kicked my way into this stuff.
I set off into the familiar hills above Bishops Glen- the forestry tracks giving way to fire breaks in the plantations, then out onto the open hillside.
And I found snow.
A few photographs from a Clyde crossing…
Yesterday we took a trip over the Clyde.
It is a very ordinary trip to us- we do it all the time. We go to the bottom of our drive, turn left and after about 200 yards, there is the terminal.
The rhythm of the ferries in their back and forward battle with the tides is the backdrop to our lives here. The lights pass comfortingly by on wet stormy nights, and on still morning you can hear the safety information announcement clearly floating in the air as we lie in bed, wrapped up warm whilst the commuters head for the city.
Yesterday was ordinary.
But there is beauty in the ordinary.
There are fragments of wonder.
It was a beautiful late autumn day today- with a flat calm sea. Ideal for a canoe trip.
So Emily and I launched from the opposite the house, dodged the ferries then paddled across Holy Loch, and along Loch Long to Blairmore pier.
The pictures do not do justice to how lovely and peaceful it was…
The dark nights are always a surprise when the clocks change from BST to GMT- it was already dark when I was home from work at 5.15.
Winter feels that step closer.
Darkness is rising.
So on this All Saints Day- may some fractals of light make their home in your soul.
For the winter is long
But also
Beautiful.
There was a lot of activity on the old river this evening. First the fireworks lit up Greenock in the distance-
Then we stood as the dark shape of a passing tanker stole the light from the middle of the water like a passing spectre…
Before the new queen of the seas hove into view with a mighty blast on the horn.
Along the Clyde from where we live is a bridge over the river, connecting Paisley to Erskine, and therefore known as the Erskine bridge.
It is notorious as a spot where people go to commit suicide.
So much so that there are four telephone boxes on the bridge with information about the Samaritans helpline service.
And yesterday, two young girls, aged 14 and 15, left the residential educational unit they lived in, stood on the parapet, held hands, and jumped off together.
Soon the fingers of blame will be pointed. Something surely should have been done to avoid this terrible waste of life?
But for now, the shock will be on families, friends and care workers.
My heart goes out to them all.
We had a trip over the water today- making use of some free tickets for entry to National Trust properties that Michaela won in a competition.
A storm had rattled the old house all night, and the Clyde was still alive with it- flurries of rain, the occasional burst of autumn sunshine, and a dramatic ever changing sky…
We went down the Ayrshire coast, to Culzean Castle…
I feel a few more photographs coming on…
this fragile tent 