One of the long term failings in my make-up is that when I come off a long period of working too hard, and take a holiday - the first few days I am like a bear with a migraine discovering somebody's been eating my porridge. So I don't live to any agenda, structure, timetable, plan, schedule or any other device that hints at control.
Aye, but then what happens when the central heating gets its service on Monday, and goes on the blink on Tuesday, eh? And both days I'm told the gas engineer will come anytime between 1pm and 6 pm so I can't go out? And the shower is at best a cool tepid, but I give thanks that the blessed boiler had at least taken the chill off. With studied patience (one of several under-developed fruits of the Spirit in my life) and pious resignation, (one of the carnal attitudes that occasionally surfaces) I took to the sofa with a book, made a cafetiere of coffee, watched the rain run down the windows, made a veritable vat of lentil and herb soup, and descended to the depths of cultural vacuity by watching some daytime TV. The gas man came, fixed the solenoid, then it stopped again, replaced the valve, but it needs a pump -so the gas man will come Wednesday as well - three days of non agenda living huh? Holiday not dancing to anyone else's tune, eh?
Still - by Tuesday afternoon, leaving our cool home (the word cool means cold, not trendy), Sheila and I went to Lochwinnoch for a brisk, healthy, stress-busting walk. At the side of the loch a couple had come to feed the birds - gulls as it happens. What impressed me was the fact that it was Morton's rolls they'd brought. Not your imported doughy, synthetic dissolve in your mouth baps, and none of your healthy high fibre bran and wholewheat curling-stone rolls either.
No - the real thing, Morton's rolls. These folk had come to 'feed the birds'. And not your Mary Poppins London pigeons, more your Die Hard Lochwinnoch seagulls, complete with grubby vests.For those who don't know, Morton's rolls are the Rolls Royce of the roll industry. When someone in Glasgow says they are just going to get the Rolls, it isn't the car they mean. A Morton's roll is better than Somerfield's SO GOOD and Sainsbury's TASTE THE DIFFERENCE rolled into one! (rolled - get it?). Crusty, light, requiring enough Lurpak butter to leave visible tooth prints a minimum of umpteen millimetres deep.
A different class of gull at Lochwinnoch - discerning scavengers from rural suburbia by the loch. I came back feeling that the world is still a surprisingly good place to be.
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