Whatever that means
Having hatched a plan to increase the feasibility of cycling to work (well, not exactly cycling to work but driving to the Ingliston Park and Ride and cycling the 8 miles from there to work rather than the 15 from here. There’s other elements to the plan but that’s the main bit), I made the first steps of getting my poor neglected bike out of the garage, set it up on the work stand and gave it a good clean. There. That’s that done.
That was all there was to do. Ewan decided he didn’t need to go to the model shop since he already had three models unbuilt so he did one of them. A wooden plane. Lots of glue. That was after he’d face-painted Ellen as a dog and I’d face-painted him as a clown. No sub-text there then. Anyway, we were due at North Queensferry to go on a trip to Inchcolm for a picnic for one of Ewan’s wee pal’s birthday. Really, I think it’s an excuse for them to get all their mates together. Grand day for it and I think I’d have fitted right in with these guys basking on the rocks, except my arms are too long.
Ordinarily I heap scorn on all that sunscreen stuff. All these ghostly children running around slathered in factor 90 lest they tan. How did we all get through childhood I ask, sounding for all the world like a Daily Mail column. But today was something else as the big red face reflecting back from the screen testifies.
The car’s packed and tomorrow we head to Yorkshire for a night’s camping with the chicken shit back stabbing lightweights who’ve got a caravan before heading on to Cambridge and the folk festival. When I try to use my long lens there I’ll remember to put the ISO above 50 so that I’ve got a shutter speed I can hand hold without pulling out every software trick I know. Simple things.