Bliss

When the sun shines in Shetland we change; we smile, we laugh, we talk to strangers in the shop. It is bliss. But the garden is full of midges, they are hovering in savage clouds around the domestic fowl.

When I returned from steam-cleaning the byre this afternoon I was looking forward to a lovely garden potter, but noooo!

So I listened to the Archers in the kitchen armchair, glass of pino grigio, my knitting, the sun streaming though the (tightly closed) french windows and it was pretty damn good.

On the way back from the Hillhead, at the junction, we came upon a young otter, wet from - well, were does the burn come through there? hesitating on the road. We let him decide which way to go but rounded the corner heading in the same direction. He bounded off though the long grass often looking back over his shoulder, aware of us watching him. What a privilege it is too live here.

As for the picture, that's the Bod beach at Ollaberry. Lizzie and I put the kayaks in there last night.