A Swift Tide Running
When I went out to the shed first thing this morning, to water the tomato plants, it was fresh and breezy with rain in the air. It reminded me very much of the Highlands. What I was recognising, I think, was the continued clarity of the air up on the hill post-lockdown.
St John’s Road Traffic monitor
The bottom of our hill is frequently cited as one of the most polluted stretches of road in Scotland, so I had a look at the monitor since 1 January this year. Looking at the NO2 levels, spot the impact of lockdown.
That will change, so I should enjoy it while I can. No doubt, when the wind is right, I’ll soon be able to enjoy again the sweet smell of aviation fuel from the airport as well.
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I took a trip to a hardware/garden store earlier and got almost nothing that I wanted since those items were sold out. It was a bit pointless standing in the queue with my mask on. I got some odds and ends, but it looks like every gardener, however casual, had been there and stripped the shelves. Meantime, I’m hoping our garden will produce apples, plums, damsons, tomatoes and potatoes this year. Next year, when I have a greenhouse sorted, I have greater ambitions.
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I wrote 1000 words this afternoon/evening. As I often say, they aren’t necessarily good words when they first come out, but they keep the momentum going. The writing happens when you come to revise, whenever that may be. That’s when you take the tumbling heap of words and strip away all those that aren’t story, character, place or otherwise relevant. Then you take the output and, using ancient alchemical mysteries, transmute it into rejection letters.
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Music. A month and a half ago, in my urgent need to visit a pub, I posted a tune by the late Nick Keir, who wrote the best songs about Edinburgh I know. This is another of them. I like this so much I sometimes just put the cd player on repeat. There are aspects of Edinburgh that irritate me; this song reminds me of all the reasons I love it. It reminds me of sitting in winter, with a good pint, by the open fire in the Jolly Judge, thinking about the second pint to come.
Fires of Edinburgh.
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