Once more we are cut off to the south. This is somewhat restricting when it only leaves one road out of the village. Fortunately it takes an almight deluge (as happened in 2007) to cut us off to the north as well.
As a result of the River Avon frolicking beyond its banks, today's trip to the farmshop for some goodies was 24 miles instead of 5. Not a big problem as, with the current restrictions, it's pleasant just to have an excuse to drive anywhere.
Keills Port, a grand name for an inlet with a small jetty on the Knapdale peninsula in Argyll. Looking west towards the Isle of Jura on one of those perfect days that come along from time to time in Scotland.
I posted this today as an antidote to the stormy weather that we're having - I wouldn't fancy being there now.
Just back from my daily walk - I say daily but you'll not get me out if it's raining. It's a tedious and unpleasant form of exercise, akin to being on a tread mill but with added weather; today it manifested itself as a cold westerly.
My preferred exercise, if there is such a thing, is cycling. Unfortunately thousands of miles bowling around the countryside gave me problems in the bike/body interface region which needed clinical intervention so I gave it up. On foot it is then although, with my dodgy ankles, for how much longer?
Not so much a splash of red as a riot. This corrugated iron church is near the village of Daleswinton in southern Scotland. Makes a statement.
On the way we stopped off at a place on the map called Spotted Horse. It looked like a useful midpoint on our journey, the only habitation for miles and perhaps a couple of cafes, an antiques shop or two, somewhere to wander. However this image shows the whole shooting match bar a caravan behind camera. The garage sold everything and was run by a couple who must have been on a 'How to be an Eccentric' course.
Monica is sitting outside chatting to the owner. We had a typical American coffee - how they ever have the nerve to complain about the coffee in England - and resisted the food. As we left they presented us with a bumper sticker - I don't think many Brits passed their way.
Several splashes of red here and that's going to be the theme this month.
When I started writing this journal seventeen years ago I was obsessed with images that had a splash of red in them (and groups of three). Quite a bit of a splash here but within the spirit of my original brief. And a group of three.
This doorway is in the small town of Berkeley in Gloucestershire, notorious as the place were King Edward II was put to death in a particularly gruesome fashion in 1327, He is buried in Gloucester Cathedral although, if some historians are to be believed, the body is a substitute, no doubt some handy passing serf, and the king himself slipped away to France and had a merry old time.
Such is history, always good for a rewrite.
In 2012 we visited Memphis while driving around a number of southern states.
I'm not a fan of Elvis Presley but a visit to Sun Studios was well worth it although we didn't bother with Gracelands as that might have risked an Elvismania infection (and who would want that). Still we stood on the spot where he made his first recording and Monica tried to stop me muttering about how uninspiring his music is.
