ABBA’s best song is “Angelo”

I’m always saying that I don’t take the hills for granted, but sometimes it’s beyond me to raise the enthusiasm to get there, even when it would be glorious.
I’ve had a “challenging” week, and frankly I’m bloody knackered. I had planned to pack and run for somewhere localish late yesterday afternoon but I when I got out of bed I knew there was no way it was happening. I watched the sun set in a burst of colour, streaks of pink soared over me as I watched the day die from behind the double glazing. I was melancholy, but not frustrated, and that’s how I knew I’d made the right call. Never go because you feel you must, you have to want to go.
So maybe there was a little bit of taking-for-granted there, the hills are only a few miles away, I’ll see them soon.
Staying at home had a surprise in store though. We were woken up the back of 6 by a huge horn sounding on the Clyde. I shot out of bed to look outside, recognising the fog horn of something big.
The horn sounded again and again, and louder each time before the great shape of a cargo vessel slipped silently from upstream on its way to the sea. It’s engines became audible as the stern came into view, and the wheelhouse was near the top of the thick layer of fog clinging to the river. The crew must have been standing on their tiptoes trying to see the sunlight so tantalisingly close to them. As they passed, the tug behind them slipped into sight, lit up like a Christmas tree, concentrating in keeping their charge in the deep channel and off of the sandbanks. Not as easy as you’d think, we’ve had a beached freighter at Dumbarton very recently.
It would have been a wonderful sight from the Kilpatricks, blue sky and rising sun over the mist with the hills, Erskine Bridge and the tip of the ship’s funnel rising through it. But, I slipped back under the duvet and fell asleep to the sound of their horn being answered by a higher pitched horn further down stream. The slow duet that they sang became a lullaby and I was gone again.