It was a frosty morning and the sky was so blue I could hear it over my sick diesel engine so I pulled over on the way to the workshop to have a quick look at the harbour. The rising sun was steaming the frost off the wreck in the corner and the splintering jetty was relefeted in a glassy River Clyde. It’s as well I didn’t have my stove with me or I’d have spent the day sitting there watching the sun passing by.
Later on I found myself under pink clouds in a remote North Lanarkshire farm where we picked up Hearse 2. The Hearse took a sudden downwards turn in operational capacity, and frankly if I didn’t die when it stalled, locked the steering up and put me into a head-on collision on some remote Highland road I was going to have a heart attack from the stress of constantly expecting it.
I now have a marginally newer black estate of doom for the same money as it would cost to fix the Ford. Henry can kiss my arse.
Holly hates fireworks, Joycee loves fireworks and hasn’t seen them properly since Holly was born. Granny watched The Girl while me and the misses nipped down to Dumbarton Castle to watch the show in Levengrove Park across the River Leven. It was a fantastic display, in times where pennies are scarce they found the money from somewhere ( the care for the eldery budget probably) and spent it well. We loved it as did every one else who filled every corner of the town with a view of the park. Outstanding!
We had a wander around the castle after the show, atmospheric it was with The Plough lining up perfectly with the twin summitted skyline. Local stuff kicks ass.