The rain was battering off the window when I shuffled into the living room this morning, one slipper on, one slipper annoyingly with its heel still folded flat under my own.
In some ways I was relieved, the watercolour sky and soft yellow moon of just after midnight would have been glorious from 3000ft, but would I have been so happy this morning in a rain and wind lashed tent on Beinn Bheula where I’d planned to be be? Yes, probably.
The girls are away, so it’s awfy quiet and the rain was way too high in the mix. I clicked on the oven to warm a plate and lit the gas to heat the pan ready to fire some tattie scones and eggs into the quickly crackling olive oil. I clipped my iPod into the wee speaker charger station thing and as always, whether you want it to or not, it immediately starts playing, today it picked Ennion Moriconne’s Il Triello from The Good, The Bad and The Ulgly. It was a masterstroke of genius, I’m poking aa spatula at eggs with a big grin on my face while mad dramatic trumpets are blaring away at me across the kitchen. I sat at the table while it worked through L’Estasi Dell’oro and the title track before with perfect timing it went all metal as I slipped my empty plate into the bubbles in the basin.
It’s all a bit frustrating, one of the few whole weekends I’ve had free in months, the weather’s pish and the girls are away. No mountains and no one to play with.
I foresee some Kilpatricks wandering later. Me and Joycee were up there the other night for a few hours, nice it was too, chilly with a little breeze and we descended by headtorch.
No photies, bloody hell, imagine that.