While awful things happen in the world, and Mr Trump is visiting Scotland and costing us vast sums in policing, things proceed placidly in our little corner. The guinea pigs are well, as far as we can tell. Not off their food, anyway.
We visited the Botanics, as so often, and admired their little wildflower bit. I love cornflowers. I used to grow them as a child. My parents gave me a little bit of garden and I grew cornflowers, candytuft, Virginian stocks, nasturtiums, clarkia. I always loved flowers, even as a small child. I think I was quite solitary - I had an older brother, who was (is) nice, but I remember wandering contentedly round the garden, smelling lilacs and admiring the way that raindrops shone like jewels on lupin leaves.
I really like this fluffy, droopy chap. It's evidently:
Quite tempted to get some, though where I would put it...
Here's my favourite old chap by my favourite tree, which is:
or the bald cypress - very rude. It sheds its leaves in winter. Definitely haven't got room for one of those in my garden, but in my next life, when I'm rich, I shall definitely have one on my estate.
Meanwhile, Daughter 2 and Littlest Granddaughter are in France, with friends, while Son-in-Law 2 is up in Edinburgh with his theatre group.
I've pieced together the back of the rainbow quilt from a duvet cover and odd bits,
and we visited Son and family on a lovely Dundee day. There are squirty things on the promenade along the river front. I wouldn't mind having a go myself, but it would have been undignified to get that wet.
And now Nephew is with us to perform in the Fringe, while we await Daughter 2 and Littlest on Monday. The fun begins!
I learned a new word today from the newspaper: antisyzygy. It tends to be a Scottish thing (Caledonian antisyzygy) evidently, meaning dualling polarities within a single entity. Jekyll and Hyde, New Town and Old Town, Scottish but British. Sounds most uncomfortable.
