We are back from our motor-tour of the East Coast of Scotland, which included a pilgrimage to the printing works of DC Thomson, publishers of The Beano. A great cry of joy rose from the back seat at the first glimpse of Bananaman, the Man of Peel, on the wall above the famous sign.
|[The Beano, Blue Daughter's Top Favourite]|
The statues of Desperate Dan and Minnie the Minx were duly viewed as well, and so the Culture & Heritage box received its tick.
My iPhone is like a great big hat I wear over my head when travelling: I hold it up in front of me and browse your blog and other, lesser pages (a careful comma) in the hope that people will leave me alone so that my Thoughts will catch up with me. Not that I actually have Thoughts as such, but what I do have, in splendid abundance, is Half-Formed Reflections, that swirl about in my head and demand tranquillity so as not to churn abominably before they morph into Sensibilities.
When I was young, the Reflections turned into Opinions, but I have conquered that now. May God stand full square between Me and the Opinions of Others.
|[Wax and Wire by Loch Lomond]|
I like to think that my Sensibilities, if I choose just the right set of blogs to follow and Twitter feeds to read and scholarly, percipient essays to skim hurriedly through on too small a screen, will become exquisitely honed and get me through life with no further input from the Non-Sensibilities aspect of myself. That is my Hope for a Better Life.
Scottish Husband tells me that Hope is Not A Strategy, but I give the matter some consideration as we drive through Fife, past the yellow fields of daffodils, back home towards our troubles and the bay window that is collapsing, and I say that It Very Certainly Is.