Here I am, on the weekend of the autumn equinox, at my favourite spot in our Torridon garden, admiring the delicate autumn crocuses.
Gail tells me that the ashes of my predecessor-but-one, Hamish the Westie, are buried under the crocuses, and so she's pleased I am showing this spot due respect.
When alive, Hamish loved to sit here, staring out at the water and in fact failing entirely to respect these lovely mauve blooms. Gail says he would plonk his sturdy frame right down on top of them if she didn't quickly intervene.
It's so nice to be in Torridon this weekend, enjoying perhaps the final few days of our spell of warm, sunny weather. Our little corner of paradise seems lovelier than ever just now, after last week's trip down to Ayrshire for the agility show. In the interests of openness and transparency, I must tell you that, although immediate environs of the event and the park where we found YAM-aunty were pleasant enough, the town of Ayr itself is now close to the head of Gail's list of 'most dismal places in Scotland', vying for top spot with Wick in the far north-east and assorted rather dreary satellite towns surrounding Glasgow in the Central Belt.
Back to Torridon. The leaves are starting to turn and the summer swarms of jellyfish have departed from the little beach near the cottage, so one no longer has to watch carefully where one treads at low tide!
PS Do join us on Thursday, when I will be helping Gail celebrate a very special 25th anniversary. Can you guess what it is?
