With the weather really too cold to justify a few days away or woodland walks, the pattern for us in these wintry but so-called Spring holidays (excepting the days when I was busy coughing my lungs out) has been sleeping until we awaken with no need for an alarm clock, lazy morning, shortish drives of no more than an hour to Perth, Central Edinburgh, Dundee, Leith waterfront, Stirling... long coffees and wandering around, usually breaking the drive home for more coffee. I generally linger longer with my coffee, newspaper and laptop while Lady QuiScottie wanders longer in the warm malls. Very little has been bought, however, with us just wandering and looking and listening, and often laughing at what humans manage to call "living" (ourselves included). Sounds boring? It has actually been quite pleasant. And today's destination was Livingston, which is a dreadfully dull and now not very new "New Town" sprawling on a rather bleak landscape, but it has a pleasant and very large enclosed shopping centre that we like. Tomorrow may be time for heading north to Pitlochry and Blair Atholl, with maybe even a walk round a loch or by the sides of a waterfall if the Arctic blasts have receded a bit; or perhaps it will just Perth again. Maybe even a swim and a sauna/spa session. Then what for Wednesday and Thursday? That is undecided. Perhaps a walk round the woods and beautiful golf courses of Blairgowrie, or perhaps nothing so strenuous. Then after all that rather local excitement, it will back to normality on Friday. I suppose we could have done Paris, Amsterdam or Rome... But we didn't. We've been there and done that before. We are becoming stay-at-homers these days, although a venture as far as York for a few days is being suggested from the summer, if we get one. A pointless and meandering little blog post... much like life.
Oh... but here is something though. I half-awakened this morning with a bizarre and very strong impression that the Queen had died, and with the dozy sleepy thought that the television would be full of obituary presentations. Then about mid-day my daughter texted to inform me that Margaret Thatcher had died, and of course the television is now full of obituary presentations. Was my mind almost tuned in to the correct psychic frequency?