It's disorientating being home. I have drunk far too much tea, watched too much Columbo and washed too many clothes. The place is festooned with post-it notes, half of which are covered in scribbled-out instructions. Barnet is still weird. A Chap was wandering around yesterday, and so were two Japanese Buddhists who came to the door like Jehova's Witnesses and tried to invite me to become a Buddhist. The Post Office had to close this morning because the network computer broke down, and Fleas4U was in sitting on the sofa with Offsprog One a couple of days ago: while the cat's away, the cats will play.
A spell in the Highland mountains has put a whole lot of things into perspective: giant problems have turned into little shrivelled worms, and London itself seems like an overblown rose. I said 'tapadh liebh' to BBC Radio nan Gaidheal for playing Summer Days.
McDad tried and tried to learn Gaelic, but couldn't get his head around it. This is such a lovely song, which he had a recording of, and which was John Smith's favourite song (leader of the Labour Party in the 1990s). It is interesting to see that it originated in Ullapool; I didn't know that.