I think that eating 12 sardines, bones and all, for lunch yesterday stretched my digestive system to the limit. So for dinner I had a jam sandwich.
|Just the ticket.|
Camp sites are always equipped with heavy duty washing machines and an equal number of tumble driers and, of course, soap dispensers. What can cock up the smooth running of the operation is when a camper hand washes their clothes and then uses the camp site tumble driers. This leads to a breaking of the 1-1 correspondence between washers and driers. Such campers should be tied to a pine tree for 24 hours.
Anyway, no such glitches at 10pm last night.
|Beware, coin slots for driers are in the upper body of the washers; easy to make a mistake.|
Drumming practice update:
I have to say, I went to bed last night not sure if I'd be practising the drum this morning. Yesterday morning's journey to the beach via 191 rickety steps followed by a march through 60 metres of deep sand was concerning me. Worse was the thought of afterwards climbing back up through the deep sand - every step a desperate challenge.
When morning came it was wet and windy.
But then I remembered Jock Wallace, the manager of Glasgow Rangers football team in the late 1970s. He used to take his players (troops) to the sand dunes at Gullane on the East coast of Scotland for pre-season training. The training was the players running up and down the dunes. Wallace had a reputation for toughness.
Well, I found that example inspiring, so with knee brace fitted, off I went again to the beach below.
|Not the usual blue skies.|
|The 191 steps.|
|Looped my carrier bag over this pole like a wind sock.|
|Had the beach to myself.|
|Brace was definitely needed for the climb back up.|
|Jock Wallace remembered|
|Aiming for the steps.|
Later on, the weather brightened up.
|View from the cabin.|
Next to the market is the church of St Vincent de Paul.
|While drinking my coffee, I read an article on my Blackberry re Kant's views on self-consciousness.|
Just finished reading:
One of those profiled, admittedly not a waster, is the painter Lucien Freud: grandson of Sigmund and brother of Clement.
In Clement Freud's autobiography there is a funny story about Lucien. Apparently, he and Clement were highly competitive with each other in all areas. Once, Lucien challenged Clement to a race through the streets of a town. Clement was in the lead and Lucien was fading. Then, Lucien spotted a policeman ahead and shouted, "Thief!" at the top of his voice.