The number 9 I am loving! Don’t know why but I always have. I don’t remember an awful lot about being nine apart from a vague recollection of enjoying the nineness of it and deciding that it was my favourite number ever. Consequently I am finding it surprisingly easy to adjust to this new year and date writing on cheques, which normally has me stumped for at least a month or two. I have decided that this year is to be an exceedingly good one … like Kipling’s cakes but not as sickeningly sweet.
I am refreshed and calmed after two weeks of needle free living and a break from routine of any kind. Yorick’s brother Aaron and his daughter Cherry delighted us all with their company over just about the whole holiday. We were blessed with delicious clear skies and crisp, frosty mornings but alas no snow. We were also blessed with a few too many whiskeys (especially during carol singing, stumbled home close to legless both nights). Christmas was a glorious feast of a day with plenty good food, dodgy music and friendship. Hogmanay was magical. We spent the evening at the house attached to my studio where Collette and Mags were holidaying for a few days. A grand bonfire and fireworks accompanied the new year blasts of every fog horn on the Lynn of Lorn and most memorable, Tom proudly playing in the new year on his new set of highland pipes.
Leaving the camera to rest for a stint was deliciously liberating but I have taken a small number of pics. Here’s one of Tom, still in pyjamas with remote control plane…boy bliss!