I’m on my 2nd coffee of the day, which is standing between me and a duel with the 2nd coat of paint and finishing touches to some of the doors in the house that we’ve been in for 5 years now. I’ve finally gotten around to painting the porch door. It’s a beast of a thing so I know why I’ve been putting it off. I replaced the draught excluder a couple of weeks ago and I was telling myself that needed to bed in before I went any further. Now the handles need to go back, being replaced with shiny new ones that we purchased from our favourite Iron mongers. I have no idea if the screw holes match and it looks like I’m not the first owner to replace the handles. I’m wondering how many years this door has seen, how far it goes back and how many faces have been welcomed in. The question of when we will welcome folk back in unanswered.
Scotland has eased some of the measures and we are back to being able to have folk come round as long as it’s outside. We had our first guests round since last November in the back garden Friday evening, co-incidentally the same folk who were here last. With the reverse spring we are having just as bitterly cold.
I’ve been trying to get my mountain legs back, Scotland is opening up with movement between regions starting again and I’m ready for adventure in the hills. My son and I have a roll over trip from last May. The Isle of Skye in our sights and to bag a couple of Cuillins with a guide. There’s an element of scramble and a ridge to traverse, which comes with an element of intrepidation and excitement at the same time.
I’ve already bagged my first Munro of the season the same day the green light was given so I know I have some level of fitness but the legs are still recovering a week on. Keen to stretch the legs, yesterday I headed up Arthurs Seat. Great views of the city with the gorse bushes in full throttle, the hill covered in a sea of yellow, against a blue backdrop of sea and sky bringing great hope into the heart.