So did everyone else, like the dog-walkers along the town wall at Berwick-upon-Tweed with its real-life Lowry scenes, three bridges and marvellously neat and productive allotments.
Then there were the children on the beach at North Berwick, across the border in Scotland, digging in the sand and paddling in the sea pond. It was glorious at Tantallon Castle, a high ruin of pink sandstone on a cliff overlooking Bass Rock, white with thousands of nesting gannets.
And then, here in Edinburgh, Princes Street Gardens were dazzling with pale skin laid out on the fine, striped lawns. The Castle glowed in the sun, up on its rock, the kilted bagpipe buskers sweated outside the National Gallery and the icecream vans were doing great trade.
It's a rare thing, to have had such a beautiful day, in this beautiful place. I want to make it clear that I appreciated every moment of it. Because I know we're going to pay for it.
No comments:
Post a Comment