Ok, I’m treating my self to a little Drambuie, over lots of ice at the end of a very nice day. This is good. I’m starting to enjoy myself. I know that that’s not the point, and we should take what we get and be thankful, but I’m still thankful for this day. And for the enjoyment.

At one point, at lunch time, I got a maths program on the iplayer, I got my cheese on toast, I got the birds pecking at the window…am I painting a picture for you? I love January is what I’m saying.

(While I’m writing, Marisa just went out to borrow an onion from the neighbours, then Jim came in, and we swapped knee operation stories.)

So what I was going to tell you about, was how much I liked my cycle this morning.

I’ve been on the bike. Usually I don’t touch the bike before May because the weather prevents me, but I had to get out this morning. I can’t walk so good; the bike is easier.

The bin men came around 7.40, and they always wake me. Marisa doesn’t wake, but I jump up, and I can see from the creeping dawn that it’s the kind of day you’ve got to get out into. I decide to go to the chapel.

So I get wrapped up like the Michelin man and make for the 8.45 service at the university chapel. I lock the bike outside, and make it in for the first hymn. But the organist has slept in, so we have to sing From All That Dwell Below The Skies (the version with the hallelujahs) without accompaniment. And it was beautiful; quite the most beautiful way to start the day. Boy, was I glad I made it along to chapel.

So then I got out and i didn’t want to go home. So I cycled along through Partick to Yoker. The ferry is waiting for me on the Yoker side to take me across the Clyde! There’s no one else there, so the man takes me on my own. The little ferry backs into the middle of the river, turns gently to face the other way. Meanwhile I’m getting a great view up and down the river; sun and sky and water and cranes and swans and bridges and hills.

I head back to the town. I don’t want to mess my leg up; the temptation is to cycle a long way. But I head back along the south bank, through Braehead and Govan.

I phone my missus to tell her I’m about to cycle past her office. She works at the BBC, and when I whiz past the big new building, I see a red flag flying on the third floor; that’s Marisa alerting me to her presence. I bet her colleagues are wondering what the hell she’s doing.

And then it’s through the park and home. And a long bath, and then a magical, mathematical lunch. Happy days.


Marisa just told me

“When I met you I thought you were loaded”


“Well, because you were a rock star, I just assumed you were rich.”

History repeating itself.

I say,

“It’s like my mum and dad. My dad thought my mum had money, and then they got married, she had £15 in the bank or something.”

“I don’t mind. I would’ve still married you.”

I should think so!