A fortnight in pictures…

The weeks seem to be flying in, but no matter how many go by it is still winter. I feel like spring will never come. Anyway, the weather freezing weather keeps on, so there is less excitement to share. Nevertheless, I thought I’d give you a peek at my highlight reel.

The Toyboy put on a charity punk vs funk gig to support medical aid in Palestine. I wouldn’t have said that either genre was really my thing, but I actually really enjoyed some of he bands. Dopesickfly & Velveteen Riot being my favourites. I recommend you check them out. The night was a raging success, thanks I’m sure in no small part to my incredible purple lippie.

ly h Kerr

There have been the usual mix of clinic appointments & nights on the sofa. All that time hiding from the cold has given me plenty of opportunity to do my nails & the occasional trips out have been good Project Post it opportunities. Excursions have mostly consisted of eating & cinema. Both are excellent comfort activities. Vegan eating on high street continues to get easier. I am loving this shift because it indicates that veganism continues to rise, but also as it means I can have chocolate cake.

Nail artProject Post It

On the movie front I’m giving a thumbs up to 3 billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri & Black Panther. I am also very much in favour of the reclining chairs at Odeon Luxe. Catch up Cineworld, those seats are a dream for my poor spoonie body. The lazy nights in have yielded recommendations for Britannia & Critical. Both take a minute to get into, but persevere; it’s worth it.

The last week or so has been fairly cocktail laden. Birthday drinks for a friend gave me a chance to finally taste a Candy Floss Martini. A thing I have been hankering after & which absolutely lives up to expectations. Get one. Right now. Some high stress nonsense led to homemade strawberry margaritas with a lot of tequila. Admittedly not a great long term solution, but certainly an ideal way to temporarily let off some steam.

ly h KerrStrawberry Margarita

I got flowers from my Mum, a card from my man & rocked some damn cute looks. I also captured a few beautiful winter moments. Yes, this season can be stunning, but it’s still too bloody cold!

Upside down standard lamps Project Post It

Project Post It

Blurry sunset

Oh & the cats in my life continue to be gorgeous.

Cute cats

She’s in fashion…

I think I have that bug everyone has been getting. Or I just have the cold & my stomach is acting up. Either way I am vommy & achey & fevery. Oh & my period is trying to kill my uterus. What I’m saying is I feel shit, which means I’m up at 5am watching absolute trash on tv.

One of the show types I sometimes watch when I need something distracting, but untaxing is next top model. I don’t really care which top model franchise, they all have the same ingredients. Ridiculous tasks, a really cool outsider chick to root for, a total bitch, lots of folk getting way too upset about taking photographs, occasional freaky make up looks & even more occasional actual chubby chick doing really well (they always include a ‘plus size’ contestant these days, but they are very rarely actually plus size & they usually get bumped pronto). I don’t care about modelling, but for some reason I quite like these shows for grumpy insomnia fodder. Thus I found myself watching Britain’s next top model & having all my ‘I’m pissed off’ boxes ticked. There was a really annoying chick who had an awful tattoo of a gun, wore fur & irritated the life out of anyone in her vicinity. Abbey Clancy is getting on my wick & everyone has had a complete breakdown about having their hair dyed. It is the perfect amount of bullshit. I can project all my crankiness onto this pointless tv programme & for some reason it helps.

Then they go & ruin everything by making me rage. It’s getting close to the end, so all the contestants are really having to up their game. They’ve been flown off somewhere hot, hot, hot, stuck in insane costumes & asked to do something near impossible. Just for good measure they are also given an absolute prick of a photographer who proceeds to bully them. Let’s be clear about this set up. Some of these aspiring models are under 18 & away from home for the first time. The photographer is a professional as well as a grown ass man. When one of the girls struggles to deal with the tog & gets upset she is basically told to suck it up. The judges laugh about how this guy is renowned for being difficult & declare that part of the job. Cut to me, fuming.

Why should dealing with what amounts to abusive behaviour just be part of the job? Why are they showing female children being degraded by an adult man & then criticising the child’s professionalism for not being with ok with that?? I know modelling is an industry famous for mistreating it’s young acolytes, but actually watching it played out as entertainment enrages me. A huge portion of the audiences for these shows are young girls. Most of whom are not watching with the cynicism that I am. Lots of those viewers will long to get into modelling or similar industries. Even more will be looking up to super models, celebs & fashion folk who appear on these shows. What are they learning from this type of behaviour? Nothing good.

They’re seeing adult men behave like spoilt children & still be admired by their peers. They’re witnessing female debasement classed as the price you pay for success. They’re watching adult women schooling girls to accept abuse. Before you think I’m overreacting, I’ve spent the last several hours doing a little research. A variation of this scenario happens over & over. Girls are continually ‘tested’ with the difficult photographer, director, go see & the person pushing their buttons is invariably a well respected male industry figure. The lesson to be learned is always that these dickheads have the power & they must take the abuse with a smile. It is sickening.

This is the patriarchy captured on camera. Even though these programmes are fronted by apparently empowered women. Tyra et all are full of inspiring speeches. They purport to be about fierce women forging media careers. There’s lots of feminist lip service, but when it comes down to it, they still teach young women they’re lambs to the slaughter. And, seriously, FUCK THAT.

Fuck that

You’re clouding my mind…

Nothing bad happened this week. No extra stressful event. No triggering sights or scents. In fact, it was quite nice. Easy weekend with my man. Luxuriously relaxing day with my sister. Words were flowing. I had nothing more taxing than baby shopping & light housework scheduled. All should have been well, but no one told my brain.

At some point on Monday night my head switched from calm to high alert. Try as I might I can not decipher why. I was one minute thinking about what colours to paint my nails & the next desperately trying to pinpoint my panic. It happens that fast. Like a storm cloud darkening the sky, my mood stiffens. Suddenly my only thought is why do I feel like something very, very bad is about to happen? All I can do is run through every aspect of my life & weigh up how likely disaster is. It doesn’t matter that my checks come up empty. That only makes the anxiety worse. Even If I can’t locate a likely impending crisis, I still feel on the verge of one. The disparity between my thought & feeling drives me crazy.

My body betrays me. It takes its queues from my beleaguered brain. Thus every gust of wind or car in the street sends my heart racing. I can’t relax. I can’t sit still. I can’t get anything done either. My head is too busy with the millions of terrible possibilities it has to discount. I can’t concentrate properly, so every task takes twice as long as it should. Or just doesn’t get done at all because you know, the post man came & I had to hide in my bedroom. What I was hiding from, I don’t know. I can’t think of a single scenario in which someone knocking on my door could realistically lead to a catastrophe. Nevertheless, I cower.

It’s exhausting and it is maddening. Free floating anxiety. I’m basically just fighting with my own stupid head. There is nothing to fear except fear itself. I think that phrase is supposed to comforting; not for me. Illogical, inexplicable fear itself is a formidable opponent. I’ll be ok. Can someone just please tell my brain.

Just another manic Monday…

My very clever sister decided that instead of having a baby shower type affair she would just invite some lovely women to join her for a spa day. Thus I spent my Monday being a luxury bitch at beautiful spa. Thank you, little sister.

The setting of our unmanic monday was Gleddoch House Hotel & Spa. It looked extra scenic surrounded by snow, but once wrapped up in the soft, fluffy robes the cold wasn’t touching us. 


After my treatment there was a gorgeously calm & comfortable relaxation room to unwind in. Suitably soothed I returned to pool for some laps & general floating around. I love being in the water because my body hurts so much less when submerged. I love it even more when in the company of smart & funny women. 


Of course it wouldn’t be a spa day without a dip in a hot tub & what’s the point of a hot tub if it isn’t really cold? The Gleddoch had us covered with this amazing roof top hot tub; enjoying the steamy bubbles whilst surrounded by snowy mountains is definitely a good way to spend a Monday. 


After all the relaxing we had a bite with more views and the already mums gave the mum to be a little tongue in cheek advice. We sneaked in a few forbidden presents & headed home to enjoy our spa day afterglow. 


So, thank you little sister not only for making a whole new person for me to love, but for providing me an opportunity to really enjoy a Monday. 

I don’t know where I stand…

About 7 months ago, after years many years of knee pain & a limp that had become almost permanent I had an X-ray that revealed arthritis. After even more pain & increasingly frequent falls my Dr recommend a walking stick. 

I had been experiencing pain in my right knee for years. When I first mentioned it to a Gp he put it down to a small accident I had whilst playing with my niece. I had plenty going on health wise & at the time it wasn’t a constant or severe pain, so I left it at that. The knee got progressively worse & I mentioned it a few times to various gp’s but no one was worried & it got sidelined by more immediately pressing health issues. By the time I really couldn’t ignore it anymore I had been diagnosed with fibromyalgia. The knee pain was attributed to fibro & that was pretty much that. The pain however continued to get worse. It hurt all the time, standing or sitting. It even  woke me in the night. Then came the swelling, then the limp shortly followed by the knee giving way & me falling on my arse more than once. Back to my Gp I went, but only to seek advice on what might help my knee; I believed it was fibro related. Finally, over four years later I was sent for an x-ray, which revealed significant erosion in my knee joint. I didn’t expect to have a condition like arthritis at 37 & I certainly never envisioned myself with a walking stick, but here I am.

Foot & walking stick

There are so many things I could say about the difficulties of getting a diagnosis or even investigations when you have chronic conditions. So often when medical professionals see things like fibro in your notes they will just link everything to that. When you have multiple chronic conditions  multiply the difficulty. Add to that mental health issues, being a woman, being fat, the drs who think everyone with chronic pain is drug seeking & honestly, I’m just exhausted. Yes, it could have been spotted sooner. Yes, I would probably have a better prognosis if it had, but at this stage I’m just too tired to even think about that. There isn’t anything that can done about it anyway. It is what it is. 

Unfortunately what it is is pretty shit. On a number of levels. I hate to admit it, but there’s been a real mental adjustment along with the physical. I find it really hard when people see me with the stick for the first time. I worry that they’re thinking, oh god, she has another thing wrong with her. I worry that they’re embarrassed. I worry that I’m just too much of an inconvenience. 

I hate it, but a walking stick is a blow to the self esteem. I don’t feel particularly sexy as I hobble along, so obviously I question if others will view me differently. Intellectually I know there is no weakness in disability, but emotionally I feel weaker. I feel less useful.

Less fun.

Less appealing. 

All the while I’m telling myself what nonsense that is. That I know better than to indulge in such ableist thinking. Then I think if I, a disabled person am having these thoughts, then others certainly are & that’s not a productive thought process. I’ve already experienced how ignorant the world can be. How many people will still push past me or not offer me a seat. I’ve learned that places who bill themselves as accessible, just aren’t (and my mobility is still so much better than a lot of people’s). The weird thing is, I think the kind folk are almost harder to take. Every time someone offers to let me skip them in a long queue or asks if I need help, I feel utterly exposed. I’m grateful for the seats & the consideration, but I still feel very vulnerable about needing them. I’ve put so much stock in the power of being independent & capable that another level of disability is a struggle to accept. Yet, writing those words feel very indulgent. How dare I ‘woe is me’ when things could be a millions times harder, as I know they are for millions more if people. I know some of this linked to my mental health issues. There are familiar themes here; shame, guilt & a big helping of get over it. I suspect though, that maybe these feelings are pretty common for those dealing with disability. Thoughts & feelings aside, life is just a bit harder. For me & I’m sure for those around me. I’m slower & more limited. I can’t go anywhere without checking a dozen things beforehand. I’m grumpier & less reliable. Spontaneity is out, relentless checking is in. I hurt more. I need more rest & assistance. I find everything exhausting. I sound like an absolute joy to be around, right?


Finally, there is the stress. All of the above is stressful. Everyday tasks, trying to do something fun, the future are stressful. Attempting to manage all the stress, is stressful! 

I realise this is all sounding very negative & I don’t want to be that person, but I do want to talk about it. I’d like there to more of a conversation about chronic illness & disability. I’m sure some of this will get easier. Some of it won’t & I’ll have to adjust. Spoonie life is nothing if not challenging. The opportunity to spill my guts definitely makes it a little bit easier. 

Merry Christmas, Baby…

Welcome to crimbo limbo. It’s that time of year when it is totally acceptable to wear your jammies all day long & ignore all the usual food (& drink conventions). Do you want champagne for breakfast? Have it, just bung a little fruit juice in. Fancy a piece & potato? Knock yourself out, carb on carb is GOOD. It’s anything goes & I love it.

I have had the loveliest Xmas, but there was was a lot of running around & really late nights followed by early mornings. So, I’m enjoying a little down time. Before I turn off entirely I thought I would share a little of my Christmas. 

Happy plus size woman in velvet dress
Dress – SimplyBe

Xmas #ootd was one of my gifts from my lovely Mum. She hit it out of the park with this one. It’s so sumptious. I am in love. 

I did Xmas eve in the pub with the toyboy & his friends, but retired to mum’s house early. Jim jams & old movies is the way to welcome Xmas day. 


We got a tiny bit festive for Xmas eve drinks.

Mum & I rocked Xmas day together. Seven brides for seven brothers, delicious vegan dinner & a lot of my new highlighter made for a good day. I spent the evening at the TB’s parents. Christmas bauble cocktails, even more pressies, a freestyle Mary & Joseph rap and multiple Santa suits completed my day. 

Necklace – Kracken Jewellery

I also got to watch both my niece & nephew open their presents via FaceTime. Their happy wee faces were definitely my festive favourites.

I am lucky girl with wonderful friends & family. Oh & I got the most excellent gifts too! I hope you all had an equally fabulous festive period. 

And of course it wouldn’t be Xmas without a festive manicure. So, here’s all of my December nail art efforts. 



I now intend to do a whole lot of resting in preparation for kicking 2018’s arse. See you in the new year.

Oh, do it…

Regular readers will probably be aware that I’m not much of a new year’s resolution type. However, recently there have been a bunch of things that I have wanted to tackle, but for one reason or another keep telling myself I’ll get to it after Xmas & Hogmanay. So, I thought, what the hell, I’ll share them with the world & then maybe I’ll actually get cracking. Thus, I present my ‘2018, for the love of god, just do it’ list. 

I’ll kick things off with a biggie. Re decorating. My house needs a bit of a revamp. I was supposed to get it done this year, but there was just always an impediment. I know exactly what I want & need in every room. I have bought umpteen accessories, selected paint colours & even gotten quotes for the work. Still my rooms remain unzhoosed. Next year, I will bring my interior ideas to fruition. The art work the Toyboy got me & my vintage flamingo throw pillows are going on display, even if it kills me. 

Vintage flamingo
On the subject of the Toyboy, he is number 2 on my list of challenges. I love to swim. I was part of a team when I was younger & it’s the only sporty thing I’ve ever enjoyed. Now a days, it is the only cardio I can safely & comfortable do. Plus being in the water really helps my pain. Basically if there is a pool in my vicinity I’m in it. The TB on the other hand, is less keen. His swimming technique is, shall we say, not quite Olympic standard. To be frank, he struggles not drown. I intend to rectify this. I’m going to teach that man to swim (wether he likes it or not). He shouldn’t be surprised if swimming trunks turn up under his Xmas tree.

I take thousands of pictures. Like everyone else, I tend to share them mostly online. I have lots of framed pictures around the house, but there are only so many that I can display. Earlier this year I decided I really wanted to make proper photo albums to organise & keep my pictures in. I duly ordered hundreds of prints & then life decided get troublesome. Project photo album got sidelined & all I actually achieved was adding to the clutter that lives in the spare room. Well, this week I found these beautiful albums made with Liberty fabrics. It’s time to get all my special memories organised & pasted in. Well, nearly time, 2018 will be the year I collate my snaps for posterity. 

This beloved blog is also on the list. The home of my writing needs an overhaul just as much as my actual home does. Again, I have lots of ideas, both creative & practical. Again, those ideas have failed to materialise into a solid plan. The main problem here is I am useless at all of the things involved in giving a website a face lift. I have spent torturous nights trying to add buttons or create small clickable adds. Try as I might, I mess it up. It’s such a headache, that I have consistently applied the Scarlett O’ Hara theory of life to the issue; tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is finally coming. Any tips or referrals for such services would be greatly appreciated.


My final task is the least glamorous & most ridiculous. It is also the bloody hardest problem to solve. What massive struggle do I speak of? Keeping my bloody washing basket empty for more than 5 seconds. Why do I always have so much dirty laundry? I am only one person! Granted the TB scatters pants & socks everywhere he goes, but bar a few outfits, that’s it. It’s all mine & it never ends. Every single time I get to the bottom of the basket I want to throw a party, but blink & it’s full again. Nothing destroys the calming sanctuary of a bedroom more than the overflowing washing basket in the corner. I no longer want to be terrorised by my own discarded clothing. Next year I will take charge & keep that washing basket empty (ish). I just don’t know how yet.

I also have an ongoing semi- secret pet project. Those of you know me well can probably guess what it is. The rest of you will just have to keep reading. 

So, there it is. These are my mountains to climb in 2018. Which epic quests await you? 

You can’t change the way she feels, but you could put your arms around her…

I dreamt about an old friend last night. A friend who is no longer living. It was a lovely dream that I was sad to wake from. As I tried to commit the dream to memory I realised that whilst I thought of her often, I hadn’t spoken out loud about my dear friend in a long time. Too long a time, which is something I need to rectify. I need to talk about her. Tell her story. Share how she changed me. And that is exactly what I am going to do.

Let’s start by saying I met J because we were both ill. I was in my early twenties & struggling to deal with undiagnosed PTSD. I was trying to hold together a life that was increasingly unsatisfying with a self harm habit that was spiralling out control. J was dealing with similarly unhappy circumstances and a self harm problem that becoming, frankly terrifying. We both found some comfort in a community of sick people who didn’t know where else to turn. We were people who couldn’t ask for help or had asked without receiving the sort of assistance the we needed. No one talked about self harm then. Except maybe in the odd film where it was usually portrayed as something a trouble teen might do or a suicide attempt. Even the mental health professionals treated us like shit (sadly, some still so). If our attempts to hide the problem had failed, our families & friends were frightened ( & in some cases cruel). We were dealing with real problems; rape, abusive relationships, miscarriage, escaping from cults, drug dealing parents & a multitude of other big, scary problems. We were of course also living with mental illness. Some of us had a laundry list of labels and others had not a single clue what the fuck was wrong. But there was absolutely something going very wrong for all of us. This is where I met J. Amongst this this group of desperate people I also found a salvation of sorts. These broken people offered each other a kind of support that we couldn’t find anywhere else. We dragged each other through the kind of darkness that most will never understand. And J was kind of our leader.
J was living with pain beyond what would be considered durable. Her mental anguish was compounded by the physical horror she was compelled to inflict upon herself. J was not ok. Every solitary moment of life was a battle hard fought. And, yet, she always had time for us. She had love and support and encouragement for her damaged flock. J lived in a different time zone, but she still called day & night to remind me to keep breathing. She wrote letters and sent care parcels. She compiled lists of all the things that just might offer one us a couple minutes respite from our own fucked up heads. She replied to every ‘ I can’t do this anymore’ with such kind & convincing entreaties to keep trying, that we did. Her words worked because we knew, that she knew. We were all able to help each other because we shared a world that most people didn’t know existed. For me, j was the ultimate inspiration. If she could do this with such grace, I owed it to her and all the others who loved me to at least not give up.

Kelvingrove park

It’s such a cliché, but this goodness expanded beyond our group. She was studying to be a nurse because she wanted to help people. Everyone in her life adored her. J was that person who offered succour, but she wasn’t a martyr or a goody goody. She was fun. Her sense of humour could be wicked. Most of all she was strong. J fought to live. She engaged with mental health services that let her down over and over and over. She was still working and studying at the peak of her illness. She endured the brutality of her self harm and the callousness of those supposed to treat them. She did it all with dignity. Life beat J black and blue. This world committed an almost constant vicious assault on her. She fought back hard. She battled with and blood and heart and care and tears and wonder. She did not win.
J succeeded in taking her own life in a sad and awful way that left no doubt that she meant it. I wish with everything in my being that I could have changed how her story ended. Both the circumstances & the prematurity of her passing, but I don’t blame her. I understand that life was no longer a viable prospect for J. I hate that, but I do not begrudge her some peace. I am still angry at the professionals who failed her and the people who’s actions caused her so much pain. I will never be angry at J. She gave life her very best shot. Her suicide was neither selfish nor weak. It was just the only option she had left. It kills me that someone so beautiful was left with a choice so ugly. I understand it, though. Whilst I know it may be an unpopular opinion I can accept it. I can respect that it was her decision to make.


So, why I am writing this? What am I left with? Actually what remains is so much more positive than I could have ever imagined. Losing J was soul destroying, but life does go on. I go on and so do those other sad people that she cared for. I don’t want to disrespect those wonderful people by not acknowledging that they too saved me. We all helped save each other. In hundreds of big and small ways. After J’s death we continued to care for each other. We laughed and cried and screamed and swore together. We stayed up nights and called ambulances. We sent Xmas cards and made hospital visits.
From that group I maintain friendships with some incredible people. Some of us are entirely recovered, some still walk the tight rope; we are all still alive. We have partners, careers, babies, hobbies & passions. We all do our bit for mental health awareness. Whether that’s through writing, organising, working in the field, donating to MH charities or just supporting loved ones with their difficulties. I will spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to prevent others falling through the cracks. I will fight for everyone to have more choices than J. I know I am not alone. That is her legacy. She lives on through the people she touched. We endured. We succeeded. We survived.
WE LIVE

1 in 4 adult in UK will experience mental illness at some point in their lives. It is incredibly likely that you or someone you love will have to fight this battle. You can help improve the lives of suffering in a number of ways. Please do what you can to make sure more people survive.

Add mental health education to the national curriculum

Donate to Samaritans

Donate to SAMH

You an also make a massive difference by writing to your elected representatives an telling them mental health is major issue for you. Let them know that how they vote on mental health related issues matters to you. You can find your representatives here.
Find my MP
Find my MSP

 

But I ask where is the poetry…

I’ve had a rough couple weeks. Ill health (myself & others), unavoidable obligations & insomnia rearing  it’s ugly head have led to an incredibly stressed out ly. Alas, the blog has suffered. Normal service will be resumed soon. In the meantime I offer a small poetic interlude. 

I find poetry incredible cathartic. I often attempt to write away my troubles. You’d be surprised how often it helps. 

Spoonie tour guide is go…

Last week my sis in law’s nephew was visiting from Australia. He is making good use of his youth & doing a little travelling. His epic trip takes him around Europe before hitting the south of Africa & then stopping off in UAE on the way back down under. Obviously we wanted to show our visiting family a good time. Thus, the spoonie tour guide & another week in pictures was born. 

Since Simon’s mum & aunts had spent happy years in Glasgow he wanted to have a good look around. My brother & niece are also cheerleaders for our fair city, so we didn’t want to let the side down. First stop was Kelvingrove Art Gallery & Museum. Kelvingrove is one of my favourite places. An impressive collection of varied exhibits housed in a stunning building, which itself sits in a beautiful park. Simon was impressed with the architecture & variety. I was delighted to get reacquainted with my favourite Lowry, some early body positive art & a really old tree.

Kelvingrove Art gallery & Museum


We capped of Kelvingrove with a quick walk in the park. After saying hello to some very friendly squirrels we were joined by my mum & sister for a bite to eat. Special mention for Brewdogs’s vegan hotdog. Yummers.

Glasgow Xmas lights

Pitch black & freezing by half 5 isn’t ideal for visitors used to a warmer climate, but it does show off the Christmas lights to perfection. I swear Fraser’s add more lights every year. I’m not complaining, I’m a sucker for a twinkly light. Argyle arcade is getting in on the action too. We thought this looked like a very festive cat. What do you think?

In between excursions I squeezed in a date night with the Toyboy. Wagamama’a vegan pad Thai & The Death of Stalin are getting a big thumbs up. They are respectively delicious & hilarious. The TB agreed. I also found a little time to beautify my nails & spread some #ProjectPostIt wisdom.

Project post it

On Wednesday we took a day trip to Edinburgh. Simon was really keen to see the castle (his first) & it didn’t disappoint. We were really lucky to get fresh, clear day. The views from the castle were spectacular. 


I hadn’t been inside the castle since I was a child, but was pleasantly surprised. The buildings are amazing & the restoration inside is really well done. There are are so many little details that are so well done. It’s crazy to peer out of windows & realise much of what you’re looking is as it was hundreds of years ago. 


We met this fine unicorn fella & his lion friend keeping watch outside the National War Memorial. Plus discovered this cemetery for soldier’s dogs. R.I.P. puppers. 


Importantly,  our castle visit finally bestowed upon me the recognition I deserve. I am Scotland’s Crown Jewels. 


With temperatures dropping we got Simon inside for some food. Then had a quick mess around with the mirrors at the camera obscura. This is a fab attraction that we sadly didn’t have time for, but it’s definitely worth a visit. A quick glimpse at more Xmas lights warmed our hearts before we headed back west.

On his last full day in Scotland we took our intrepid traveller to Loch Lomond. What better spot to show off our country than on the Bonnie, Bonnie banks?



The view from Luss pier is divine. The village is lovely, the pub has a real fire & hearty fare. We couldn’t ask for more. 

We got back into town with just enough time to check out the Xmas market, more lights & gorge ourselves in the swanky Atlantic Line. 

As much fun as I had during my stint as a spoonie tour guide, it wore me out. Thus a weekend in my jammies with this pair was in order. There is a lot to be said for hot baths, cuddles & carry on.