Three Seasons in Scotland

I've been back home for 3 full days now enjoying the warm sun and recovering from the shock of dipping my toes back in the world of the salary slave.  My first evening in the highlands was a chilly affair; 2 degrees outside and a cottage in which the fridge had been turned on but the central heating hadn't.  The interior of the fridge was warmer  than the bathroom.  The snow lingered for a few days and then the sun came out and by June 1st violets were poking their heads through the rough grass. 

I have lived in the UK for more than half my life and have never seen daffodils flowering in June before so I can appreciate how rough this year's winter has been. The last few days of the trip were warm (well 18 degrees counts as warm in Inverness) and sunny enough for shorts and T-shirts to appear on the few walkers and bird-watchers that make their way up the path through glen.  I stuck to the Bodrum convention that cardigans don't come off until the mercury hits at least 24C.

With a dodgy satellite internet connection, no mobile and only terrestrial news I had about as much information about events going on in Turkey as my neighbours the deer and goats, and gradually weaned myself off my internet habit.  Back home, with friends visiting and  a gardening project underway, I haven't rekindled my obsession yet so I apologise for the sparsity of my own posts and my lack on comment on blogs I usually follow.  I have caught up with them today but couldn't summon up a worthy response.

Hopefully normal service will resume as soon as I catch up on my lost sleep and missed newspaper articles  and I can think of something to say on the current protests that won't have my blog blocked for eternity.