Food Drop
We did indeed get a lovely present of vegetables from the Laird of the Pink Castle, which is just as well. It was all a bit of a circus; his huge and powerful car had got about halfway down the track when various warning lights started going off in it, and he decided it wasn’t safe to try and go any further. So we rounded up Miss Best Friend and set off to meet him. Conditions are horrible; the track itself is slippery as wet glass, and the fields have a quarter inch of ice over four inches of snow — you fall through at every step and it’s really not a lot of fun. Slogging back as the light started to go, we were reminded once more that when a northern winter sky assumes the exquisite colour palate of a sky in a fresco by Tiepolo, that is, Naples yellow, buff pink and rose cendré, with mounting, billowy clouds in grey and off-white, you are in serious trouble. That is precisely what it is doing, and the outside world is going to have to manage without us for a bit. Nor are we expecting to see any post anytime soon.