The River Tay at dawn; Hampstead at night. One of the things I've learned over the last couple of days is that all those yellow skies in Millais paintings aren't discoloration, or some weird penchant on his part - but the sky actually looks like that in Perthshire.
Then a seven and a half hour train journey, and now a VRBO in Hampstead - chosen quite deliberately because it's not Wimbledon, but is a very different part of London, that I don't know at all (if I did, I might have realised I was staying - so far as I can tell - a long way away from any shops). Luckily (because I had to set down my bags and jump into a long meeting), the owners left me some food. A slightly odd selection, very much aimed at breakfast - bread and croissants and eggs, and orange juice, and milk. But also ... a bottle of prosecco, and masses of fruit - plums and satsumas and apples and raspberries, and a bag of Maltesers, and some chocolate cookies, and ... a packet of six mince pies.
It's very, very quiet here. Apart from eating fruit, I have variegated research outings, and friends to see, and intend - seriously intend - to use this as a tiny sliver of a writing retreat.
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