Roamin' in the Gloamin'

Took a plane to Scotland.
Solitary days of walking, staring at water and mountains.
The water is so pure at the edge of the loch, beware, in time you'll hear the sirens song.

Came across some pill boxes washed and turned around by the tides, now facing into the land. I stayed until it had been covered. It nudged memories of a friend I had the good fortune to know, an artist who made the most of his life without compromise.

Promised myself, when I'm back in London, when the stars are in the right alignment, the wind is blowing southerly and the goose is fat, I shall overcome my nerves and act to win my fancy.
Enough of that self indulgence, here's some more. 
Fresh Scottish mussels in white wine, leek and garlic sauce.