A Latecomer to Towel Day 2012 - but time is relative, we know

I have just discovered (via that excellent blog Trapped By Monsters ) that on 25th May the world was celebrating Towel Day, in honour of the late, great Douglas Adams. It was first celebrated two weeks after Adams' untimely death in 2001, and now on 25th May each year fans around the universe proudly carry a towel in his honour.

I am charmed.

My youngest has just discovered Douglas Adams, so we've been sharing The Universe of an evening.  So many wholly useful concepts.  Vogon Poetry, for example.  Who has not sat squirming through some?  The Towel itself, never a better measure of personal competence: 'There goes a frood who really knows where his towel is.'

I've always thought of this as the ultimate goal of a good feminist bringing up sons.

Towel Day in Innsbruck

Innsbruck - where Mr. Adams had the idea for the 'Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy'.  Innsbruck??

A Wet Tuesday Lunchtime in Wigtown

In which I pottered in the drizzle, between meetings and before lunch in Reading Lasses, taking photos.  How beautiful Scotland's Booktown is.  Don't you think?

I've been a bit obsessed by it for years, and for years been writing a children's novel based there.  I've nearly finished it.  It's kind of instilled Wigtown into my bones.  Though then again, it's a Wigtown that isn't quite Wigtown.  I've got the weirdest mental map that overlays reality without any conflict at all.

One of the best things about Wigtown is its wear and tear.

What I like best about this portico is its hefty electric cable.  On the other side there's a big white rusty box that looks like a heat pump.  (To me, which may well mean it's something else).

'The pattern of the railing reflects great credit upon the taste of Mr Smith, its designer, for though not gaudy, it is both ornamental and strong.  It has eight lamp-posts at regular distance around it.'  Records of the Town Council, 23rd October 1810.
Sadly, no lamp left, just graceful ruination.

Nothing ruinous about Wigtown though.  Great lunch in Reading Lasses and I bought a book in the Old Bank Bookshop.

Rain in June

Our pond is brimming.  Well, all Britain brims, to be fair.  I am cheered by finding these pix of our hens enjoying their freedom by said pond a few days ago when there was less water in the air.

My Araucana hen

Below you see them climbing on a log to reach into the broom bush.  They really like eating the flowers.  Best of all, they jump off the ground trying to reach them.  Their thin little legs dangle for a moment below their well-frilled and matronly backsides.  My camera isn't quick enough to catch them.  They aren't always very good for the garden and we have places covered in wire mesh to give plants the slim edge of a sporting chance.  Anyone else got frisky garden hens?

Hens stealing broom flowers