Last week was very pleasant. London-dwelling daughter came up and as I was able to have time off from the shop we spent happy hours in what passes for a cafe culture up here, not in the rather chilly, seedy cafe at the marina pictured below, but nicer indoor venues because the weather changed back from unseasonably warm to seasonably chilly with drifting snow flakes. I miss her badly now she has gone back to the smoke, but my girth was increasing daily. There is one particular chocolate roulade made by a French baker that I have grown much too fond of. 


Ah the delights of the flesh.


The cafe below, with the unfriendly notice about well-behaved children and the cracked window, I visited Saturday with a friend. It has a certain dank charm and my friend was pleased with his big pile of sausage and mash nestled in a Yorkshire pudding.

I've been up and down a steep hill that overlooks the bay several times and always in different lights. The day I persuaded myself to stop at the view point the light wasn't especially impressive but I thought I'd take a picture anyway.


It used to be a good place to take a picnic but in recent years it has become a sort of cemetery. People have, understandably, wanted their ashes scattered in such a beautiful place and their loved ones have planted trees in their name with commemorative plaques. It's a shame. IMO.