Shaking the Tree

It would be so easy to keep on the Motorway in the mornings - to not turn off for this place and keep on going until the road ran out. The sunrise was wonderful and I could almost smell the seaweed on the little jetty that I always remember from my holiday to Shetland. There was no one about apart from us that day; we had the whole of that little, abandoned dock to ourselves and while I can see I probably didn't think it was very interesting at the time, it would be so nice to be back there now instead of in the indistinguishable hinterland of the middle of this island.

I'm not very happy at the moment. I cannot really describe what it is that is doing this to me, not because I do not know - the reason is only too clear - but because it is over the border into that which I may not blog about. I am sorry if that makes you feel like I am teasing you with potential, juicy gossip, but I am afraid that the reason is mundane and boring rather than being anything personal. While not a master of obfuscation, I do realise that all this might have been better expressed with a complete absence of post but the anger at the situation has prompted me to record it.