Friday, May 23, 2014
Here's a coincidence: This morning I read a warning in the Ullapool News to look out for ticks, and advice on how to deal with them once attached.
Going for a shower afterwards I noticed a spot on my leg and fetched the magnifying glass for a closer look. Yikes! It was a tick. I plunged my eyebrow tweezers in boiling water and was about to extract it when Greger offered to do it. And a clean, neat job he made of it too, pulling the tick out alive and whole. The trick is not to twist as you pull.
Here's the culprit, engorged with my blood, on a piece of kitchen towel. It was then, I'm sorry to say, squashed.
Late afternoon we set off up the hill, diverging near the top as Greger wanted to walk through the Braes and look at another house we had considered buying when we moved here.
I didn't see the bird but I held the camera up on video setting to record the song. Back at home, there was no sign of the song on any of the clips; all you could hear was the blasted river.
// posted by Christine @ 1:01 PM 
