Sunday Morning on the wee Ben

Stuc a' Chroin and Ben Vorlich

Loch Venachar and Ben Ledi

Ben Lomond capped in snow

Ben Ledi

The sky was a perfect blue but it was brutally cold and tomorrow would have been Aileen's birthday. I needed to avoid any Sunday Morning Blues.* For the first time in a week, I was on a foray up the wee Ben (Gullipen). No need to say how impressive it was, the photos do that. 

The Highland Cattle that graze on the track were absent so no nervousness about dodging between the horns of the heaving beasts as I was slipping and sliding on the descent down the muddy track from a month of rain. Compared to Sunday mornings of 50 years ago after a night at the student's union, today would not be a lost Sunday. What a way to start the day!

*Pentangle had summed up Sunday mornings in the late 1960s perfectly. "Sunday sunny morning, noises outside my head, creeping into consciousness, leave me to stay in bed, god, I wish that I was dead." 

And Sundays were dead, no sport, no shops, no transport, no money and few entertainments. Lots of reasons to spend Saturday nights innoculating ourselves from Sundays.