and this is me, trying out a photograph of my favourite flower, just to see if it works! Actually, I thought spring had sprung until tonight, when the temperature here in rural Scotland plummeted all over again. At the weekend,the garden was warm and full of daffodils, the birds were singing and next door's cat came visiting. He greets me like a long lost buddy when I visit my neighbour, but won't come near me when he's in my garden. He sits neatly by the pond, watching the newts, and occasionally glancing complacently in my direction. Whenever I talk to him (which is embarrassingly often) he twitches his ears but won't come near. I get the feeling this must be some kind of feline etiquette. I used to consider myself to be a dog lover but the older I get, the more I like cats. Dogs seem so needy while cats are so admirably self possessed. There must be material for a story somewhere in there.
All of which is a hint to those people who (a) ask me where I get my ideas from and (b) complain to me that they can't think of anything interesting to write about. Everything is interesting, if you look closely enough. It's seeing the original and the fresh in the everyday stuff of life and then trying to convey it in exactly the right words that makes you into a writer. And you don't always have to leave home to do it.