The Firth of Clyde

My wife and her sister, Anne, have taken the ferry over to Arran for a whole week on holiday and I am on my lonesome! Apart from having an empty for the week I am able to do just as I like without reference to anyone else, except the cat! So mine's is an empty for the week and you are all welcome to crash out and party with me. The only proviso I got when Jacqui left was to not bring any more cats into the house! But do I ever listen? NO!!! The party starts tonight, so get yersel's up here and don't hold back.

Meanwhile, for my first day of "freedom", I took myself along the coast to Portencross, near West Kilbride, and went wandering along the beach. And here's what I found:


Pastels on Ingres paper, 22x15cm: "Sailing on the Firth"; The sea was alive with small boats dotting here and there, some with their spinnackers out like galleons in full flow, and others with them folded but still skiting along at a rate of knots!
Then, after a long wearisom treck along the sands, watching the black-headed gulls and the oystercatchers, and the gannets diving into the sea in search of mackerel, I sit myself down on a sandbank and watch the tide surreptitiously creep in, each wavelet seeping forward, covering the sand, and let the afternoon wash over me:

Pastels on Ingres paper, 22x15cm: "Across the Firth"; The colours are there if you have eyes to see. I am drunk with the brilliance. I never want to leave!