Mossdale

R and I went to Mossdale, a tiny village near Castle Douglas where my parents used to live today.  It was a long drive – perhaps stupidly we went out through the centre of Glasgow on the M8 just as the rush hour was getting going – the traffic was pretty mad.

Their old house was much as it had been when they lived there, although the village was changed (not for the better really) with the Post Office (which was the only shop) gone, and two huge and not particularly appropriate extensions to existing houses in the process of being built.

The old Post Office had become a rather pretty cottage.

My parents’ house still looked much as ever – the “Greenways” sign with the Red Kite was a present from me, and in the garden you can just see a little house my Mum built from chicken wire and papier mache as a home for her favourite pet “Ratty”.

R and I went for a walk to Stroan Loch, passing the place where my Dad’s ashes were scattered a few years ago.  The memorial stone at the Loch used to be R’s favourite place, and not far away from here behind some trees some youthful frolics took place, the nature of which I am not prepared to divulge in public.

On the road we saw many little frogs.

Then we went into the bustling metropolis of Castle Douglas to look at the shops and have something to eat.  I always really enjoyed shopping with my Mum here – she used to drive her car there like a bat out of hell and then I would spend too much money at a swanky gift shop we were both very fond of (I still have many things I bought in there).

We were going to have lunch but ended up just having a scone and coffee.