A love story

 Ah, but first, before I get back into my sober blogging, an interlude.

We rediscovered Guinness when we came back. 

Delicious, smooth, often terribly poured, takes ages to arrive, strikes fear in the heart of every young bartender, Guinness.

When we first came back here, it was the end of winter, and the coldest I'd been in about a decade. As Spring came, we spent afternoons walking down to the local loch, sitting outside the pub, Guinness in gloved hand, while the kids ran around enjoying the nature and fresh air that we gave up everything to come back to.

We hauled our garden chairs to the southernmost tip of the backyard to soak up every last ray of sunshine as the long days began. 

We bought a firepit and found Guinness cans by the carton to accompany us as we sat wrapped in blankets into the late evenings.

Ahh Guinness.

But... actually... Ahh life.

Ahh having a local loch and a place for the children to run around.

Ahh the back garden and the long light nights of the north.

Ahhh fire! Sitting around fire in the dark with something (warm) to drink.

Ahh life.