Listening to: Wishin' and Hopin' (Dusty Springfield)
Pigwatch: Kim nesting and pink around her hind quarters - any time now.
Weather: brightening after a horrible start
"Would you remove your shoes please sir?"
"Your shoes, sir. And put them in the tray so we can run them through the x-ray machine."
The trainee pig farmer/potential shoe bomber sighed. "This may take a bit of time. I've hurt my knee."
We were at Kirkwall airport with eight other passengers for the shortish hop over to Edinburgh, where I was to put my 15-year-old daughter on a flight to the Midlands, but they were playing everything by the book.
Relieved to be wearing clean socks, I removed my right shoe, then tried to reach the left one without falling over, considering my knee was refusing to bend and I was feeling dizzy from the very strong painkillers I had just taken. The other eight passengers waiting for the 7.40am flight were remarkably patient as I staggered, swayed and swore under my breath.
My comedy cartilage had decided to pop out sideways the night before, leaving me in considerable pain and, by the time I reached the airport, barely able to walk unassisted.
I managed to scrounge a couple of co-codamol which loosened everything up enough for me to answer the "would passenger Trainee Pig Farmer please report to baggage conciliation?" call. The Youngest and I stood there while a middle aged man rummaged through her underwear - embarrassing and very unnecessary.
At Edinburgh, The Youngest tried very hard not to look embarrassed again when I hugged her as she went off to departures and, with time to kill, it was bookshops, the Oxford Bar and Princes Street gardens, watching the drifts of daffodils where they meet the cliffs under the castle.
On the way home the Heathrow Terminal 5 fiasco held us up - three very harassed tourists clambering aboard 20 minutes late, fretting about their luggage, one wearing one of those Aussie bush hats that middle class people like to wear when they want you to know they come from the country. If I'd been a betting man, I'd have given it about 90 seconds in Orkney's winds.
I flopped into a taxi, ate an excellent piece of haddock with decidedly average chips and was in bed before I realised the very interesting new history of the Vikings I'd bought in Edinburgh was still on the plane.