I remember the last episode of Cheers, the show about the cosy bar in Boston, where all the regulars sit about and cause trouble for themselves. It had a good song and I still sometimes hum it. ‘I want to go to a place where everyone knows my name’ la la la:

‘You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same

You wanna be where everybody knows Your name’

 Nice sentiment, and I imagine there are bars that still have that atmosphere. Anyway, the point I was about to make was in the last episode they were all sitting about and wondering how to define ‘happiness’. It was Norm, the postman, who said it all for me:

‘Happiness is comfortable shoes’. Aaaah! Perfect and any woman would relate and I suppose postmen too.

This month has been all about pain and bunions and blisters and sore knees. I thought I had something serious like a ‘Gazza, the footballer’s knee’ and dutifully went to the doctor with a list of all my pressing ailments. She whizzed me through in about five minutes, wrote out prescriptions for my reflux, jiggled my knee, and said I had just pulled a tendon, it will be fine with rest, and sent me packing. Admittedly I am on the mend, but I am still fighting the new walking boots. John has bought special trees that will stretch them, so hopefully that will do the trick.

We have continued the walk along the Fife Coastal Path, and have gone from Aberdour to Kinghorn.

The day was crisp, golden and utterly beautiful. The sea blue and wriggly, and everyone was out, marching along and somehow the miles passed easily. I can see now why some call this part Scotland’s Riviera.

Maybe later this week we will press on from Kinghorn to Leven, weather permitting. I must conquer these boots for the big walk in May.

Last Thursday we joined the walking group to climb up a hill overlooking Loch Leven (where Mary Queen of Scots was held prisoner, but escaped) and that was lovely.

We ate our picnics on the top, and listened to George telling us about his near death experience. He had been hit by a car, which broke his leg, his pelvis, and a terrible smack on the head. He was in hospital for weeks. Now he is recovered and quite proud of his ability to walk and climb again. I shut up about my sore bunions – sounded a bit feeble really.

John’s son and daughter came up for a weekend with their partners. I was quietly in awe of their physical stamina. Both girls were training for marathons and on the Sunday morning, togged up in their Lycra, they zoomed off to run the bridge twice, then all around the place. They had John in hot pursuit, showing them where to go; he was quietly proud of his achievements, keeping up with them, until they decided to do the bridge again. He came home, full of vim and vigour, and had clocked up more kilometres than he had ever done before.

I did my bit by dragging them around the bars of Edinburgh, and showing them historical sights, and having frequent stops in watering holes in the Grass Market and Royal Mile.

We did visit the Museum of Childhood, and as always I am horrified that all my toys are now museum pieces. I was waxing lyrical to Becky about the post office set that I just loved,

and the joy I experienced when waking up on Christmas morning to unwrap a rug sweeper.

She didn’t realise that I come from a long line of domestic servants (according to the genealogy studies I have been doing lately… not a coronet in sight!).  So true to type I went home and cooked up a storm and made a huge vegetarian banquet.

Next month I am going to my uncle’s eightieth birthday up in Stonehaven. John and I intend to stay for a day or two and visit the small towns and villages around Laurencekirk and Fordoun, where my father’s people hail from. I want to revisit the beautiful farming country made familiar in Lewis Grassic Gibbon’s ‘Sunset Song’.  The farm land runs right down to the North Sea. I remember visiting a great aunt, Aunty Ann, when I was about nine. She and her sister were all in black and sat by the blackened range cooking pancakes on a griddle and I was asked to go out to the backyard to pump the water for the tea. There were pet lambs and chickens and I remember the old women had no teeth.

John made a path yesterday, circumnavigating the area he cleared of stones. He even got the angle grinder out and cut out the shapes to make it curve.  It does look good. Now he will lay some grass and I shall sunbathe on it. We will plant flowers around the sea wall and hope they will not keel over with the first salty wind that blows. The kitchen is to be demolished next Monday, and then we shall have our new one installed. Quite a bit of upheaval, but no doubt we shall survive.

Mother’s Day was nice. Gerry and Cathal and baby Darcey came over, and Bonnie and Tasha and Leo skyped, so it was very nice. Everyone able to talk to each other. And yesterday Gerry and I wheeled Darcey around the Dalmeny Estate, passing clouds of snowdrops and passing masses of pheasants. It was all very idyllic, and Darcey seemed enthralled with the trees and shadows.

I am content, and happy to hear that I have a place in the Pilates class on Thursday. No doubt that will bring more moans from aching muscles and joints. My only concerns at the moment are my terrifying dreams. Last week it was tigers, coming out of the trees. Hope it isn’t a sign that one might get loose. Glad I’m not going back to India any time soon!

And here is my birthday girl, Bonnie is two!