The Nipple Mallet

My camera was sent back to Canon last week to be repaired. Initially, I thought that there was a hair on the lens. I couldn't get rid of it. For advice, I went into Jessops in Newcraighall. The guy there told me to get it cleaned professionally, which I did.

I collected my camera from Camerabase in Morningside (didn't see JK) on Thursday and was told that the lens, body and sensor were as clean as a whistle. However, there was a scratch on the sensor, hence the curious mark on all images produced.

I'm not best pleased, then, with Jessops. I get a thirty quid cleaning bill. All because the guy behind the counter was too lazy to take a wee look at my camera.

I intend to write a stinking letter. I'm quite good at them. I got a £10.00 gift voucher from Waitrose last week. Their Belgian chocolate selection tasted like it had been developed in Kazakhstan.

Armed with my trusty old Sony Cybershot; Ian, the dogs and I enjoyed a couple of hours south of Edinburgh (just North of Innerleithen) yesterday in what could strictly be called our Summer. Having said that, the day wasn't Summer. Don't be ridiculous! No, just an hour...! I've never known a sixty minute Summer before!

We set ourselves down, ate our picnic, read a few lines from our books - and then the black clouds came rolling by.

We were then soon speeding off back to Edinburgh with nought but The Sunday Mallet on our minds. It's a word association game, you see, dear reader, played out in the comments section of this post. For the original post and instructions, please click here. You might find it so exciting, though, that you hyperventilate, so be careful where you click that mouse!

By the way, James IV of Scotland died on this day in 1513. He was the so-called Grandfather of the British state (The Kingdom of Great Britain), all thanks to his marriage to Margaret Tudor, their offspring, the union of the crowns and the Act of Union, 1707. Actually, though, if Britain's the Garden of Eden, Jimmy may well be Grandfather, but the Mother Superior simply has to be ol' Marj. Liz is one of her direct descendants.

Last week, another famous (or maybe infamous?) Scot, the delicious Alan, left us with Diddies. The first word that sprag to mind: NIPPLE.

Over to you, dear reader.