Sitting on a stone at the top of the bealach watching Saturday people do Saturday stuff.
There's a line of cars strung across the peer being swallowed by the MV Hebrides when my bum tells me its sat enough.
The path meanders river like and I sail down like a professional until my feet hit tarmac.
A bright red Ferguson 135 roars in top gear belching black smoke comes up from Idrigill at my back.
Each and every tourist car I pass waves and gives me a smile and from the local drivers I get a wink.
On the road passed The Sheiling I plant myself on the wall of the Rha's stone wall to sit and have a think.
I love to hang over the edge and watch the rapids not so rapid roll under me on the way to the bay.
And when I'm done with my watching fun it's on to the bakers for messages and a chocolate treat from their display.