As many of you already know, I am addicted to scanning. I find it difficult to contemplate life without a scanner and my first thought on encountering any new experience or emotion is to scan it. I once got addicted to scanning my breakfast, but it took me ages to clear the crumbs of toast from my scanner afterwards and I have therefore stopped this eccentric practice.
I have often toyed with the idea of scanning my friends, but I fear that it might prove difficult and I suppose there is the danger of that bright, piercing light doing some kind of irreversible damage. The idea of scanning emotions is a challenge, but one that is worth some effort. Take Saturday night, for example : and if truth be told, well into Sunday morning. We had a house full of friends and we were celebrating either Isobel's birthday or World Whisky Day ... or perhaps we were just celebrating friendship. A good many bottles were opened, and sampled, and discussed, and enjoyed. The scanned bottle of Ladaig was one of my particular favourites. From the scan it looks full, but I can assure you it is not - it is just its horizontal position on the scanning bed. Along with its fellow offerings, it resulted in me having to adopt a similar horizontal position on my own bed for much of Sunday, but the last thing you need on a Monday morning is to see a scan of that.
Let me provide a little balance by sharing a scan of my morning walk with Amy. The bluebells are out at the moment. They only last for a couple of weeks at the most, but whilst they are in bloom they carpet the woods and the hedgerows better than any Axminster or Wilton could do. I know I could show you photographs of them, but scanning helps me to recognise the beauty of the individual : that essential element that can summon up familiarity without any trace of contempt.
The bluebells always come out for Isobel's birthday. Perhaps I really should try and scan the Good Lady Wife.