There was going to be a terrible storm.
The fishmonger in Portobello predicted winds so bad that cycling would be impossible. Coastguards cancelled ferries and boats tied up in the safety of harbour. E-mails buzzed with activity defending Health and Safety.
But nineteen intrepid, brave and foolhardy adventurers set forth on The Maid of the Forth Ferry for a two-hour trip to Inchcombe Island in the Firth of Forth.
Surprisingly the boat was almost full with a wedding party, a church group, visitors to Scotland and us Sempies. With anxiety we left the safety of land behind. Then something unexpected happened; the sun broke through the sky, the rain stopped and the wind was only enough to blow away the cobwebs that the warm tepid summer had allowed to collect.
We picnicked, walked the length of the island from east to west and explored the abbey. We danced in the cloisters with Sempervivum style and bonded in our audacity against the predicted adversity. Dragons were herded and shot by bow and arrow.
Pete fiddled his way back to land, the wedding group became more drunk, the Christians prayed.
The return crossing was almost as smooth as that out to the island. On reaching terra firma we retired to Gary and Marion’s house for tea and buns and despite all predictions a great day was had by all.