I still have not worked out when the post gets collected around here. On the assumption that the boxes get emptied first thing in the morning, (‘first thing’ up here kicks off around fiveish), and given that there are no assurances that the weather won’t find its way into said boxes despite the clever addition of a door over the slot, I found myself walking down the unlit B9069 to post my sister’s birthday card at midnight earlier this month. It was a pleasant night and I didn’t really need the torch that Gail wouldn’t let me leave the house without. It was, however, quite scary, especially when, I swear, a dementor rose from the dunes beside the road and effortlessly rose into the air without making a sound. Uncertain of my capacity to cast a patronus charm, I quickened my step and hoped it wouldn’t spot me. When I next checked over my shoulder it was a relief to find that I was alone. Of course Gail just laughed at me when I got home, but I know exactly what it was that trepidation and a lack of sleep made me see.
There continue to be surprises around the garden. In a fenced off segment, partially covered by netting that otherwise poses as another dumping ground, I found a rhubarb plant. Further investigation revealed two more. I must confess that they were hard to distinguish from the Rumex Obtusifolius, or ‘dock leaves’, that were also prevalent. Well it is early in the season. As the area is probably the most rabbit-proof part of the garden, I’ve decided to clear it up a bit with a view to making it more productive. At present it is home to a bucket from a JCB, a concrete mixer and a selection of caravan windows in addition to other junk. We’ve since also found wild rhubarb growing on the side of the road to Kettletoft.
On Easter Monday we were invited over to Andy and Denise’s house for dinner. We all enjoyed a wonderful vegetable balti. Denise is still based in the midlands for the time being and so was in ‘holiday’ mode. Andy on the other hand was in full-on downsizer mode and pretty much never stops moving. He had managed to provide an island sourced meal for his charming lady wife for each day of her visit, from their own chicken one day to razor clams harvested off the beach the next. Suddenly he asks if I wanted to go fishing. I admitted that it’d been a while. About thirty years. When I asked him what time he intended to start he suggested five in the morning. Denise did not look impressed so Andy raised the stakes and suggested that we head off right there and then and nipped to the shed to get his rods and tackle. I said he was keen. We dug up some worms from his garden and then we were gone. When we got the Bea Loch the signs were promising. There were ripples on the surface and some bubbles coming to the surface suggesting that the fish were feeding. Within half an hour though the wind had died and the lake was still. Two hours later all we had to show for our efforts were fewer worms. Andy had landed two small eels but even though they are a favourite delicacy of mine they were a little immature so got put back. As we were packing up, two fish breached the surface to wish us adieu. The bastards.
The guttering that I took down in February was finally replaced by yours truly. There was significantly less swearing I am happy to report. I am even happier to report that it’s still up there. The strain it had had on me only became apparent later that day when it took me over eighty strokes to complete a nine hole round of golf. The owner of the field may well contemplate turning it to arable use as I’d done the ploughing for him! I generally berate myself for having ‘lazy days’ but I gave myself a break the following morning after all that. The one thing I did manage to have the strength to do was phone up for an application form for a job. It’s not really what I had planned for my immediate future but as it is in the service of the island community I felt compelled to at least put my name forward.
As a peasant farmer, I thought that it was about time that I began growing things. After making another raised bed, I sewed some carrot seeds in it. That’s the last we’ll see of them, I am certain of it. Having placed my trust in Mother Nature, I thought I’d have a go at something that I could do myself and that would yield an immediate result. Having had some waste paper mulching away in a bucket for about a week, I made my first ever paper briquette. It’s not art and we don’t even have a fire place but it filled me with as much pride as I think any parent would have felt at the birth of their first child. More, even.
For my birthday, Gail took me to a football match. It was a cup game, no less. Sanday were playing South Ronaldsay at home in the opening round of the Orcadian Parish Cup. A chilly, blustery day with occasional hail showers kept most of the supporters in their cars, parked beside the touchline. Despite being second best in the opening half, a superb 30 yard direct free-kick flew straight into the back of the net to put the home team ahead. Car horns sounded jubilantly. Sanday continued to counter-attack well and could easily have been three up at half time. A sluggish opening to the second half proved costly though and the visitors were soon level. Passions rose and some of the tackling grew a little agricultural. There seemed to be little between the teams until Sanday won a corner in the last five minutes. The ball was lofted into the six yard box, disappeared from view as a scramble ensued and it was only the shouts and raised arms that gave us the clue that the ball had ended up in the net. Again the car horns sounded triumphantly and once more when the final whistle was blown. Result!
|The view across Cata Sands at low tide.|
Back home, restless and prompted by a request on Facebook, (I’ll get you back one day, Alison!) I went cycling around the island for some nice spring photographs. Gail thought that I was just going up the road, but as it turned out I was gone for more than two hours. I rode on the beach at Cata Sand but the tide was coming in so I didn’t hang around. It looks like a miniature Morecombe Bay and that area has a well-deserved fearsome reputation.
|Thinking of riding on the beach? It's hard work.|
The shitty weather returned with a vengeance and decided, as is its wont, to try something new on us. A depression over the rest of the country means Easterly winds for us so everything gets chucked at our front door and bedroom window. The puddles on the windowsill are easily mopped up with tea-towels, but the torrents coming in under the door were altogether more of a problem. An indoor swimming pool was already forming in the hallway and the drafts whistling through it were a cacophony. With liberal use of wedges and folded up scraps of cardboard, the door was made tight, even if it meant that it could no longer function as a door. Egress and ingress were, at the time, strictly secondary and tertiary considerations.
A day late, we managed to get out and do a bit of shopping only to find that there was a traffic jam in Lady Village. We must have been stuck in it for at least fifteen seconds before the horse and two dogs made their way off the road and three vehicles caught up in it could all continue their journeys. I can’t wait for next month’s Sanday Sound to see if it makes the front page. While we were out we picked up some surplus bean plants which I planted in the first raised bed I’d dug and covered with a fenced frame for them to clamber up, in the unlikely event that they don’t die in the next few days. A portentous electrical storm kicked off that evening. We had suffered five or six power outages in the course of about half an hour. I went to the window to look out across the fields to see if our neighbours had any lights on when, without so much as a “by your leave”, a blinding flash of lightning followed immediately by a deafening crack of thunder, which itself was merely the prelude to a full minute of rumbling that shook the whole island, burst from the heavens. Now I do love a good thunder storm and this one was a peach but, upon reflection and with the benefit of hindsight, it probably was not the ideal time to have been standing in a metal roofed house beside a metal frame window. Faraday cage or not, it could easily have been a ‘brown-trouser’ moment.