tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16993449829976069692024-02-08T00:36:55.506+00:00The Lopness MonsterReleased from thankless Government servitude, our hero turns his back on suburbia and heads just about as far North as it's possible to get without a passport and digs for his own ideological victory.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-64272595925973904872016-03-29T15:45:00.001+01:002016-03-29T15:45:20.038+01:00Well that was 2015 then <br />
It's been a while. One heck of a while. Any drafts that I had in the pipeline have been lost when the old Dell packed up, along with seven months of photographs. I'd like to be able to tell you that it began smoking out of every port and the drives wailed like banshees but instead it just woke up one day and said “You know that stuff that I used to do for you, well I'm not going to be doing that any more.” It's your loss, you selfish sack of rusty circuit boards. You're the one going in the skip! So despite the vacuum of testament, I'll try my very best to pick up the narrative.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfpKW82Q3vWU17NURoM-9d-yxZ8xb41sYb0o0TLXQB81VPPBjTtcHIjGDoiXGkwjt0tFAb-h0OicjLZSs2tWyojQbIxTHPQa-RvD_kLXbWPqrFv3he-jFHhyed_bTdyEs528jE8eZBQIBb/s1600/2015-07-15+07.41.29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfpKW82Q3vWU17NURoM-9d-yxZ8xb41sYb0o0TLXQB81VPPBjTtcHIjGDoiXGkwjt0tFAb-h0OicjLZSs2tWyojQbIxTHPQa-RvD_kLXbWPqrFv3he-jFHhyed_bTdyEs528jE8eZBQIBb/s320/2015-07-15+07.41.29.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As manager I'm responsible for publicity shots too</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>You find me still in Sanday, still being a lazy good-fer-nuffin'. I am, however, being less good at that particular gig as, in addition to the stuff I was doing at the end 2014, I also assumed the management role within the bus company in 2015. Now, after almost a year in post I can reveal that the company is still in operation so I can't be quite the 'kiss of death' that I suspected that I might be.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQGp8CLt4g2q453SFL8MQDoAFF_MLx7SsEAQKDBkBfmmWnV42v2TRJPpo_k2no48wn7igd-28rI3dOj1Z5vYemTr61BmAuc34w2d0IiRixoSUnsLwZRyFUzsiin4zkTGvwlktZgs1ErObH/s1600/DSCF4149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQGp8CLt4g2q453SFL8MQDoAFF_MLx7SsEAQKDBkBfmmWnV42v2TRJPpo_k2no48wn7igd-28rI3dOj1Z5vYemTr61BmAuc34w2d0IiRixoSUnsLwZRyFUzsiin4zkTGvwlktZgs1ErObH/s320/DSCF4149.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OMG! They're both out. How did that happen?</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Lilli and Salvo are growing up fast, making them more likely to knock things over than they were when they were only half the size. They have the run of more of the shed and have been stretching their legs outside but only under supervision while I get the 'evil eye' from the Missus. Mind you, those times when they wander farther afield and she choses to not speak to me at all are moments of halcyon bliss.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>So what's new?<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>You know that I don't like change, so the answer is: very little.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>For some bizarre reason, I keep ramping up the stress. It's been over two years since I qualified as a pool lifeguard which meant that I needed to be reassessed. At least it means that I get a free dip in the pool to do some fun stuff, but being able to tie slings, recite rules and regulations and recognise and assess health issues scares the hell out of me. I like knowing what I know, which I admit isn't much, as it comforts me. I concur with the wisdom of the genius Homer Simpson who observed that when he learnt anything new that it invariably pushed something else out. What happens if the thing I forget is how to breath? I think that I'd regret not remembering that. Probably not for long.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV_FDfJKP3dW8NAPvmbAVg8OrEMuhnbXlZ65JCZw4IpBQeUKMx5VNBm9ORQ9TzcsXVqlg8sRkwrpqhhNgiC7sIzHDAKlOxwa2zrwdLvqCok-qwcxG0LgErcs3cz7RcbNICSSb_gg9Owb9E/s1600/Snapshot+1+%252824-08-2015+20-56%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV_FDfJKP3dW8NAPvmbAVg8OrEMuhnbXlZ65JCZw4IpBQeUKMx5VNBm9ORQ9TzcsXVqlg8sRkwrpqhhNgiC7sIzHDAKlOxwa2zrwdLvqCok-qwcxG0LgErcs3cz7RcbNICSSb_gg9Owb9E/s320/Snapshot+1+%252824-08-2015+20-56%2529.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not even MORE kittens!</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I've also been helping out a bit with our local Cat Protection rep. It's only fair given that I've lumbered her with the latest feral batch of barn kittens and their mum. She's a bad influence on them (their dam that is, not Janet!) so whereas they used so hiss, they now lash out and spit as well. The full natural born killer repertoire. She was spayed a while ago so her wounds are healed enough for her to be released. We thought that we were doing the right thing in keeping the family together however I'm beginning to feel that that was a mistake. Even she's getting short with her own kindle, so I think it's time to get her out. For everybody's sanity. The call came to assist with getting them into baskets for their trip to the toon. We had to have two goes at it. First as 'good cop' which took an age and resulted with three captures but one escapee. It was just as well that the cage door was shut. One of the ones that we'd managed to retain control of was mum, so we adjourned while I took her home to be released into the familiar surroundings of the stable. When I returned it was time for 'bad cop' and it was all over in about ten minutes. Four little baskets each with a tiny black shadow in the corner.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There has been excitement on the island concerning the long anticipated opening of the new Sinclair's store, a brand new, purpose-built unit in a prime location at the end of the pier road. With aisles wide enough for trolleys, it is something hitherto quite unheard of in these parts. However, as somebody who does practically all of his shopping on the island, a somebody with big eyes and voracious apetites, I don't doubt that I would have significantly more cash in my wallet if there was still a counter-service store on Sanday. I am guilty of being far too zealous at self-service, especially when one store insists on keeping cakes by the till and the other the pic 'n' mix. It's a wonder that neither has had to resort to double doors for customers to squeeze in and out of. Well, for this particular patron at least.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Having a beach on our doorstep has yet to get boring. Opportunities to hit the water in the kayak remain a rare joy, but Bay of Lopness is, nevertheless, the gift that keeps on giving. Mostly, it gives up bruck. Although this makes me dispair of my species, it does offer an insight to their disgusting behaviour and offers all the exercise one could ever need when picking it all up. And every now and again, the tides bring in a treat. Often it'll be footwear that I can share on the lost shoe society facebook page. Other times it'll be wooden pallets or even something more substantial like the day that saw four pieces of constructional timber lattice wash in. Sometimes it'll be wildlife. In wild weather, coastal seabirds can find themselves stranded on land, an environment to which they are entirely unsuited. It's at times like these that the poor things need a homo-sapien who's not afraid to make a tit of himself in order to scare them back into their aquatic home. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6bOY-NK6h0tcQDwTpYDK1oKJ9T-wLpToI13cJOEwSzSvxL1wnzQTh1GMJzYtzwugx7A3umTq8soByzwb3kttoy8EZeApOhuilto1eQps3b9yFT3JaiX8xj2JgB1RMcj5tGXfBYkitpH3f/s1600/DSCF4013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6bOY-NK6h0tcQDwTpYDK1oKJ9T-wLpToI13cJOEwSzSvxL1wnzQTh1GMJzYtzwugx7A3umTq8soByzwb3kttoy8EZeApOhuilto1eQps3b9yFT3JaiX8xj2JgB1RMcj5tGXfBYkitpH3f/s200/DSCF4013.JPG" width="154" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A silly Guillimot</td></tr>
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My proudest moment has to have been when I actually had to handle a guillemot that had found it's way up over the dunes and onto the B6069. Fortunately, this is the kinda place where you can just whack the hazzard lights on and leave your car (with the engine running and the keys in it) blocking the thoroughfare while you get out to scoop the miscreant up with your bare hands and disappear from the scene to return it to the sea where it belongs. Not all such encounters have a happy ending as the remains on the sand often testifies. At least the carrion animals are kept fed by such misfortune.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After four years I have at last flown on the 'peedie' plane. Not once, but twice. Gail and I celebrated our silver wedding anniversary in a style that our financial situation could hardly permit but given that we have a long time to be poor, it is essential to our sanity that we occasionally cast our poverty into stark relief. We enjoyed a splendid four-poster bedroom at the Orkney Hotel in Kirkwall and a fantastic repaste at the same venue. It was Hallowe'en but having the restuarant all to oursleves was a surprise. It is everybody else's loss that they weren't sharing such excellent food and hospitality. The return flight to Sanday also took us the farthest North we have ever been (on any continent) as it flew via North Ronaldsay. It also allowed us an aerial view of our 'estate' from the window on the way back to the Lady aerodrome. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's a little, pale blob the other side of the loch. That's us</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>With Gail's 'half ton' landmark birthday Early in the new year, it looked like the 'never never' would be financing another indulgence. As a result, with the lady in question tirelessly reinforcing the 'lazy student' cliche, I was just going to have to put a few more shifts in! <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-66120463706730010332014-12-20T16:30:00.001+00:002014-12-20T17:11:02.571+00:00Soft kitty, warm kitty....<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3YBB6Xxy0Z-nNS_HuhlsBZBR1thdpLmhyphenhyphenTSr6F0dDJ27LQsR7O1FZQ_0Y2JSo516vuZiEmX1y4_06_mYmbbOaJg8A1WQTVPqByuETFUL-r0AE6rYBGr_qd72iLY7mIOJ05OnizMFJWXjW/s1600/DSCF3222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3YBB6Xxy0Z-nNS_HuhlsBZBR1thdpLmhyphenhyphenTSr6F0dDJ27LQsR7O1FZQ_0Y2JSo516vuZiEmX1y4_06_mYmbbOaJg8A1WQTVPqByuETFUL-r0AE6rYBGr_qd72iLY7mIOJ05OnizMFJWXjW/s1600/DSCF3222.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum spots my approach and guards her children.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqNyafVlO2ehliz8pZYqfuQ1My_T6DVvUUSYF-WTV0XJ_kffkvg9W-nnRUkCqhm0_oXW1E9xpnq7Ii8mDkFUUECxhyphenhyphenLxbDz5YcISTxLbUdZUKAlgbySv9HXsx1cYK9M3HrRufIf46TnoOJ/s1600/DSCF3263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqNyafVlO2ehliz8pZYqfuQ1My_T6DVvUUSYF-WTV0XJ_kffkvg9W-nnRUkCqhm0_oXW1E9xpnq7Ii8mDkFUUECxhyphenhyphenLxbDz5YcISTxLbUdZUKAlgbySv9HXsx1cYK9M3HrRufIf46TnoOJ/s1600/DSCF3263.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peekaboo! Lilli prior to her troubles</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Our new family members started
life in the stables. We first saw them and photographed them in early August,
but they must have been at least six weeks old, when we saw them step outside
to eat the food we’d left for their mum. We continued to feed and water her and
the two little bundles until things came to a turn. On the last day of the
month, I noticed a veritable rabbit morgue on the stable yard. Shortly after,
the dam seemed to begin to distance herself from her kindle. Was she leaving
them with a full larder? In her absence, a fortnight later, we first noticed
that one of the kittens had developed an eye infection. This prompted us to
make contact with a Cats Protection rep on the island to arrange the use of a
trap. Until it arrived, we gradually moved their food saucer closer and closer
to the house until they were happy to come indoors, until we showed up, at
which point they would leg it back to their stable roost. The eye was getting
worse but our attempt to capture the patient in a zip-up carrier failed.
Finally, the trap arrived and within minutes, Lilli was caught. We drove her up
the road to the shelter and we left her in the good hands of Janet (the rep). I
returned to the stable to reset the trap for Salvo. He ran off as I approached
but had begun to slope back as I left it behind. I’d barely got half way home
before I heard it snap shut. I will hesitate in calling him stupid. He could
just have wanted to be reunited with Lilli. Janet took them both into town the
following morning. That would be it as far as our involvement with them went
for a while. Lilli, following her operations, was kept in Kirkwall and though
Salvo came back to Sanday, he stayed at a pen at Janet’s while he got over a mild
eye infection of his own.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andy's cue for action!</td></tr>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
During their time at either the
shelter or in town at the clinic and foster home, we noticed the reason that the
dam had walked out on them. She was in the family way again, but the days were
getting short and the temperature was dropping off. The mission then was to
trap her as quickly as possible. But one morning I found a dead kitten lying at
the gate. It was already too late. Within days, she’d had the rest of her young
in the shed. When I saw her going out hunting, looking slimmer, I had a look
around and found four little bodies. Kelly calls kittens born late in the season
“hearseys”, as they rarely survive. It was too late for her babies, but I was
still determined to get her spayed. I don’t ever want to have to bury kittens
again. The only view of the path up to the road is from the ‘goat rooms’, so it
was by pure chance that I had seen her as she made her way back.
Optimistically, I set the trap up on one of her popular routes. She’s no fool. She
could smell the food I’d left as bait, but she tried everything short of
telekinesis to get to the food without walking into the trap. In the end, though she
had no choice. I quickly drove her around to Janet’s, but on her way to the
vet, she escaped. After a few days, she made it back here and I continue to put
food out for her until a trap is available. (I don’t have to leave water because half the garden is flooded!)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivfi9A5L482C3LjErHXKg8b7aLqTPB5ncAjidlXWOdwj3MszJ7i9K7z75QCPHNN1D5P6fa8Fd5Eydo_LMcs29Xqb73dgnNJ4Jtej-yoYbPc0D-512wpFrzo5VxLcZaTZ5fUT6zjIwv3M01/s1600/DSCF3382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivfi9A5L482C3LjErHXKg8b7aLqTPB5ncAjidlXWOdwj3MszJ7i9K7z75QCPHNN1D5P6fa8Fd5Eydo_LMcs29Xqb73dgnNJ4Jtej-yoYbPc0D-512wpFrzo5VxLcZaTZ5fUT6zjIwv3M01/s1600/DSCF3382.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An early publicity shot of Salvo. What a poser.</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Salvo came home first. For a
feral cat, he is as soppy as anything and purrs at the drop of a hat. He loves
being picked up and has a penchant for leaping vast distances to land on
shoulders. In fact, he’s so clingy, it was impossible to leave him locked up
alone at night. We took it in turns trying to sleep sitting in a Poang with him
in his room. Hence my total surprise when, while letting him witness the great
outdoors, he suddenly reverted to wild and ran away. Gail wouldn’t speak to me
until I managed to coax him back. It was impossible and required the trap again.
However, once indoors he was completely tame once again. Fortunately, Lilli came
home soon after. Now it’s her job to keep him under control. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4Z5Q-DFqFljmU77BhQZHRn4CxaUnlThJUhkRG6JHncbYzSXgm8JfdorXuzVV5m1ISKfxVJiZHxG37o4x9J-uTul3pgwY0Xy1ybKN6QVcAqW7jl6XcvrRtzuXBxRrAX71M1YY3b-weP6o/s1600/DSCF3398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4Z5Q-DFqFljmU77BhQZHRn4CxaUnlThJUhkRG6JHncbYzSXgm8JfdorXuzVV5m1ISKfxVJiZHxG37o4x9J-uTul3pgwY0Xy1ybKN6QVcAqW7jl6XcvrRtzuXBxRrAX71M1YY3b-weP6o/s1600/DSCF3398.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lilli coming to terms with her new, hopefully safer, environment.</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
An impossible job. We felt so sorry for her, with her
one eye, her spaying bald patch, her clipped ear and her weird short tail.
(Gail and I disagree on whether it’s short or whether her brother’s is just
freakishly long, or perhaps both). But she is quickly adapting to her
disability and gives every bit as good as she gets. She hates being picked up
though and is more shy. We suspect that she was fostered in a home with dogs,
because she wags her tail like one when she’s happy or interested. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
They still overnight in one of
the goat rooms together. I’ve taken nearly all the plant pots off the window
sill to stop them knocking them onto the floor. They make better use of my
telescope than me, by using it as a bridge between a chair and the top of the
stereo cabinet. Recently though, we’ve started to let them have the run of the
rest of the house during the day. Of course, Smokey isn’t too happy about it.
She’s been quite well restrained, resorting to hisses and spits rather than
boxing them around the ears, despite the provocation. She seems to have a
perpetual growl going on, even when she’s asleep. It could be a survival
tactic. Gail has started to refer to Salvo and Lilli as velociraptors for the
way that they spend a lot of time outflanking and stalking her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQtgZeAVHdtDWClecPIDfDC-w0kcuWAJc8hr3f0nTFKfMwNYh0gViw0NAB2tuWPxW3s8vmd7es3SQjo2LRXzvr3SRroV6ZaXPbx3thLIEeziHtB_cgtGcPdsx37Hvk-iC3g3FSnXX1J2c/s1600/DSCF3363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQtgZeAVHdtDWClecPIDfDC-w0kcuWAJc8hr3f0nTFKfMwNYh0gViw0NAB2tuWPxW3s8vmd7es3SQjo2LRXzvr3SRroV6ZaXPbx3thLIEeziHtB_cgtGcPdsx37Hvk-iC3g3FSnXX1J2c/s1600/DSCF3363.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Argh! Keep still for goodness sake!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Now we are finding out how distinctly not
kitten-proof the house is. There’s rarely a moment when voices are not being raised,
when one of us isn’t leaping across the floor in the hope of catching whatever
it is they’ve knocked over (this time) or rushing to get the dustpan and brush to sweep up
whatever it was we didn’t reach in time. They are fascinated by everything and
we have too much stuff. We ‘presently’ have too much stuff I should say, as I can express with certitude that we’re sure to have considerably less soon. They tend to get ‘the rips’ at
eleven o’clock at night, when all bets are off. They run behind the television, so
that’s living on borrowed time. They walk all over the keyboards of the
laptops, especially when my ‘Felix’ screen-saver pops up. And it goes without
saying that any fabric item, whether it’s a sofa, a laptop case, a denimed leg
or the clothes on the clothes horse, makes a jolly good scratching post. The
clothes horse also doubles as a tree, as they climb to the top of it,
displacing clean clothes onto the floor as they do so with gay abandon.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZjeNDYkvUtakSTZVCfd0BO4ZYBh_pw5_dyT9hT-XJavGowB4ufQIwEZk1IFndqZkck_Er_ocAGxgqMr4HcHKFDuXZHE80UphMRGY_GtthXGUIUbQFxzXezWPk7rNm2QxK8paToKMQpSb/s1600/DSCF3449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZjeNDYkvUtakSTZVCfd0BO4ZYBh_pw5_dyT9hT-XJavGowB4ufQIwEZk1IFndqZkck_Er_ocAGxgqMr4HcHKFDuXZHE80UphMRGY_GtthXGUIUbQFxzXezWPk7rNm2QxK8paToKMQpSb/s1600/DSCF3449.JPG" height="124" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who knows what the future holds. It's a big world out there.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
There is some debate at home as
to when and if they will be allowed out. I am of the thought that they were
born wild animals, whereas Gail insists that they are domesticated, if a cat
can ever be said to be. I’ve provisionally got Gail’s permission that I can let
them go in April. When it comes to birthday presents I am very easily pleased.
However, I can see the bond becoming even more established by then. It is fully
understandable that one could be protective of Lilli, given her rough start in
life, but surely the choice is her own. She sought us out once when she was in
need. Wouldn’t it be nicer if she was here because she wanted to be rather than
under duress? Well, not duress exactly. It’s not as if she’s scratching her way
out through the door. I’m sure her reign of terror indoors has plenty more
miles and mounds of broken glass ahead of it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxqY4-vpEKh5CrTnjCA-pyEZVfLXVeseYYOGpwdyiN7fFTfvgnFzs_OQJw4UmPKcJmIZzxxVCWXoKiSmB-0UgkXtCk3kGrj4b69PMY9yHw47N374Jnz_GuOa7u9aOLuqnUSvSTagLSiYy/s1600/DSCF3134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxqY4-vpEKh5CrTnjCA-pyEZVfLXVeseYYOGpwdyiN7fFTfvgnFzs_OQJw4UmPKcJmIZzxxVCWXoKiSmB-0UgkXtCk3kGrj4b69PMY9yHw47N374Jnz_GuOa7u9aOLuqnUSvSTagLSiYy/s1600/DSCF3134.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The incumbent. Smokey surveys her estate, in calmer days.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
In other news, guess who is the
secretary of the newly formed Sanday Bowling Club? Well, I get my insurance
from Saga these days so I suppose I’d have to learn how to play it sooner or
later. The really annoying thing is that I seem to be quite good at it. There’s
none more shocked than I. <o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-71986170834198097562014-12-19T19:13:00.000+00:002014-12-19T19:13:30.854+00:00The anti-Christmas<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ5TT9dALiFYgv_XaBTv_l_jd3eilj7GltdUMkcNS59i6W5-JpnrfE4f8LsK21E6hPkWcqR-8Kzh13uKTiBj69rbMQyIS_y8aJVemUiYl_ENBaWCVvKBXPFXy8gT5j0z4b-CoWTQ6m29O_/s1600/DSC00825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ5TT9dALiFYgv_XaBTv_l_jd3eilj7GltdUMkcNS59i6W5-JpnrfE4f8LsK21E6hPkWcqR-8Kzh13uKTiBj69rbMQyIS_y8aJVemUiYl_ENBaWCVvKBXPFXy8gT5j0z4b-CoWTQ6m29O_/s1600/DSC00825.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The old bus went to the school. In earlier days, chances are it <br />would have been parked on the beach until the tide took it away.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The Sanday Bus company got their
hands on a new vehicle in the Summer. We even had a ‘grand opening’, with
champagne and an internationally renowned, record breaking athlete, who just so
happens to also be a regular passenger, with some kind and encouraging words. It’s
a brand spanking new seventeen-seat Transit with a motorised accessibility ramp
in the back of it. It’s <span style="text-indent: 36pt;">mahoosive! Even Richard Osman could stand up in the
back of it it’s so tall and the weight of it pushes my driving licence D1
entitlement to the limit. The new features required that I attended a Midas
course run by the Orkney Disability Forum in Kirkwall. As class began early, I
even got an overnight stay in the big city. With four drive wheels back there
too, there’s very little chance of me getting it stuck in my garden (like I did
the old one!). It’s a fancy bit of kit and no mistake. It’s taking me a while
to get used to the six forward gears though. With that many gates it’s a wonder
that I can find any of them. It has to be said that it is also a colossal
amount of real-estate to valet, too. With the amount of muck it picks up every
day on the island’s agricultural roads, it’s a bit of a relentless exercise.
Kelly has named it J-Lo on account of its generously proportioned rear end.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMplRieaMLNAySY9ZykDjVb7pzb2k2kvl96q2JbhiAbgEovc3tmwb8w8TSjRSoaCDRLZpbf7ZGyNM6B0O_z8IB7h_JxaVqModwKDOsFsT50eeGM1IUjvMnc_67oFDUYf82XBK9oZu65SWU/s1600/DSCF3188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMplRieaMLNAySY9ZykDjVb7pzb2k2kvl96q2JbhiAbgEovc3tmwb8w8TSjRSoaCDRLZpbf7ZGyNM6B0O_z8IB7h_JxaVqModwKDOsFsT50eeGM1IUjvMnc_67oFDUYf82XBK9oZu65SWU/s1600/DSCF3188.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Either from Greece, New Zealand or the Imaginarium?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The most thumbed tome in the
shed, (other than the dictionary on account of me one of the greatest
illiterates of all time!), is our Collins guide to British wildlife. You just
never know what is going to turn up next. Among the species new to this
particular budding naturalist (they’re the ones that keep their clothes on,
right?) are paper wasp, hen harrier, cormorant, shag, razorbill, marsh orchid,
eyebright and grass of Parnassus. There are also some species that I am familiar with
but never really expected to see all the way up here, like hedgehogs, owls and
butterflies. I don’t go out and about much to find them. It’s more of a case
that they kindly find their own way to me. Apart from the starlings, our most
common visitors are lapwings, a family of barn swallows, blackbirds, a robin, a
cute little wren and a skylark that I can perpetually hear but never actually
see. Our primary protagonists remain the over-abundance of rabbits.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSK5dgpZiBoGyMv9zEFwnDq0gPWHEqni1UQcdQxNrbhQSwPiMJqZFhG0KE_zc_udxt59SvargZfD5TNz3fZE480o-ADK0_xBpFSq9ZmzTf0ZdKF_UIlyaz448FsNlvbJgJTPSONdcCDhC/s1600/DSCF3184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSK5dgpZiBoGyMv9zEFwnDq0gPWHEqni1UQcdQxNrbhQSwPiMJqZFhG0KE_zc_udxt59SvargZfD5TNz3fZE480o-ADK0_xBpFSq9ZmzTf0ZdKF_UIlyaz448FsNlvbJgJTPSONdcCDhC/s1600/DSCF3184.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Germany winning the World Cup standing on one leg.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
As a proud (part) boche, it’s
hard not to love the World cup. Not that I watched every game. Fortunately the
last group matches kicked off at the same time, so you have to make a choice,
but it’s safe to say that if there was footie on the television then I was watching it.
That was except, of course, when work interfered. Following a
reasonably successful international side, it makes one quite sanguine about
disappointment, unlike, say, following one that has only ever experienced
success on its own doorstep with the help of dodgy officials. Qualifying for
the knockout stages is the only real expectation. Anything else is a bonus. As
usual, the tournament was a gallery of heroes and villains. The Dutch
demolition of tiki-taka, James Rodriguez wonderful volley, Ronaldo crying and
the host’s hysterical capitulation in the semi-finals were my highlights. Mario
Götze’s winning goal in the final was more of a relief than a celebration,
though the roof was lifted, I’ll not deny. The fact that that cannibalistic
Uruguayan moron isn’t forced to play in a Hannibal Lecter mask continues to
astonish me. That it is out of the English game is my only satisfaction.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The principle driver for the
Sanday bus certainly enjoys her holidays. This is good for me as it provides some
much needed income. Working fourteen days consecutively isn’t quite a cheery
prospect but it’s uncanny how easy a habit it is to fall in to. They are only
part-time days but you are obliged to be on call all day for taking bookings.
The vehicle doesn’t clean itself either, so that takes a fair while, as I have
already alluded to. There are other duties that I am not involved in that Kelly
catches up with when she gets back, data-capturing the fare records, balancing
the books and banking the takings. Even so, for those two weeks, I find it
totally immersive. It’s a great way to meet the locals and see the sights. I
also had a number of opportunities to drive the Sanday Experience tour as well
over the Summer. More often than not, sometimes to my surprise given the oft
inclement weather, visitors are absolutely chuffed with their visit. Rarely is
it more of a pleasure than when the opportunity to show off a live
archaeological dig presents itself halfway through a tour. <o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYsLQHWQ4WWf7wTnt5jiDPMLNqSnAXg2PNZMVWZUnCvh4aBFaAfwsR_ja8mtXlGVQvRGx5fncmoPj3y5UqHRyvUKEtLnaX8NL5jo5OofcdRX4m1GUtLBXYMy6HmMkQCzbjuR_Qa6dlyLSJ/s1600/DSCF3123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYsLQHWQ4WWf7wTnt5jiDPMLNqSnAXg2PNZMVWZUnCvh4aBFaAfwsR_ja8mtXlGVQvRGx5fncmoPj3y5UqHRyvUKEtLnaX8NL5jo5OofcdRX4m1GUtLBXYMy6HmMkQCzbjuR_Qa6dlyLSJ/s1600/DSCF3123.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Meur burnt mound, excavated and ready to go.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The burnt mound at Meur
was in serious risk of being lost to tidal erosion and a team was sent to save
what they could. After recording the site and taking organic samples for
analysis, many of the stones were extracted and moved to a new home beside the
new heritage centre where it was exhaustively reconstructed, far from the
rigours of the tide. A lucky few got to see the process when we stopped the bus
to give everybody an up-close-and-personal peek at the work. It’s gone now, so
it was a very narrow window of opportunity. As is so often the case with digs,
the archaeologist’s efforts uncovered an even earlier occupation phase which
they are keen to explore in the near future. They’ll probably keep going until
they find Doug McClure.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
As the summer ended and the
children went back to school, I was asked if I would mind supplementing my pool
lifeguarding duty with attending their training as they prepared for an annual
gala at the pool. It was a reward in itself to watch them develop their skills
and confidence in the water. At the end of their training, I was asked back to
be one of the lane timekeepers for the gala itself. The children of all ages were
divided into three teams of equal ability to slug it out before the assembled
parents. I also got involved with their Bikeability Scotland training and last
week attended assembly where we handed the successful children their
certificates and badges. The toughest part was amending my own riding to set a
good example. Gone are the beanie and the i-pod. In are the reflective jacket
and the helmet. I’m due to go into Kirkwall to get the proper training at some
time over winter in order to be able to play a bigger part in the process next
year and an application to register with Protecting Vulnerable Groups
government scheme is pending. I still consider that I do not having a single
paternal bone in my body, but I must have mellowed some with age. Mind you, I
did have to put an immediate damper to any notion that I’d be willing to dress
up as Santa. The suggestion has though made me think seriously about going on a
diet in the new year. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGID4FomMJ4piWQahmv3T9L9mQ3cwJpvBxMYiU4HeSAFfOcax7DQ1GCB1sR8LGhsU4UZFGUb7ihlan9GELbgenZFVUygZcS5OwQ94D1wbF-fzH6sDn38W8pe4Ty4dlkLqQbGIbYMuZ9KDl/s1600/DSCF3243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGID4FomMJ4piWQahmv3T9L9mQ3cwJpvBxMYiU4HeSAFfOcax7DQ1GCB1sR8LGhsU4UZFGUb7ihlan9GELbgenZFVUygZcS5OwQ94D1wbF-fzH6sDn38W8pe4Ty4dlkLqQbGIbYMuZ9KDl/s1600/DSCF3243.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coos in the mist. What's out your window?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
In an attempt to encourage me to
blog more regularly and make me to take more photographs, I signed up to
blipfoto and although I have long ago ceased to post every single day, it is,
other than Facebook, the site that I most commonly submit to. If one was
‘inspired’ to keep an eye on my faltering steps toward retirement, they might
want to join up and follow Turts99, perhaps sharing their own photographs with the
world while they’re at it. It’s just a suggestion. <o:p></o:p></div>
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F3.bp.blogspot.com%2F-fsAvFNaxq9c%2FVJRdg95EGnI%2FAAAAAAAAAiY%2FHpVT68aMb70%2Fs1600%2FDSC00825.JPG&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ5TT9dALiFYgv_XaBTv_l_jd3eilj7GltdUMkcNS59i6W5-JpnrfE4f8LsK21E6hPkWcqR-8Kzh13uKTiBj69rbMQyIS_y8aJVemUiYl_ENBaWCVvKBXPFXy8gT5j0z4b-CoWTQ6m29O_/s1600/DSC00825.JPG" -->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-78446715237686290512014-12-15T01:05:00.000+00:002014-12-15T01:05:14.936+00:00Getting outdoors (at last)<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
March started with high spring
tides. In fact I’ve never seen the wreck of the B98 so far away from the water.
With the anniversary of the outbreak of WW1 looming, there’s been an increase
in local interest of the island’s wartime history. It included the heritage centre
borrowing of some of my recently acquired reference material, a piece of which
has been donated to the centre for display.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvWv_YeyVqJk-Fflp7A2uT93Ybf4wDAWxn1YhToOXYEvaDAmUmbhl6XAGormoOwEPutZ1QxsS3rCOjzbumsS3W0wCoIQF2-X8DqUML464HMFieW3yh9ZL2eapU41kTXhN1d5XhNNR_RubK/s1600/DSCF2457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvWv_YeyVqJk-Fflp7A2uT93Ybf4wDAWxn1YhToOXYEvaDAmUmbhl6XAGormoOwEPutZ1QxsS3rCOjzbumsS3W0wCoIQF2-X8DqUML464HMFieW3yh9ZL2eapU41kTXhN1d5XhNNR_RubK/s1600/DSCF2457.JPG" height="234" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lopness farm through the wreckage of B98<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When I heard that the ranger was
in the process of purchasing a scale model of the B98, I assumed that he had
managed to track down a better one than my 1:700 scale resin one, which given
that the real thing was 98m long, even a modest ability in maths would tell you
that the model measures a mere 14 centimetres. It turns out, however, that he’d
bought exactly the same one. If it goes on display, I hope that they position
it under a magnifying glass. At least it was constructed by an experienced
modeller. I haven’t dared to try making mine. Whether the heritage committee has
also managed to get hold of any of the supposed many ‘salvaged’ parts that have
been collected by islanders, allegedly, over the years to complete the display awaits
to be seen.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMDbbwoKxnnuq5ZEZ1nMRykDR3ffYBfQgORVEUjP4hViBnaRq-DlRqRs9_fFDHQchRTBwbn6lbI6V88b_dx3bpzaMzT5Xz91AUB9JZRrENGuGdJBbBl4w3tIIxxnQxjBLjX0r99GCbQrng/s1600/DSCF2462.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMDbbwoKxnnuq5ZEZ1nMRykDR3ffYBfQgORVEUjP4hViBnaRq-DlRqRs9_fFDHQchRTBwbn6lbI6V88b_dx3bpzaMzT5Xz91AUB9JZRrENGuGdJBbBl4w3tIIxxnQxjBLjX0r99GCbQrng/s1600/DSCF2462.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a popular holiday destination, I'll grant you.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
With the tides being so
revealing, I decided that it was an ideal opportunity to try to make a dash for
the beacon at the tip of the Riv Skerry. I packed an emergency overnight kit
just in case I managed to get out there to find that the returning tide had
made the way back impossible. I was quite prepared to stay there, wrapped in a
silver blanket and tucked up with a good book and a hot drink until the waters
receded once more. As it turns out, the rocky path was untraversable and part
of it was still actually submerged beneath the briny. I returned home a little
disappointed but, admittedly, mightily relieved. Gail was pleased to see me too, primarily because I promised to cook dinner for us both if I made it back.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
One of the problems facing bus
drivers in remote locations is communication. Gail may have two mobile phones
but they are hardly ever switched on as reception is so bad. In order to
improve the accessibility of the Sanday service, the company has kindly fitted
a signal booster here at the shed. Talk about making a silk purse out of a
sow’s ear! Before it was fitted, if we had wanted to send or receive text
messages, we had to attach a mobile (ein Handy) to our clothes-line pole and
poke in out through an open window. With the booster turned on, the phone goes all
the way from no bars at all, (not even a flicker), to a full five bars and
ne’er wavers. It’s uncanny just how effective the kit is. Of course it has to
go off in the evening. Try as we may to inform folk that we are not on duty
twenty four hours a day, there’ll always be someone that decides, just before
they go to bed, that they need a lift to the pier the morn.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsDLIPLZPrQnltgEf4LLqMCjBfViPvv855KvIcWMGzmhQw8zN55HCMT8OfaRhIbinFBqUreTeASGiJ5IzKgFYGqruBKP2zaMcnC2QffXMhczJs4UnPfa9D2sYZdduRES0ALk_dH-ORB54t/s1600/DSCF2507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsDLIPLZPrQnltgEf4LLqMCjBfViPvv855KvIcWMGzmhQw8zN55HCMT8OfaRhIbinFBqUreTeASGiJ5IzKgFYGqruBKP2zaMcnC2QffXMhczJs4UnPfa9D2sYZdduRES0ALk_dH-ORB54t/s1600/DSCF2507.JPG" height="96" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ice on the dunes. My definition of the word 'juxtaposition'.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
It is still far too early in the
year for the weather to be settled, if indeed it ever is. On driving to the
North end the other day, I noticed that the dunes at Cata were an unusual
colour. On closer inspection the culprit turned out to be a layer of hail. Yet
again, it would have to be one of those days when I’d left home without a
camera, so I had to get home, grab one and head back out again, much to the amusement
of the lady of the house. It wasn’t thawing in any kind of a hurry so I managed
to snap a few shots before the risk of exposure forced me back into the warm
car. At low tide, it’s possible to drive over the shallow beach. I have been on
the island long enough to hear of the plenty of tales of stranded vehicles and
decided that a closer inspection was not necessary for the purpose of this
narrative.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-5NEOz3Ox9UrftBa0bXEEvZj4050m-fMD5j8PwJkIqxLVKas8QebvFUMlFw-z1ewi_Lak6LjL83U_Yuhq0SrVrW_Ytil7efumgP4QQjuHmHt_N_2scbr0Dg78Q5JBcEWyNEVDGlQy9Pm/s1600/DSCF2710.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-5NEOz3Ox9UrftBa0bXEEvZj4050m-fMD5j8PwJkIqxLVKas8QebvFUMlFw-z1ewi_Lak6LjL83U_Yuhq0SrVrW_Ytil7efumgP4QQjuHmHt_N_2scbr0Dg78Q5JBcEWyNEVDGlQy9Pm/s1600/DSCF2710.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This handsome chap deserved better</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
One of our ranger’s
responsibilities is to monitor sea pollution and to that end he conducts
regular beached-bird surveys on the island. Toward the end of month, he
advertised for some assistance in covering Bay of Lopness. It’s a long, gently
sloping coast so the inter-tidal, or littoral, zone is rather wide for a single
person to cover. In the end there were four of us, scanning the whole beach for
washed up dead animals. Rod insists that the quality of the water has very much
improved over the years of his residency, so he was very much hoping that we’d
find nothing. He was to be disappointed however on this occasion. An animal
washed ashore is often a free meal for someone else. By the time we find them,
most of the remains are stripped bare, a couple of wings and assorted bones. In
addition, a stiff breeze had been drifting the sand all day and I was ‘lucky’
to spy a feather tip poking up out of it all. I managed to dig up a whole,
fresh gannet, most likely the injured one that Rod and I had tried to rescue a few days earlier. The remains are tossed up onto the dunes to ensure the bodies are not
recorded again in the future.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9fmL185hKVYVqS4ibgrYY9KsLZ1AftEk4eSlmPqrZX8juIL8DHsuaiGUskZkqgtJJ4vdS5pLJXNPl5dnlTk3QLe3oR-1Rp_8ieOYDzhhw54x9daXCgiogEWHkU9cCRZbipA7anp5Xrgg/s1600/DSCF3008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9fmL185hKVYVqS4ibgrYY9KsLZ1AftEk4eSlmPqrZX8juIL8DHsuaiGUskZkqgtJJ4vdS5pLJXNPl5dnlTk3QLe3oR-1Rp_8ieOYDzhhw54x9daXCgiogEWHkU9cCRZbipA7anp5Xrgg/s1600/DSCF3008.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boloquoy Mill</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Eventually, the longer days
started to encourage the next generation of flora and fauna. In their hollows
in the dunes, the seagulls laid their eggs and wild flowers exploded from the
grasses. It was also an ideal time to be out and about. The days were long and
warm, out of the wind, and nobody had bothered to tell those annoying flies
that were to plague us during Summer and Autumn. Rod the ranger held a walk out
from Mill Geo to Boloquoy, along a cliff-top path of rocky coastline to the
West that is in stark contrast to the shallow, sandy bays of the Eastern side
of the island. It offers a roost to a myriad of seabirds and some dramatic
vistas. It ended at the old mill at Boloquoy, now redundant. Formerly a grinding
(until the stones were sold to another island) and latterly a threshing mill, it
is an icon of the island’s past. There is still a pond and evidence of a
channel to bring the water to a large wheel on the outside of the Western wall.
Inside, a rusting collection of old fittings continue to lamentably rot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOxhXqbIcMJCq2ux0VEWtzu90KB3gzB-uv-Q0u7BiikETeUMQtyAsYODK4tf8HKaOU5Wg3-ehEP4EiuJ4Hbxsv-SxOrW83hjnHqGFHKq0w1YN8Qg7MGcJhnsjk8_hoBCj1IjkNnAczOxDF/s1600/Photo+0124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOxhXqbIcMJCq2ux0VEWtzu90KB3gzB-uv-Q0u7BiikETeUMQtyAsYODK4tf8HKaOU5Wg3-ehEP4EiuJ4Hbxsv-SxOrW83hjnHqGFHKq0w1YN8Qg7MGcJhnsjk8_hoBCj1IjkNnAczOxDF/s1600/Photo+0124.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Never expected to see the pitons from Duncansby!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgScPpYUvwqMwl3yUc-bj00YPcPd3pQ-a6bRoJCoOucQhBSAUafUpbuSVqfxPj2nYY4CSwJxI0IlCzJS1mWKrDblkAkqm9RtTDLxeXCPASBUsKy7mfXkRpIE1ff8SJXTvjswXpbmSxkh16t/s1600/Photo+0127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgScPpYUvwqMwl3yUc-bj00YPcPd3pQ-a6bRoJCoOucQhBSAUafUpbuSVqfxPj2nYY4CSwJxI0IlCzJS1mWKrDblkAkqm9RtTDLxeXCPASBUsKy7mfXkRpIE1ff8SJXTvjswXpbmSxkh16t/s1600/Photo+0127.jpg" height="237" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Far from your average Nissen hut.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
June started with plan to get
back onto the British mainland. A friend from the old gig was taking part in a
charity bike ride all the way from Land’s End to John O’Groats. This
mind-boggling accomplishment required some kind of welcoming committee and as
the only guy within hundreds of miles, I wanted to be there. They had been on
the road for the better part of a fortnight. I just had to set out the day
before. I cycled from home to Loth Pier, got on the boat to Kirkwall, then
cycled South. Before the wars I would have had to catch another three peedie
boats to get to Burwick on South Ronaldsay. Now I just had to ride across the Churchill Barriers instead. I ran out of daylight at St.
Margaret’s Hope, where I availed myself of a waiting room that remained
unlocked overnight. Thankfully, the night was short as the bench seats were
really uncomfortable. I set out early in the hope that the waiting room at
Burwick for the John O’Groats ferry would be nicer. When I got there, though,
it wasn’t even open. Cue me standing around and my body temperature dropping
like a stone. The ferry was great, despite being really narrow and the Pentland
Firth being is usual, choppy self. I had plenty of time to spare before Zara
and Richard were due to arrive. Enough to get to see Duncansby Head, though it
nearly killed me. The geography was up and down. Exhausting to pedal up and a
white-knuckle freefall descent with the brakes screaming like a banshee. The
views were spectacular, though. I rode back into John O’Groats with the hero
pair, took pictures of them beneath the sign and introduced them to Orkney
beer. My bad. I was very happy when they managed to cadge a lift on board a
coach heading back to civilization. My return journey North involved Orca’s in
the Pentland Firth, photos of and in the Italian Chapel and another night in a
ferry waiting room, this time in Kirkwall. Hurrah for padded seats!</div>
<o:p></o:p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-20675254259724100452014-06-10T22:26:00.000+01:002014-06-10T22:26:14.105+01:00An observation from the edge<div class="MsoNormal">
Life on the dole is not quite the experience that I
expected. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did
not once in my whole career moan about folk on benefits. Fraudsters are a
different matter, but people who are entitled to it, I have always advocated,
should jolly well get it. My recent encounter with Jobcentre+ has done nothing
to change my view. If anything, I am now as angry with DWP almost as much as
those incompetent numpties at HMRC. I’m proud that I at least had the good fortune
to work for an agency with credibility. Just as I’m sure that that’ll be the
case until they sell it off.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I haven’t
signed on for the purpose of getting any money. As a man of leisure of three
years standing, I haven’t, obviously, been credited with any National Insurance
contributions in that time. On reflection, I perhaps should have signed on
straight away but the thought of doing so when we had money coming out of the
wazoo seemed to me unconscionable. Now the gelt is all but gone. I have a
part-time job and a bit of money from my other gig as a private residential landlord.
It’s just that with the taxman after me for big numbers and arrogant
politicians claiming that the good times are back, I thought the time right to
set the record straight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After
signing on online, I got an appointment to attend the Jobcentre in Kirkwall. ‘Bert’
is an OK guy, helped me through the application and handed me the forms I’d
need to complete to show that I was actively looking for employment. It’s a fair
enough request. I don’t have a plan to return to servitude, but if the ideal
position comes to up, I could do that for a few years. Basically though, who
needs that shit?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So for
no benefit from the benefit system that I happily contributed to for thirty
years, I’m at a loss how to proceed. If I continued to ‘claim’ to be out of
full time employment, which I have to concede is the truth of the matter, I
have to regularly post (at a minimum of fifty three pence a hit for the stamp)
a declaration to DWP. Not only that, but every time I change my work days or anything
else happens that changes my weekly earnings (which generally fluctuate with arrhythmiatic
certitude) I am obliged to phone them on a premium rate number to keep them in
the loop. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What sort of scam are DWP running here?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s a
shame that the truth is such an expensive commodity. Don’t believe jobless
figures. Trust that there are a number of people who CAN’T AFFORD to be
registered unemployed. Don’t believe that those on benefits don’t deserve it.
In the last two weeks, I can’t remember ever having to work so hard. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And for
what?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
From my
experience, I haven’t a blinkin’ clue!<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-57347308006453378772014-03-30T16:55:00.000+01:002014-03-30T16:55:43.900+01:00Heading into Spring, 2014.<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
March is here already. I can’t
say that I am too dismayed that the days are whizzing past. The sooner the
season changes the better. The longer days can’t possible do any harm either. I
picked up my first payslip in just under three years. There was a concern that
they may have deducted tax and NI contributions even though I’m nowhere near
earning the threshold. It has not stopped HMRC asking for three and a half grand
though. Some interesting correspondence between us lies ahead. Looks as if I
could become the poorest guy paying fifty percent tax in history!</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsnKA8r8vANw1fcHoqYZgAl_930iuT6EgoHS-2fV40NMnYIOJmKyzlr4XrssMT9dADdYmthIp5R7AB3PS63PjSb9GO4KN9n09djDicP-2Qkz67byo5e5yoaKpft9_H81qavulGzkhMxEt3/s1600/DSC00654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsnKA8r8vANw1fcHoqYZgAl_930iuT6EgoHS-2fV40NMnYIOJmKyzlr4XrssMT9dADdYmthIp5R7AB3PS63PjSb9GO4KN9n09djDicP-2Qkz67byo5e5yoaKpft9_H81qavulGzkhMxEt3/s1600/DSC00654.JPG" height="234" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smokey picks her way between the puddles.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The volunteer lifeguards at the
pool have to attend a training session every month to keep their skills honed. In
February, a session was also arranged also for the key-holders, who’s
responsibility it is to look after everything other than the pool itself,<o:p></o:p></div>
to
practice their role in an emergency situation. The lifeguards were simulating
different aquatic mishaps in front of them and everybody was working together through
each scenario in accordance with the Emergency Action Plan. Thankfully there
were no casualties. Mind you, it wouldn’t have been the first time that I’ve
become a genuine casualty in the course of training. I hadn’t even passed my
RLSS exam when I had a nosebleed in the pool and then damaged a toe during a mock
rescue. These mishaps are not helping to build confidence that I can be part of
the solution instead of the problem. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhf_hJwTnU8x6_4XV3rR0FJ6f137acCXMhroO9i1NBS49hOWqPu75-8qlrU7kjBOuweBp6HDckeBFvUjgb_japYwZAAJsXB0iFpM3AYpwtgfac_tdYRg2kZr7cNYCJUi_n_s8GK1paqaF/s1600/DSCF2308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhf_hJwTnU8x6_4XV3rR0FJ6f137acCXMhroO9i1NBS49hOWqPu75-8qlrU7kjBOuweBp6HDckeBFvUjgb_japYwZAAJsXB0iFpM3AYpwtgfac_tdYRg2kZr7cNYCJUi_n_s8GK1paqaF/s1600/DSCF2308.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The deep, blue B9069!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
That very same day, the sea defences
at Bay of Lopness were breached and flooded the road. A mountainous sea on top
of an unusually high spring tide brought waves not so much over the top of the
dunes, but through some of the access points to the beach, which are slightly
lower. These are gaps that tractors have used/caused to get down onto the beach,
probably to carry away driftwood and tangles. There is just such a narrow space
opposite our neighbour’s driveway, where they keep their little dingy and, sure
enough, debris was strewn across the road. The other side of us, toward Newark,
there was about a foot of standing water for nearly a hundred yards. Again, the
path of the water from the top of the dunes was evidenced by rubbish and
pebbles leading down the landward side of it, just like glacial moraine. The
Skoda made it through the deluge at a crawl to avoid a bow-wave. The fun and
games started a couple of days later when the salt-water exposure seized the
brakes. I’m used to the odd wheel slipping over the grass, but when you’re
dragging tyres on dry tarmac then you know that you’re in trouble. I had to
take a wheel off and apply liberal persuasion with a hammer to loosen things up.
I’m sure that’s all that professional mechanics do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlAFjmraMhhP_oAiwENIxvafNfIk93rNCJ4u7YxFJzzeGa8iXvliA4SBkZqM3wc-krQzoJG3tlcJIDX4l-8EdCivCcsoBlCbUAnH0Beks8za6TycV7nfg5v8mnNCwv0auYpxnvB5HFdXV/s1600/DSC00710.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlAFjmraMhhP_oAiwENIxvafNfIk93rNCJ4u7YxFJzzeGa8iXvliA4SBkZqM3wc-krQzoJG3tlcJIDX4l-8EdCivCcsoBlCbUAnH0Beks8za6TycV7nfg5v8mnNCwv0auYpxnvB5HFdXV/s1600/DSC00710.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andy shows that he's a keen follower of fashion.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
There was profit and loss to be experienced
only weeks later. I had ordered a nice, new high visibility shell jacket all
the way back before Christmas, but being unable to get back to Mainland to collect
it, it sat gathering dust in Kirkwall. Eventually, the good lady wife of our
island councillor volunteered to bring it back to Sanday for me. That joy was tempered however by the loss of
my ‘pride and joy’ Columbia mountain boots. The stitching holding the uppers to
the rubber sole and carcass had been eaten away. They were now useless, fit
only for the bin. I did cry a little bit. Now all I’ve got left in the way of practical
footwear are a tired pair of Merrells and my wellies.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPQc_qDffE7x-6gXDlUEOr8aoEPqu2jhULdghlJuREACHzc4RlaiAx7TGjNSnQ7av06G3m78R-mYVBm1KkbCuFW11xclkVfVi7X1zBdOMDiXSeI4fcba5dA_Eq2NpmxdR_RCqc6Jp7Ou7/s1600/DSCF2403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPQc_qDffE7x-6gXDlUEOr8aoEPqu2jhULdghlJuREACHzc4RlaiAx7TGjNSnQ7av06G3m78R-mYVBm1KkbCuFW11xclkVfVi7X1zBdOMDiXSeI4fcba5dA_Eq2NpmxdR_RCqc6Jp7Ou7/s1600/DSCF2403.JPG" height="232" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who let the sun-dogs out?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I very much enjoyed the Winter
Olympics and it provided a great motivation to get up in the morning. The way
that Elise Christie annihilated the completion in her first qualifying race
promised much. It certainly did not prepare any of us for the evil, petty,
vindictive persecution of her that was to follow. I would have loved to see her
on the long track. I’m sure that she would have broken up the tedious orange
domination of the event. Gail and I needed to tear ourselves away to do some
shopping and also pop into the visiting mobile library. A spectacle awaited us
on our return. When looking out of the window, there was a second bright spot
in the sky. The big orange blob was to be expected, even this far to the North,
but there was also a huge glare to the right of it. I had no idea what it was,
but when a posted a picture online I was informed that I was watching a
‘sundog’. I looked it up on the internet. A parhelion is an atmospheric
phenomenon that creates ‘false suns’. There are some excellent images
available. Certainly knocks mine into a cocked hat and shows that I should have
taken the time to look around for other bright spots.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UuDnIJRhroCIZLZSzz1am1obQ1AUR67297SM_zbOzJM1PLT2tPbHrl8V9uwNuMcAEZKDZExr0I6Ty6aisxfKf0ciCia9yY2aWo6tLeDGzigTma_xOrUbEgPN4U17UGRK_ivgrLhgcwfV/s1600/DSC00745.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UuDnIJRhroCIZLZSzz1am1obQ1AUR67297SM_zbOzJM1PLT2tPbHrl8V9uwNuMcAEZKDZExr0I6Ty6aisxfKf0ciCia9yY2aWo6tLeDGzigTma_xOrUbEgPN4U17UGRK_ivgrLhgcwfV/s1600/DSC00745.JPG" height="234" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most oft deserted road to Loth peir at Spurness. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The Sanday ranger had reported
some damage to the access to the Doun Helzie arch which I went to check out for
myself. The half mile of track leading to the top of the Stove links had also
been through the wars. I had to stop the car a number of times to remove large
stones out of the way and speculatively plan a route between the ruts and
peaks. I don’t think I lost any bits from underneath, but it was quite scary.
At the top of the hill, I left the car and walked toward the beach. Part of the
route includes a dip beneath a strand or two of barbed wire. It’s not really what
you could call visitor friendly. From the fence, where last year there was a
gentle, sandy descent of about twenty feet, the whole slope had eroded away,
leaving a precipitous vertical drop instead. It would have been possible to
scramble down, but the ascent was likely to have been a little more arduous. I
decided not to risk it. The nearest property is at least half a mile away so it
is unlikely that a living soul would have been able to hear my piteous cries
for help. A rope ladder is required for the future.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Within weeks we were treated to another
amazing ‘light show’. In the two years we’ve been here, we’d witnessed a couple
of half decent aurora. What the end February had for us was a whole new palette
altogether. Looking back, we’d had a foretaste of it a week earlier, another
green glow in the Northern sky. But this was a big one. It was right overhead,
if anything slightly to the South of us. It arced all the way across the sky.
You could even tell, quite clearly, where it was curving to the North toward
both horizons as it encircled the pole. The cascades of green were punctuated
by deep reds and the movement was like billowing curtains of light. The thing
went on for ages. We stood out in the garden with all the house lights turned
off for as long as we could, but we were turning blue with cold and had to go
back indoors. Every now and again, I’d go to the door and look out at the
continuing drama of the skies. It was
the most amazing sight and no words, certainly not mine, can do sufficient justice
to them. Alas! You really do need to see it for yourself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3efOsb7K6gaIzlGzcpm5k_vdXZqOsxCuMFwghoI9T71AxZqWAVM9u1ixd-ZlNphmhKZYF2FInqvEU8mtjBK8u1rFrN_egWxqhiM5pkShnO33G6rjlLW9tFWiAUSw9hAl_0dGHYZdUuz_i/s1600/DSCF2548.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3efOsb7K6gaIzlGzcpm5k_vdXZqOsxCuMFwghoI9T71AxZqWAVM9u1ixd-ZlNphmhKZYF2FInqvEU8mtjBK8u1rFrN_egWxqhiM5pkShnO33G6rjlLW9tFWiAUSw9hAl_0dGHYZdUuz_i/s1600/DSCF2548.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half of the Orkney Ferries North Isles fleet.<br />From the Earl Sigurd, Earl Thorfinn right and Shapinsay left.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Then you have the kind of drama
that you don’t need. Two weeks later, Gail had a scheduled hospital appointment
in Kirkwall but had had a premonition that her attendance would be unlikely. I
agreed with her that I was most likely to be responsible for the failure,
especially as the car was running on fumes at the time. However, it was to be
Orkney Ferries that would throw the spanner in the works. They phoned on the
morning of departure to say that they were cancelling the morning boat. They
lay on an additional sailing at midday, but Gail would miss her appointment and
we would have only an hour on mainland before the afternoon return sailing. We
were saved when the hospital re-arranged their timetable for us, we caught the
lunchtime boat after all but decided to stay in Kirkwall overnight and come
home the following afternoon. This is what qualifies as a holiday for us these
days. After the hospital, we booked into the Peedie Hostel before going out to Lucano’s
Italian restaurant for a ‘slap-up’ nosh. After a good night’s sleep, we went
for an early morning dip at the Pickaquoy pool, had breakfast at Café Lolz
before hitting the shops. I wonder how many other people end up spending nearly
three hundred quid just on a visit to the doctor? The treatment might be free, but the fiasco
associated with it is something completely different. At least we didn’t have
to pay for parking. Thank goodness for small mercies.<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-41440734621418761792014-01-27T21:50:00.001+00:002014-01-27T21:50:52.501+00:00Playing catch-up<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve just had my knuckles rapped for reneging upon my
responsibilities. My sisters can be right bullies at times.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
October
was pretty bonnie by the look of it. I took the opportunity to ride my mountain
bike all the way down to the pier and back. Not on the same day, of course. I’m
not a sadist. I left it at Loth <o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYPKVmxM_lLgn8HzoYjMDlmmSZLyn7qEGMGAUia1X-xUU4zgCYPaaVh_5AiAb3k7-lMkdYqs4kWXOlZlxoR57yOUrTY4-FLUSoeIE0sTrDDGejBIHqaDLk2_5luXNz0vnQkB452_YFz9Oi/s1600/DSCF2176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYPKVmxM_lLgn8HzoYjMDlmmSZLyn7qEGMGAUia1X-xUU4zgCYPaaVh_5AiAb3k7-lMkdYqs4kWXOlZlxoR57yOUrTY4-FLUSoeIE0sTrDDGejBIHqaDLk2_5luXNz0vnQkB452_YFz9Oi/s1600/DSCF2176.JPG" height="238" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ferry heads off to Kirkwall. I regret that I hadn't joined them</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
overnight. I didn’t need to lock it. It is part
of the reason I’m here. I took the bus home for the night and then caught it back
again in the morning. While all my fellow passengers boarded the ferry to
Kirkwall, I climbed onto the saddle. The twelve mile ride commences with a long
climb to the summit of Spurness. After that, other than Branch, it’s pretty
much downhill all the way. It took a long time, but that’s the way it goes when
you are silly enough to pack a camera. Also, eighteen months of salt air plays
havoc with exposed metalwork, so it was hardly a surprise to me when the gear
cable snapped. That was an extra ‘uphill’ however that I could have done
without.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
To
celebrate twenty three years of …… wearing a silly gold ring with a nose on it,
Gail and I spent the night in Kirkwall. Actually, all we wanted to do was eat
Italian, but when the restaurant is in Kirkwall and the last boat back to
Sanday leaves in the afternoon, we are obliged to spend the night there as
well. It adds an extra days pay onto an already expensive evening, so don’t be
too hard on me when I tell you the room had bunk-beds. Lucano’s is a real treat
though, so it’s just well it’s only once a year. The wine, a Prosecco from the
Veneto region, was supplemented by a complimentary Limoncello, which only succeeded
in making me even more lightheaded. My weakness to alcohol makes me so the
black sheep of the family. The food was gorgeous and the service excellent. I
couldn’t afford a tip, but they didn’t give me an excuse not to. I hate that. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqEthQCAfHglnW-Gj_szHbzvU2DbIo5fsKwLzN8MvWJvBGV28AWMFoVuQbC1RQTTXtv4oM9EY4UQg2ntErn7oibIPkIK93C-p_Wo0T3TvBXCxbGAjQI0s73FT7j2i6jaJCW3vl-G9a61R/s1600/DSC00586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqEthQCAfHglnW-Gj_szHbzvU2DbIo5fsKwLzN8MvWJvBGV28AWMFoVuQbC1RQTTXtv4oM9EY4UQg2ntErn7oibIPkIK93C-p_Wo0T3TvBXCxbGAjQI0s73FT7j2i6jaJCW3vl-G9a61R/s1600/DSC00586.JPG" height="222" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ain't nothing coming out of there that doesn't have gills.<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It
rained so much at the beginning of November that things got decidedly squelchy
underfoot. It also submerged many of the vegetable beds, including the large
foundation plot with all the spuds and onions in. I had to dig out all the
potatoes that I could find and there weren’t many of those. Those that came up
were still quite peedie (small). We would have had more to eat if we’d just
eaten the seed potatoes themselves and not bothered with all the ‘sticking them
in the ground’ nonsense at all. At various times I went in there with a bucket
to bail it out but the water table soon brings more to the surface. I thought
that I was finally making progress, with many plants at last able to come up
for air, but the skies opened the next night and drowned them all again. I’m
past caring now. It is an attitude that seems to work for carrots. The late
ones that I haven’t finished picking are going great guns. Some proper monsters
have been coming out just lately and I can confirm that the season of carrot
cake plenty is very much on!<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have
been lifeguarding for a few sessions at the pool. I have a regular fortnightly
gig on a Friday lunchtime and when a class of schoolchildren from Eday visit
Sanday on Tuesday for swimming lessons, I <o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmEdk9zFi04TO4_AasWgWTSeKmJRLn6AQ0xrr3I0Hab8knCGuGXs-O4sDS_UVogO64dt7641ltTyA09_v8pyGCtUnYG80i_JmFtCCeYTrTuYv66Vojtuitv_SzWEphas9pQcOORwqzsTd/s1600/PICT0012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmEdk9zFi04TO4_AasWgWTSeKmJRLn6AQ0xrr3I0Hab8knCGuGXs-O4sDS_UVogO64dt7641ltTyA09_v8pyGCtUnYG80i_JmFtCCeYTrTuYv66Vojtuitv_SzWEphas9pQcOORwqzsTd/s1600/PICT0012.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toying with my waterproof camera. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
volunteered for that, too. My uniform
arrived, a spangly new yellow t-shirt with red RLSS writing all over it and
wristband with my own whistle. If I want the red shorts, which as a HSV fan I
ought to already own but don’t, and red/yellow beanie to complete the ensemble
then I will have to buy them for myself. The titfer I can do without and my
Canadian maple-leaf shorts will suffice for the time being. My duty has
certainly made me understand how working with kids can make even sensible
people go all broody. If parenthood was just a ninety minute obligation before
you can shove them off to somebody else for a week then I could see how it
might catch on. Anyone who commits to such an imposition for 24/7 is still, in
my humble opinion, a complete idiot. Present company excepted, naturally.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gail’s
Open University languages course continues apace. It often necessitates a visit
to Heilsa Fjold to avail ourselves of their non-pedestrian broadband to
download material, but as they tend to put on a good spread at lunchtime it can
hardly be termed an inconvenience. At home, Gail insists that she can
concentrate better if there is something on the television, so at her request I
am obliged to spend a number of hours playing Skyrim on the X-Box. It’s a
horrible job but someone’s got to do it. Most of the heat in the house comes
from the screen so it has other perks as well. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnCVma8R6uWhLu-6crmwCxRF301qsDBajpbQoRqPxABBu2enaRgtMBSqmyAh2lhOc90LaA1FSqnzLv2aNOd6Rko2PuLzE0xWnDZ9eLmqB30NC77nLcKrFEtQUIyjMQYDVX_m70wILGQRo/s1600/DSC00658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnCVma8R6uWhLu-6crmwCxRF301qsDBajpbQoRqPxABBu2enaRgtMBSqmyAh2lhOc90LaA1FSqnzLv2aNOd6Rko2PuLzE0xWnDZ9eLmqB30NC77nLcKrFEtQUIyjMQYDVX_m70wILGQRo/s1600/DSC00658.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was an early start whichever bus was in action.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The
Sanday bus is showing signs of fatigue. ‘Rodger’s’, which is Kelly’s name for
him, is eight years old and has many, many miles under his belt. His
tribulations, which I’m sure I may have covered in earlier posts, include
alternator failure, breathing difficulties and being driven into the scenery by
this inexperienced pilot. Lately, he has stubbornly refused to start in the
morning. Our island mechanic has stripped down the fuel line and diagnosed
serious health issues. As his workload has already been compromised by his
efforts enough already, Rodger’s took the ferry to Kirkwall today for a
thorough shakedown. There are doubts that we will see him return before next
week. Fortunately, there is another minibus on the island to take up the slack.
It is the same age but has done significantly fewer miles as a consequence of
only being used once a week as the ‘Afternoon Club’ bus. I’ll probably be
driving it tomorrow. I’ll try to keep it on the black stuff for them. It
shouldn’t be too difficult. It weighs tons, more because of the chairlift in
the back, so is a ponderous mass to get off the line and up hills.
Consequently, I’ve had to factor an additional ten minutes to haul it down to
the pier. Come back Rodger’s. I didn’t mean all those things I said about you.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHYyAMzdosvHhUtyH9AVB_hbFLHuSUKr-yEqZgP9KNvrOvN6ma1h0UmRFkMJMfvcfYwfBZhV75j-61tKu5HBbtB21M7hEO9uG96kZyyTDvOWIS_n-oIxOSoEf3kRf8ifurpMAXR4nA_ABN/s1600/DSC00623.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHYyAMzdosvHhUtyH9AVB_hbFLHuSUKr-yEqZgP9KNvrOvN6ma1h0UmRFkMJMfvcfYwfBZhV75j-61tKu5HBbtB21M7hEO9uG96kZyyTDvOWIS_n-oIxOSoEf3kRf8ifurpMAXR4nA_ABN/s1600/DSC00623.JPG" height="236" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the dunes summit. Level with the top of our windows!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
first snows arrived in the second half of November. We had a couple of flurries
over a few days, most of it whizzing past the windows horizontally. Since then
it has been really mild. The consequence of that though has been the conveyor
belt of Atlantic storms that have been battering the whole country. The wild
weather, spring tide and a tidal surge brought the North Sea to the very top of
the dunes. I shudder when it occurs to me that the house is lower than that. When
the tide went out again, it had left a mountain of ‘bruck’ (rubbish) up there.
Over the Summer, I became quite proprietorial about the beautiful beach, so it
is killing me that it hasn’t been calm enough to take a bin-bag up there to
collect some of it. Hopefully I’ll get the chance before the tourists arrive.
The neighbours and I will need
plenty of time ‘cos there’s at least a skip load up there and the rest of the island is
in a similar position.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
poor weather has also not helped in our search for the elusive Aurorae. Even
when Dr Brian Cox and Dara O’Briain all but promised us a dazzling display in
early January, even though we did have a few, rare clear spells, there was not
a sausage to be seen. All in all, other than the pleasure of watching them in
Stargazing live, the only two positives arising from the programmes were the
inspiration to finally assemble my 120mm refractor telescope and my first ever
observation of a ‘moon-bow’. I didn’t need any fancy, expensive equipment for
that either. I just looked out of the front door before going to bed and there
it was. Then there’s a decision to be made: whether or not to wake up the good
lady wife. Would she be angry more for being woken up or for not sharing what
you’d seen with her. To date, my judgement has been good. Thank my lucky stars.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
At the beginning of the New Year,
I started the Blipfoto 365 challenge. It’s a kind of blog that encourages users
to take and post a photograph every day.
As I’ve linked it to Facebook, I’ve been using that instead of updating
this blog. Well, up until today I was. Oh well, at least it should be easier
for me to draft these from now on.<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-60841350089246635062013-09-27T22:15:00.000+01:002013-09-27T22:16:07.045+01:00Hi! Remember the time I used to keep a blog. No? Me neither.<div class="MsoNormal">
A month and a half, that’s abandonment that is. Anyway, how
have you been? I certainly hope that this epistle finds you well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl1PxoF_6yQ56_gJizOpDJdQA1YK15OSd_uOVYdURivvZXI8QAYMxVQXfNp2y3OHKBoAv1vgjtNU4oER_IWnGX-SsZLJfcDJiBDfqSPUglFU68PPTPnRKf7tX6zbT2cjfttNu3NgGjhJay/s1600/DSCF2014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl1PxoF_6yQ56_gJizOpDJdQA1YK15OSd_uOVYdURivvZXI8QAYMxVQXfNp2y3OHKBoAv1vgjtNU4oER_IWnGX-SsZLJfcDJiBDfqSPUglFU68PPTPnRKf7tX6zbT2cjfttNu3NgGjhJay/s1600/DSCF2014.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Age begins to tell as author suffers first erectile dysfunction.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gail
arrived home safely from her hospital visit last month. This was despite a very
low cloud that nearly forced the pilot to turn around and go back to Kirkwall.
He managed to get it down safely before he then had to head on the North
Ronaldsay. They don’t pay those guys enough, I can tell you.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Orkney
has enjoyed a quiet summer. It’s the sort of thing to make you forget all about
how long winter lasted. The days got
very long indeed. Anyone who has seen Al Pacino in ‘Insomnia’ will know exactly
what went on in our heads. There are no black-out curtains thick enough to cut
out such a plethora of sunlight and when you can’t sleep you also can’t help
feeling guilty that you’re not doing something useful outside. It’s no use
screaming that it’s only three o’clock in the morning when you can smell the
grass growing, hear the birds singing and see the bunnies, equally as confused,
hopping around looking for an early breakfast. The only reassuring thing is the
knowledge that there isn’t a mad, bad Robin Williams around.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQWijXbnFFQEC2RnqHTeFf7uWmWg6zrU_yXfcTOKa1ijk7fIO-zmphcoKmucpeSQCoy89eJ89xrYjL-1ghDzufOcyzKabBsfYkXVf-_D3lVYXVRKhyphenhyphenLYf9W2N6X-M-xbfMqwjCOEvJFHxh/s1600/DSCF1999.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQWijXbnFFQEC2RnqHTeFf7uWmWg6zrU_yXfcTOKa1ijk7fIO-zmphcoKmucpeSQCoy89eJ89xrYjL-1ghDzufOcyzKabBsfYkXVf-_D3lVYXVRKhyphenhyphenLYf9W2N6X-M-xbfMqwjCOEvJFHxh/s1600/DSCF1999.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How did I manage a trip to 1960's Garsdale, Cumbria?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I
received an unexpected envelope from the Jury Summoning office, inviting me to
attend court. If anything, I have been anticipating an appearance on the other
side of the dock. It was not for the courts in Scotland, however, but for the
Portsmouth circuit. I had to apologize for having the audacity to move away and
request that I be excused, indefinitely. I don’t intend to be heading Sooth for
a long while. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
They say that cats have an
extraordinary sense of hearing, but surely that cannot have been the
explanation for why, within twenty four hours of me mentioning to Gail that a
certain Siamese gentleman hadn’t paid us a visit for a while, a certain Siamese
gentleman turned up on our doorstep. Then again, perhaps it is. He has
demonstrated that he clearly possesses an acute ear, a profound understanding
of the English language and an uncanny familiarity with my daily routine in
order to ensure that our paths would cross at that precise moment. Either that
or I somehow willed it and performed telekinesis but, if that was the case, I
suspect that he would have been mightily aggrieved, which he did not seem to be
judging by the way he polished off a small plate of tuna. He followed me about
the garden for a while, critiquing my horticultural prowess, before sloping off
when he realized that there were no more goodies in the offing. He may be an
opportunist, freeloading bastard, but he’s our guest opportunist, freeloading
bastard and we love him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP2lk18uJL7In6v4W0jzvvOf2w62CMUnTFkVzkfE_U0LEkWGrOxgFgx6pXOoZPeciY6hQX3Y466NVfYDCmPAHu46MZT_CtI_JlVWliwnfnrWPNxTNRdqQHZo1POSljjKXBH1Zb60iN4AtH/s1600/DSCF2040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP2lk18uJL7In6v4W0jzvvOf2w62CMUnTFkVzkfE_U0LEkWGrOxgFgx6pXOoZPeciY6hQX3Y466NVfYDCmPAHu46MZT_CtI_JlVWliwnfnrWPNxTNRdqQHZo1POSljjKXBH1Zb60iN4AtH/s1600/DSCF2040.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is exactly what happens when you cast nasturtiums!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Talking of my horticultural
prowess, I’ve actually had some success. Not all of it, obviously. The only beans
that made an appearance were the ones that I kept indoors. The carrots, leeks,
onions and potatoes have been going great guns outdoors though. The parsnips
and spinach have been less keen, but I still have hope for them. I’ve even
experimented a bit by planting a couple of beds of flax. They seem to be doing
alright, so if I can turn a large plot over during the winter, I might try a
field of it next year. I also have a little pet squash plant that is busy
wending its way around the vegetable garden, flowering and fruiting at
intervals along its path. I’ve been here before so I’m not going to get too
excited. The fruits never developed into anything previously and when I did
manage to get some courgettes going last year, the bunnies and the starlings
munched their way through them. I have managed to ponce some tomato plants as
well. Currently producing nothing more than little green bullets, they are a
work in progress. Gail has managed to not murder her rosemary and basil plants.
Just recently, my Woodland Trust order turned up. I’m not sure that they
enjoyed spending a week in a box in the post and when they find out where
they’ve been sent to it may turn out to be the final straw. I certainly don’t
have the heart to stick them outside yet. I’ve set the plugs into pots to
encourage the root systems and I’ll introduce them to the great outdoors in
Spring. I hope they forgive me or else there’ll be a tiny gang of Dryads
ganging up to kick lumps out of me.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3DZpRwexEocggC3S3Mj-drG41mw_HxvA7a4DzAwxkp0V2jxbwRwnivGBhIIN3uT685HhJtw36CVCUab4ooB0dcjBccMQJe7gJLQ3_-Ws3Svl1G17UUtM_LhFEepsbIM0wr7QeDLMchMVw/s1600/DSCF2123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3DZpRwexEocggC3S3Mj-drG41mw_HxvA7a4DzAwxkp0V2jxbwRwnivGBhIIN3uT685HhJtw36CVCUab4ooB0dcjBccMQJe7gJLQ3_-Ws3Svl1G17UUtM_LhFEepsbIM0wr7QeDLMchMVw/s1600/DSCF2123.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If Andy's seeing mermaids, it must be the 'shrooms!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
There have been a couple of
really calm days. As if the fact that we would have had to pay to use
electricity off the grid if we stayed indoors wasn’t enough of an incentive,
one look over the dunes to the mirror smooth water in the bay is nothing short
of an invitation. Dragging the kayaks down the garden and across the sand, we’d
paddle around on the crystal clear, minty green sea. I’ve been out a couple of
times on my own since, heading around the corner at Newark toward Elsness or
over toward Whale Head. I remember paddling in Portsmouth and not being able to
see squat beneath the boat. Here the water is a distraction. At times the sand
below appears to be within touching distance, but it’s out of the reach with a
six foot long paddle. Other times, I glide over kelp beds and the water goes
really dark and I might as well be trying to paddle through treacle. Then, all
of a sudden, a head appears and when the seal sees me, it plunges below with a
mighty splash. It’s so quiet out there that you can hear them breathing when
they think they’re being smart and swimming right behind you. In the evening,
you can hear them singing from their roosts, or whatever the place that they
hang out is called. Having just the selkies and the seabirds for company is
just awesome.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
My pool lifeguard training
started recently. You may think that looking after a handful of folk in a
postage stamp size pool would be a walk in the park, but the RLSS is a national
standard. The difficulty I’m having is not the physical aspects of the gig,
although the first aid will be difficult as I’ve never done any of that before,
but simply trying to visualize doing this stuff anywhere bigger than a postage
stamp pool. The handbook covers flumes, wave machines, movable floors, diving
boards and a dizzying myriad hazards and complications that are so hard to imagine
when you are standing in a hall with a foot spa in the middle of it. I
exaggerate of course, but it is as far away from being a lido as the bandstand
on Southsea Common is from the Royal Albert Hall. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Is there anything else? Oh yeah,
there is. The kittens have moved out of the stables, moved back in and moved
out again. Their mum has started to take them out hunting with her, but when
the weather turns nasty she brings them back to shelter. Then she goes out on
her own. It is honestly like a rabbit morgue out there. I feel sick just
describing the heads with spines coming out of them with two furry back feet at
the other end and absolutely nothing else in between. Loads of carcasses just
like that spread all over the place.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjl7PwfkvEdTf92nbsSnosC27Er9fBRSeD24iSbD3en2Y2YACDC_vHdT6NoS_iKaqv_JJ_sfeCBI-i5WLqEZLrApeaF3qIgc8O11UzGac6xBUYj6cBjREGaNGJHMxtd3TmuNjv7CPlfEt5/s1600/DSCF2135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjl7PwfkvEdTf92nbsSnosC27Er9fBRSeD24iSbD3en2Y2YACDC_vHdT6NoS_iKaqv_JJ_sfeCBI-i5WLqEZLrApeaF3qIgc8O11UzGac6xBUYj6cBjREGaNGJHMxtd3TmuNjv7CPlfEt5/s1600/DSCF2135.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Different degrees of success in concealment.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpnsGyB5DuZ09c48a73vWro84zEjkPGJH_wCXUkECZZG2k5aUEk17i25bW9ASaidlMhTurEQIhN1Th8oKa5tTrEdful6GLZMycebzEgIe4yQSFKZ-Ge6IzUZ4mNojdH59DcVPL2Ie4SitZ/s1600/DSCF2134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>
Sometimes the gulls and the crows pick the
rest of the meat off the bones, other times it looks like it too horrible even
for them. I’ve taken some of Smokey’s tuna over there, some small Pollock or a
tin of cat food that Smokey would turn her nose up to and it all gets eaten,
but mum keeps on bringing in more rabbits. Today we had a phone call from a
neighbour who works with the Cats Protection League in Scotland. The kittens
were seen in the road the other day and so would we help catch them so that
they could be neutered and homed. We had to explain that they are much older
than they look and are now as feral as it is possible to be. Neutering is a
sensible and responsible thing to do though, so we promised to let her know when
they were back. It’ll be nice to see them up close. Nice for us that is. I
think they’ll probably hate us and chew our faces off given half a chance. Cats
are so cute! Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-61360076894870291922013-08-08T13:56:00.000+01:002013-08-08T14:04:50.859+01:00Alone again, or<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Here goes. I find myself having
to draft this entry on a notepad, using a pen and everything, because there’s
been a power cut. The mains cable from mainland had been severed, allegedly, by
a cruise ship during the wee small hours. Gail is away down in Aberdeen
hospital for a minor op. That leaves stupid having to fend for himself. I’m
also on bus duty for the next fortnight.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkTrBHHHCb_v8iaI0jATV46NLuEnCg5wF3M9uyYWvYW_ugR36fQz0qVM5YlMrDJ0qu7KpT03c3Ow3MfI7iVborJIfo2qOB5qGD2qrnDwfheu9Z0V4m6ASNf_IKGCJVkNu7wK6_IYtiF6ic/s1600/DSCF1986.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkTrBHHHCb_v8iaI0jATV46NLuEnCg5wF3M9uyYWvYW_ugR36fQz0qVM5YlMrDJ0qu7KpT03c3Ow3MfI7iVborJIfo2qOB5qGD2qrnDwfheu9Z0V4m6ASNf_IKGCJVkNu7wK6_IYtiF6ic/s1600/DSCF1986.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bit of Gail's Loganair plane. (The back bit, I think.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Yesterday I drove Gail to the
airport and saw her off. In stark contrast to the weather we’d had earlier in
the week, it was a wonderful, bright, clear morning. Indeed there didn’t seem
to be anything the least bit portentous about it. That evening, I picked up the
Sanday bus, came home and settled down for an early night, as soon as the
girlie football had finally finished.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Gail was kind enough to have set
the alarm clock for me before she left. However, when I awoke I found that the
display was blank. I got up straight away and wandered around the hoose in my
pants, sorry for the disturbing mental picture, to look for a watch. It
transpired that it was only five o’clock so I put some food down for Smokey before clambering back under the duvet with the condition that I wasn’t to take
the watch off. I was fast asleep when the phone started ringing from about half
past nine with folk looking to book seats on the bus. My passenger numbers
doubled for the morning inbound journey and I was already (more than) fully
booked for the way back. I’d managed my timing a bit fine so I started to panic
when I went outside and saw that the weather had completely closed in. Gail and
I have a system for assessing the thickness of fog based upon how many
‘telegraph’ poles we can see at the bottom of the garden. This morning it was
more a case of “What flippin’ telegraph poles?!” Added to all the extra
diversions that I hadn’t planned on having to make, things promised to be
somewhat edgy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I managed to arrive early at my
first address. Those additional five minutes, collectively, is what Kelly
refers to as “Burness Time”. Fortunately it turned out to be one of those rare
mornings when everybody was waiting for me by the roadside. It’s not unheard of
to have to go legging it up someone’s driveway to get them to get a hustle on. Sometimes
they are still in their jammies. Today I arrived at Loth pretty much on time and I
was further abetted by the boat being late. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkaVfJp3E0EoV4V0PAtG4g09LJ5pLBkezwwBym_tHYY9D2Mhj6ZP3x33pm1hJxZQQq5EypZ9fsfHcyl-iXf77UBqZSXCss1Xn00ftfOg0Otke1iQ0zSIyT93JimOktyfxy7Lpo5YVPbsFr/s1600/DSCF1993.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkaVfJp3E0EoV4V0PAtG4g09LJ5pLBkezwwBym_tHYY9D2Mhj6ZP3x33pm1hJxZQQq5EypZ9fsfHcyl-iXf77UBqZSXCss1Xn00ftfOg0Otke1iQ0zSIyT93JimOktyfxy7Lpo5YVPbsFr/s1600/DSCF1993.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The new 'tenants' in the stables. Cute and great rabbit killers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
My twelve lunchtime arrivals
turned out to be fourteen, so laps needed to be sat upon. Not mine I hasten to
add, but not that I’d have objected too vehemently. I dropped a large party off
at a big house that overlooks Otterswick Bay, which is very pretty, but they
had to take my word for it because we could barely make out the hoose itself
and it sits right on the side of the road! They left with all their luggage and
I sat on the driveway working out the cost of all the tickets I’d just run off.
The numbers seemed to add up so I headed home. I had a few hours to burn before
the next outing so I spent my time lavishing as much attention on Smokey as I
could, checked up on the kittens in the stable, did a bit of house-keeping,
etc, etc. Gail phoned to let me know that she was fine. It was a lovely sunny
day in Aberdeen and she was drinking coffee and eating a tuna salad. All I can
say is that it must have been baking hot in the ‘granite city’ for Gail to be
eating a salad. It did remind me, however, that I hadn’t drunk or eaten
anything all day and it was time I was off out again. I stopped on the way at
the recycling bins to drop off some bottle and tins. A man’s work is never
done. When I arrived at the pier, I was approached by a scout leader who I had
met on Wednesday. He, another three leaders and eighteen cubs and scouts had
arrived that day and needed transport as their own vehicle had not made the
trip over with them. I had to make two trips, which is apparently against the
rules, in order to get them to their camp which, as it transpired, was not in
the same place that they had originally intended to set up camp. (Their host
had been completely unaware of their impending arrival until two crates of
bottled water were delivered to his establishment.) What with all the messing
about, extra mileage and the uncertainty of whether they’d need single or
return fares if they didn’t resolve their own transport issues, I explained
that I needed some time to work out the fares so they could pay me the next
time I saw them. Today was that day. While I was reeling off reams of tickets
and relieving him of the necessary cash, he had time to give me the hard sell
on becoming a scout leader. I tried to explain to him that kids aren’t exactly my
kinda thing, having spent my entire adult life successfully avoiding becoming a
parent, but to his credit he was persistent. He explained that neither colour,
creed nor sexual orientation were any longer barriers to joining the scout
movement. Apparently however, atheism is still a taboo too far. We discussed
ways to avoid the subject on application but they all relied on me denying my
faith. My faith being that faith is a crock of poo. I assumed that we were at
an impasse, but only time will tell if I have managed to avoid the thing
altogether. In timely fashion, the ferry arrived and he had to rush off to meet
a man about a minibus. Vast numbers of foot passengers emerged from the ship
and I found myself with another full compliment. No laps this time, though, but
it was nearly an hour before I had set them all down and managed to get myself
home, by which time it was gone seven o’clock. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The power was still out at the
North end. One of my neighbours phoned to let me know that her gas stove was
available if I needed to use it. I thanked her but explained that I had got it
into my head that I was going to set up the camping stove and do a big fry-up.
If she was to hear an explosion though, I asked that she bring over a bucket of
water over to put the fire out. First though, I was positively dying for a cup
of tea, so the first thing on the burner was the kettle. Half an hour later, it
still wasn’t boiling. Dinner was getting later and later. Good things come to
those that wait and soon the pan was on and I left it to get started on the
veggie sausages and tatties while I enjoyed my first ‘Tetley’ moment of the
day. Bliss. The eggs went in about eight, I did mention it was somewhat
pedestrian, and I was soon serving the ensemble on a couple of mouldy crusts of
bread with the green bits picked out while sitting in front of the TV, a big TV with
a big blank screen, to the accompanying sound of absolutely nothing at all. All
alone and in the dark. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
After such a glorious repast, I
thought about going to bed, but concluded that it was probably not a good idea
on a full stomach. Instead I went out for a stroll along the beach. The sea was
very noisy in the stillness and so I had assumed by the cacophony that the tide
was in. When I reached the top of the dunes though, I couldn’t see the sea at
all through the fog. I headed straight out across the sand until I reached the
water’s edge. I turned around and the dunes had disappeared. This really was
thick stuff so I felt that I was in good company. I headed Westward toward
Newark, a narrow vista emerging before me, the one behind me being consumed. I
have no idea what cataracts are like (yet), but I imagined that the effect
might be somewhat akin. I walked until I found an expanse of ‘tangles’ blocking
further progress so I turned around and headed back. I had to follow my own footsteps back but somehow still managed to miss my exit.
Consequently, I went on until I could make my way up through the gap opposite the old
Sellibister school house, some quarter of a mile further, to reach the relative
security of the road. I needed a torch now to find my way in the gloom. It was eerily still. Occasionally I would shine the torch across the fields and find eyes, illuminated, staring back at me, though it was impossible to make out the creature to whom they belonged. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
At the shed, I needed to light
some candles as there was still no power. I clicked my heels together and said
“There’s no place like home” three times but apparently this was as good as it gets for me.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Andy<br />
26/7/2013</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-39339304177195797762013-07-05T16:42:00.000+01:002013-07-05T16:42:25.421+01:00What happens 'off Sanday', stays 'off Sanday'<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I woke up in the house that I was
born in. However much time I spend away from it, or how much money I lay out
setting roots somewhere else, it’ll never be a home like this one. I forget
sometimes that it’s just a place. It’s the people in it that make it. Secure, I
slept like a log. The screaming headache that accrued during the journey was
gone. What would Gail say when I tell her that I cannot face the trip back
North? That would be a job for a man far braver than I.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The departure day had come. I was
heading back into town anyway, so why not make a day of it. Thirty five years
ago, my friend and I would go to Las Vegas, that’s the one on Wardour Street
and not that trashy place stateside, to play arcade games like No Man’s Land,
Galaxian, Joust and Defender. He’d driven up from Fareham especially to relive those
halcyon days. Reunited, we rode the Metropolitan Line to Baker Street and hopped
on a connection to Monument on the Circle. Pour quoi? I hear you ask. Well one
can hardly defeat evil invaders on an empty stomach, can one? We wandered over
London Bridge and made our way to Borough Market. It was an assault upon the
senses. A world of cuisine lay at our feet and though it may disappoint you, I
had already promised myself a Thuringer Bratwurst with Sauerkraut, ketchup and
German mustard from the German Deli. The Lemon and almond polenta cake from the
Comptoir Gourmond stall was also truly dee-lish! It was just as well, because
it compensated for the horror of finding that, back in the West End, Las Vegas
had become a refuge for gamblers. The only concession to gamers was a single
rank of four driving simulators. Aggrieved, we sought solace on Oxford Street.
Dave was also in town for a bit of retail therapy. At fifteen we didn’t have any
money for shopping. I still hadn't any. At least it is free to look in the ‘Ferrari’ store on Regent
Street, ‘Yellow Korner’ on S. Molton St., ‘The Vintage Magazine Shop’ on Brewer
St. and ‘Play Lounge’ on Beak St. I did buy a 'Road Kill' toy in the last in an
attempt to get used to the sight of squished bunnies. I might even
try to get it on expenses as a training aid!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
As my carriage didn’t leave
Victoria until midnight, I rode the tube back out to Uxbridge with Dave and
picked up my luggage that we’d left in the boot of his car. He told me that he
envied my forthcoming adventure. I told him to get his head checked as he’d
clearly bumped it on something. Back in Victoria, the departure gate for the
Megabus was absolutely heaving and I spent the following twelve hours crammed
on a bus. I watched the sun come up which was a meagre consolation. It was
lunchtime when we arrived in Aberdeen and I had a table booked at Pizza
Express. With a full and happy tummy, I then cruised Union Street and bought a
few things in Lush for Gail before making my way to the harbour. Another calm
crossing dumped me outside Kirkwall at eleven at night. It was just beginning
to get a little ‘dusky’. I made my way to ’The Peedie Hostel’ and made myself
at home. I was back in Orkney. I WAS home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Back at the shed, it was time to
address the soak-away issue. The sink and washing machine hadn’t been draining properly
for weeks, so I dug it up. I must admit that I had expected to find a tank of
some sort, not just a dozen broken rocks, completely fouled with sand and mud.
Now I admit that I am a complete cock when it comes to all things DIY, but I
would never have condoned that patently insufficient waste solution. The system that I’ve cobbled together isn’t going to win any ‘Good Household Award’ either, but
a ‘Driller-Killer’ed bucket in a bed of gravel should at least last us for a time.
While hardly the sort of genius that brought Apollo thirteen home safely, I
must confess to a certain amount of pride at my inventiveness and industry.
Just enough self-satisfaction with a job well done to mean that it was alright
for me to put my feet up and bask in it for about a week. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Summer was coming and it was time
once more to play tourist and visit another of the islands attractions. On the
road to Stove, a track leads off up the side of a hill to a field at the
summit. There are no signs, but a trodden path leads to a gap in a fence and a
scree slope leads down to another beautiful sandy beach at Doun Helzie. The
Southern end of the beach is bounded by rugged cliffs with caves and even an
arch. The passage under the arch is even long enough to have a window in it.
The only problem is that it suffers with the common problem of marine detritus.
There is an annual ‘Bag the Bruck’ event where teams of volunteers fill sacks
full of beach-combed trash. It reinforces the notion of leaving places in a
tidier state than you found them. As well as picking up a couple of plastic
bottles and a crisp packet, I came away with a large, orange bouy and a basket that both still
had plenty of life left in them. A successful scavenge topped off a great time at the seaside.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyWkBsb-Zj8EU_KwpaV1a8NvzFK9fQkQ9aU80sxvEfinA8iMgy3qHPbEbXUs9M6MNmlpYoyrRjsV7toNdG45HsbSk4c2fx4PI2IVytohWKuocXI7BARaG0_8DbB1pH-L9xcrnNZvsaNwDb/s1600/DSCF1883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyWkBsb-Zj8EU_KwpaV1a8NvzFK9fQkQ9aU80sxvEfinA8iMgy3qHPbEbXUs9M6MNmlpYoyrRjsV7toNdG45HsbSk4c2fx4PI2IVytohWKuocXI7BARaG0_8DbB1pH-L9xcrnNZvsaNwDb/s320/DSCF1883.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's safe to come out now. That one's full.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Later the same day, we had another unidentified
visitor to the estate. At first glance it was some sort of brown,
vicious-looking gull on the far side of the 'garden' ripping up the corpse of one of those troublesome bunnies.
Turned out to be a Great Skua, what the locals call a “Bonxie”. Another species
ticked on the list.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Another work day: What could
possibly be wrong with the bus this week? It was the turn of the alternator to
pack up this time. I was advised by Kelly to avoid using the electrics if at
all possible. I do enjoy a challenge. After pointing out that she had the
heater turned on for no other reason that it made all the switches point the
same way, I took it upon myself to attempt the fifteen miles from Loth to
Sellibister without indicators or brakes. If it wasn’t for meeting a tractor
and needing to dive into a ‘passing point’ I’d have made it, too. (I succeeded
in the afternoon run and hasten to point out that both journeys were empty
runs). It did go in for repair that evening. It's not like we’re sadists.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
It was inevitable that it would happen to us one day. We were
in Kirkwall for a shopping trip and it turned out to be quite an expensive one.
Having inadvertently spent too long at Tesco, caused by a necessity to return for a couple of
‘Grow Bags’ urgently required for half a dozen tomato plants that have been busy outgrowing
their pots, we were unable to make it back to the pier before our boat sailed
off without us. Having enjoyed a night at Peedie Hostel just recently, I left
Gail with all the shopping bags and went to see if they had a room to spare for
us. They did, as luck would have it. We crammed all the food in their fridge
and shoved the rest of the shopping under the bunk-beds. Then we had to go back
to Tesco to buy a change of clothes, emergency toothbrushes and paste. Part of me suspected that Gail had planned
this all along as she was quick to point out that Iron Man 3 was showing at the
Pickaquoy. Even though it was a 3D showing, we decided to give it a go and a
very decent film was not ruined by having to wear stupid glasses just to
achieve a clear 2D perspective with my one good eye. Despite the worry that
Smokey might be a bit lonely, the hostel is wholly conducive to a good sleep.
We made sure that we gave ourselves much more than sufficient time to make it
to the pier to catch to boat to Loth, where Hippocrates had had to spend a
lonely night. Bless ‘im. It turns out that we’d left our ‘meal-deal’ in the
fridge at the hostel. I emailed them and from their account, the medley of
vegetables, spinach and ricotta parcels and the strawberry cheesecake went down
an absolute treat. Well, they had saved us from a night in a box in the doorway
of the Edinburgh Woollen Mill!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkdUcy-WrmL4O2iXUmq29L9aeRPdYtocSiBJSw-7nJiXzmTfUrwkZkC359ko3WZTH9iIgiUjcm8glhbElqc7CbjNvA_rHAB3fFdssh8RfB7Bw7U1sHKlaO6bAAJO-OB14JE0KP0eWIcJgy/s1600/DSCF1904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkdUcy-WrmL4O2iXUmq29L9aeRPdYtocSiBJSw-7nJiXzmTfUrwkZkC359ko3WZTH9iIgiUjcm8glhbElqc7CbjNvA_rHAB3fFdssh8RfB7Bw7U1sHKlaO6bAAJO-OB14JE0KP0eWIcJgy/s320/DSCF1904.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">....and he was never seen again!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
On a particularly still day, it
finally occurred to me to haul at least one of the kayaks out of the shed,
where our resident house-martins had been dumping on them for the last year and
a half. Wet-suit donned, I towed my Dagger Charleston 15 down the garden, over
the road and the dunes and down onto the beach. Having washed the guano off of
it, it was into the water for a nice paddle. With Gail’s stern warning not to
go too far ringing in my ears, I paddled out to the edge of bay of Lopness and
traversed from Newark to the South and Lopness to the North. It is a wide bay
of about two miles so it was a good place to start. Slightly more adventurous
trips will follow. Should the necessary permissions from ‘she who must be
obeyed’ be forthcoming, of course! <o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-9432838840530116372013-06-09T14:12:00.001+01:002013-06-09T14:12:11.801+01:00Home and away<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Who would have thought that
turning fifty years of age could have such a profound and instantaneous effect?
My IQ dropped overnight, I’m sure of it. I had a nightmare driving the bus. It
all went swimmingly in the morning. Even when one of my passengers had to
cancel when I was less than half a mile from her door, it wasn’t a problem. I
dealt with my change of plan with youthful spontaneity, calculated the effect
of it on my proposed scheduling and skipped straight to my next pick up. It all
went a bit pants in the afternoon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5pYmpBrm5WFHRoz51Yd9oghc-y0-fOnW3jkAlLjfQySOXkMMTvNlfPA4jcoFZL3vUy0iMvy4t43sHoRFq9EHF8OOc92hiSjvFiRK9Ni5DZYv122vbDHPMw1IkH-JrvYiNjyDLG3XSKus/s1600/DSCF1815.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5pYmpBrm5WFHRoz51Yd9oghc-y0-fOnW3jkAlLjfQySOXkMMTvNlfPA4jcoFZL3vUy0iMvy4t43sHoRFq9EHF8OOc92hiSjvFiRK9Ni5DZYv122vbDHPMw1IkH-JrvYiNjyDLG3XSKus/s1600/DSCF1815.JPG" height="238" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr Gumby. (Be thankful that it's not my Mr April!!!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With fuel supply being a major problem
on the island, the route that you intend to take should always be planned
accordingly. Unless, that is, you find yourself in the position that your
passengers are directors of the company. When it is they who decide who gets
dropped off first, I become a passenger in my own adventure. One of them lives
in Burness, at the top end of the island, near where Kelly lives and where,
common sense suggests, it would be sensible to end the route in order to let
the good lady have her bus back at the end of the day. Instead, contrary to my
intention, we headed immediately to ‘the sunshine state’, where I dropped him
off, helping him to unload his shopping and then departed to my next
destination. I was a few miles down the road before it occurred to me that, in
my fluster, I’d forgotten to scan his concession card. Another director lives at
Lettan, at the North end of the island, up in my neck of the hypothetical
woods. I remembered to scan her card properly, even if the lady hadn’t already
witnessed my earlier faux pas and taken a lead in the process. So then I had to
drive all the way back to Burness, waving forlornly at my own property on the
way past, to the first director’s house to ask if I could swipe his card, before
dropping the bus off. That was when I realised that I had forgotten to bring my
car keys with me. Kelly had to drive me back home to the North end and take me
back a third time to Burness to get ‘Hippocrates’, my poor, little, blue Skoda.
Kelly’s husband, Mike, dropped his broad Orcadian accent to give me a very
convincing Cockney “You muppet!” Kelly, meanwhile, welcomed me to ‘C.R.A.F.T.’:
Can’t Remember A Flippin’ Thing. That is my life from now on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My enthusiasm for expanding my
knowledge of a war that is nearly a hundred years old, but one <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOB3NIR8wQPd-1qIDcoNX4kf_UpGE3j47T4Wwa4XPtUodAEwPVMTJLK9iUAIxluPqQwOjnnZQXJ2YjUiM1SQa9z8qFVgTbPvZ2uvKVlsbo2Nv7H_U1s6nplJMTlLEAWgaiNPrhIwtREnWt/s1600/Ernst.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOB3NIR8wQPd-1qIDcoNX4kf_UpGE3j47T4Wwa4XPtUodAEwPVMTJLK9iUAIxluPqQwOjnnZQXJ2YjUiM1SQa9z8qFVgTbPvZ2uvKVlsbo2Nv7H_U1s6nplJMTlLEAWgaiNPrhIwtREnWt/s1600/Ernst.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"He's just some guy, y'know."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
which continues
to steer my politics and ideology, shows no sign of abating. The latest step in
the adventure has led me to Ernst Toller, courtesy of Richard Dove’s book
entitled “He was a German”. It has made me more determined than ever not to
allow my personal beliefs to be affected by politics. Here, however, was a man of
such charisma that others looked to him to lead them in a Socialist revolution
in the face of a rising tide of Fascism. This forced him to compromise his
pacifist beliefs in order to protect those with whom he sympathized. I have no
truck with the concept of ‘democratic pacifism’ as, to me, the two are mutually
exclusive. Pacifism is an individual value, whereas my faith in collective humanity
is somewhat tenuous. I can understand that many people need to feel included, whether it is by a bond of colour, creed or the
misguided belief that they share the same specific ideology. However, no two
people are exactly alike and their aspirational goalposts are continually going
to change. Therefore, it is anathema to me that any social group can succeed in
the long term. Indeed there are all too many examples in democracy where the
careful manipulation of a common anxiety can allow some pretty unsavoury
characters to gain short-term popular support and go on to pervert history.
This is why I maintain that I am an anarchist, although it is a term with
negative connotations. But I am convinced that, deep down, most people are, as
they cherry-pick the individual values of each manifesto which appeals to them,
ignoring or protesting against those that do not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuoufqr8HYVMX03OXVz6no5TQn6hvS57Bh4hBA2d3sgArbIF8Sm5nyPtBTd44oiam1UGmNBeH_unSnFOKVjfaXJ2Ua3gNSdjSBG5ZvY7UVAONGmhsH0HM98FpLAEbDiX_aXPx99SLyoXv-/s1600/St+Magnus+Sepia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuoufqr8HYVMX03OXVz6no5TQn6hvS57Bh4hBA2d3sgArbIF8Sm5nyPtBTd44oiam1UGmNBeH_unSnFOKVjfaXJ2Ua3gNSdjSBG5ZvY7UVAONGmhsH0HM98FpLAEbDiX_aXPx99SLyoXv-/s1600/St+Magnus+Sepia.jpg" height="246" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Have I already stated my case for a new camera?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My trip down Sooth for mum’s
birthday was an adventure. Not one that I’m planning to suffer again in the
near future but an education none the less for that. It started as a passenger
on the Sanday Bus. With both Kelly and me being otherwise engaged, a director
of the Community Interest Company had to cover for us. There’s nothing quite
like being driven around by the boss. The employee discount is a hoot, too. The
journey began at about 5:45pm on Friday evening, and by ten past six, my first
boat left Loth pier for Kirkwall. By 7:30 I was strolling down Kirkwall pier,
wondering what to do with myself for the next four hours before my second crossing
of the waves departed from a couple of miles down the road at Hatston. Being miserly,
or ‘poor’ as I prefer to call it, and socially awkward, or ‘freak’ as I prefer
to call it, frequenting one of the pubs or eateries in the neighbourhood as any
normal person would is out of the question. Instead, a meander through the
aisles of Tesco beckoned, followed by a picnic of roasted pepper humus on hand-ripped
baguette washed down with cloudy lemonade on a park bench overlooking the
Peedie Sea as the sun set over the cathedral. Peaceful and beautiful though it
was, the temperature had begun to plummet. By now the Northlink ferry terminal
building was open so I set off on foot for the great indoors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglq40stqGzKO0MJ6gIoRN_iT9sK8SNgZPWbaHAz1Ixe_8u59hFra3T0A-uvVaXPT3AruUhmLzasKJkqZe4D1-6IB2geHgGLDGASG5XQ7pCX2Q9RffjjVPsdm8Fl3OvyzfTL8bx4emDTWZg/s1600/Photo+0097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglq40stqGzKO0MJ6gIoRN_iT9sK8SNgZPWbaHAz1Ixe_8u59hFra3T0A-uvVaXPT3AruUhmLzasKJkqZe4D1-6IB2geHgGLDGASG5XQ7pCX2Q9RffjjVPsdm8Fl3OvyzfTL8bx4emDTWZg/s1600/Photo+0097.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An Aberdeen skyline taken from Union Terrace.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Hjaltland arrived from
Lerwick shortly after eleven and after a bit of faffing around, vehicles and
passengers for Aberdeen were allowed to board. Having arranged neither a cabin
nor a reclining chair for myself, like many others headed to the bar to find a
space to doss around in for the next seven hours it took to cross the Pentland
Firth. There are lots of couches but as they are divided with hard and
uncomfortable arm-rests every three feet or so, you couldn’t lie on them. Maybe
Warwick Davies could, but he wasn’t, to my knowledge, joining us this evening.
A young woman spent about twenty minutes pumping up a double inflatable mattress
with a foot-pump, much to the entertainment of fellow travellers, only to then be
told by a steward, as she settled down on it for the night, that it was
blocking an emergency assembly area and she had to let it down again. A
monotonous night passed, the calm waters being the only blessing. At around
seven in the morning, we finally docked in the ‘granite city’. I won’t try to
describe Aberdeen as my visit was so brief that I don’t think that it would be
fair. First impressions were positive though. I strolled out of the dock and
made my way to the bus depot. I immediately spotted a National Express coach pull out
with only one passenger on it. That would be cool, I thought. I had quite a bit
of time before the Megabus to ‘the Sooth’ (or “Englandshire” as Kelly calls it) was due to leave, so I wandered the indoor shopping mall and adjoining train
station for a while. Meanwhile, a crowd gathered at the departure gate. No
prizes for guessing which one. A huge, blue, double-decker leviathan turned up
and we all squeezed into it. The next twelve and a half hours were unpleasant,
so if you’re thinking of it, go away and think some more until you see sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Seventy minutes to midnight, the
remaining passengers were disgorged at Victoria. I went down to the tube and
bought a ticket to Uxbridge. I found myself standing, not because I had to,
just as it was a relief not to be sitting. I’d had more than enough of that,
thank you. Past Ealing and Alperton and then it was on to the old Metropolitan
line stations I remembered from my dim and distant youth. However much my
hometown had had a facelift, the reassuring landmarks were still there: the
colonnaded market, the ‘Three Tuns’ and Randall’s. I walked past my alma mater too, but there was not much joy at seeing that particular edifice. It was after
midnight by the time I knocked on mum’s front door and set Hannah barking. It
was Sunday now, her birthday. A hug, a kiss and a hope that she liked the
picture I’d carried seven hundred miles for her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am so needy.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-2499325025770887882013-04-17T22:39:00.000+01:002013-04-17T22:39:57.330+01:00Where there's muck, there's ........ a bit of a pong!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I don’t know what comes over me
some times. Easter Monday was still a refuse collection day so I had to get up
at half past seven to take some bags down to the gate. Ordinarily, the
observation of any supernatural festival would have made a return to bed
perfectly acceptable behaviour. However, for some bizarre reason I thought that
I could do some more work in the garden instead. I managed a good few hours clearing
soil out for a big, deep potato bed before breaking for tea. Then, lo and
behold, it turned into another still and sunny day. I’d had my share of digging,
shovelling and pushing wheelbarrows by then, so I took the bike out for a ride
around the North end of the island. I was keen to check out what Start Point
looked like at high water, to see how cut off the island actually gets. Pretty
much I’d say as I watched seals shooting through the shallow waves of the
narrows. It was hypnotic viewing. They were having barrels of fun.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGQGQ2YWr7T6xw3WKdZdKhcVYvc2EqES3lLzXiiIwwN7gnXG2GqIZHvSnpVwUf_NCbp0wvl2t8uVA0maPeiOMi4txPshJRS521nmW523BhYuDmY4h2R0yC8dW3qHh4p9MKAb9FLXHEZHx0/s1600/DSCF1729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGQGQ2YWr7T6xw3WKdZdKhcVYvc2EqES3lLzXiiIwwN7gnXG2GqIZHvSnpVwUf_NCbp0wvl2t8uVA0maPeiOMi4txPshJRS521nmW523BhYuDmY4h2R0yC8dW3qHh4p9MKAb9FLXHEZHx0/s1600/DSCF1729.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No getting to the lighthouse now. (Maybe later)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Oh! No! Golf season has started again.
It was a struggle deciding whether or not to re-join this year given that, as
an islander these days, I would have to pay the full green fee. But it all comes
down to supporting local clubs and facilities, so even though I am a menace to
health and safety and I need to carry an abacus to keep count of all my shots,
it is a must. I had a good excuse for missing the first Tuesday round as I had
to ride to Burness to pick up the Sanday Bus but I resorted to a poor excuse
for missing this week. I had walked to the course early in the afternoon to
pick up a club and some practice balls so that I could work on my swing at
home. While I was there I promised myself that if I could get a par on the
short third hole then I would return later and play for real. However, I teed off
and the ball went flying away at an impossibly oblique angle to disappear down
a vicious slope and ending up closer to second green. I assume that that’s
where it ended up, because I never found it again. It certainly wasn’t within a
country mile of the third green I was aiming at. Having made my decision, I
stayed around and played three more holes, scoring reasonably for me. After
that and the walk home my feet ached. It was time to break out the foot spa and
call it a day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5GTpuNaEPO1xCZX1XR8LFdi33pdxE_w5W71kPkH17Qfj0h2mmgxclj0vb1hzTXSPOEStw_nbwpbDMq-ensqqw8Fizie-CCGNawRTO8amFLxxgCX-0FLAQ-Aznu7Ywz_y8Dvrh0vct-jz/s1600/DSC00526.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5GTpuNaEPO1xCZX1XR8LFdi33pdxE_w5W71kPkH17Qfj0h2mmgxclj0vb1hzTXSPOEStw_nbwpbDMq-ensqqw8Fizie-CCGNawRTO8amFLxxgCX-0FLAQ-Aznu7Ywz_y8Dvrh0vct-jz/s1600/DSC00526.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smokey returns after being 'out of bounds'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ivj8fexkx8CZCgAxHo_T448oxpk9bdzypufmr8aXBILANo1LRjwY1kZTjo5tzXMpJUtLNW0Vgef7JtT4QdURKHF5MR1RgZwWxzbcxFpkkNaiEVjAHcJ8nKNODG9PIeBQ_7rCr2_9Pluu/s1600/Satellite+dish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ivj8fexkx8CZCgAxHo_T448oxpk9bdzypufmr8aXBILANo1LRjwY1kZTjo5tzXMpJUtLNW0Vgef7JtT4QdURKHF5MR1RgZwWxzbcxFpkkNaiEVjAHcJ8nKNODG9PIeBQ_7rCr2_9Pluu/s1600/Satellite+dish.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Get that shit off my wall!!<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
It’s all change down ‘Sooth’ at the house we
can’t afford to live in. We’ve kicked out the old tenant because she bolted a
Murdoch dish on the front of the house and kicked out the letting agent for
telling her that we’d agreed to let her bolt a Murdoch dish on the front of our
house. Instead we’ve found someone else to rent it from us and we won’t
have to pay some lying dolts for doing squat. We signed a new tenancy agreement
and then had to go to the Post Office to send it to the new tenant. This
involved driving about five miles into Kettletoft. Alas! We didn’t check the
opening times before we left and it was shut until the afternoon. Now
Kettletoft might be the commercial heartbeat of the island, but that’s not to
say it bustles in any way, shape or form. The petrol pump has been redundant
for longer than I have. The recycling shop is only open for two days a week and
this wasn’t one of them. One hotel/bar has closed down and the pier doesn’t get
any ferry traffic these days since they built the one at Loth. That leaves a
grocers shop and the Kettletoft Hotel and bar. We had three hours to spend in a
high street that is the antithesis of Oxford Street. It’s just not possible. We
wracked our brains for something to do and recalled that last year we’d walked
to Backaskaill bay from there so we decided to try it again. We had been
encouraged last time by a sign. We should, on reflection, have been asking
ourselves why the sign has since been removed.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The winter storms had kicked
merry hell out of the narrow strip of ‘footpath’ between the field wall and the
sea. It made the walk to the beach more of a yomp. Fortunately, the conditions
had kept the flora pretty stunted so we could trust where we were putting our
feet. Twenty minutes later we were leaving footprints on the sand. Other than
the gulls, sanderlings and oystercatchers, ours were the ONLY prints on the
sand. Over a mile of golden beach washed with by a gentle, minty-green sea and
all for us. The other side of the bay is bounded by twenty foot high cliffs,
which, as an old geologist, I decided that I’d like to investigate. It’s not
the Jurassic Coast and for a guy who is in love with Lulworth Cove, it was
never going to blow my socks off. But there is some well-defined stratification
and coastal erosion had sculpted shallow caves and made little windows though
the outcroppings. There were even some
fantastic folds and fault line fractures in the faces. It turned out to be a pretty
interesting place and left me feeling, not for the first time nor the last,
that I screwed up when I didn’t take my alma mater up on their offer to let me
study to ‘A’level at the grammar school
up the road all those years ago. Who cares? They’re just stones. Right? We made
our way back to Kettletoft, sent our package, had some food and a drink in the
pub and bought some groceries. That, dear friends, is as exciting as retail
therapy gets around here!</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHP1Gad7EjTz7DSry2nPZbdwfPRhT9eszwm6cBABhUylppRa-XVaPT1IEAgB2PRb_n_cCSXSikcDM_rh8i87aM3f59MdbUZi93nef-xo71b6ynI6Njyk6sgNsVsLaqU7V6h0e77Z3IDmD/s1600/DSCF1743.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHP1Gad7EjTz7DSry2nPZbdwfPRhT9eszwm6cBABhUylppRa-XVaPT1IEAgB2PRb_n_cCSXSikcDM_rh8i87aM3f59MdbUZi93nef-xo71b6ynI6Njyk6sgNsVsLaqU7V6h0e77Z3IDmD/s1600/DSCF1743.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There isn't enough Polyfilla in all Christendom to fix that hole.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Back in the garden, I’ve
(finally) dug about half of the foundation area to a depth of three
breeze-blocks, fished out all the lumpy bits and shipped about half of what was
left well out of the way. I ran a roller over my new surface and called Richard
next door to ask him for a trailer full of muck. The calm of the following
morning was broken by the sound of his tractor rumbling down the garden. My
first thought was how he’d made getting through the gate look so easy when I
have trouble getting a transit through it? Then it was down to business.
Richard reversed the trailer to the edge of the pit and tipped it. There was a
good mix of consistency. Some of it was well rotted, had worms in it and
everything. Some was not and, consequently, didn’t. The latter ate my
wellingtons and tried to suck them off my feet. It also stunk to high heaven.
That should do the trick. We agreed that one load wasn’t going to be enough, so
he said he’d be back tomorrow with another lot. I spent the rest of the day
spreading it out and mixing a little sandy soil to break it up a bit. Then a
bit more sandy soil on the fresher stuff before it got its appetite back. <o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrSEXsNE7fjaPJd__EOyBUjO_hUiB044svp9JiHuS7Co0MONPNY1a9PH52P8vFHLnHyWW8vsPqEufKfFC8zzXPDJwahH6KkkRCZJmSTdEkIg3J-HGa7E2I2ipV5Lb3vL-0IRzlzXTIX_kt/s1600/DSCF1783.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrSEXsNE7fjaPJd__EOyBUjO_hUiB044svp9JiHuS7Co0MONPNY1a9PH52P8vFHLnHyWW8vsPqEufKfFC8zzXPDJwahH6KkkRCZJmSTdEkIg3J-HGa7E2I2ipV5Lb3vL-0IRzlzXTIX_kt/s1600/DSCF1783.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow stops play. For an hour or so at least.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
True to his word, bright and
early next morning he swung his tractor and trailer in through the gate,
missing the posts by a country mile. Flash git. I’d cleared a different access
place for him to tip. The downside was that this time it was at ground level
and, sure enough, the trailer ended up falling in. The problem started when the
door hadn’t swung open and as a consequence all the contents were jammed up against
it. Richard put his tractor in gear and rocked it back and forth to dislodge it
however every rocking motion moved the trailer closer to the precipice. I tried
to warn him but, too late. Now, jammed to the bottom, the muck not only didn’t
want to come out but also had nowhere to go. I jumped in and started shovelling
the contents out so the trailer wasn’t too heavy for the tractor to pull back
out again. We got there eventually. The only other setback was when the tipper
wouldn’t come back down. It wouldn’t have prevented him from towing it back,
but the aerodynamics had been ruined. Apparently, the hydraulics were blocked
so, when hitting it with a bar didn’t help, we bled all the fluid and watched
it inch down as the resistance oozed from the hose. We threw copious amounts of
sand on it, not that there’s any shortage here, to mop it up. Richard’s trailer
gets ‘borrowed’ a lot for mounting a bovine watering station and spends months
and months standing out in all weathers doing sod all. It is no surprise when
it refuses to play ball when called upon to exercise its versatility. Fed up
with the inconvenience, this year he is making a bowser, a word I’d never heard
before in my life until that very morning while I was watching the Grand Prix
qualifying when Mark Webber ran out of fuel because Red Bull reckoned that
theirs was broken. I thought it was
another Orcadian word that I would have to learn, but it’s not. Its origins, by
all accounts, are antipodean. I STILL don’t know what one is! </div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-18670476944148482332013-04-01T02:20:00.000+01:002013-04-01T02:28:21.130+01:00Here comes the summer. Allegedly.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mid-March saw the first gathering of the old Sanday Fiddle
Club, now with the more inclusive nomenclature of Sanday Sounds, with an agenda
to encourage more musicians to attend. Not that I consider myself to have any
ability at all, but Kelly was taking her axe and asked me to back her up, so I
did despite my reservations. I had
planned to tag along with my acoustic bass but with the nasty weather I thought
it best to go with the full electric Squier precision as I had a bag for it. It
turned out that the decision had another and unforeseen benefit. The trouble
with acoustic instruments is they are designed to boost the sound, which in
this case, with a room packed with extremely competent violinists, a cellist,
two flutists, a folk guitarist and Tony on the electric piano, would have been
a complete disaster. Quite innocently I was in a position to be able to turn the
amplifier down to 1 so that no-one could hear how bad I was playing. I think I
got away with it. It didn’t help that I couldn’t understand the sheet music.
Everybody else seemed to be doing all right with it so I can only assume that I
was the only one in the room who just so happened to have a copy in a foreign
language. Still, now I’m home and with the closest neighbours being at least
half a kilometre away, I can practice a little bit before the next examination
of my amateurism. I did also join in on the alto bits of the choral part of the
evening, even though I had promised myself, Gail and the others that I
wouldn’t, which actually turned out to be pretty cool.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVYwwWKtOOzDEu8nWIxiTShKOrtOmbGKxSxsy0FW_K70d1u1Z-J0ZAKwEsKyNZ7ZNkTnj1HF4EdLJ-W5GlX_hVCRa4AWbR5DHJs1R0kUP3Qg02x9ZtGxAV2_M6u7nUQoONvmv4lgQhftvs/s1600/DSC00516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVYwwWKtOOzDEu8nWIxiTShKOrtOmbGKxSxsy0FW_K70d1u1Z-J0ZAKwEsKyNZ7ZNkTnj1HF4EdLJ-W5GlX_hVCRa4AWbR5DHJs1R0kUP3Qg02x9ZtGxAV2_M6u7nUQoONvmv4lgQhftvs/s1600/DSC00516.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You never know what you'll bump into swimming in the bay.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A disaster,
of sorts, is looming on the exercise front in the coming days. I have mentioned
before that the weather has been ‘adverse’, being either: wet, cold or windy or
indeed combinations of the aforementioned. The sea temperature has even the
local fishermen concerned, so the likelihood of getting me to take a dip in the
briny is most definitely a non-starter. The only opportunity we have to swim is
at the pool and a growing number of islanders have been joining us of late. But
during the Easter holidays, the pool is closing while the school has a new ground
source heating system installed. Three Fridays in a row with no dip in the
pool. Even worse than that, I’ll have to use our own shower for ablutions. Damn
and blast.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Despite the chill, I’ve started
some plantings indoors. Last year’s chili plants have almost all died, primarily
due to the cold in the house. Now only one pot remains. I’ve planted a
propagator tray of leeks, some dwarf French beans and a couple of pots with Brussels
sprouts. All are showing encouraging signs, but I am running out of windowsill
and plenty of the packets of seeds remain unopened. I’ll have to think about kicking off the
potatoes soon, but with no break in the frosty mornings until well in to April,
I don’t want to expose them to the elements until I can be fairly certain that
they’ll have a chance out in the field.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Wednesday was an absolutely
stonking day weather wise. Uncharacteristically, I’d risen with the larks and
gone out to do some digging. There was a ground frost but there was
wall-to-wall blue sky and the sun was doing its utmost to lift the chill.
Fortunately, it didn’t take long to get over losing all feeling in my fingers
and I worked through my discomfort. When Gail eventually woke up, around
lunchtime, she made cups of tea and coffee and we sat outside to drink them,
Gail on a camping chair and me on my favourite pallet. Protected from what
little there was of a Northerly breeze, actually a pleasant change from the
Southerlies that we’d had earlier in the week, thank you, it got really balmy. We
sat there, working on our tans, for at least an hour. Even Smokey joined us,
often having to scamper behind Gail’s chair for some shade when she got
overheated in her black fur coat. When we went back inside to wash the cups, we
glanced over at the laptop which has a window for the temperature in Kirkwall
and it read 4 degrees. I went back to work in the garden and when a few clouds
developed in the afternoon, you could feel the drop in temperature immediately
they obscured the sun. And as it got lower in the Western sky it certainly
didn’t quite pack the punch it had earlier and I ran inside to dip my hands
into some hot water until the feeling came back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmA59Zf-zXofJrVuISMhbCdmjs2s42jsH72S4TNtaEAKnWvmZ5XtvjcSmN0pKWKGR7jHDVDPJVxEvK1OXTFMut9mgnA5Y88OQuCjAH4z0EiCWZ9c1-7g5f-JKjrOIYxAtOva_Y5xg5zHf/s1600/DSC00518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmA59Zf-zXofJrVuISMhbCdmjs2s42jsH72S4TNtaEAKnWvmZ5XtvjcSmN0pKWKGR7jHDVDPJVxEvK1OXTFMut9mgnA5Y88OQuCjAH4z0EiCWZ9c1-7g5f-JKjrOIYxAtOva_Y5xg5zHf/s1600/DSC00518.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Long man of Lopness. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
That evening there was a meeting
of the local RNLI fundraising committee and the island’s resident ranger, Rod
and his wife Sylvia, were giving a presentation about their recent Pacific
adventure tour. Rod started the evening with a cautionary tale about the
dangers of accepting an invitation to see someone else’s holiday slides and I
was reminded of Rimmer in Red Dwarf and his collection of photographs of
twentieth century telegraph poles or of his account of his ten day hike through
the diesel decks to see the ship’s combustion engines. It turned out to be
nowhere near as synapse-melting as all that. They spoke about the four days
that they spent on Easter Island and their descriptions and pictures of the
colossal statues, or moai, were genuinely fascinating. As someone who is
usually uninterested with human cultures, one way or another it all just descends
into politics, to see what the Rapa Nui achieved on their island without the
huge whips of the Egyptians is rather amazing. As usual, part of their history
involves being ‘discovered’ by different European superpowers of the time and
the requisite murder, exploitation and the inevitable exposure to diseases that
followed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
At the end of the evening, we
drove home in a devilish sleet/hail storm that belied just how much of a
wonderfully sunny day it had been just hours earlier.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The weekend started calm and
clear. It was still chilly, but glorious. The wind turbine was still and, as
per usual, I start whinging about having to pay for electricity. It helped that
it was the Easter weekend as it was easier to make up an excuse to have lunch
down the pub in Kettletoft. We could also attribute our decadence to
fact-finding in lieu of receiving visitors later in the Summer. The Orkney
burger there was gorgeous, the chips divine, but there were shortages which
meant that Gail could not enjoy the vegetarian burger. Not that she was at all
disappointed with her brie and cranberry toastie. We felt obliged, in the
interest of thoroughness, to try the desserts as well. Gail wolfed her
chocolate fudge cake down before I’d even picked up my spoon to effect an only
slightly more pedestrian demolition of my bread and butter pudding. When we
weren’t stuffing our faces, we spent our time observing a pair of young seals in
the harbour directly outside the window.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwrExZjCx-04H6xiXP6uXq3TvBV2gDDY_LyIfRpY9JtsFky3m6rE8EkZLjDPSOxXR9KQ_vXCb0tQUBdmuUUdYc2tnp_fCTtMVwy1b2BJz1jx3k8kHIx_E3aMZshyphenhyphenmrkL8HbmI_ZcL85ca/s1600/Kettletoft+Pier.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwrExZjCx-04H6xiXP6uXq3TvBV2gDDY_LyIfRpY9JtsFky3m6rE8EkZLjDPSOxXR9KQ_vXCb0tQUBdmuUUdYc2tnp_fCTtMVwy1b2BJz1jx3k8kHIx_E3aMZshyphenhyphenmrkL8HbmI_ZcL85ca/s1600/Kettletoft+Pier.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's one of Kettletoft pier that Gail took earlier.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
When we left the pub, we strolled
to the end of the pier, trying not to disturb a couple of seagulls and a gannet
perched on it. The water below was crystal clear. As we walked back along the
pier, one of the seals swam over to investigate. His head appeared in the water
barely five yards away. It was fantastic to be able to see its tail flicking
from side to side beneath it and when it swam away we were able to see how it
glided beneath the surface. It skulked off into the little, narrow harbour,
going right up to the edge of the slipway and then part way back to the stern
of a fishing boat. We could clearly hear its exhalation and spot the ripples
where it broke the surface. I rushed to the edge of the narrow entrance in the
hope of seeing it make its way back out into open water, but it was so quick
that I only saw when it was already twenty yards out. It must have known what I
was up to and cruised past very close to the wall that I was standing on, where
the shadows obscured the view. I couldn’t help wishing that I had a tin of
pilchards in my pocket. Hand feeding the little critter would certainly have
topped off the experience and even if I’d have lost a couple of fingers in
doing it then it would still have been worth it. Frustratingly, we’ve fallen
out of the habit of taking a camera with us. We are no longer the tourists that
we used to be.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-4984614348857772872013-03-18T21:22:00.003+00:002013-03-18T21:36:50.638+00:00The boy who lost a bus<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whoops! Hello there. It certainly has been a while. Rumours
of my demise have been grossly exaggerated. I'll have no truck with the wishful
thinking of others.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7MwNmWE56bF5q-8wTkXUCl984kWxxPVZZilbnwJYZsDu946rcoHyJB0o96zGYX63YZeYJ7ZqeNPisXuo8cG6e8UyrycizhY0nAg6WkCTFSSJRMdy3-xuQuxbAFAM0KCFbvI1U27k56XHh/s1600/DSCF1676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7MwNmWE56bF5q-8wTkXUCl984kWxxPVZZilbnwJYZsDu946rcoHyJB0o96zGYX63YZeYJ7ZqeNPisXuo8cG6e8UyrycizhY0nAg6WkCTFSSJRMdy3-xuQuxbAFAM0KCFbvI1U27k56XHh/s1600/DSCF1676.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"It's eating everything in it's path!" Grass is insidious stuff.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been
busying myself in the garden recently. The untamed machair grass has embedded
itself everywhere and the lack of vegetable gardening for a number of years has
necessitated some pretty heavyweight digging. A big ask for a guy who, arguably,
has never done a hard day’s work in his life. I’ve made a slow start in the ‘new
house that was never built’ foundation area. It is enclosed to a depth of four
breeze-blocks, but the water table kicks in after just two and a half. Below
that is saturated sand. Of course, at the edge there are considerable amounts
of hardcore to deal with too. While Andy insists that his rotavator can chew
its way through just about anything, I don’t want to be responsible when it
meets with some of the huge chunks of breeze-block or pre-Cambrian basalt that
are lurking about. I can only foresee one victor in that confrontation and even
if I am mistaken I can honestly see it being an expensive and ultimately rather
Pyrrhic one. I am currently about half way across the house footprint. A trailer full of manure awaits.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a
scare with the bus one Sunday last month. Kelly had taken four days off and
went to Kirkwall for the weekend. This meant that I had to do the dreaded ‘school
runs’. On Friday evening, all the students come home and then on Sunday evening
they all go back again. That generally ensures that our passenger allowance is
stretched to its fullest. The bus always gets dirty pretty quickly, so I made
sure that I had a few hours set aside on Sunday afternoon to wash and valet it.
Alas! I wasn’t aware that it was booked in for some garage work on Saturday, so
soon after I got back on that morning, the mechanic arrived to take it
away. It didn’t arrive back until Sunday afternoon. I barely had enough time to
hurriedly trot up the garden with a bucket of soapy water, my trusty sponge and
non-leather chamois to wash all the crud off it. All it needed then was a rinse
but I had to drive it up the garden and closer to the house to where the garden
hose is. My mistake was not accounting for the complete lack of traction of tyres on
the wet grass. I had gotten myself stuck, just minutes before the ‘kids’ were
due to get picked up. Neither a snowy ascent of Mount Seymour nor a damp hill
road in St Lucia could defeat me, but a slight incline in my own garden had
bested me. I confess that I rather panicked, turning the air blue. As I considered telephoning our
neighbour to pull us out with his tractor, a superhero in the form of Gail
appeared and gave me the nudge that I needed and once I had a little bit of
momentum going I concentrated on just not losing it until I reached the blessed
tarmac. (I have since learned that there is a water hose at Loth Pier so no
repeat of this debacle need ever happen again.) They managed to catch their
ferry, but only just. It was chaos. There was not even time to print all their
tickets off, so their fares just piled up on the front passenger seats as they
alighted. I can only hope that the ticket machine tallied up at the end of the
day. I must confess that I was, by then, way past caring. It was with a euphoric sense of
relief that I handed Kelly back the keys. I swear I’ll never get the hang of this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE56-ah5rTmzI9i3uHr2iSx2gIYJWHbDN4gA5hrBhlRlRvmJrh0ZO5gNzKP3hKItvPy_MnaS7auyr7s97n5ecWEcV81PI2r2w4VRVVCDkjI5FcTvHMP_DHnFAhSmvBNPg7iFZQcqgIIXD_/s1600/DSCF1713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE56-ah5rTmzI9i3uHr2iSx2gIYJWHbDN4gA5hrBhlRlRvmJrh0ZO5gNzKP3hKItvPy_MnaS7auyr7s97n5ecWEcV81PI2r2w4VRVVCDkjI5FcTvHMP_DHnFAhSmvBNPg7iFZQcqgIIXD_/s1600/DSCF1713.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's looking grim over Will's mother's. Or in this case, the neighbour's.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWBiqlq7psk7B0cp85RsAGGUarS-KRXfe7CYTBbetw3sribfzJAT_LXc3whyphenhyphenzfmjPUbmCZMNWFh6Zgg1nEmByeaCVKu0TQcBH-3uaKVGINhIlf-hc9F7P6M4CjcnIefLVsy-kBw3zVypEZ/s1600/DSCF1678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWBiqlq7psk7B0cp85RsAGGUarS-KRXfe7CYTBbetw3sribfzJAT_LXc3whyphenhyphenzfmjPUbmCZMNWFh6Zgg1nEmByeaCVKu0TQcBH-3uaKVGINhIlf-hc9F7P6M4CjcnIefLVsy-kBw3zVypEZ/s1600/DSCF1678.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ooh! Another dramatic sunset. Avec mist.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There
seem to be fewer and fewer opportunities to go exploring these days. I have
still not ventured out and about to photograph the island as I have intended
for many weeks now. Whenever there is a dry, calm and pleasant day, my
attention is constantly being demanded elsewhere. The most either of us have managed of late is
to wander outside to catch a particularly interesting sunset or sunrise. If there is a break in the clouds though, you
can pretty much guarantee there’ll be one every night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicj4I42BZkmThWXA60XTjpd-FAWCYI_JNzpDcuiXMj1oCzYx92Fk29_MGZqZREsBxRkXiDRlYcBwDBZF6r4Q8WoP8u6zRV-9wrO3paAxfzPyysewFP-qPNQ2By8sxnQR3qZRXc_8hPbd3o/s1600/DSCF1669.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicj4I42BZkmThWXA60XTjpd-FAWCYI_JNzpDcuiXMj1oCzYx92Fk29_MGZqZREsBxRkXiDRlYcBwDBZF6r4Q8WoP8u6zRV-9wrO3paAxfzPyysewFP-qPNQ2By8sxnQR3qZRXc_8hPbd3o/s1600/DSCF1669.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quite often you can't even see the houses, let alone<br />
know what the hell they're called.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thanks
to Orkney Library, I have been able to obtain a copy of Naggles o Piapittem by
Gregor Lamb. This is like the Holy Grail of Sanday and I have no excuse for not
finding my bus passengers these days. It’s a little out of date it must be
said. There have been a number of new houses built since publication but what
ages it most is that the most essential landmark on the island, Loth Pier,
wasn’t even a twinkle in a developer’s eye, let alone the two miles of blacktop
leading to it. But from it I’ve been able to scribble the place names onto my
Ordnance Survey map for future reference. The book also contains information on
derivations from Old Norse of many of the names. For example, the area around
us is called Sellibister, which translates as Hall Farm, which in Norse was something
like Salr Bol-staðir. I suggested to Gail that we change the house name again
and repaint the sign. She didn’t give me a happy look. My favourite property name
referenced in the book is Skitterha (Diarrhoea House). They don’t mince their
words up here.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To
bring this epistle bang up to date, it’s time to relate the tale to which the
title of the piece eludes. A phone call last week informed me that my work
clothes were ready, a brand spangly new polo-shirt and a fleece, both embroidered with
the Sanday Bus logo. They just needed picking up from Kirkwall. So despite a
noisy, Easterly wind keeping me awake most of the night and then continuing
into the morning, I got up early in order to catch the bus to Loth pier. When
we arrived, Kelly told me that the bus was getting on the boat too as it was
time for its MOT. She asked if I minded driving it on for her so that she could
get home. The pier crew organised vehicles onto the good ship Earl Thorfinn,
then turned their backs on me. I had to sound the horn to get their attention
and let me on. They must be used to the bus being parked on the pier before
driving off, but you’d have thought that the fact that it had been booked on
might have suggested that today was different, if me sitting at the wheel with
the engine running with the bus pointed at the ramp wasn’t enough of a clue.
They belatedly waved me on and the ramp was raised behind me. Phew! That was
close. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
crossing to Kirkwall was a bit choppy. I simply stuck my head into a copy of
Terry Pratchett’s “Light Fantastic” and listened to my i-pod on shuffle. Every
now and then I’d chance a glance out of the starboard window. The view
alternated between sea and sky and was distinctly blurred between each. Gail
would have hated it. I loved it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi02CqT2N54jtFNi5VpKv1NgsYYEfKKTUkqZIZTdiQ8TQUg3q6rys9K1yaYY_1Flw5ymRQZ7MPqBsRdRO1NXC7F5po-RMnoCkPesrA3bshtHIFK-CfrKmPRJE_D4hgyyjrqfkYwlysMMqJT/s1600/DSCF1677.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi02CqT2N54jtFNi5VpKv1NgsYYEfKKTUkqZIZTdiQ8TQUg3q6rys9K1yaYY_1Flw5ymRQZ7MPqBsRdRO1NXC7F5po-RMnoCkPesrA3bshtHIFK-CfrKmPRJE_D4hgyyjrqfkYwlysMMqJT/s1600/DSCF1677.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This post has about as many holes as my alibi! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the
ferries arrive in port, the vehicles are disembarked first, with foot
passengers not allowed out through the car deck until it is all clear. With that in
mind, although I hadn’t been asked, I thought that I ought to be prepared to
drive the bus off at Kirkwall, so that my fellow passengers could get to dry land, even
though someone from the garage was supposed to arrive to take it away. Nobody
did. I had been parked up on the pier for at least five minutes and the Thorfinn
moved from the jetty before someone turned up. If I’d left it on board, he’d
have had a swim before his problems even began. I handed over the keys and went
shopping. I picked up my new gear, got Gail some drugs (Olbas pastilles and double
strength Gaviscon – y’know, all the really hard stuff), found a joke shop where
I could get some plastic fangs for an islander who is making a monster glove
puppet and dropped some books off at the library before hitting Didldidi and
Tesco. When I made it back to the pier to catch the boat home, I dropped all my shopping in the waiting room and started
looking around for the bus. It never came back. I retrieved my bags and boarded before stepping out onto the
breezy, chilled deck to see if it had arrived at the last moment. It hadn’t. We set
sail sans bus. I spent the whole journey concerned that I’d no longer have a
job when I got back. I had no words of reassurance for those fellow islanders
who were relying on the bus to get home, particularly those who like me live at
the North end, about fifteen miles away from the pier. Fortunately plans were
afoot to get us all home in private vehicles. Nobody was left stranded, which
was very much appreciated. The bus, apparently, was now ready for collection. That
is little comfort, given that it was supposed to have been delivered to the
pier on time. My peers are assured that it'll be on the first boat tomorrow. And I still have a job.
I think. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, nobody has asked for the clothing back!<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-65638643958121785672013-02-11T14:53:00.001+00:002013-02-11T14:53:23.593+00:00Normal wear and tear<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The beginning of last week had us beating a track back and forth between
home and the doctor’s surgery. I had already been in to take advantage of the
NHS ‘Keep Well’ scheme and had a free check-up. Given my chronic fear of white
coats and needles, I thought that was quite brave of me. Other than an annoying
trend of putting back on most of the weight that I lost last winter, I was
given a clean bill of health. This time it was Gail’s turn when she went in for
a blood test. The results came back later that same day and our locum doctor
was not pleased with them. He phoned up and said as much, asking Gail to haul herself
back in to the surgery in the morning. She came home with yet another bag of
pills. I find it incredible that that girl doesn’t rattle when she moves.
Apparently she is so anaemic that I swear if she didn’t carry any spare change
in her purse then she wouldn’t have any iron at all. Hopefully, a couple of
supplements a day will do the trick as I dread to think how much the Guinness
habit that she is keen to adopt instead would cost.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE38GzTPPGvaJKx4GbGUOIsqS_dKOi5o8QqR2PK9sjRTFedssasoR04gJbdGdeHdgV_CmjuBefUz-B5dyz2xKeBrR0RtVq7GZnoPhkeZvF-4tRZWoGXvN4T3dBoiDBR9mLSH8kZm7Cp9Oi/s1600/Tetuan+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE38GzTPPGvaJKx4GbGUOIsqS_dKOi5o8QqR2PK9sjRTFedssasoR04gJbdGdeHdgV_CmjuBefUz-B5dyz2xKeBrR0RtVq7GZnoPhkeZvF-4tRZWoGXvN4T3dBoiDBR9mLSH8kZm7Cp9Oi/s1600/Tetuan+2.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going nowhere fast. The path of the good ship MV Tetuan.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
weather was dreadfully pants. We didn’t actually think it was that bad as we
still had a roof. It is true that a bit had flown off one of the outbuildings
but the most frustrating aspects are that Easterlies blow the house name sign
off its stand and Southerlies move the TV aerial so we can’t watch anything on
the box. The clearest evidence that things were worse than we thought was the
6,000 tonne container ship wallowing around in the bay. I remembered the times
that I used to spend interrogating the AIS maritime radar to watch the traffic weaving
around each other in the Solent, so when we arrived home and got the hamster in
our BT infinity box to start running around in his wheel, we logged on to find
that the ship was the MV Tetuan. It is Liberian registered, but then again
aren’t they all? I struggled out onto the dunes with Gail’s thirty times zoom
camera to see if I could get a picture of it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVa_80ngLs0YVDvyz_NEKCnnmf0txgcX2cTNORNTnmvZhli4ir8FDcHRE0obl-v-ef5roIZMw2MlPeH7I88yrGG6Rb3lum8sHLnuFVdbUTiai0QRQXvm46HEKTyXWo5O6Ai2OXWahj55qz/s1600/DSCF1657.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVa_80ngLs0YVDvyz_NEKCnnmf0txgcX2cTNORNTnmvZhli4ir8FDcHRE0obl-v-ef5roIZMw2MlPeH7I88yrGG6Rb3lum8sHLnuFVdbUTiai0QRQXvm46HEKTyXWo5O6Ai2OXWahj55qz/s1600/DSCF1657.JPG" height="223" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MV Tetuan taking Orkney refuge.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was an ordeal for two reasons.
Firstly, even though it had looked pretty massive from the road half an hour
earlier, it had moved off quite a way and together with the poor visibility
rendered it nothing more than a faint mote on the horizon. Secondly, even
crouching with my back to the wind, I was getting buffeted around so bad that
keeping the ship in the viewfinder itself was a real challenge. I snapped the
shutter a few times and just hoped that it would perhaps appear in one of them.
I confess that you'll find better at: <a href="http://www.marinetraffic.com/ais/shipdetails">www.marinetraffic.com/ais/shipdetails</a>.
In fact, the gallery at the site has some amazing pictures of ships. It might just
be a Teutonic thing, given that three of the four most popular viewing
locations are the Kiel Canal, Hamburg and Cuxhaven, but I suspect it has a
wider appeal than that really.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXZ7PebWhFHamak8duxDCrvpL16LRgBt_-mGCvdvQspZOJK0pxRslC9kBCjBauBiBYjVaOszaT0RNtxWk5AAA-Pg8wARSk7dk1nKnCXidAnOaSxVc2gyFoy8o8PQjSxOlVhQbl1lyhb-v/s1600/Photo1112_zps3ac88d95.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXZ7PebWhFHamak8duxDCrvpL16LRgBt_-mGCvdvQspZOJK0pxRslC9kBCjBauBiBYjVaOszaT0RNtxWk5AAA-Pg8wARSk7dk1nKnCXidAnOaSxVc2gyFoy8o8PQjSxOlVhQbl1lyhb-v/s1600/Photo1112_zps3ac88d95.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's not supposed to be a door here!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
seas got pretty wild. We could see white water in the North Ronaldsay Firth
from the back of the house. Huge Atlantic rollers were coming in to break just
off the headland and wash up the cobbles on the beach at Tofts Ness. The
trouble with coastlines is that they aren’t fixed. We’d already had a situation
where one of the only three major roads on the island was blocked by rocks and
detritus. It was clear that there would need to be another clean-up operation
after this little lot. As well as doing a little bit of rubbish clearance on
the Bay of Lopness, I’d already started to throw back the stones that the
previous storm had tossed up onto the top of the dunes. I am thankful that home
lies a couple of hundred metres back from the sea. Others are not so lucky. Those
finding themselves right on the front line get bombarded with all sorts. The
high winds also ripped a big whole in our friend Andy’s polytunnel. He had been
trapped overnight in Kirkwall due to his return sailing being cancelled and was
in no position to do any more to prevent it. After all his investment in
additional storm fencing around it, he was justifiably furious and got the
manufacturers to send him a replacement cover for it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You
also find that when home is only a couple of feet above sea level, it doesn’t
drain very well. The notion that the foundations in the garden be turned into a
big raised bed was beginning to look more and more unlikely as it began to
resemble a swimming pool instead. Puddles formed and merged across the surface
and when they eventually retreated, a few taps with the sole of a wellie caused
liquefaction of the sand into a gloopy puddle again. It also wasn’t draining
from the fishing crate raised beds either and what remained of my overwintering
leeks were wilting. I had to pull them all up and blanch them. Well, not quite all
of them. A good few made the shorter trip to our tummies instead. That leaves a
handful of chili plants around the place, some looking decidedly unhealthy, and
a few ropey cabbages dotted around the garden. The lines of spinach
never appeared, or if they did the rabbits got to them before we did. Next
year’s seeds are on order so we’ll get to see if I’ve learned anything from
last year’s disappointing returns. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
My latest mission has everything
to do with <a href="http://www.geograph.org.uk/">www.geograph.org.uk</a> . It is
a site that aspires to have photographs taken of every square of the Ordnance
Survey map. Needless to say, some areas of the country are more popular than
others. I lost count of how many pictures of HMS Warrior there were. However,
remote parts of the country, such as where I find myself these days, are much less
well represented. I have taken it upon myself, therefore, to fill the gaps on
the map. All the highlights on the island, the war memorial, the golf course
and the big rock have already made it onto the site, but I’m after everything
else that other residents and visitors have missed until now. If, perchance, you
are interested in looking around the old place, I can heartily recommend that you
check out the site.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPBcLMeoFw8uBxm85rLdag9lfCkeshxjD3WSQMmMX41Zuo7C4PXkZJVq-p1EQJoSLwzIaEXsy3WqX74TwKgoQzlBzDZLjiH3HURL0neViKd4H1Ou89aLgDDipLaA2JTO6NkMs4VMiUJ5_j/s1600/2656026_cd777832.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPBcLMeoFw8uBxm85rLdag9lfCkeshxjD3WSQMmMX41Zuo7C4PXkZJVq-p1EQJoSLwzIaEXsy3WqX74TwKgoQzlBzDZLjiH3HURL0neViKd4H1Ou89aLgDDipLaA2JTO6NkMs4VMiUJ5_j/s1600/2656026_cd777832.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif;"> © Copyright </span><a href="http://www.geograph.org.uk/profile/45372" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL dct:creator" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif;" title="View profile" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Becky Williamson</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif;"> and licensed for </span><a href="http://www.geograph.org.uk/reuse.php?id=2656026" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif;">reuse</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif;"> under this </span><a about="http://s0.geograph.org.uk/geophotos/02/65/60/2656026_cd777832.jpg" class="nowrap" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/" rel="license" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif; white-space: nowrap;" title="Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Licence">Creative Commons Licence</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif;">.<br />(I had to borrow somebody else's photo as I haven't been here yet!)</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
That’s about all I can think to
write. Other than watching an exciting Superbowl, visiting the mobile library,
(this month I will be mostly reading ‘The monster of Florence’ by Douglas
Preston and Mario Spezi), driving the bus and swimming in the pool, both
regularly but infrequently and never at the same time, what with the cool
temperature and the short days I have to confess that it’s all been rather
boring. The lapwings haven’t started their courtship aerobatics yet and the
ground is still a mucky grey/brown colour. It’s as if the whole island is just
holding its breath. It may be a little premature, but I get the feeling that it
is under the impression that Spring is on its way. I must confess that I have
my doubts and will have for many weeks to come.<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-20938904654762566742013-01-27T21:08:00.001+00:002013-03-19T13:11:41.377+00:00Let it snow (but not too much)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Another late posting. As Douglas
Adams is quoted as saying: “I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they
make as they fly by.” I may be rubbish, but at least I am in good company.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-HuCynBXx8TSgxBtd7n4VQY0-HlEiM5fxml8Hsf3E9_Fw_DkHsgLkcwzX99izUzXtM6LrvGUJBbWQ2tODFh_qGDgILkfsO3yU9YEw2x0bLMF5Hu9J_ADj61fzLnFoGVFfNQnZnsSQQXvF/s1600/Any+old+pony.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-HuCynBXx8TSgxBtd7n4VQY0-HlEiM5fxml8Hsf3E9_Fw_DkHsgLkcwzX99izUzXtM6LrvGUJBbWQ2tODFh_qGDgILkfsO3yU9YEw2x0bLMF5Hu9J_ADj61fzLnFoGVFfNQnZnsSQQXvF/s1600/Any+old+pony.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hands off of our equines, Silvercrest!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
As someone on a limited budget, I
take full note of the cautionary tale of the contents of some ‘value’ burgers
that made the news the other week. I would have thought that the retailers
would be pleased that their patties had so much meat in them when you’d think
that they’d be mostly rusk, testicles and whatnot. So despite what were
probably the most healthy and appetizing morsels ever to be dressed in that
packaging, tons of perfectly edible food was withdrawn from sale and tossed
away. Burgers were thankfully not on the shopping list when we hit Lidl and
Tesco in Kirkwall for a few essentials. Just in case anyone is under the
impression that it’s all knitting patterns and farming weekly up here, we also
dropped in on the library and I’m currently reading ‘The sound of things
falling’ by Juan Gabriel Vasquez. Well, there’s no ‘Dandy’ these days!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
My limited means also prevented
me from buying this year’s diary pages for my old Filofax while we were in
town. Yes there was a shop that stocked them. This necessitated finding a free
one online to download. I gave up in the end on account of me being a
technophobic Luddite, however Gail found a pretty Chrysanth one. It’s sitting
there on the laptop desktop, bright as a button, but I just can’t bring myself
to open it up and write an entry in it. Meanwhile, my trusty Filofax is glaring
at me from the shelf like I’ve betrayed it. Which, basically, is exactly what
I’ve done. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTqQnP-4aQ6T6uDtqx-8c9E_ILi___I07cC6gb0p8iMVcVBqcpf6604XVTftOVIgfngXxi01Eybct2nnm_t0ML3TuQcrDDC_htUd1F_7RmF0RuvphH-eSdniN7WYpdBAdIHPhsXRsz_ARc/s1600/DSCF1649.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTqQnP-4aQ6T6uDtqx-8c9E_ILi___I07cC6gb0p8iMVcVBqcpf6604XVTftOVIgfngXxi01Eybct2nnm_t0ML3TuQcrDDC_htUd1F_7RmF0RuvphH-eSdniN7WYpdBAdIHPhsXRsz_ARc/s1600/DSCF1649.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spotted during our archaeological field-walk. Whatever it is.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Sanday is absolutely peppered
with archaeology. Some of it is big and bold like the Quoyness chambered cairn,
but some of it is small and threatened by being erased from history by wind,
tide, flora and fauna. The SCAPE trust aims to identify archaeological sites at
risk from erosion and have a project to update its records by having
field-walkers complete status report forms and lodge their findings and
photographs online. It is also possible to register new sites that hadn’t been
identified before. On Sunday, an islander who just so happens to be a field
manager lead a small group of amateurs to explore half a dozen sites near Stove.
We found two burial mounds, one with a navigation beacon built on it and the
other robbed out, some kelp beds and plenty of other evidence of ancient
occupation. Some of it is quite tenuous, like changes in soil colour and stones
lying at jaunty, unnatural angles. It was cold and the terrain was hellish so
I’m amazed that with all my gawping around at the scenery/evidence that I
didn’t fall flat on my face in the mud.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I learned from Facebook pretty
early on that much of the country had got quite a bit of snow over the
following days. Everywhere, that is, but Peterborough, apparently. As is often
the way, it caused quite a bit of disruption, closing airports and stuff, the
infrastructure unprepared even though it happens every year. It always seems to
be either too dry in summer, to wet in spring and autumn and shock horror it
gets cold in winter. The Northern isles were not so affected. Up to that point,
our little pond had only frozen over twice. Slowly, however, the snow marched
relentlessly in our general direction and soon it was predicted to arrive. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVjTut-TF_GukXZCXK9JY84GGE3vrVAZlpEuAfjvpFgMzi2_tDFo-pezkVuEUdtJxJLnLQ8_bFvG-FrCUmlP46NR8xLwFRsv0u6ammuHQSHGzhHPOnQq-PZpaRLIrW7DbglLB4w9e9uB9d/s1600/Skoda+rally.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>Tuesday dawned chilly and calm.
We planned a little drive to Kettletoft Post Office, then to Heilsa Fjold to
avail ourselves of their wi-fi, a brief visit to Lady roadside shop for a few
groceries before finally heading home. We trudged up the garden to the car and
noticed the gritter/plough go past. We thought it rather superfluous as the
road outside the gate was clear, without even a frost on it. I had no
reservations about venturing out. A couple of miles up the road though, where
we were away from the sea, around the Plain of Fidge, conditions changed. There
was plenty of white stuff here and the bends were suspiciously treacherous.
Lady was covered in snow and despite the plough, it sat on the road itself, an
inch or two thick. Also, where most of the traffic had turned right at the war
memorial, a high bank of snow lay across the route directly ahead. I often
boast that my Skoda benefits from a rally heritage, and I was grateful that it
did when it crashed through the pile and on over the less used way. </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVjTut-TF_GukXZCXK9JY84GGE3vrVAZlpEuAfjvpFgMzi2_tDFo-pezkVuEUdtJxJLnLQ8_bFvG-FrCUmlP46NR8xLwFRsv0u6ammuHQSHGzhHPOnQq-PZpaRLIrW7DbglLB4w9e9uB9d/s1600/Skoda+rally.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVjTut-TF_GukXZCXK9JY84GGE3vrVAZlpEuAfjvpFgMzi2_tDFo-pezkVuEUdtJxJLnLQ8_bFvG-FrCUmlP46NR8xLwFRsv0u6ammuHQSHGzhHPOnQq-PZpaRLIrW7DbglLB4w9e9uB9d/s1600/Skoda+rally.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Told you. Thanks Google Images.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">This was
interesting. As we got to the old harbour it thinned again but got even worse
heading back into the middle of the island. Hot soup was the order of the day
and I was keen to ask Kelly, the bus driver, how she had fared that morning as
her Tuesday shopping route pulled in for a bite of lunch. Her neck of the
‘woods’ had been worst affected but by far her scariest moment had been
ascending a steep road called ‘the branch’ almost sideways. The cars behind her
had waited around the corner at the bottom just in case gravity had won and
brought the transit sliding back down to meet them. It is a precipitous bit of
tarmac that scares me on a good day, so I filed her account of the ordeal in
the old grey cells for when I was to take the bus in a few days. When the
current version of i-tunes had finished installing on the laptop, we left for
home and found it as clear as it had been when we’d left. I don’t see what all
the fuss is all about to be honest.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I was promised that it would all
have thawed by Thursday. I went to bed on Wednesday night, with a hot water
bottle admittedly, in good faith but just as I was wishing the sky a good
night, I noticed that it was very bright outside. It had arrived and there was
plenty of it. I hardly slept. A late booking already made my trip to the pier a
hurried one and now that conditions had turned pants, I doubted it was even
possible. The first pick-up of the morning was one of the bosses. He’d know if
we were going to make it or not. When he had finished being amused by my
reluctance to run over any bunnies he assured me that we’d make it in good
time. I tore the length and breadth of the island and collected my last fare in
Kettletoft just as the ferry was due to arrive. The trouble was that it was
arriving at Loth, eight convoluted and treacherous miles away. There was no way
we were going to make it before it had turned around. “They won’t leave without
us.” Gareth insisted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheP57CXXFcNU_edCg19Rp4J3tVDz7BfgfBUTLVthRnWlwOLJymE0FlFrOfMKHXmavifrVAgLzCDb3Y5BA2KuzSHMoUaRD0RJ6VzkoLVcNlBqYyHd_4KrYaYLH3r_yoLbQhnUkJ7okN2qEO/s1600/DSC00487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheP57CXXFcNU_edCg19Rp4J3tVDz7BfgfBUTLVthRnWlwOLJymE0FlFrOfMKHXmavifrVAgLzCDb3Y5BA2KuzSHMoUaRD0RJ6VzkoLVcNlBqYyHd_4KrYaYLH3r_yoLbQhnUkJ7okN2qEO/s1600/DSC00487.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boat that Andy nearly missed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
He was right. The last few trucks
were being loaded as I swept down the last hill, swung through the car-park and
hurtled toward the dock. “They don’t grit the pier!” my passengers exclaimed,
just in time. In stark contrast to the preceding miles, I cautiously made my
way to the bus stop at the pier’s end. Gareth had kindly managed the ticket
machine for me so I could leap out, unload their luggage and wish a bon voyage
to my customers. At 07:58, the 07:45 sailing departed for Kirkwall, a mere five
minutes after I’d turned up at the scene. After such a stressful ordeal, and I
do not presume to have been the only one on the bus who felt that way, I sat
counting my lucky stars before a leisurely drive home, stopping often take
pictures. My favourite, though, I didn’t stop for. I just aimed Gail’s Bloggie
camera at the windscreen as I barrelled along ‘Fidge’. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavNiaLP-ioBTEClw8dyOlI8EMNc6IXaZjKinv3bcbjoDGMhuNx5NF06lDFAXF5vQfuqS6MSJZYZRI85X-O5vaRDXD-0IT5POW3sZ14Fmix741Cn8BpCgNi8EIp1pJ61BQnDW71J7q4NQh/s1600/DSC00492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavNiaLP-ioBTEClw8dyOlI8EMNc6IXaZjKinv3bcbjoDGMhuNx5NF06lDFAXF5vQfuqS6MSJZYZRI85X-O5vaRDXD-0IT5POW3sZ14Fmix741Cn8BpCgNi8EIp1pJ61BQnDW71J7q4NQh/s1600/DSC00492.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A wise man tells me that this photo has 'album cover' written all over it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">In order to drive away the Winter
chill and rather inspired by Italy Unpacked on BBC2, we checked out Rightmove
overseas to check out property in warmer climes. All at once, our stiff joints
and frostbitten appendages were forgotten as we recalled our holiday in
Belaggio beside Lake Como. I have to face the truth that I am not man enough
for the Northern Islands. I thought that I was bullet-proof, but I need to
acknowledge that I am nothing more than a soft Sassenach. Without investment
that we don’t have, the house will always be a hovel. Without a polytunnel, we
will never be able to produce enough greens and our reluctance to keep
livestock or even fish means that we’ve hamstrung ourselves with our own
ideology. We are never going to be able to live ‘the good life’ with our
delicate sensibilities, not to mention our darn-right laziness. Sorry. It got a bit melancholy just then. I’ll be alright again in a few months. If you
thought that was miserable, you should have seen how forlorn I was last winter.
In comparison, that was me being cheerful!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-32496668028066600162013-01-13T16:13:00.002+00:002013-04-04T22:25:54.893+01:00Taking 'retirement' way too literally.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Well, that didn’t work. I made a
resolution to write every second Friday, but I’ve messed that up already.
Whether I can forgive myself and give it another chance in a fortnight we will
see. At least all that festive season nonsense has now passed and the days are
already getting longer, so spirits are on the up. Now where was I?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
A consequence of attending the
Sanday Development Trust AGM is that we are now members of said trust. There was
a tiny monetary commitment, comprising a whole pound, which will disappear into
the ether if the trust is ever wound up, but I think it’s worth the risk. The
trust effectively runs the island, other than core services operated by Orkney
Council, by committing grants and subsidies, not to mention quite a tidy sum
from the small wind-farm at Spurness near Loth pier, to community based
projects. For example, the croft and the heritage centre are run by the trust
and their trading arm runs the bus service. I cannot imagine that there will be
so much money in the kitty in the near future as austerity driven budget cuts
kick in, but we’ll now have some small say in where it goes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxFLSxjJycXJHsUpohRntIGRmgjavs0OflzMDn88oJO4CCZT5sJhnfJjgoQeiO0IdTvRd9jZ_MX5i9haz_C-9xlBxZ3fUNRgpPEFHar5izqNIUHLWiHStpQlnE-hC0VNQH763ezbCz3mNm/s1600/1727206_282802c1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxFLSxjJycXJHsUpohRntIGRmgjavs0OflzMDn88oJO4CCZT5sJhnfJjgoQeiO0IdTvRd9jZ_MX5i9haz_C-9xlBxZ3fUNRgpPEFHar5izqNIUHLWiHStpQlnE-hC0VNQH763ezbCz3mNm/s320/1727206_282802c1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The old Spurness windfarm<b style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif;"><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">© Copyright <a href="http://www.geograph.org.uk/profile/22573" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL dct:creator" title="View profile">hayley green</a> and licensed for reuse under this <a class="nowrap" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/" rel="license" style="white-space: nowrap;">Creative Commons Licence</a></span></b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">Within days, a cold bug took a
holiday to visit us and it goes without saying that I thought I was dying. You
know what boys are like. On my way back from a meeting about the bus service (the
drivers were invited to attend so we did) I dropped in at the doctor’s surgery
to see if they had a bottle of Night Nurse. No such luck. As there are no
dispensing chemists on the island, I had to resort to half a sleeping tablet,
dispensed by the missus, to help me to get to sleep. I woke up in the morning about
an hour before my cold so I managed the morning drive to Loth pier before the symptoms
returned. The afternoon run was like looking through beer-bottle spectacles,
but my reading of the islands roads, even after dark, is coming on nicely. If
it wasn’t for the animals, both wild and domesticated, roaming across them then
it would be an absolute breeze.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Talking of breezes, a strong Southerly
pushed Gail’s ‘Jodrell Bank’ TV aerial out of alignment. Neither of us fancied
braving the elements, especially when a friend reminded us of Rod Hull’s
untimely demise, so we settled down to some of our favourite DVDs. Gail kicked
off the ‘Harry Potter’ season and put on Philosopher’s Stone while I cooked my
signature dish haricot and olive bake for dinner. For those asking the
question, yes it does take me two hours to prepare a meal. I have to make sure
that I have all the clean utensils to hand, the myriad ingredients are weighed
out into bowls, the oven’s to heat and that I have a list of all the expletives
I know that I am guaranteed to have exhausted before it’s time to plate up.
During dinner we watched episodes of Firefly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The poor weather continued for a
few days, prompting Kirkwall Grammar School to advise their students from the
other islands that they start their weekend early as there was a real
possibility that ferry sailings would be cancelled on Friday. Consequently, the
Thursday afternoon bus run from the boat was positively heaving. Lucky skunks. With
this increase in passenger numbers, this meant that I had to drive down a few
roads that I had previously only seen on Google streetview. It wasn’t quite the
same. It’s much easier to hang a ‘U’ on the laptop than it is in a
twelve-seater Transit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSFm3QUa2GPxj1Qoe8OkjbEH7fCweIbZNRaakCQWbQBM1KljEkBVZ9MTHAxcWbLbkJliW_6VcTPEIlC2fqLmdAy6i5JTIGthHqLD7s7L6lkXxOYxPik_-SYP0bLVJrB7a2WLIzqrDd5dgS/s1600/230854_fdec3bd2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSFm3QUa2GPxj1Qoe8OkjbEH7fCweIbZNRaakCQWbQBM1KljEkBVZ9MTHAxcWbLbkJliW_6VcTPEIlC2fqLmdAy6i5JTIGthHqLD7s7L6lkXxOYxPik_-SYP0bLVJrB7a2WLIzqrDd5dgS/s320/230854_fdec3bd2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The road to Stove. The only way out is the same way you came in.<br />
<b style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">© Copyright <a href="http://www.geograph.org.uk/profile/827" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL dct:creator" title="View profile">Rob Burke</a> and licensed for reuse under this <a class="nowrap" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/" rel="license" style="white-space: nowrap;">Creative Commons Licence</a></span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">When it calmed down at the
beginning of the next week, rather than doing any outdoor work, I took the bike
out for a twenty three mile ride instead. I had never been to the very top of
the island before, even in the car. There’s not much up there past the Angora
shop, just fields with what you’d swear was a Roman road cutting between them.
It was so remote that an opportunistic black-winged seagull started circling
above me in the hope that I’d crash into a ditch and be carrion for him. At the
end of the road is Whitemill Bay. A reasonably high dune gives a splendid view
of North Ronaldsay and a fine sandy beach runs Westward and, the other way,
heads around the corner to the South. A skerry, called ‘The Riv’ heads off
straight out ahead and terminates at an outcropping about 1500m from the beach
and on which a marker stands. The tide was in so there was only a tumult of
colliding waves between the two, whereas the Ordnance Survey map suggests that,
at low tide, a causeway is revealed that runs the full length. </span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;">I’m already planning to test the theory as
soon as tide and season permits. I’ll take a big packed lunch in case I get
stranded at the marker and have to sit out high water. If it’s going to happen
to anyone then I fully expect it to be me. On the way back home, I stopped in
at Heilsa Fjold for a warming soup and a cup of tea. A very welcome treat they
were too.</span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;">I availed myself of their PC
and posted on Facebook what I’d been up to, thus clueing Gail in on what I was
up to. I must learn to be a little more discreet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3wwrxV423rwBhv-J2p2Y67AMlDL0Mas_EyJ4FAd_ts72KNsOFdL0JAlF8mEJtDu8QjMkvbCwOKPQo5MKybYFwOIu-VEQk-N9n6kFz7ej3j0UJP5p9rAcSDeXC8Q7JK6jBoaD0LEtM0qF/s1600/DSC00468.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3wwrxV423rwBhv-J2p2Y67AMlDL0Mas_EyJ4FAd_ts72KNsOFdL0JAlF8mEJtDu8QjMkvbCwOKPQo5MKybYFwOIu-VEQk-N9n6kFz7ej3j0UJP5p9rAcSDeXC8Q7JK6jBoaD0LEtM0qF/s320/DSC00468.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Whitemill Bay to the marker at the end of 'The Riv'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Winter is the ideal time to set
up the raclette on the kitchen table. I think that spotting new ones for sale
in Didldidi may have put the notion into our heads. A timely reminder it was too.
Cue the writing of a shopping list comprising lots of fresh vegetables and a
cheese that nobody stocks. In the circumstances Gouda and Edamer had to
suffice. I also dug up a handful of leeks that I have left to overwinter in a
raised bed in the garden. They may be small but they certainly pack a punch. It
takes a while for the granite slab top to be warmed through from the grill
elements below. By which time the shed is nice and warm all around. It must be
said that, other than for a couple of mornings at the start, December has been
quite mild, so I fully expect that it’ll be dragged out again early in the new year.
Spring won’t reach us until June, so there’ll be plenty of opportunity. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHGFdlDnwmaBv1ucyzcDI1c7xudobyqFAMCKYXvg2IbINoNIfJtLQpwvUnMJ1mYlFI_u3b4UPBP-EG62lDR0czwC485Ii9GAGLhOphQFJx-Fi9I9jRTXoj-juU2uav7U96oQKwhFJle628/s1600/DSC00460.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHGFdlDnwmaBv1ucyzcDI1c7xudobyqFAMCKYXvg2IbINoNIfJtLQpwvUnMJ1mYlFI_u3b4UPBP-EG62lDR0czwC485Ii9GAGLhOphQFJx-Fi9I9jRTXoj-juU2uav7U96oQKwhFJle628/s320/DSC00460.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nosy neighbours. Came as a bit of a shock at the time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">You may have gathered by now that
things have been pretty slow on the home improvement and gardening front. I
must confess that other than cutting lengths of garden hose to make cloches at
some time in the near future, continuing to make paper briquettes to burn on a
fire we don’t even have and writing a shopping list of items required to put a
ceiling up in the storeroom, things have been pedestrian to say the least. It
doesn’t help that I’m a lazy git and nice days are at a premium, nor that there
are a million and one things that I’d rather be doing when the conditions outside
are conducive to more relaxing pursuits. The prospect of visitors in the
summer, I hope, will be the catalyst for me to metamorphose into a whirling
dervish in order to get things hospitable for our guests. For the moment I’ll
continue to act like a complete tourist. At least the photographs will be more
interesting, I hope, and I can maintain a certain mystique about my practical
skills. So far, the number of people aware of the danger that I, armed with a hammer,
pose to world peace are thankfully few in number. I don’t think that I need to
compound my faux pas by providing evidence of my incompetence to a wider
audience. So, with that in mind, when asked to repair a hole in the wall in the
smallest room in the house, see if you can guess what I did.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixEaSWuoEPDLr71J0VlDLLBevzc_8VU9_bcP6RW00Qws0i0v0kU9iYdKbzX2lbpTopfgb9_t-eDsEo4mazSGTNpFRDJggK-dYQ38Nn0SeATIgjJlsUYEUoAVIs8WMtMKP_oOB2nyikvI0a/s1600/DSCF1626+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixEaSWuoEPDLr71J0VlDLLBevzc_8VU9_bcP6RW00Qws0i0v0kU9iYdKbzX2lbpTopfgb9_t-eDsEo4mazSGTNpFRDJggK-dYQ38Nn0SeATIgjJlsUYEUoAVIs8WMtMKP_oOB2nyikvI0a/s320/DSCF1626+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cata Sand through the grass</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Yep! I grabbed the camera and
went out for a ride. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK40P9y8Kotr6cH0Epm8RQrRyFDsGLxlztAUY-lfj_IW_LKeOMdeK52PEQxKzmL5HlDhgTaK74o5oEC0w3SQs97-wLSLaMRxITiG3NJlw617Q-LHEJc2e2HtUJ6QV9FTTs6_jRQnIfdlMK/s1600/DSCF1631.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK40P9y8Kotr6cH0Epm8RQrRyFDsGLxlztAUY-lfj_IW_LKeOMdeK52PEQxKzmL5HlDhgTaK74o5oEC0w3SQs97-wLSLaMRxITiG3NJlw617Q-LHEJc2e2HtUJ6QV9FTTs6_jRQnIfdlMK/s320/DSCF1631.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A ruin at Cleat and reflection. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">Happy 2013 to all my reader. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-41764970081897018232012-11-28T01:33:00.000+00:002012-11-28T01:33:00.414+00:00As the days are getting shorter<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hate writing a blog. No, that’s not true at all. What I
hate is myself for not writing them more regularly. The problem is that I won’t
have any truck with a regimen for anything I do. I like to think that it’s
spontaneity, but if I am being honest, it is just chaos. Hence, when I do sit
myself down to bash out fifteen hundred words by stabbing the keypad of Gail’s
laptop with my two index fingers, I find without fail that I need to review my
diary, photograph album and my Facebook posts to remind myself what the hell it is that I’ve been
up to since I last posted. Quite often I find out that I have completely forgotten
whole adventures and have to remind myself that this isn’t fiction. If it was,
the hero would be smart, brave, funny and handsome, unlike me. (And probably a
girl! The jury is still out on that one.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
So how far did I get last time? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Did I mention Backaskaill ( <a href="http://www.bedandbreakfastsandayorkney.com/">http://www.bedandbreakfastsandayorkney.com</a>
) where we went for dinner to celebrate twenty two years of marital bliss? No? Well, we
did and it was very good indeed. Not so good for the duck I had, but if it’s any
consolation to it, he or she tasted delicious. The very next morning, however,
it was back to our friend Andy’s place for me to help him to finish the fence
around his polytunnel. (Andy has already posted on the ‘Downsizer’ website that he was actually due
to attend a hospital appointment that morning but when he went to put his ferry
boarding pass into his wallet, he realized that he had forgotten it, so he
handed his boarding pass back and drove home!) This time it was to nail up the black,
polyester windbreak fencing to those massive posts. Each of the twenty horizontal strips
needed stretching and then fixing into place with large wire staples. I tried
really hard not to do too much damage with a hammer and still have all my
fingers left at the end of it. When we’d finished, it was time to lop off the tops
of the posts with a chainsaw. Like a fool, Andy offered to let me have a go. As
someone capable of incredible feats of stupidity, I just laughed at him and I
think he understood. Instead, I held the ladder for him as he wielded
‘Excalibur’ over my head, covering me in sawdust, and tried to deflect the
chunks of lumber he’d removed. The one that he missed tumbled down the steps
and twatted me on the knee. So I limped for a few days, but the sense of
manliness more than made up for it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmMZDi7Thd1asId0UMx_DDe3U98qNALBhNgu50XAl93Hf0pBKkxaFiYZuJs22DD2wPHu4vP5_8tzqKIWug7128YdVmzlRlOWlo0hyphenhyphen6T5AqYCTWXyanqC_Qacg0n2aJkcD2z3ZsLr5wqD00/s1600/Photo1017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmMZDi7Thd1asId0UMx_DDe3U98qNALBhNgu50XAl93Hf0pBKkxaFiYZuJs22DD2wPHu4vP5_8tzqKIWug7128YdVmzlRlOWlo0hyphenhyphen6T5AqYCTWXyanqC_Qacg0n2aJkcD2z3ZsLr5wqD00/s320/Photo1017.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only things missing now are searchlights, guard towers and a staff car.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrUXJBMFx4djJVbap8214RGcqExfKIjKYp1ApB816zqy3G4FVKojlIRRovWYqORUZaiCT6nSQTNGTz_kOHYJ2y29LzHKokO48hCho6shfr61RJh9gvNLxSnVYieg0Adw44vuf9CT5x53X/s1600/Andy+and+the+bus.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrUXJBMFx4djJVbap8214RGcqExfKIjKYp1ApB816zqy3G4FVKojlIRRovWYqORUZaiCT6nSQTNGTz_kOHYJ2y29LzHKokO48hCho6shfr61RJh9gvNLxSnVYieg0Adw44vuf9CT5x53X/s320/Andy+and+the+bus.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lot like Grand Theft Auto. Only with much more roadkill.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
After a few days, by which time I
had fully regained my usual mobility, I got a call from the manager of the bus
operator who asked if I was available to take over the driver duties for one
day a week in order to give the regular driver, Kelly, a regular day off. After
checking my appointments calendar and confirming with my erstwhile social
secretary, I said that it would be a pleasure. The gig involves me taking the
bus out every Thursday and making two trips to Loth pier to drop off and pick
up passengers to compliment the ferry timetable. There is only one road from
the pier to the middle of the island, but then it’s a bit of a run-around,
picking up and dropping off at homes all over the place. It certainly is an
excellent way to learn about the island and the folk on it. There are a few helpful
tools to assist me. My site-centred, large scale Ordnance Survey map is pretty
good, but it would seem that you are nobody without a copy of ‘Naggles O
Piapittem’, a volume of hand-drawn maps of Sanday with every single house,
bothy, bog, stream and field named and numbered for easy reference. Unfortunately,
as it is currently out of print, copies are available online only for obscene
amounts of lucre. I would draw your attention to <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Naggles-Piapittem-Place-Sanday-Orkney/dp/0951344331">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Naggles-Piapittem-Place-Sanday-Orkney/dp/0951344331</a>
if you don’t believe me. It looks as if I’ll have to learn the old fashioned
way, by getting out there, on four, two or no wheels, and discovering the place
in my own inimitable style. The book’s out of date anyway. Our house isn’t on
it for a start, but then it would not be too unreasonable to conclude that the
shed didn’t qualify as a landmark of any note-worthy consequence. (Cue author
being hit over the head with an M. C. Beaton novel borrowed from Orkney Library.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
One of my passengers is the wife
of the captain of the golf club. As I dropped Ruth off at the gate, Ean asked
me if I was available to help in repairing the fences around the greens on the
course at the weekend. No problem, despite my aversion to sharp objects. The
course is a farmer’s field, on which he grazes cattle or sheep depending on the
time of year. During the summer, when the season is in full swing, there are no
livestock grazing on it, so the fences are partially removed. At the end of the
year, however, it’s time to put cows back onto the land, so the fences need to
go back up and an additional, waist-high course of barbed wire needs to be
strung. Some posts required hammering in and some of the existing ones needed
support. If the animals don’t push them over, it is guaranteed that the
elements will. Then it was a case of fixing the wire with more of those bloody
wire staple things. The barbs tore my gardening gloves to ribbons during the
afternoon. They were clearly not up to the job, but did enough to spare me from
any bloody wounds, which likely would have had me fainting at the sight and
further damaging any credibility I think that I may have with the locals. The
course barely took a couple of hours to finish. It often takes me about that
long just to play a round, in which time a small team of eight guys had
completely re-fenced all nine holes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Ancestry.co.uk was offering a
free glimpse of WW1 records so I busied myself inspecting those this month. It
was nice that I was able to find that granddad and Uncle Chris both served. The effect it had on them both I can only imagine, but it was
interesting to view their records anyway. Imagine my delight to find that both
had reprimands for minor offences. Granddad Arthur had turned up for ceremonial
parade sporting a youthful beard and got canned for that. I wonder if it was quite as bad as the grief that I get from Gail when I don't bother to shave? I doubt it. My uncle on the other
hand had made more of his home leave than was strictly allowed and forfeited
some pay accordingly. I should imagine that it brought him no shortage of
earache as well. As a pacifist as well as having just read a number of
battlefield accounts recently, it’s about as much knowledge as I can comfortably
tolerate. I can appreciate the torment, even of those that came home
physically unscathed. The fact that we perpetuate, as a species, such horrors
continues to appal me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJssGvxyDEEZNrwDzUYP2R6gXVUWzMNYgIDXDlv80KyQMKQjDvafEsIl2EvELiV-M_RH12FTT6ALNuKyZ9CaNTlKPiWxL9sv3VuBc5Oq5I3xCSIjTmjFSJpTgNkcbndTXCe3Ru9Y9c3YiD/s1600/Some+of+the+neighbours.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJssGvxyDEEZNrwDzUYP2R6gXVUWzMNYgIDXDlv80KyQMKQjDvafEsIl2EvELiV-M_RH12FTT6ALNuKyZ9CaNTlKPiWxL9sv3VuBc5Oq5I3xCSIjTmjFSJpTgNkcbndTXCe3Ru9Y9c3YiD/s320/Some+of+the+neighbours.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't you just hate nosy neighbours?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8boK6YmGGVwKK0HlynKsb4OPE2rIODeRHruBTgZ7DDjep0V-H2NWqSiQHrBnfVmOxykdqcWcZGDXldJlPhz7xIIXrrLHreiyVwCCco6tkG2AjXJNkEukxc1Sug4LkzCed8BzMNar1lQbJ/s1600/DSCF1617+Stitch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8boK6YmGGVwKK0HlynKsb4OPE2rIODeRHruBTgZ7DDjep0V-H2NWqSiQHrBnfVmOxykdqcWcZGDXldJlPhz7xIIXrrLHreiyVwCCco6tkG2AjXJNkEukxc1Sug4LkzCed8BzMNar1lQbJ/s400/DSCF1617+Stitch.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's too dark for shots of the moon or aurora, but we get millions of these things.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">It has been a month of firsts in
the vista department. I’d never really noticed moon-bows before, but now I have
I can saw that they are very beautiful indeed. I’ve seen a lot of moon-rings,
the moonlight being refracted by thin, low cloud. The one the other night was
unusual because the ring was a long way away from the moon itself. So far, in fact,
that it took Gail an age to find it. What I had never witnessed before is the
light of the moon-ring so dispersed that all the colours of the rainbow were
visible. The red and orange were spectacular enough, but after a while it was
clear that the yellow, green and blue were there too. Then, just a day or so
later, I was sticking my head out of the door to wish the stars a good night,
when I noticed that the clouds to the North were glowing green. The aurora
itself was obscured, but it shone around the cloud very brightly. It was a
tough decision to make, whether or not to wake Gail up and face the possibility
of personal injury if it turned out to be the wrong thing to do, but so excited
was she by our first glimpse of the Northern Lights that she ended up walking
around the house in her pyjamas for a better view. A week or so later, we were
due to attend the Sanday Development Trust annual general meeting and nearly
missed it. We arrived in good time but found ourselves, instead, stood in the
car park just gawping at an unobscured aurora, our first. We did make it to
the meeting eventually, but it was a close call for a moment there.</span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;">Solar radiation is not something that you can
easily turn your back to when it’s putting on a show for you! </span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-5950760049635982242012-11-22T20:51:00.000+00:002012-11-22T20:51:03.449+00:00Catching up with the rest of October<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had an amazing wildlife experience while
walking along the beach at Bay of Lopness. After strolling for about half a
mile West toward Newark, I turned around and saw an animal of some kind making its
way along at the water’s edge toward me. My first thought was that it was
perhaps Vicki, our neighbour’s dog, so I scanned the dunes for her either Barry
or Sheila, but there was nobody there. Then I reached the conclusion that it
was a cat, judging by the way it was bounding along. Not wanting to risk scaring
it up towards the road, I headed to the dunes and sat down to wait. I took Gail’s
Bloggie camera out from my pocket and snapped away. Then the penny dropped.
“Stone me! It’s a bloody otter!” I pressed the video button on the Bloggie, but
I forgot to press record. Idiot! The otter carried on, occasionally stooping to
rub its chest in the sand, and reached where I had been standing only moments
before. It stopped barely ten yards from where I was now sitting, completely
oblivious to my presence. I could not stop myself from saying hello to it. Now fully
aware of me, but quite casually, the otter trotted down to the water to complete
the rest of his journey, where-ever it was he was off to. I had hoped to see an
otter in the wild, but I never for a moment imagined it so close. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxjqQOTmfRX__sEzVj1K1qQm4C6Nf5REYrIGusFNWKe3x1HBFUXPjZMskH1SULA6Wega5f_Mh9tgB4c9VS_XDmqfupK-hI1K4k3lS3Z2Ht5mKHM6-h47U_wHRzR54Y3fe51TQEqiBEXAP/s1600/Otter+at+Bay+of+Lopness.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxjqQOTmfRX__sEzVj1K1qQm4C6Nf5REYrIGusFNWKe3x1HBFUXPjZMskH1SULA6Wega5f_Mh9tgB4c9VS_XDmqfupK-hI1K4k3lS3Z2Ht5mKHM6-h47U_wHRzR54Y3fe51TQEqiBEXAP/s1600/Otter+at+Bay+of+Lopness.JPG" height="297" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some days the beach can get really crowded.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another
animal with which we continue to have close encounters is the visiting Siamese.
I had spent ten minutes playing with him on our doorstop just before my otter
walk. He was back again the next day when we received a phone call from a lady living
just down the road. She was asking if we had, by any chance, seen her missing
cat who was overdue for his medicine. Not only had we seen him but we were
looking at him right now! She asked whether we could keep him entertained while she drove around to collect him. We chatted to Ruth for quite a while, as her
quarry, Leo, clearly unhappy at being imprisoned, shredded the newspaper lining
his cage. It came as a relief that the handsome wee fellow wasn’t a homeless
feral and had such a loving home to go back to. So can someone please explain
why he was back again before the week was out? He arrived with blood around his
mouth. Concerned that it might have been his own, I wiped his chops for him and
found that it was not. He was scrounging for biscuits having just had his face
buried in a rabbit carcass, the freeloading bastard! Since then, he has been a
common sight on our ‘estate’, hunting high and low for his next wild meal. He
has often been loitering right at our door as well, much to Smokey’s
frustration as he often appears there just when I am about to let her outside.
Only today, I saw him making his way away from the house toward the loch yet only
a few minutes later when I opened the door to let madam out, there he was. Some
hissing and spitting ensued before I could shut the door again. After an hour
or so, she did get outside. She’d been out for about ten minutes before she
went tearing off down the garden toward the road. Leo had returned again, as if
he had an elasticated collar caught on our door-handle. Fortunately, there was
no rough stuff and Smokey came back when she was called. Personally, I
attribute her compliance to the fact that Leo didn’t seem at all intimidated by
her, a reaction, or rather lack of one, I don’t believe she has ever
experienced before. She frightens the bejesus out of me all the time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the
cold weather returns, the temptation to stay in bed for far too long becomes
irresistible. And with the house constantly creaking, not to mention birdlife
trotting noisily across the metal roof, it is too easy to not hear the odd
knock at the door. Less easy to miss the ensuing phone call from the cavity
wall insulation guy calling from the top of the driveway. Fortunately, he had
another home visit to make just up the road, giving us time to make ourselves
presentable. He was back though within five minutes. His other ‘client’ had
gone shopping to Kirkwall for the day. I had to break it to him that the
appointments that he was keeping were secrets known only to him and his
co-ordinator, as they had clearly been made without any consultation with his
proposed hosts at all. Gail had phoned them about having the walls insulated,
but had heard nothing in reply to her enquiry for many months until a call out
of the blue the week before. Provisionally they stated that an engineer was due
onto the island on the Wednesday but failed to confirm the date or a time. That
is, until this very moment. I barely had time to fetch him our ladder so he
could check the walls out, when the phone rang again. Our friend Andy who lives
between Kettletoft and Lady was looking to erect a windbreak fence around his
poly-tunnel. I’d already helped him dig some of the post holes and today, in
quite glorious weather, was the day he had chosen to set the posts in concrete
and was I available? Gail assured me that she could deal with current visitor,
so I got on my bike for the three mile ride to Silverhall.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-m6Idnx4AVVs_Kf8qm4x_hVg8zWTubfaVQ2AM8hzGbLN9-dnbdPfJfKigb9zkCMcP98nLjB0qwGNug7L2lJG3jtQONDOb3q5DsPqnR2LDh5qEGphrBVPl4fAJ80-iCT_RsNWCQojj8ni/s1600/Photo0982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-m6Idnx4AVVs_Kf8qm4x_hVg8zWTubfaVQ2AM8hzGbLN9-dnbdPfJfKigb9zkCMcP98nLjB0qwGNug7L2lJG3jtQONDOb3q5DsPqnR2LDh5qEGphrBVPl4fAJ80-iCT_RsNWCQojj8ni/s1600/Photo0982.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our friends Denise & Andy's polytunnel. Rainbows are an optional extra.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnRVlMNwCrUHkXTvD-3n7RYox4CT77-UfhWTcbgRe2BMB32bt8YxOGpRf1fsRzxvZW-0zB9NXaQo09j2ZP73KbASAi9jSD_JITTJ6eLgpuIaHG3Aapwo6NIgZ7nXLWnlP81KyM94NZlwDq/s1600/Photo0988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnRVlMNwCrUHkXTvD-3n7RYox4CT77-UfhWTcbgRe2BMB32bt8YxOGpRf1fsRzxvZW-0zB9NXaQo09j2ZP73KbASAi9jSD_JITTJ6eLgpuIaHG3Aapwo6NIgZ7nXLWnlP81KyM94NZlwDq/s1600/Photo0988.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And again after we'd erected Valhalla around it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spent
the rest of the day humping barrowfulls of concrete around Andy’s garden and
tipping the contents into the footings to create a henge of stout wooden posts
surrounding his ‘Eden under plastic’. Andy’s other glamorous assistant, Dean,
was in charge of the mixer, turning out load after load of sloppy goo and Andy
busied himself with making sure that the posts were upright and in line. Never
having done a hard day’s work before in my life, it was quite a struggle. A
couple of rounds of cheese and tomato sandwiches kept us going all afternoon. I
didn’t fall over or spill any so I guess I did alright. I even had enough puff
for the ride home. It got a bit blowy over the next couple of days but he
assures me that they are all still perpendicular. It should be noted that most
of those couple of days I spent at home whinging about my back aching.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ten
months after choosing which removals boxes go into which rooms, Gail has
decided that it was time to search for her sewing machine pedal. I keep trying
to get her to wing off an email to the removals company just in case, but she
insists that we turn the house inside out first. I was adamant that we’d
actually been through them all before, but after we discovered the missing
Steiff and Ikea Billy bookcase bolts, it would appear that if we did then we had
done an extraordinarily crap job of doing it. With all the shelf space now
available, instead of searching a great many boxes, we actually got to
completely empty them. It also freed a bit of floor space that, hitherto, had
been obscured. Some of my fiction paperbacks had gone a bit mouldy and required
some TLC which included a spell in the window to dry off. I must admit,
however, that I got a little OCD and set about reorganizing our complete book
collection by subject, author and genre. Needless to say that the Gail’s
original purpose had taken a back seat and, to think, that that woman used to
manage staff. She has absolutely no idea how to boss me about. No carrot and no
stick. She’s hopeless. <o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0K1OMjF0Cb6ELUS67Of6Lh8t_saMU5uauOvcyUid_IQmIp_QQezhYi_lDVbKaJ0egGhtouepD2-Jbcqee5gKOw3SLaG5HBMKV3bys5vijnSMwlzQdtm5mu5MKWodo2IZkhhON0gzfFPVj/s1600/DSCF1615+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0K1OMjF0Cb6ELUS67Of6Lh8t_saMU5uauOvcyUid_IQmIp_QQezhYi_lDVbKaJ0egGhtouepD2-Jbcqee5gKOw3SLaG5HBMKV3bys5vijnSMwlzQdtm5mu5MKWodo2IZkhhON0gzfFPVj/s1600/DSCF1615+-+Copy.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This has sod all to do with the narrative, but is cute.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Weekends.
I’m having a hard time coming to terms with the concept. It seems very decadent
indeed to do nothing productive all week but still celebrate the Capitalist
Sabbath at the end of it. It can be quite a challenge to think of something
even more worthless to do for two days when you already do sod all for the
other five. Even so, it’s still not exactly heavy industry. Hurrah for sport on
the television, especially when the sport is happening in the Far East so you
have to make an extra special effort to stay awake for a whole forty eight
hours to make sure you catch it all, whereupon another week of slobbing can begin. I reckon
that it’ll take until Wednesday before I get my body-clock sorted out. That’s
all the excuse I need.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-61961318672362964952012-11-07T15:02:00.000+00:002012-11-07T15:02:39.565+00:00Popping to the shops, Sanday stylie<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
We found that the shelves were getting a little bare the other day, and filling them again was not quite the simple exercise that it used to be. We had to get
ourselves organized. The first thing that we have to do is check that the weather is not going to be foul, even before we make sure whether there is available space on the boat. If it's going to be blowing less than 20mph, a short email to those jolly helpful
people at Orkney Ferries does the trick. Within twenty minutes, Margaret
replies with our confirmation and it’s all systems go. I go out remove any extraneous
items from the boot of the Skoda to allow for maximum capacity, check the tyre
pressures and remove the gobs of bird-shite from the windscreen. At least I
don’t have to check for nests in the engine bay at this time of year. We sort out loads of shopping bags, rucksacks and put the squidgy, liquid
blocks for the cool-box into the freezer overnight in the hope that we’ll
remember to take them out in the morning. Lists prepared, library books packed,
wallets and purses sorted, it’s time to make sure to get a good night’s sleep
for an early start.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbrRz4Y0limj5jA1oKJ9WkwU2ekzzw9NxOGdKeQOQAzhfEzy2NDN-ALFbYKCKAscItklbB0SiaSPhfhQft9Vq8How95y5sDKdxjtDK5hMKAIonpoEWaCeh1TviOmFoH-lmCPBgoWkWVL-/s1600/DSCF1559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbrRz4Y0limj5jA1oKJ9WkwU2ekzzw9NxOGdKeQOQAzhfEzy2NDN-ALFbYKCKAscItklbB0SiaSPhfhQft9Vq8How95y5sDKdxjtDK5hMKAIonpoEWaCeh1TviOmFoH-lmCPBgoWkWVL-/s1600/DSCF1559.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"What time d'ya call this?!!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I
remember when we used to get up at 5:45am every weekday morning. Well, Gail
used to wake up at 5:45am. I on the other hand waited until she’d brought me a
cup of tea at about half past six before I even lifted my head off the pillow.
Then, about five minutes before we were supposed to leave, I’d run around like
a headless chicken which often meant that I’d forget something in my haste, my
wallet, my keys or more likely my brain. It’s a habit that has lapsed almost
completely these days, unless we’re talking about 5:45 pm. We have never, as yet, failed
to be up and about by then. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEGz00Uwcx86-kp54qGecwUkgM5PaP-6VJTyFSkhUHgkn4v38RYf_aEsonYrLWhr-Su6kXk4e0PsANu9ufUMWPb_XUH6sP40o-ZOsqTUHDhviqxAfRJagqpu9DYjG5znDfR7mVfArgOc_/s1600/DSC00323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEGz00Uwcx86-kp54qGecwUkgM5PaP-6VJTyFSkhUHgkn4v38RYf_aEsonYrLWhr-Su6kXk4e0PsANu9ufUMWPb_XUH6sP40o-ZOsqTUHDhviqxAfRJagqpu9DYjG5znDfR7mVfArgOc_/s1600/DSC00323.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"And don't come back until you've got me a tuna."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Smokey
instinctively knows when we are about to abandon her for the day. She is usually
quite ambivalent about our erratic time-keeping, provided that one of us takes
the time to top up her biscuits or slop out a bit more tuna into her bowl at
regular intervals. Both of us awake and dressed before 8:00am is all the
evidence she needs to justify beginning the psychological warfare, meowing at
us each in turn, purring theatrically the moment she is shown attention and generally being in the way in an attempt
to stall our departure. To compensate for our feeling of guilt, we shade off
the end of the bed for her for when she sleeps and leave the radio on for her
when she’s awake. If she had opposable thumbs, heck, I’d put the X-box on for
her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We head
off just after 8:30 to arrive at Loth pier by 9:00. You never know when you’ll
find yourself behind a herd of cows being moved to fresh pasture along the
road. There are so few roads on the island that there is no chance of making a
detour so we would have been obliged to wait for them to reach their
destination before continuing. Starting a stampede just because you’re running
late is not recommended. As it transpires, our route is clear so we arrive in
good time, joining the queue of vehicles already waiting at the assembly point.
It starts to rain and there’s no sign of a boat. When there is an early morning
sailing, a boat will have moored up at the pier overnight. Later sailings have
a ten minute turnaround, disgorging its vehicles and passengers arriving from
Kirkwall before allowing those of us leaving the island to embark. Our ship is
the largest of the fleet, the Varagen, so there’s plenty of room for all. We make
for the passenger lounge, sit down and wait for the scenery to move. The
journey takes about eighty minutes, plenty of time to make it down to the
cafeteria for a bacon roll for me and a tuna mayo one for Gail. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon,
Kirkwall homes into view. Well, it would have done if the lounge faced forward,
but it doesn’t. Having watched the islands of Eday, Stronsay and Shapinsay
slide past, the green bits ceased to have blue bits around them. That means
that this is Orkney mainland. We’re getting close. We recognise Hatston Pier
which means we’ll be on terra firma in minutes. A ship announcement calls us down
to the car deck and we get back into the Skoda. On Sanday, vehicles drive on to
the stern of the ship so that when we reach Kirkwall we can drive off from the
pointy end. First though, and this still never fails to freak me out, the whole
prow of the ship swings upward while we’re still moving. It’s just as if the
Herald of Free Enterprise capsize had never happened! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There
are a few places in Kirkwall that offer free parking. The largest site
conveniently lies directly opposite the supermarkets but it is presently closed
for a travelling funfair. It was a race therefore to secure one of the limited
spaces on the waterfront. We are lucky to find one and head on foot to the town
centre, but we are distracted by more boats arriving. One of the ships is my
favourite, the Shapinsay ferry, as it is a drop-fronted ro-ro like at the
Normandy D-Day landings. OK not quite like June 1944, but the same principal.
This landing was interesting as the slipway was currently being used to launch
a rib that was stubbornly refusing to detach from its trailer. Fortunately, the
ferry crew were aware of it and stopped in plenty of time. The ramp was lowered
and those on the deck playfully teased those with the rib that they were
holding up their passengers and should pull their fingers out. A good-natured
dialogue ensued, avec hand gestures before the rib was launched and the 4x4
drove up the slipway before the ferry’s ramp rode up behind it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS7HNPI1UjWF7dtlxvan-LxwVdRsyF6XLyh6mS3Q5IN0S5uKt0EBOkuJtYnviEMV0AaY1oOswKKxUaX34gDNEOmKc4_QbSdWJrQwC-c_hxKU1mQCvTXnyppPaWK7i8d6S6FaWYWOuf-PP4/s1600/Photo+0082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS7HNPI1UjWF7dtlxvan-LxwVdRsyF6XLyh6mS3Q5IN0S5uKt0EBOkuJtYnviEMV0AaY1oOswKKxUaX34gDNEOmKc4_QbSdWJrQwC-c_hxKU1mQCvTXnyppPaWK7i8d6S6FaWYWOuf-PP4/s1600/Photo+0082.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Shapinsay landing craft is thwarted by a congested slipway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s a
short walk to the middle of town. They have a Boots, a Euronics, an M & Co
and a Co-op, but other than the banks and the energy company shop, the rest of
the shops are independents. After a visit to the library and a little ‘high
street retail therapy’ we stop for lunch at Café Lolz@21. It’s the calm before
the storm of rushing around Didldidi and Tesco before filling the car up with
unleaded on the way back to the pier. It all goes swimmingly. There was some
initial disappointment when Lidl didn’t have any Paprika crisps, but the gods
of fortune were smiling on me when the petrol station shop turned out to be a
Spar, who make and sell their own brand paprika flavoured tube crisps. That was
the ferry snack problem solved. It is a mystery why British crisp brands don’t produce
a paprika flavoured version. It’s like being abroad without having to be
abroad. It’s exotic. They taste a damn sight better than prawn feckin’
cocktail! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ntOR1piJ1aDZtXBFPLX3J2KPmn0Gtt2IzdM9BqHha9W8CBntghj-MuC3pc3oXuvoM0oAFM6TjF5SzdofVIZ5ZVI5rfF01eWeGsfn0NgLypqXdmNqmLdz0UMxrGdttWB3o7lD7hAxOyoc/s1600/Photo+0084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ntOR1piJ1aDZtXBFPLX3J2KPmn0Gtt2IzdM9BqHha9W8CBntghj-MuC3pc3oXuvoM0oAFM6TjF5SzdofVIZ5ZVI5rfF01eWeGsfn0NgLypqXdmNqmLdz0UMxrGdttWB3o7lD7hAxOyoc/s1600/Photo+0084.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's still one to pack on! Skoda is under the truck.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our
boat for the journey North was the Earl Sigurd. The Earl Sigurd and her sister
ship the Earl Thorfinn are both smaller than the Varagen, so it was a challenge
to fit all the returning vehicles and a couple of huge trucks full of aggregate
onto the car deck. Gail and the other car passengers had to bail out so the
cars could fit three abreast. It was a
bit like a Krypton Factor puzzle, but the ferry crew were up to it. I made my
way out of the lounge and onto the ‘deck’ in order to snap a few pictures of
Kirkwall as it receded into the distance. I returned to the lounge and stuck my
head into my new library book. The next thing I know, we’re back at Loth. We
were behind schedule due to the kerfuffle loading in Kirkwall. It was gone five
and the light was fading. I joined the back of the train of cars heading across
the island, thinning as those in front of us each reached their destinations
before us. To save lugging all our stuff down the driveway, I gave myself
special dispensation to park right up at the house. There was no short-cut to
putting all the goodies away though. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then it
was tea, coffee and faux Dickmanns. Feet up, catch the last rounds of Pointless
and relax. Repeat this process every five weeks. Fin.<span style="text-transform: uppercase;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-59190803243433080892012-10-09T22:39:00.001+01:002012-10-09T22:39:23.543+01:00September in a page<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEior6bIewL5TV1VwwkuzVWWJBFJgITPhA1Qjg7oveJZh5Zd_FVFJhuw91174apIst3COAmLZthQMSxtH2YtvnfXLwq9yU2KCNm9N3AJeW9fbtwfxeqqCBAN-Nzx9O4oSiS1fC_U5y6IeKx1/s1600/DSC00407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEior6bIewL5TV1VwwkuzVWWJBFJgITPhA1Qjg7oveJZh5Zd_FVFJhuw91174apIst3COAmLZthQMSxtH2YtvnfXLwq9yU2KCNm9N3AJeW9fbtwfxeqqCBAN-Nzx9O4oSiS1fC_U5y6IeKx1/s320/DSC00407.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now the whole world knows. (If they happen to be passing.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
On an
early September walk along the beach, in improved weather, I espied a pile of
building rubble and, when I checked it out, found a great big slate roof tile that
was practically begging to be ‘recycled’. It took me a while to lug the thing
home. It made scrambling up the shingle onto the dunes particularly hazardous. After
chipping all the flakey bits off it, Gail painted the house name on it and then
coated it with waterproof PVA to seal it. While she was busy with that, I made
a staked frame for it to stand on. It was a pile of crap, I admit. It didn’t
even stand up to being whacked into the ground with a mallet so I very much
doubt that it will survive the Orcadian elements for very long. For the time being,
however, it looks pretty neat, even if we do say so ourselves and at least
visitors will be spared having to phone up for directions having driven
straight past. That is unless it rains, apparently. It doesn’t look as if the
PVA is properly waterproof. When we arrived home during a ‘peedie’ storm the
other day, it had turned to foam and rendered Gail’s artistic lettering, in
careful ‘papyrus’ style font, completely illegible. If it wasn’t for the
horsebox, I’d have missed the gate and driven past. Maybe not. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMfHt_BQBxE3PuCI2VTp7cO8MPwg4GSpxfI1tPk2mzroX0yKcILCBuBVI3WhW-Dvjpt-UqKuOkpdcODajKT1vbhbsAklGXmXLE0rKdldh1GHM4tEm6FHbvs680-DEtrem6PbjLT40IYo3/s1600/DSCF1514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMfHt_BQBxE3PuCI2VTp7cO8MPwg4GSpxfI1tPk2mzroX0yKcILCBuBVI3WhW-Dvjpt-UqKuOkpdcODajKT1vbhbsAklGXmXLE0rKdldh1GHM4tEm6FHbvs680-DEtrem6PbjLT40IYo3/s320/DSCF1514.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"To get to the lighthouse, you have to get past us first."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gail
and I finally went on one of the walks organised and hosted by the islands
ranger, Rod. It was to Start Point lighthouse. I’d been there before, on my
own, but this time we were going to get inside. We still had to scramble across
the rocks to the island and then yomp another half a mile the other side
through quite heavy ground. It was knackering just getting there. There was not
much left in the tank for climbing all those steps. In addition, the fact that
they wound round and around made Gail very queasy. The ladder to the light
itself was a journey too far for her. Our guide explained the operation and
history of the lighthouse before letting the rest of us climb another short
ladder to the balcony. Stonking views were denied only by misty weather, but I
took pictures anyway in the hope that something could be discerned from the
fuzzy images. The light itself was powered by gas for many years and given the
difficulty we’d had getting ourselves here, it was hard to imagine the
nightmare of carrying over a hundred cylinders to such a remote place. More
about Start Point at <a href="http://www.nlb.org.uk/LighthouseLibrary/Lighthouse/Start-Point/">http://www.nlb.org.uk/LighthouseLibrary/Lighthouse/Start-Point/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gawping
out of our windows remains a primary occupation.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirk9BJpJ0lCiflK-dKSewWb0LsQjntmEEHBilJRxCZxzUI4WLShktFnB7X-28TUvrpqOaWgSqJMMlbByDcIIEv3JyuXhkaBR9uOFD7mHXV_nvWs8SXYNDVaBKw4lAbUuCKGv-sLRZt9XSI/s1600/DSCF1542.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirk9BJpJ0lCiflK-dKSewWb0LsQjntmEEHBilJRxCZxzUI4WLShktFnB7X-28TUvrpqOaWgSqJMMlbByDcIIEv3JyuXhkaBR9uOFD7mHXV_nvWs8SXYNDVaBKw4lAbUuCKGv-sLRZt9XSI/s200/DSCF1542.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can see you, you little bugger!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmzaimA9LsQq2DpWp9x1XYhbMNJtHr44u4n9DRIeLbpePH6xFb_3g8HD9pWweJSKg5XfW16vFNMQqICeXhgU2uhp_UauH8Mo3sLXrMfN_AtypZ3ua9b_4BjVB_Y_eBoBB7uGBURubcn9Do/s1600/DSCF1535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmzaimA9LsQq2DpWp9x1XYhbMNJtHr44u4n9DRIeLbpePH6xFb_3g8HD9pWweJSKg5XfW16vFNMQqICeXhgU2uhp_UauH8Mo3sLXrMfN_AtypZ3ua9b_4BjVB_Y_eBoBB7uGBURubcn9Do/s200/DSCF1535.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leo waiting for his dinner to arrive.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XouOZ-hq7SBJgO5LPyjc3DrRHDiZJxbZ87zIkjyNETH05fEIvzay6qYHoT86VIOCYRcH-HSuTdhk9b3nW6fPuiS2682pd4SQGhlFhXPN4FHaSYKNzUYFO0Mx3hmXzdLzsF3O3-G1f-cV/s1600/DSCF1531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="display: inline !important; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XouOZ-hq7SBJgO5LPyjc3DrRHDiZJxbZ87zIkjyNETH05fEIvzay6qYHoT86VIOCYRcH-HSuTdhk9b3nW6fPuiS2682pd4SQGhlFhXPN4FHaSYKNzUYFO0Mx3hmXzdLzsF3O3-G1f-cV/s200/DSCF1531.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A racoon bird. Really?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I took
a bike ride up to Scuthvie, where the tarmac ends, in the North-East corner of
the island. Eventually, I want to try cycling from one end to the other so I
wanted to see just how far it was from my gate. Mapometer says it’s three miles.
Adding the twelve to Loth Pier, it’s not a journey I intend to try any
time soon! (<a href="http://www.mapometer.com/cycling/route_2379071.html">http://www.mapometer.com/cycling/route_2379071.html</a>).
On the way back, I detoured around the North Loch. Hundreds of geese and swans
were happily floating around on the water, occasionally taking noisily to the
air, circling around and landing again. It’s a full life for a fowl. This
‘road’ led me to the edge of the bay on the opposite side of the island to the Bay of Lopness. It’s called Bay of Sandquoy, but it is part of a larger stretch of coastline called Otters Wick, which is a clue to what beasts frequent the
area. And it didn’t disappoint. Just off the rocks, an otter was swimming
along, parallel to the shore line, diving and breaching frequently. My first
sighting.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My
Makita drill got another outing when a couple more curtain poles needed putting
up. Buoyed by the success of those projects, it was time to try getting through
two courses of breeze block to get the aerial cable fed in. Even with the bit
extension attached, it was necessary to go at it from both sides, creating the
problem of making both holes align. It also meant that I couldn’t quit halfway
through the gig, despite the temptation. Leaving holes in external walls is not
clever, apparently. I also learnt that spade bits are meant for wood. When used
on masonry, the point breaks off and the spade blades wear out, leaving the
idiot with the trigger bashing his way through concrete with a fast-spinning
spoon. I am just amazed that the feeling in my hand eventually came back.
Thankfully, persistence is rewarded, even when common sense is completely
absent. Now we can watch TV without the window open. It’s like we’ve evolved or
something.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gail has requested my signature dish, haricot
and olive bake, a couple of times now. I’ve also made bread dough for some
homemade pizzas. I’ve even knocked up a very passable carrot cake, with carrots
from our own garden. Also, Gail trusts me to do veggie ‘fry-ups’. Apart from
that, other than breakfast porridge every morning, meals are primarily Gail’s
responsibility. She’s an absolute diva at opening cardboard boxes and putting
containers in the oven. To her credit, she makes a damn good biscuit. If this
paragraph makes it through her ‘edit & proof-read’ I will be very much
surprised.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
islanders running the Sanday bus got in touch with me and invited me for a
‘ride-along’. This meant an early start if we were to pick up ‘Northenders’ on
the way across the island to Loth Pier for the first ferry of the day. It made
a pleasant change to be the passenger for once and I’m afraid that I wasn’t
much help, nor a very avid trainee, as all I did was rubberneck at all the
amazing scenery. I get away with a little bit of that in the Skoda, but I
usually get shouted at or smacked very promptly. With the higher elevation of
the minibus, it was even more spectacular. I made a second trip two days later
for the evening run and made sure that I was more attentive. It must have
worked as I was asked to do the following evenings run solo. I brought the bus
home and parked it by the gate. To say that I was nervous would be an
understatement. Unsure as to whether the accents, rabbits in the road,
single-track carriageways, the ticket machine or the vans temperamental clutch
would prove my nemesis, I played every disastrous scenario, including driving
the bus off the end of the pier, in my head a million times. The gig itself was
an uneventful success. The only exception was the local owner of the
self-catering cottage at Park (near Start) telling me off for not stopping
right outside the door. When I told him that I had been warned not to do any
off-roading and that it was my first day, he was most understanding. I’d carried six
passengers, seven if you include the kitten, and taken nine pounds in fares. It
then struck me that that was my first work in twenty months. Well worth the
wait!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij3q9FJvUGYaQ5jqSGACTOxiAxqCcVvEUMFS15x_plDfhhbd3QqfDu5xwn-phUBV9CR-GUGhh6eIcDcZGoNzJgKYkI0lh_nW6ldQnnwcrfY1XKjm3Jbn8K1ZIkAC45RZqEF02qtrKAg3_J/s1600/rookie_lifeguards_icon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij3q9FJvUGYaQ5jqSGACTOxiAxqCcVvEUMFS15x_plDfhhbd3QqfDu5xwn-phUBV9CR-GUGhh6eIcDcZGoNzJgKYkI0lh_nW6ldQnnwcrfY1XKjm3Jbn8K1ZIkAC45RZqEF02qtrKAg3_J/s320/rookie_lifeguards_icon.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank you to the copyright holder, whoever you are.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the
pool, we finally met the lady in charge and put our names down for lifeguard
training and duty. You do sod all for a year and a half and suddenly you get
two jobs at once. The lifeguarding however is purely voluntary. Actually, I’ve
just remembered that we’ve lined up another one as well. An archaeologist on
the island is working for Scottish Coastal Archaeology and the Problem of
Erosion (SCAPE) to identify ‘at risk’ sites on Sanday. We’ve contacted her to
express our interest in the project. She’s keen to find volunteers who are willing to photograph
the current condition of the sites in the hope of obtaining funding for
excavations and then to help with the digging. We’ve watched all the episodes
of Time Team so it’s about time that we got our knees dirty. <o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-33111712096680675302012-10-07T17:56:00.001+01:002012-10-07T17:56:36.461+01:00Oh well. That's Summer over then<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I suspect that, after only about ten weeks of relative calm,
winter is already returning to Sanday. One of the most obvious signals of a chilly
night is the sight of steam rising from the small loch beyond the bottom of the
garden and the geese there arguing with their mates about when will be the best
time to head off. It’s that time of year when the locals start walking around
their property to look out for anything that they’ll need to have nailed down
before the winds come. Whereas I, on the other hand, tend to harbour the
opinion that if it managed to survive last winter then it’ll continue to be fine.
I never was very bright. If I’m able to pick up some corrugated plastic
sheeting, I might repair the shed roofs, although I don’t suppose the local
avians will be too happy about it. Furthermore, the thought occurs that if,
then, it were to get blow off, there will be no way to deny that it was MY
fault and that if I’d just left it the hell alone it would likely have been
alright. Prevention cannot always be guaranteed to be better than the cure,
especially if I have anything to do with it. Presently, I’ve resolved to let
all hell break loose and then any effort I make is assured to be an improvement
on whatever carnage the storms may leave in their wake. I’m quietly confident that
I can manage to pull that off.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNxo7iRtn2YINONrWTEl3vfdUnWijQ4NkI54Jf33AOYDH-lN-6vLNtQYo7tVpHkXRapbIFT7xSXlDw0rBKawa3eKdgG-xTsB6Yrmic92k6X_3j6Fhq5P3QGKDzs6kxnO2Yj7eGh8w-3m7E/s1600/Loch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNxo7iRtn2YINONrWTEl3vfdUnWijQ4NkI54Jf33AOYDH-lN-6vLNtQYo7tVpHkXRapbIFT7xSXlDw0rBKawa3eKdgG-xTsB6Yrmic92k6X_3j6Fhq5P3QGKDzs6kxnO2Yj7eGh8w-3m7E/s400/Loch.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a lake and it's steaming. That's just wrong.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although
the turbine is still offline, there continue to be matters arising. The guy who
is paying for it, and for a couple of others at sites on the island, dropped by
to get the necessary leases signed. Jonathan and his dad were a great laugh, so
we certainly don’t anticipate any problems in the future. They’d driven up from
Leicester in Jonathan’s smart BMW and he was in no mood to rally it across our
wild ‘garden’. They’d explored the island and very much liked what they saw.
Sure, they’d come on a nice day but senior was seriously threatening to mislay
his return ticket. Within days of their visit, Scottish Hydro had changed the old
token meter for a flash new one and ever since then we’ve been straining at the
bit to get it turned back on. To their credit, they sent an engineer straight
out to us late on Sunday night. Rick, for ‘twas his name, was staying on the
island overnight to work a full day on Monday and came out to us before he had
even been to his B&B. Our hero. When he switched it on, however, it was
clear that something was wrong. It was making far too much noise and when we
went to investigate, the whole foundation was shaking. He shut it down quickly
and admitted that there was nothing he could do today, in the dark. It was
pitch black out. Nothing will get done now until the 18<sup>th</sup> when
they’ll likely have to bring the head down and see what the blue blazes is
going on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
island development trust advertised a vacancy for a bus driving job, only the
second post to arise to my knowledge, so I applied for this one too. The
interview went pretty well but the post went to the current relief driver. But
at least I’ve shown willing and the operators appear keen to get me on board in
future, to get involved by taking minutes at their meetings and training for
any driver positions that may come up later when they implement a planned expansion
of the service. I think I may have a foot in the door at least. First aid
training is high on the agenda and what with us looking to start lifeguard
training at the pool, it all seems to be coming together quite nicely.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Conversely,
I’m not doing very well at becoming a more determined vegetarian, as I had
planned. It doesn’t help when Gail herself suggested trading vices, her
penchant for coffee treats for my legendary, and dare I say hereditary fondness
for ‘dead animal’ ones. Her need for cappuccino meant that I was able to
celebrate international bacon day on the first of September in style. On
shopping expeditions previously, I have been not only permitted but openly
encouraged to reacquaint myself with tinned corned beef and spam, black
pudding, beef burgers and a range of tasty sausages and hams. At least I
haven’t made another order from the German deli in London, but I must confess
that cost is the primary de-motivator on that front. I’m far from happy with my
weakness for it all. My waistband isn’t happy either. But I can hardly tell the
missus that she can’t enjoy her beans so, I’m afraid to say, cute little critters
will continue to come a cropper.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing
seems to be able to curtail Gail’s enthusiasm for life on Sanday. I dragged her
out on another walk with me but after only five minutes heading along the
windswept beach we got absolutely drenched so headed back home, laughing our
socks off. The very next day we had to return some books to the mobile library
parked outside the school. It was still more than a tad breezy and the truck
was being pitched around quite severely. Gail was getting seasick and within minutes
went the same colour she had gone when we crossed the Pentland Firth in
December. There is a distinct lack of sick-bags aboard the library, so she
picked out a couple of tomes in double-quick time and hastened back to the
relative security of the car. Now things are beginning to look up for her. She
has joined the choir. They are meeting up regularly down the pub and getting
some voice coaching. As her chauffeur, I am left at the bar nursing a couple of
bottles of J2O during the proceedings. I kicked myself for forgetting to take
my i-pod along, but I must admit that it was not that much of an unpleasant
experience while I read. She very much enjoyed herself, too. There certainly
was a lot of rather unmusical cackling going on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlj7Pk_NNsOgNHTguQ9XEF8iSzAfDJd8CkigjnjOQdLpz9dEUKbU5NaPKgGB7193joTh-taPjS1d2vj6rHGpUg-GLquf5Aongo99aeusvZ4mmEqDc7HTzK2aKwvvrzSlUSyWC0xDxYw108/s1600/DSC00394+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlj7Pk_NNsOgNHTguQ9XEF8iSzAfDJd8CkigjnjOQdLpz9dEUKbU5NaPKgGB7193joTh-taPjS1d2vj6rHGpUg-GLquf5Aongo99aeusvZ4mmEqDc7HTzK2aKwvvrzSlUSyWC0xDxYw108/s320/DSC00394+-+Copy.JPG" width="316" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andy has to hide his wallet when Gail sees something that looks like fun!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Earlier
in the year, I disturbed a feral cat that had been sheltering in one of the
stables. He’s a cute Siamese that doesn’t wear a collar. Gail cannot believe
that he is fully feral, but when he next appeared he had an abscess on his leg
that did not look as if it was being treated. He still has the flappy bit of
skin on his leg, but he otherwise looks very healthy these days and is still
gorgeous. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to feed him as he has started to drop
by fairly regularly these days. There was quite nervous moment when I opened
the front door to let Smokey get some fresh air and the pair came almost
nose-to-nose in the hallway. To their credits, neither chose to engage in
fisticuffs. Smokey was too shocked to do anything other than stare for a few
moments before starting to hiss. The Siamese growled in an almost canine
manner. I’d heard that the breed were quite gobbie, but not actually witnessed
it for myself. Smokey was kept indoors and our visitor was evicted as gently as
possible, with a bribe. There are also a couple of predominantly black cats
wandering around. I’ve caught them both sheltering in the stables at times
recently, but they are very shy and run away quickly when they see us. Their
hunting prowess beyond reproach, as the number of fresh rabbit carcasses
testify. One of our neighbours is associated with Cats Protection in Kirkwall, so it may be that we'll soon need to get them captured and neutered before we're falling over even more fluffy bundles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-27099436981033705502012-08-26T01:20:00.000+01:002012-08-26T01:38:02.439+01:00It seemed like a good idea at the time<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Having planned it months in
advance, the weather was at last perfect for a trip to the island of Hoy. As a
result of the ferry timetables, we had to leave the house before 7.00 am in
order to have sufficient time reach Loth pier, dump the car and ride onto the
boat. A calm crossing, which boded well, brought us to Kirkwall just before
9.00am. Gail would spend the day in town, hopefully not spending too much,
whereas I had about an hour to cycle to Houton about ten miles down the road on
the Northern shore of Scapa Flow. When you look at a map, the route looks quite
innocuous however I can assure you that there is quite a bit of geography on
the way. Knackered, I was grateful to be able to chain the bike to a lamppost
and stroll down the jetty onto the waiting boat. In no mood for sightseeing, I
opted for a sit down in the lounge beneath the car deck. (There wasn’t a view.)
The ferry arrived at about 11.00am, giving me three hours on Hoy before I had
to catch the return boat at 2.00pm.<span class="msoDel"><del cite="mailto:Gail" datetime="2012-08-25T22:52"> <o:p></o:p></del></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pPlEsOQ1RbSGOWqf9nu5Ww1fcLhiCaVRmw7Xv_OW0Xn1NcB9KdMt3gCaXPMQUaaktCOQK5sHSXFtkBUhVsUQO9Bq8X5x9EzI7HkMuDUugo56RyWnrhkV4rTvQpE7OtHxVoBAmdW-QUmX/s1600/DSC00371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pPlEsOQ1RbSGOWqf9nu5Ww1fcLhiCaVRmw7Xv_OW0Xn1NcB9KdMt3gCaXPMQUaaktCOQK5sHSXFtkBUhVsUQO9Bq8X5x9EzI7HkMuDUugo56RyWnrhkV4rTvQpE7OtHxVoBAmdW-QUmX/s320/DSC00371.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the guns of the B98 from Lopness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Lyness pier lies directly in
front of the Scapa Flow visitor centre and museum, a small relict of what had
been a sprawling Royal Navy base for forty years between 1917 and 1957. Admission
is free and the site occupies the old pump-house and some of the larger
exhibits are housed in the last remaining of sixteen fuel holding tanks, which
felt like I’d entered the torture scene in ‘Brazil’. There is a massive amount
of history on display. They were, after all, quite turbulent times. There was just too much to take in on such a
brief visit, mainly because I was keen to attend the naval cemetery up the
road. Having been to Normandy recently, and visited the military cemetery at
Bretteville-sur-Laize, I was already aware that they are beautiful and contemplative
places, but nothing really prepares you for the emotional tidal-wave that hits
you. As a shameless Boche, I was there to pay my respects at the graves of eight
of the nine German sailors ‘murdered’ during the grand scuttle at the time of
the armistice of June 1917. Tucked away in a corner and with noticeably fewer
blooms, I found them. It was still a magnificent place to be. Much of the
cemetery is empty. Long may it stay as such. Having made my way on foot back to
the museum, I barely had time to nip back in and make a donation before having
to run to catch the ferry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQft-P192OQhVBOLr7GPg06rSSzxp3GcfnOwThzeTsnnIVhI7XEQKXokH0Gn47_94J2YQR7foPcdAM6XzjYcFBFS_RE9w5zVa_5YiwD3pZ3NyLQZo9YsYMVNgX_in9Pt3Wm9oZ8PBpPZo/s1600/DSC00362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQft-P192OQhVBOLr7GPg06rSSzxp3GcfnOwThzeTsnnIVhI7XEQKXokH0Gn47_94J2YQR7foPcdAM6XzjYcFBFS_RE9w5zVa_5YiwD3pZ3NyLQZo9YsYMVNgX_in9Pt3Wm9oZ8PBpPZo/s320/DSC00362.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Royal Naval Cemetery, Lyness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">The weather turned ugly on the
trip back to Houton from Lyness, via the oil terminal of Flotta. Big clouds
rolled in, the temperature plummeted and while I didn’t get wet, Stromness and
Northern Hoy definitely very much did. Having seen nothing on the way out, I
was determined to stand out on deck while we crossed Scapa on the return. All
the other passengers were wrapped against the elements and I must confess to
feeling a bit exposed in my tee-shirt. I was relieved when Houton emerged from
the mist and I went inside to put another layer on for the return cycle ride
back to Kirkwall. The less said about that particular torture the better. An hour
later, I arrived at Didldidi expecting to find Gail shopping prior to catching
the last ferry of the day to Sanday. The mobile that Gail insisted I carry on
my trip tweeted into life as I was busy with the cycle lock. By the time I’d
dug it out I’d missed the call. I called Gail back to find that she was already
at the harbour. I just had time to rush around the shop for a basket full of
naughty treats before meeting up with her again. It was a relief to be out of
the saddle. It let the ship’s compliment wheel my bike to stowage and they
could have pitched it overboard for all I cared! Almost twelve hours we’d been
away for a poxy two hundred minutes on Hoy. I’d certainly look to spending a
night away in Kirkwall the next time I plan the trip. Hopefully, I’ll have some
company with which to share the experience. For a taster you can visit </span><a href="http://www.scapaflow.co.uk/" style="text-indent: 36pt;">www.scapaflow.co.uk</a><span style="text-indent: 36pt;">.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-D2fk4HThyphenhyphenWhvzpw2I3WSwScKr40rVRtxi6WksgIZBGJUSQzIuHAAuK6cVMPrQsOY3p77ZkxaW_xWN7tWoLaEllxzb1vVK7l40jKGVTZS0vN_C02qt6yZNPSJ2AjxdS2Q7agHvJaPLdQ/s1600/DSCF1413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-D2fk4HThyphenhyphenWhvzpw2I3WSwScKr40rVRtxi6WksgIZBGJUSQzIuHAAuK6cVMPrQsOY3p77ZkxaW_xWN7tWoLaEllxzb1vVK7l40jKGVTZS0vN_C02qt6yZNPSJ2AjxdS2Q7agHvJaPLdQ/s320/DSCF1413.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The brains of the wind turbine. It's got my name on it!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Needless to say, a good number of
days of rest and recuperation were in order. We had to keep an eye open,
however, for visitors in connection with the turbine. The concrete had set and
workmen came to dig the cable trench to the house. Then an electrician turned
up to fit the gubbins in the storeroom. Then he had to come back to install
another fuse-box after Scottish Hydro insisted. Then they turned it on and we
watched as it generated power. Then they came back to turn it off. It was just
as well, too. I had just noticed that our electricity meter was running even
when everything was turned off. Apparently, the stupid machine couldn’t tell
which way the juice was flowing when the turbine was spinning, just that it was,
and decided that it was going to charge us accordingly. Not only were we
feeding the grid, we were paying them for the privilege. We have a date from
Scottish Hydro for when they intend to plug us back in again. We’ve told them
to change the meter while they’re about it otherwise we’ll be broke within
weeks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Four months after sowing a few
rows of carrots in a raised bed, back when I wondered if winter was an all year
thing, I lifted a few stalks to see how they were coming along. They were a bit
on the small side but, as both of us are fans of baby veg, it was time for my
first harvest. I did the digging and Gail did the blanching and freezing. Furthermore, the
vegetable box that my little sister bought for us, that I planted much later,
also produced yummy carrots. Some peas, beans and even a couple of tomato plants emerged as well. The carrots went in the freezer with the rest and I thinned out the
other plants. I’ve dug a fresh bed just outside the door for the ailing squash (I
didn’t know that the vine needs to touch the ground). That leaves the leeks and
courgettes coming along nicely. Indoors, a dizzying variety of peppers are
currently flowering. I’m not counting my allegorical chickens, but it may just
be that we don’t starve this winter and what's more, we've hopefully learned a few things
for next year’s calendar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ovcTRsuAWBJRF0PgmpSbpJBRNLeac91eKWI4u8r-JC-nxsYzMS6XbCvXuFL-0r_1ug2JKmUjmkzAdRX8Z4GCsB-g5DnzBcviUNHhQE3FDc5nPOSeakmLufYfYb6soNwYgh41J5OLv6qN/s1600/DSCF1421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ovcTRsuAWBJRF0PgmpSbpJBRNLeac91eKWI4u8r-JC-nxsYzMS6XbCvXuFL-0r_1ug2JKmUjmkzAdRX8Z4GCsB-g5DnzBcviUNHhQE3FDc5nPOSeakmLufYfYb6soNwYgh41J5OLv6qN/s320/DSCF1421.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Clogg channel at Tres Ness (before it got 'difficult'.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
We continued our exploration of
the island when I managed to persuade Gail to come on a walk with me. Having
failed to reach the chambered cairn at the Southern tip of Tres Ness in April,
I thought it about time I had another go. Yet again I failed to heed Gail’s
warning that things are farther away than they appear. The sign insisted that
it was a mere 1.7 miles, but that was complete tosh. The first leg was around
Cata Sand to the house, Tresness. The sight of heavy machinery made us pause
while I sought permission to pass. The owners were happy to let us through
while their reconstruction workers were on a break, but couldn’t be sure that
the area wouldn’t be a dangerous place later in the day. I assured them that we
intended to make our way back along the beach, bypassing the house altogether.
Of all the remote places on the island, this must be the remotest. It is unlikely
that anyone else had passed this way all summer. We waded our way through tall
wilderness, past a pond and reed-bed where we startled a heron into flight and
finally reached the rocky Southern tip of the spur. The cairn was a
disappointing mound in the earth and does not appear to have been excavated. A
lintel was visible on one side and part of the roof had collapsed to confirm
that it was a manmade feature. The return journey was hellish. Faced with
towering grassland, we chose to struggle over boulder beaches instead. It was a
scramble and was not without sprains, pains, cursing and tears. I managed to find
a big stick and a skull, so I was happy, but I was certainly the only one
having any fun. There was brief respite when our progress was the subject of
close scrutiny by an inquisitive seal, just yards from the shore. This gave
Gail the idea that wading through the shallow water had to be smarter than
tripping over rocks. She was right as well. It was. Our tired feet welcomed the
chill. After that, the remaining mile or so back to the car was in much better
humour. I can only hope that my ‘Sunday Best’ Merrells weren’t ruined as a
result!<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-73885576627925466272012-08-24T17:34:00.000+01:002012-08-26T00:40:14.475+01:00No golds for literature, I'm afraid<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The day after our splendid repast
at Backaskaill, if you remember, we had an appointment to keep. I duly packed
the acoustic bass into the back of the car and drove up the road, (the weather was
abysmal), to Heather and Tony’s house, avec cake. We chatted together for quite
a while and things were indeed going quite swimmingly until the time came for the
gentlemen to retire to the studio (garage). Apart from being very
self-conscious in such esteemed company it was an amazing experience to hear my
host play the keyboard. For example, he explained that, as a jazz musician,
it’s pretty much ‘anything goes’ so long as it gets back on track before the do
hits the fan. As well as advocating that “if you don’t make mistakes then
you’re clearly not trying hard enough”, he stated a penchant for dropping a few
bars of a different song into the proceedings just for the hell of it. Now that’s
the sort of confidence in one’s ability that so frustrates those of us that can
only dream of emulating it. All that I could reply with was to play him a short
riff that somebody with talent had taught me. I clearly have some homework to
do. He did take the time to share his passion for the songs and musical stylings
of Tom Lehrer. We enjoyed a little sing-a-long to ‘The Masochism Tango’ and
‘Poisoning Pigeons in the Park’. Now I have to go through all his songs on
i-tunes to find a favourite. Then it’ll be a case of breaking out my bass chord
book and my copy of ‘Bass Guitar for Dummies’, which I fully expect was very
much written with me in mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Back in the garden, I continue to
be an angel of death of horticulture. Our first tomato plant was becoming
pot-bound and given that the pot it was in was practically a small skip, it
needed to go outside. Now it’s dead. Miraculously, we have peas, not from the
tomato plant, obviously, but all the varieties of beans that had flowered so promisingly
have since taken a chronic turn for the worse. But the most frustrating of our
‘children’, is the squash plant. There is a creeping vine from which beautiful,
yellow rosette flowers blossom at regular intervals. At the base of each bloom,
a fruit swells. However, it is a cascade of disappointment. Each young squash
seems to prosper until the moment the next flower along opens up. Then it seems
that all the plants energy is focused on the new fruit and the old one withers
and rots on the stalk. I had trusted Neil in ‘The Young Ones’ who asserted it
was all a case of “we sow the seed, nature grows the seed and we eat the seed.”
He at no point intimated that nature is a fickle bitch who will tease you with
rampant swathes of inedible flora all around but kick you in the ‘happy-sacks’
if you try to grow anything useful. I used to be an advocate of organic food
but if it takes shit loads of chemicals to get the selfish bitch to allow us to
feed ourselves then she’s the one responsible for massacring my green
credentials.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
On a lighter note, I scored my
first birdy on the Sanday links. But it’s a golf story and you don’t want to
hear it. I told Gail and it garnered the same response as Rimmer got from
relating his ‘Risk’ story. Fair enough. It’s not as if it had gotten me into
Irkutsk.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8RAKOZyQw-r_BwRnvcib2W7eQyiJ5CaZAYxj2k8U8HITM6bmZOAnpabJ150tOTofYJZ1Z8wf4slsOPmyA1zZpRMaxnsF5R1DFMerjo5MvCVdZ_ikJmOEUtQNVbGV8K1Md0AQr2VYAXTt/s1600/DSC00325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8RAKOZyQw-r_BwRnvcib2W7eQyiJ5CaZAYxj2k8U8HITM6bmZOAnpabJ150tOTofYJZ1Z8wf4slsOPmyA1zZpRMaxnsF5R1DFMerjo5MvCVdZ_ikJmOEUtQNVbGV8K1Md0AQr2VYAXTt/s320/DSC00325.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bifrost in all its glory. Shame someone's getting wet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
As well as the weekly good walk
ruined, I’m still trying to get some proper exercise. I don’t like it when Gail
is feeling a bit poorly, but whenever she’s not up to joining me at the pool it
does mean that I get the chance to leave the car at home. I’d think about
trying out all of the triathlon disciplines but running is for masochists and fortunately
I don’t have the knees for it. (Running, not masochism.) Last Friday, I jumped
on the bike, rode five miles, swam another mile in the pool and then rode six
miles home. I should perhaps stress that the house hadn’t moved further away
but that I had just taken a circuitous route home that meant that I could buy
some eggs on the way. My weather predicting hasn’t improved. I thought that the
rain-bearing clouds on the horizon wouldn’t reach me before I got home. I
thought wrong. The only positive to be had from the inconvenience was that two
showers in one day meant that I don’t have to have another one now until Hallowe’en.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I have to confess that the
Olympic Games had me utterly transfixed for seventeen days. It made me proud to
be a human being and I don’t very often feel that about my species. There are
times when it all got a little too jingoistic and the mingling with the crowds
and sticking microphones in the athlete’s faces I found incredibly annoying,
but the endeavour and spectacle was beyond reproach. I feel obliged to
compliment the well-recompensed organisers and offer my congratulations to
those policing the circus for not murdering anyone as I was pretty certain they
would. Bugger me if the nation didn’t do a better than half-arsed job at
something for a change. As an idealist I like to think that the whole world was
overcome with the Olympic spirit and that, primarily, is why the thing went off
without a hitch but part of me can’t help thinking that there are warehouses
around the country full to the brim of ne’er-do-wells that G4 have been sitting
on for a month. If there are, do you think it possible to persuade them to keep
them there for a while longer?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9XMufl5EPQPj2CCBBajJ6yNccc3THp4Bvb8sXMJUD6RuOgHRMJEptB9W6A0IiFs_RH7yg2tqvPnVWXvHlc2Krio2zA8Ll7MNd-RaNbQGFjh2mCC_HM6z66Rw_e3agrfvJ9oDO9i7s0gp7/s1600/DSC00336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9XMufl5EPQPj2CCBBajJ6yNccc3THp4Bvb8sXMJUD6RuOgHRMJEptB9W6A0IiFs_RH7yg2tqvPnVWXvHlc2Krio2zA8Ll7MNd-RaNbQGFjh2mCC_HM6z66Rw_e3agrfvJ9oDO9i7s0gp7/s320/DSC00336.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The new Skoda is short on hp but more fun</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The first weekend in August was
when the Sanday Industrial (sic) and Agricultural Show took place. I suppose
farming is an industry so I’ll let them off. There are not very many farms on
the island and consequently some of the livestock classes were thinly
contested. It needs to be respected that the value of the livestock is largely dependent upon the rosettes awarded so it is hardly just a ‘butterfly’
competition. For added drama, I was stood beside a qualified butcher who was
very excited about what cuts he’d like to take from each animal. The lad was positively salivating! Our main interest
however was in the horse and pony arena. It certainly got me thinking about the
time when I could finally turn my back on the despised internal combustion
engine. Most of you know by now that, in my opinion, the word ‘progress’ is
just a term to describe a new way we’ve
found to screw the planet up and that I openly confess to being a Luddite of
evangelical proportions. After the showground events, it was inside for the
arts and crafts exhibits. Fortunately, one does not need to be talented to
recognise it in others and conclude that competition promotes quality. The lace work was as exquisite as it was baffling. Not to my personal taste but very beautiful. The
art and photographs were good too. A more cynical individual might suspect
that the winters are long and boring. Having been forced to dance at the last
shindig, needless to say that, this time, we gave the evening knees-up that
followed a miss.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The climax of the show was a
fishing competition the next day. It’s not much of a spectator event but a
large crowd did gather at Kettletoft pier for the weigh-in afterwards. Our
friend Andy had gone out on a boat that morning and was rather chuffed with his
68lb of mackerel and coalfish (Pollock). As it was barely a week after his
hernia operation, I made sure that I was on hand to carry his catch to his van.
He let me help myself to a couple of the smaller fish so that I could test
Gail, who had previously assured me that she could gut them. Having donated the
remainder, those that he had neither time, freezer space nor inclination to
fillet, to the open-air barbecue, he headed off and I took my little beauties
home with me. Alas! While Gail was indeed up to gutting and filleting, her
dislike of being stared at by her food meant that the removing of the heads was
my domain. As we are yet to discover where the chef’s knife was packed, the
chore had to be performed with a breadknife, which necessitated a sawing
action. It all looked and sounded very gory and I had no idea that the little
critters had so much blood in them. We had to wait until the advent of amnesia
before we had the courage to cook and eat them. Preparing the chips was far
less of a drama.<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699344982997606969.post-78503648068773174892012-08-13T15:18:00.001+01:002012-08-13T15:26:48.782+01:00With apologies for lateness<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anybody who knows me, even if they don’t know me
particularly well, will know that I only have an ‘A’ game. It’s only as good as
a great many peoples D, E or F games or worse, but every single thing to which
I apply myself is always sure to get my fullest attention and every last mote
of my exceedingly modest talents. So when it comes to demolishing the shower
cubicle, all sensible suggestions are along the lines of a rather debonair complete
gutting and rebuilding from the wreckage. However, that is not in my nature and
I can only choose instead to delicately remove the existing structure
piecemeal, retaining as much of the material as will continue to serve a
function and in as good a state as possible. Only I, I suspect, would willingly
trade smacking the whole lot to pieces with a mallet for gouging tiny chunks
out at a time with a Stanley knife. The
project continues at a steady if rather pedestrian pace. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is
not the only item on the agenda. Another job benefitting from the same approach
is the wood-staining of the facia boards. Of course I only brought some small brushes up with me,
a tiny bit of sandpaper and it doesn't help when the building is getting on for fifteen metres long.
I am also extremely cautious on ladders, with the exception of a suicidal
urge to step back to admire my handiwork. Reluctant to do much by way of
reaching too far across and upsetting my balance, the steps need to be moved
along at rather pathetic increments. Upon
reflection, I suppose I could or should have decanted some of the wood-stain into
a smaller container that I could hang at the top of the ladder, but that didn’t
occur to me at the time. Also, as the wood was so dry, it was positively sucking
the fluid off the brush, so that it would only cover a small area at a time. Feeling
my aches today I can only conclude that I was up and down that ladder more times than there are grains of sand in the bay. It’s a wonder that
I haven’t worn the treads away. At least now there are only three more sides to
go! (I’ll remember to take that small pot up the ladder with me next time.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They
say that, in adversity, you discover things about yourself that you never knew
before. It transpires that I am truly fearsome. As I was doing my watering
rounds the other day, a rabbit was hiding in a clump of nettles as I walked
past it. The next morning, it had changed position a bit but was stone dead. I
plucked up the courage to pick up the corpse and leave it in the stable where
the feral cats occasionally hang out. Needless to say, it was never seen again.
Within days, I startled another bunny as I walked around the house to set the
TV aerial up. It froze, trying its best to remain unseen, even though it had
practically no cover at all. When I returned to collect the aerial late that
night, when the little white dot appeared in the middle of the screen after
closedown, Thumper had shifted position but had definitely curled up his
toes. I had my hands full already so I left the body where it lay. The next day,
something with an appetite for a fresh carcass had kindly carried it a short
way off and disembowelled it. Next time I was passing that way, it had
completely gone. Just call me ‘Bunny-killer’. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But
it’s not one-way traffic on the wildlife front. One of my golfing partners got
crapped on by a zealous parent seagull as we wandered too close to some fluffy
brown chicks. However, the most sinister creature is actually one of the
smallest. Flies are my primary nemesis. They are everywhere and insidious. I am
obliged to have a grudging respect for them however. While it was obvious to them that
I wasn’t carrion, they appeared to appreciate that if they could scare me into
falling off the ladder, then I easily could be. If anyone has any advice on how
to get the upper hand with the blighters, I would be most glad to hear it. I am
already looking at fly nets, lavender scents and whatever insectoid napalm our
friends at ICI and Bayer can come up with. My respect and compassion for the animal
kingdom does not extend to invertebrates. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JraKj0C90dt1wdFwios-bufx0-gf1geRSXaI-TOs4ho09Ca10qqSL9YNNtZfXqeDsrhNn7ykWZt3R1jaw9NCrkP4sct6SaZHc7q2b1XAa6gE-D3LIW6wnxKotARlp9OAwMIYkr48jIkj/s1600/Aerial.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JraKj0C90dt1wdFwios-bufx0-gf1geRSXaI-TOs4ho09Ca10qqSL9YNNtZfXqeDsrhNn7ykWZt3R1jaw9NCrkP4sct6SaZHc7q2b1XAa6gE-D3LIW6wnxKotARlp9OAwMIYkr48jIkj/s320/Aerial.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only receiving terrestrial broadcasts? Poor you.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I must
confess that setting up the aerial outside every day was getting a bit
tiresome. Gail decided that she’d get a replacement that we could mount on
the old satellite-dish pole attached to the outside of Goat-room 2. What I
didn’t expect her to buy was the massive, high-gain monstrosity that she’d ordered over
the internet. There is a scene during the opening credits of ‘The Flintstones’
where they go to a drive-in restaurant and the brontosaurus ribs that they’ve
ordered tip their car over. That is the image that goes through my mind every time I see
this huge contraption, that wouldn’t look out of place at Jodrell Bank, bolted on to the side of the house. One good gust, we know that there’ll be one along
sooner or later, and we’ll be lying on our new windows and examining the grass at
very close quarters. It does work though, so all in all it can be seen to have been
a wise investment. I need now to grow the stones to drill a hole through the
wall to feed the cable in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One
reason for my hesitation to do so is the experience of erecting the new curtain
rail in the living room. Another of Gail’s purchases was a bargain, a brand new
18V Makita drill with every accessory under the sun. Armed with this manly bit
of kit, I marked up where holes were required and set to work. Even though I
only needed to drill deep enough to fit the raw plugs, the walls mounted a
stubborn defence. I can assume that it is to that same stubbornness that we owe our
continued occupation in the face of often quite hostile tempests. It does
however, make DIY a monumental challenge.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ever
ones to fail to appreciate the fragility of our finances, we continue to deny
our impending destitution by treating ourselves to meals out. Jayne and Geoff at Backaskaill hosted an evening of Chinese cuisine. Over
dinner, we enjoyed a lively, informative conversation with our fellow dinners. Bill,
for example, is a wonderful artist and a shark fisherman and Tony is an amazing
musician and a keen archaeologist. Things turned ugly, however, when Tony
mentioned that he’d heard that I play bass guitar. Not satisfied with my own frank
assessment of my meagre talents, he invited Gail and me around to his house the
following afternoon. The fare, by the way, was bloody excellent, even though I
am no fan of Chinese, be it politics, hokey medicine or food. I have it on good
authority that they know a fair bit about masonry. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07540506438569137421noreply@blogger.com0