RICHARD NEATH HOME About me My Diary A fall of stone Breakfast will do Fishing lines Drawings & design Guest book Useful links My Diary Sunday 22 1 2012 Gimp in the hole… A few months ago we had a company assess our loft insulation with regard to increasing the depth. It was a Highland thing to make sure we’ve all got the proper levels of warmth in the chilly winters we get here. They duly came back with a load of nasty itchy mineral and, in a few minutes they’d completed the task. I asked at the time whether they were able to do anything in the coomb areas (our house is effectively a developed attic so there’s a little triangle a metre high on each side of the 1st floor that is unused, plasterboarded in and open, for ventilation purposes, to the outside world). Obviously it gets a touch Baltic in there and, with only a bit of glasswool between the timber uprights and a layer of plasterboard to keep out the chill, it sometimes doesn’t work so well. Anyway, the lads who did the loft area said they couldn’t do anything about the coombs but could leave me a couple of rolls of material if I wanted to do it myself. I didn’t want to but, not to look some gift insulation in the mouth I took their kind offer and shoved the rolls away somewhere safe. Enter my builder mate and all round good bloke, Ben. In exchange for me doing a load of alterations to his drawings, he’d brave the small, cold, itchy, scratchy, and sneezy triangular crawl space and get the walls covered in the stuff. The reason I didn’t want to do it myself was because of my gammy, utterly rubbish knee. And, also because it’s unbelievably claustrophobic in there and I was likely to either get stuck or, if the fear reached a critical level, actually break out through the roof and fall into the garden. The thing with Ben though, is that he’s about 6foot 5 and has shoulders that would barely fit between the six hundred millimetre wide hatch into the void. But, he got himself togged up in a blue all in one suit, complete with a hood and a mask, remarked that it looked like a gimp suit and headed into the dark recesses of the roof. Fair-dos to him, he squeezed himself into the tiny space and shoved insulation matting into every available space so that, in a relatively short time, we had the most highly insulated coombs in the Highlands, if not the world. I came up from the garage at one point with four sheets of the cut matting only to find him lying on his back, in the dark, having a kip. Tiring being a big builder in a small space… Just a quickie re the new book - it’s all systems go for a launch at Easter and, as its promotion on Skye has already started, I’d better be ready. You’ll have noticed the changes to the website and, once Mart has a spare moment, there are a few more tweaks and polishes to do yet. The new book cover should be on the site soon and another story in the ‘fishing’ section (the next one to be published in Waterlog). I’ll keep you informed… Wednesday 4 1 2012 Here we are again… Another year and another Christmas nowt but a happy memory. A trip to the Midlands on the 27th to see Chelle, Rich and Ben and a whistle-stop, whirlwind few visits to other friends and family saw us cover 1200 miles in a few days and then undertake a pretty arduous trip back on the 2nd. A blocked motorway for two hours, heavy, impassable snow on the A9 around Pitlochry, a closed section of road at Tyndrum due to a crashed coach and un-cleared snow around Glen Garry and Loch Cluaine made for some interesting and exciting driving. We’ve arrived back to missing tiles, gale force winds, heavy rain, sleet and grey skies that make me want to snuggle back in bed or in front of the log burner. Hopefully the roof should be fixed next week as most builders seem to be sunning themselves in warmer climes at the moment or are just snowed under with work. It would have worried me in the past but now? Well, it’s not leaking and shouldn’t do anyway… unless more tiles come off and the felt rips. Ho hum – that’s why we pay insurance I suppose. Ok, back to work. Oh – and A Happy New Year to one and all… Thursday 15 12 2011 Almost there… It’s been a busy few weeks in our world, at the end of a busy year. I can’t help thinking sometimes, that we got something just slightly out of kilter in our move up here and that, somehow, we dragged a load of pressure and agro with us from the Midlands that we’d actually intended to jettison somewhere around Stafford. Some of it’s work, some of it’s knee originated and some is just, well, how it is. You want a nice life so you either win the lotto or knuckle down a bit. Some of it’s self-inflicted too. The Literary Salon, something started back in April this year (now renamed The Reading Room) has just had its inaugural writing competition – The Baker Prize (we hold it at a bakery and we thought it sounded like a take on the Booker Prize) – and it was really well received. Launched as a bit of a laugh, something that would be a bit of fun and may get a few entrants, turned into a snarling monster with entries filling my inbox for the last three months. Over 140 entries and, I reckon, around 200 enquiries that all needed answering - all by me. Self inflicted indeed. So, quite a bit of agro but, considering the winner of the English short story category lives in Southern California and is actually intending to come to claim her (very small) prize, I think it’s been well worth the effort. The knee’s still a horrible crunchy grindy thing that makes me feel a bit sick when I go on the exercise bike but (and this is a fairly big but) it certainly seems to be a bit more useful than it was. It bends a bit more and is letting me get about a bit better on rough ground and up and down stairs; so that’s all for the good. Monday was a day of hanging around while warranty work was done to the Subaru in Beauly. They needed it for a day and so, in effect, actually forced me to have a day’s fishing. I couldn’t really decide where to go but in the end settled for Loch Garve. I attempted the track, in their courtesy car and, while I didn’t get stuck, I think it’s fairly safe to say that it was a bit on the rough side for a Subaru Legacy – 4 wheel drive or not. I got back to the tarmac road, phoned Max for a chat and, when I turned the ignition key – ‘click’. Nothing. So, I waited for Andy, the nice bloke from the garage to come and get the car going again and then tried the track from the other end. The track was much better (despite having a ‘no unauthorised vehicles’ sign, which I ignored) and the Loch? What a place. Flat calm, otters on the far bank, late run salmon coming in from the river and splashing their way into the deeper water, snow clad mountains in the distance and only the sound of the road, a mile away, to spoil the peace. And, when I was least expecting it, a beautifully conditioned, fat and gorgeous 10lb 4 oz pike. Life doesn’t get too much better… Monday 28 11 2011 The biggest word… ‘Never’ So ended a week of lying in bed, watching dvds on the laptop (Shawshank Redemption, a couple of Harry Potters, The Beach, Scarface and The Crow Road to name a few) and generally trying not to be bored. After being knocked out and having my left leg pulled about for half an hour, I came round strapped into a machine that, for the next 4 days, constantly kept said leg moving from zero to 113 degrees. The machine would go no higher. The consultant reckoned that there wasn’t too much ripping and tearing when they bent the knee under anaesthetic but something must have given as there was quite a lot of blood under the skin when they tried to fill the joint with happy juice… Hospital is a pretty undignified place to stay for any length of time and I can’t help thinking that the nurses, bless them all, are as downhearted as most of the patients. It seems to have turned into ‘just a job’ and no longer the calling that it may have once been. The red tape and legislation, forms and paperwork would drive me up the wall. Coming from someone involved in the world of planning on a daily basis, that says a huge amount. The consultant came round on the Thursday and, in response to my enquiry about when I was likely to be on my way home, told me that Friday was ‘a day of work’ for me and that I’d be on the machine until the afternoon. He was happy with the range of movement but admitted that he’d almost certainly need to go in and do some reconstruction work at some point down the line. Then, on Friday, after I’d strapped myself in for a last few hours, I was unceremoniously thrown out because they needed the bed. I was informed of my imminent departure by a young female registrar. We spoke of how things had gone, how things would probably be for me in the future and how, given the fact that the joint is without question, utterly knackered and beyond hope, I’d really like a new one please so I could get up the Cuillin again and take in some high level ridge walking. And, standing there, all her joints in perfect working order and her bedside manner distinctly underdeveloped, she looked me straight in the eye and said - “that will never happen…” At least she didn’t smile when she said it. The drive back from Inverness passes through some pretty spectacular scenery and, at the end of November, there’s usually quite a bit of early winter snow about. Friday was no different with a fairly substantial covering on most of the peaks over a thousand feet or more. Glen Shiel was magnificent and I couldn’t help looking up at the scarily narrow ridges and buttresses, wishing I was up there. Glen Sligachan drifted past the car and Pinnacle Ridge reared up out of the cloud; it seemed about a thousand miles away. Anyway, I’ve decided that young, perfectly jointed registrars know bugger all about joints or, more importantly, the ability of willpower to take people up high mountains and so, in the words of someone who once said something wise on the subject (maybe me) – fu*k em. It could be massively worse – I’ve not got an inoperable brain tumour, rabies, M S, motor neurone disease or early onset dementia – I’ve just got a knackered knee. The real bastard is just how well a couple of pieces of cartilage, each the size of a fifty pence coin can manage to really screw up the important things in life… Saturday 19 11 2011 Once more unto the breech old mucka… This is a quick one. Worked all day, on a Saturday – how shocking - but Neil needed his warrant drawings and I needed to invoice him. Tomorrow I’m off across country from West to East, coast to coast for a night in a Travel Lodge. Then, at 9.00 a.m. without so much as a kept warm sausage and a rubbery egg having passed my lips, I’ll drive to Raigmore where some big bloke will pull my leg about and force it into positions it hasn’t been in for quite some time. Hopefully the general anaesthetic will have worked and I’ll be none the wiser… until I come round. I’m in for the week apparently and, for the life of me, I can’t think what they’re going to do to me during a whole 5 days. I’m sure I’ll find out. I’m really not looking forward to it. Anyway, I can smell a roast pork dinner coming into its own and, to be honest, I’m bloody starving. Working all day on a Saturday and raw fear does that to you, you know… Thursday 10 11 2011 Quite a sight… I had to drive over to Kenny’s earlier this week to get him to have a look at some damage that I’d managed to do to the Subaru following a short argument with a bloody great rock and the driver’s side of the car. I was then off to put up some posters for this month’s literary do at the bakery and then over to see Ben’s new house. He’s in the process of putting the roof on and the blockwork is almost done. It’s one of my designs and, I have to say it, probably my best. Anyone would think an architect had been at work there. The weather was simply lovely. A bit overcast I suppose but the clouds that were there were splendid wispy, feathery things in all sorts of wonderful greys and blues, backlit with a bright wintry sun that shone through the spaces. Half way up the hill between Edinbane and Dunvegan, a huge flying beast about as big as a shed lumbered into the air at the side of the road and, against all probability, soared gracefully in the light breeze blowing in from the south. I watched it for a few moments, slowing down to 30 and pretending I was a tourist, as it made its way gradually south. For something as big and scary as they are, sea eagles always manage to put a smile on my face… Monday 31 10 2011 Winter’s here… I’m not even going bother mentioning how long it’s been since the last entry (apart, obviously, from just then). Winter is definitely here and even though the leaves tell me it’s Autumn, I can’t help thinking that they’ve got it wrong, missed a couple of months and dropped us straight into Winter. It’s bloody cold up here at the moment even with a Southerly wind that really isn’t fooling anyone (I reckon it’s come here via a great big U-turn from Siberia). I’ve been to the new, secret super loch a few times and, for anyone who’s bothered, since my first visit in July I’ve managed to land some fairly impressive pike. 9 in total over 10 pounds with the biggest at 19lb 8oz. Lovely place. The last time I went (Friday just gone) the wind blew and the clouds swept by and the whole place was inhospitable, cold and pretty unpleasant. I caught nothing and, for the first time ever, never even had a dropped take or a lost fish. It’s not put me off though. I have news regarding the second book, ‘Breakfast Will Do’. I spoke, a couple of years ago about getting it done and dusted and ‘out there’ and now, after a few frantic weeks and months, I can announce that it will be out in the next few months. I’d like to have got it out for Christmas but misjudged the amount of work involved and now, it doesn’t look too likely really. Those of you who have a look on these pages now and again will have noticed a few changes and soon (please, please SOON) there should be a fully functional shiny new site for your surfing pleasure. It’s nothing fancy but looks pretty good I reckon. Thank you Martin. There’s also the ‘symbol’ for the new book on there but today, I’m going to get the newly designed front cover over to Mart to put on the old and new site. Linda Henderson has edited the work and I think she’s done a great job (she was pretty gentle with me). PLEASE let met know if you’re interested in ordering a copy in advance. I’m looking at a limited and numbered first edition of 250 initially so, if you have a favourite number, let me know. Numbers 1 and 250 will have already gone – 1 for Max and 250 for me but the rest are up for grabs on a first come first served basis. Right, planning applications call so I’ll bid you farewell for now and let you know when the launch date is… Friday 23 9 2011 Another Month… The fact that I’ve left it over a month to update my diary tells me that I’m too busy and that there’s too much going on. Ade Hel and the lads came up for a week and we had a great time. The weather was mixed to poor, but nevertheless we got out and did stuff and made the most of the time they had with us. A day’s pike fishing at my secret loch saw just one fish, too Ade. Ade is locally famous for having a personal best pike of about 4 pounds (which is absolutely pathetic really) and I confidently told him that he would beat it in a flash once we cast into the hallowed waters of Loch Secret. He managed to catch one about 2½ pounds - a feat that was made to look even more (or possibly less) impressive by the fact that I fished the same spot last weekend and had 5 fish with the biggest weighing 18 pounds 10. That’s another story. The fact is, it didn’t matter what we managed to do or not do; whether it rained or shone; blew a gale or stayed calm. The fact that we had a lovely week, together, was the most important. We laughed, drank wine and beer, had long meals where we never stopped talking, played Scrabble, shot the rifle and missed spectacularly with Ryan’s bow and arrows. Good fun, good times. I nearly headed this entry ‘Seriously, does anyone want to buy a boat?’ The forecast was really grim a couple of weeks ago, so bad in fact that, even though Maria had only been re-launched a few days, we had to get her in again. The slipway we use has seen better days and, unless it’s a great big, high tide, getting her onto the trailer and then up onto really dry land is fraught with difficulty. And so it was this time. We didn’t have the benefit of waiting for high tide to fit in with ‘convenient’ time (and didn’t want to be bringing her in at 11 o’clock at night) so we just had to get on with it. It went ok but really brought home the fact that Maria, as lovely as she is, doesn’t suit our mooring, our slipway or in fact, what we actually want out of a boat. There’s just not enough deck space and she’s too heavy. The upshot is that we’re going to be looking for a replacement – something smaller, with less cuddy and more deck space. Something that we can launch and un-launch more easily on a slipway that is less than perfect and maybe tow to the mainland to launch on inland lochs so I can carry on my quest for pike. The fact that the bad weather never actually arrived was just more salt rubbed into an already smarting wound. I doubt if Maria will see the sea again this year but maybe, by the time the new boating season comes around, we’ll have a replacement for her. The weather has turned wet and the nights are drawing in now. Soon, thank goodness, the ratio of tourists’ cars to people who haven’t forgotten how to drive will improve so that the likelihood of doing a journey without narrowly avoiding a major crash becomes less and less and slowly, driving will start to become a pleasure again. I saw a knee specialist on Monday and he wants me to go in for manipulation under general anaesthetic, something to get the joint working again, to obtain more movement and lose a lot of the stiffness. I don’t know why or what the point is. The reason the joint is so stiff is because my body is screaming ‘no f***ing way am I moving that thing – it’s way too painful’ so it locks everything up. Freeing it under a general will make it move again but, surely, once my brain is confronted with the pain and discomfort of feeling a joint that graunches and grinds almost enough to make me physically sick. It’s just going to lock up again. He won’t do anything surgically until it’s much more mobile though but, listening to his views on the long term use of partial of full knee replacements, I’m not sure I want him to do anything anyway. 7 years give or take a bit. That’s what he reckons is the life expectancy of one of these new super joints. I don’t think I’ll bother… Thursday 18 8 2011 It’s all gone quiet… That was quite a rant I reckon; not the usual, quiet, laid back entry that speaks of life and times on an island. Anyway, I’ve not watched any more news and I didn’t burn the telly (not with Top Gear and dvds of ‘All Creatures Great and Small’ to watch). I’m working on two building warrant jobs, back to back at the moment; complete houses from start to finish and all the technical bits and bobs that this entails. So I needed a break, if only for ten minutes to jot a few words down and let the world carry on without me for a bit. The ‘quiet’ in the title of this entry refers, not only to the trouble down south, but also the lack of six year old in our house now that Chelle, Rich and Ben have gone home. They were up here for a week, the second visit this year and, within half an hour of them leaving, we were both missing their company. It’s always a great pleasure when people come to visit, not only because we get to see people we miss, but also because it gives us a chance to do touristy things and to view the island with a visitor’s eye for a few days. It’s amazing what we realise we’ve been taking for granted. The weather was good while they were here, apart from one day – the day we’d booked to go on the glass bottom boat trip for Ben’s birthday. It rained and rained and rained but at least the sea was flat and the undersea views were not disturbed by people being sick. Always a bonus. Maria has been up to her tricks again, this time deciding that her outboard motor was in need of some t.l.c. – it conked out just as Max and I were about to leave the loch for open water. It turned out it was water in the fuel, nothing serious but while I was at Malky’s, I spotted a 30h.p. Honda four stroke he had for sale that looked absolutely spot on as a replacement… And it sort of is. I say sort of because I’m going to need to phone Malky for his advice. It runs beautifully and, when I’m out on my own, lifts up onto the surface at enough of a pace to make me come back off the throttle a bit but, as soon as I’ve got a passenger on board, she bogs down and burbles along at a snail’s pace. Or should that be a sea slug? I’m sure we’ll get her sorted. My ten minutes have passed some time ago and, though I could scribble all day, Gill’s house won’t get drawn unless I say cheerio, till next time… Wednesday 10 8 2011 The view from the top of the country… It’s not great, I can tell you. There again, it’s probably not very pretty from where you are either. I pride myself in not watching the news. Since we’ve moved up here I may have watched it a few times – the earthquakes in the Far East spring to mind and maybe a bit during election time, but that’s about it. We wake to Radio 4 sometimes and, to be frank, that’s bad enough but at least I get an idea of what’s happening out there. The events of last few days though, have convinced me that I really shouldn’t bother. I actually feel like putting the TV outside in the rain and leaving it there. We are cushioned from a lot of nastiness up here so that when confronted with the sort of disgraceful, abhorrent behaviour taking place in London, Liverpool, Manchester, Bristol and Wolverhampton (there’s a surprise), it sort of shocks the system maybe a little more than if we were still in that neck of the woods. I’d been out on Maria for a couple of hours last night. The new outboard had purred along, the pollack had been in a feeding mood, the sky, though overcast and sombre, was still a fairly impressive mess of cloud and clear patches. It was lovely, peaceful, relaxing. And then I walk in to scenes of young-hooded-layabout-scummy-inbreeds smashing the shop windows of hard working people, setting cars alight and throwing bottles at policemen and reporters. What really gets me (and you’ll know from these pages in the past, that I’m not a big fan of litter, graffiti and general disrespect) is that there’s so much talk of how the police have handled the situation and yet the main point seems to have been missed. Yes, the police could have used more force but, if they had, they’re just setting themselves up for manslaughter charges and cries of police brutality. They could have brought in more recruits to handle the situation better though where from exactly, who knows and anyway, the other forces were getting a tad busy themselves and I’m not sure the half a dozen coppers from Uist would have been much use. And yes, if they’d done this or that a few less windows would have been smashed and a few less cars would have been torched. But I don’t think that’s the point. I don’t think it would have made much difference if they’d gone in with water cannons and plastic bullets, great big scary horses and electric cattle prods. The fact is, the mob would have still done what they did – they’d have just had maybe a bit more of a laugh doing it. It would have been a bit more sport for them. The fact is, as I see it, the low life scumbag bastards were just up for a bit of a giggle – get some free stuff, smash a few windows, burn a few cars, burn a few buildings, terrorize a lot of people, run about as if they’re in some really realistic video game where the winner is the one who causes the most grief and gets the most flat screen TVs and Nike trainers. There was no other meaning behind it. They did it because they could. No thought to whether they should, just that there was an opportunity for them and they took it. Short of turning the country into a police state and putting armed officers on the every street corner with a mandate to shoot anyone on sight who happens to be wearing a hoody, there’s nothing, I think, that can be done. The fact that these riots have happened anyway is surely a sad indictment on our society? One black guy yesterday was talking on camera about how we should look for the real reasons why these kids are doing what they’re doing. He talked about social this and social that, all the time with his face hidden from the camera. Utter shite (to use the Scottish version). They did it because they could. I could, right now, get in the car, drive to Portree, put the window of the bookshop through and steal a handful of books. I could pop on my blue hoody, pick up a big chunk of wood, nip over to the small Co-op and help myself to some free booze whilst threatening to smash in a few heads. I could, anyone could but we don’t – because we know it’s wrong, it’s not done, it’s not our property. There, I feel sure, lies the difference. It’s as old as civilization itself – the fact that there’s a difference between right and wrong, actually knowing what that difference is and, more to the point, acting on the knowledge. Knowing that one could steal something, smash something or burn something but choosing not to because it’s wrong. They don’t know that; maybe they’ll learn but, in the meantime, I really don’t think there’s anything to be done. I’m off to set fire to my telly… Thursday 28 7 2011 A walk in the wilderness… ‘Magnificent’. Not a word to be used lightly – The Oxford English dictionary describes it as “Splendid, imposing, awe-inspiring, beautiful…” etc, etc. I reckon my new Loch fits the bill pretty well, on all counts. (I’m not going to say exactly which loch it is, not out of any selfishness, you’ll understand, I simply don’t want to get there one day and find it heaped in rubbish or, due to it’s success and the inherent problems that brings to a water, find I’m unable to go any more). It’s a big water and, because of this and the fact that it’s really rather exposed, wild and windswept, quite an imposing one (thanks, Oxford English dictionary). From my relatively comfy little spot on a shingle beach on the southern bank, I looked across at a long (perhaps 4 or 5 miles) ridge, which looked to be about 1500 – 2000 feet high. Way off to the west, where the sun set through massive, broiling, dark grey clouds that shed beams of light and made me think of God, a huge set of peaks rose and fell in smooth and then jagged majesty. Maybe 1000 metres high. Both mornings dawned cold (very cold for July – maybe 4 degrees), bright and relatively still and usually meant a spell of running around, swearing and waving my arms at the midges until a breeze, blowing in from the east, swept the little pointless biting menaces away and left me to the peace. They always seemed to come while my bacon was sizzling away and I was all set to eat and have a cup of coffee. It’s difficult (not impossible though) to eat through a midge net. The night times were cold and oddly, considering the remoteness, not lonely, frightening or scary in the least. The wind that kept up until the very early hours meant that it was never silent. The waves lapped a few yards from my bed and the wind whined in the lines of my rods, leaning against the frame of my bivvy. The pike were magnificent too. Eight fish with two being over ten pounds (twelve pounds five the biggest); they fought as hard as any fish of the same size I’ve ever caught, with the possible exception of a small river barbel, jumping, tail-walking, making huge boils on the surface and generally being big, menacing and impressive. Even the small ones. I watched a golden eagle, saw deer feeding way off in the distance and, on the way back, watched an osprey flapping away, above the road then circling the water for its next feed. I will most certainly be back… Tuesday 19 7 2011 Off again… It’s Tuesday and I’ve just finished a really rather splendid house design for Anthea that I’ve called the “Dunhallin”. It’s a three bed, really traditional looking house with a developed attic space. I could certainly live in it myself. Yesterday I spoke to a man about a loch, a loch that I have been wanting to fish for a while but haven’t been able to for various reasons, only to be told that I’d not be able to bivvy on the bank because of the great mountains of rubbish and general detritus left by degenerate wandering scumbag inbred idiots who have no right being allowed into places that aren’t already defiled and ruined by people like themselves. He could tell I was a touch passionate about the subject and, after I’d told him of my Loch Venachar incident (last entry), he relented and said that, as long as I left name and address details and a credit card swipe, he’d be happy for me to bivvy right on the water. I went one further and explained that I’d take a few bin bags and a pair of rubber gloves and do a litter pick even before I started fishing. It’s a sad state I think that genuine people, lovers of the wild open spaces have to clean up after morons with no respect for, well, anything at all. If I walked up someone’s drive and emptied the contents of a carrier bag full of rubbish onto their lawn I’d, rightly, expect them to come flying out of their house, fists flying quite possibly, demanding that I clear up the mess I’d left. I’d put my house and everything I own on the fact that, had that person, the day before, left by the side of a beautiful loch, a disposable barbeque, several empty plastic wrappers of sausages, a burger box, half a dozen empty cans of lager, an empty bottle of red wine and a heavily soiled baby's nappy, the enraged show of disgust would be exactly the same. Pity they don’t think of the great wilds of this beautiful country in the same way as their own garden. Thursday afternoon, after lunch with Max, I’m off for a couple of days. Got to be back for Saturday afternoon though as we’re off to see Harry Potter at Aros in the evening. Can’t wait (for the fishing or Harry potter…) Tuesday 5 7 2011 540 miles, 3 pike and a bunch of scumbags… Now then, where to start? You know that I love my fishing and, not content with the results I’ve been getting from what is, quite obviously a ‘difficult’ water, I phoned the lovely people at Fishtec, bought a bivvy and a bed chair and made plans to travel far and wide in search of pike. There were plenty of choices and my fingers became sore from keypad typing as I trolled through the info and scrolled through satellite images relayed to me on Google and Google Earth. Loch Awe seemed a fair bet, Loch Oich, Loch Ard and even loch Lomond – all seemed worth a shot. They all though, have one thing in common; anglers fish them for years, trying new approaches, new spots, new baits with little in return for their efforts. In other words – they’re ‘difficult’ waters. Now, I like a challenge, I really do but I’ve been struggling a bit of late and, knowing that I’m using good rigs, good baits and a good general approach, wanted to put a fish or two on the bank without having to commit six months trying beforehand. Loch Venachar seemed to fit the bill. Over near Callander, about 200 miles from home and entailing a 4-hour drive along dawdling, tourist driven hire car and camper van infested roads, it was going to be a challenge in itself. (A fact bourn out before I was even off the island when I almost rear-ended a black hatch back at 60mph that was reversing round a bend towards me. The fact that he was a ‘Google Earth’ camera car and not a Dutch couple in a VW camper van didn’t make the experience any better). Venachar looked beautiful though the water level was very high and much of the available bank was under the surface. James, the water bailiff was very helpful, gave me a hand down to the water with my mountain of gear and reassured me that the problems I’d heard of drunken louts and litter at the water had been pretty much eradicated. Within an hour my camp was arranged, sleeping bag laid out on my bed chair and two rods cast out into 6 foot of water, some 30 yards out into the mirror-like loch. I watched an osprey, had several cups of coffee, ate beef curry straight out of the saucepan, had a couple of drams and then wound in and snuggled down at about 11.30. With two full days ahead of me I was looking forward to getting the waders on so I could get the baits into deeper water and generally exploring the area without too much intrusion from other anglers. At ten past four, all thoughts of serenity and peace were smashed by the arrival of 4 wandering, scumbag, inbred, pissheads who proceeded to shout, fight over cans of Strongbow, make loud comments about the bloke ‘in his nice little green tent’ and generally keep me awake, any thoughts of getting back to sleep for an hour banished – especially when the music started. I quite like rave music, in the right setting, but not on a beautiful Scottish loch at dawn. It just doesn’t fit. I’d like to say that I had a word with them and they apologised and quietened down a bit. I’d like to say that I went over and, after a brief tussle, they were all lying on the grass with broken noses and throbbing heads, but no, I can’t say either. By half past six I was travelling up the A9 having left a note for the bailiff explaining that he was wrong and that the scumbag problem still existed heading for Loch Alvie where, over the course of the next day and a half managed to catch 3 nice pike, nothing massive, up to nine pounds, but good, hard fighting specimens that made me smile. I also had the pleasure of fishing with a proper pike angler with whom I exchanged pikey information and shared the craic. Not the greatest start to the trip but I learned a few lessons, watched a couple of nice sunsets, many ospreys, a golden eagle with a rabbit in its talons and sat and watched a float disappear into the mist, pulled by a fine Scottish pike that danced on the surface and leaped clear in a fountain of angry spray. I’m looking forward to the next time… Wednesday 15 6 2011 A right load of stuff really… So much to say and I’m really not in the mood so I’m going to keep things short and sweet (comparatively). Maria has a dry bottom and is still electrically challenged. I had a week off last week and spent 3 days on the Storr Lochs with Garry catching loads of (106 to be precise) trout. The weather has been a right mix of all sorts from burning sun to stinging hail and breezeless midge infested mugginess to full blown storms. Saturday I got trapped in the aftermath of an accident and got home at 12.15 a.m., missing Garry’s birthday party. But, and I’m not going to say much about it because this isn’t the place, thank God, the doctors and nurses or whoever needs thanking that at least Mom is now doing well after her short spell in Broadford Hospital. It’s a scary thing seeing one’s mom not doing so well. I’ve got too much work to do to spend any more time writing though there’s a load of stuff I really want to say but, time constraints aside, I really can’t be arsed. Mom’s the most important thing at the moment and as I said earlier, this isn’t the place. Oh, just thought - I’m sure you’ll have noticed that the website is altering slowly with bits being added and amended on daily basis. It’s all building towards a complete change of layout and content, which should be happening very soon. Till next time. Tuesday 24 5 2011 Anyone wanna buy a boat? Obviously I’m joking. But, what with the painting, renewing of old, corroded bolts and screws, removal of lights and horns that have long since passed the point of being any use, mending the trailer and having a general overhaul of the electrics, getting Maria ready for another season sure is a load of work. I’ve also fitted a couple of extremely useful rod holders, new bilge plugs (shiny brass) and completely stripped down the outboard. Then, with extremely expensive primer, given her 4 coats of grey followed by, with extortionately expensive anti-foul paint suitable for aluminium another 4 coats to protect from all things marine, corrosive and clingy. There are still the electrics to finish but, due to Harry’s mind-numbingly expensive cruciate ligament snapping, I’ve not made the call to Andy to get the job finished. With the wind blowing at a steady 40mph at the moment though, I’m in no rush to get her in the water. As I write, the rain’s just started again. It comes in crazy, frantic, swirling sheets, borne on equally frantic gusts that rattle the chimney and lift the tiles so they clatter their hollow knocking from eaves to ridge like the waves that pound the rocks, a quarter of a mile away. The polly-tunnel has withstood the winter but, with the wind as it is now (in bloody May!), it may not see the Summer yet. And yet, despite the weather, debilitating as it is, I can still watch the clouds scud over the Outer Isles, the evening flames dance in the wood burner, the dogs sleeping on their beds and Max’s little red car as it rounds the bend to the North, almost home. Life is still good… Monday 16 5 2011 What’s the Firkin Point?… … Actually, it’s a rocky outcrop sticking out into Loch Lomond and I mention it purely because Max thought it really amusing. Anyway, are my ears still bleeding? Saturday we set off through Fort William, Glen Coe and onwards, past said point to Glasgow where, for the second time since we’ve been up here, Rush played Glasgow SECC. For those of you who know of Rush, they’re still superb entertainers. Alex still squeezes all the right notes out of his guitar, Geddy amazes with his ability to sing, play the bass at world class level and operate synthesizer pedals at the same time (even if he is struggling with some of the really high notes on occasion). And Neil? We really are not worthy - it’s virtuoso drumming at its best, the world’s best, no question. I’ve seen them, how many times? Must be 8 or 9 now I suppose, the first time when I was no more than 14 or 15 – so that gives you an idea just how long they’ve been going. I worked it out today and Alex and Geddy are 58 and Neil, the one with the most physical job let’s face it, is 59. They must have the constitution of my Dad. If only… Monday 9 5 2011 What is it with the men of this house and their knees? Poor old Harry, not content with having had pretty invasive surgery on his left leg last year, his body had now decided that, just to cap it off, his right knee is going to pack up too. We took him in last week for an X-ray, which entailed 2 days at the vets rather than just the one as John was kept out all afternoon with a lambing emergency on the originally arranged one. Today I took him in again and now, as I write, he’s lying on his bed, whimpering very softly under his breath with each exhale. He looks a sorry sight indeed; another ‘turkey leg’ (shaved to the skin) and another big scar running from ankle to hip almost. To add to his discomfort he’s also got a load of stitches on his shoulder where a nasty wart has been removed. To add to our discomfort, the robbing bastard pet insurance company have decided that, because he’s had the cruciate ligament mended on the left leg, they’re not going to pay out for mending the one on the right. I was in the insurance industry for nigh on 12 years and it’s this sort of thing that makes me so glad that I’m nowhere near it anymore. Give me a nice bungalow to design any day. So, Harry’s limping (well, to be honest, he’s not even doing that at the moment) and I’m limping to a greater or lesser extent each day, both of us with knackered knees and an uncertain outlook. It’s not all bad though – not by a long way. The weekend was, to use a phrase that I’ve not had call for in a while, ‘a right manly affair’ with wood sawing, nail hammering and loads of right good building stuff going on. The decking that Son and Tone helped erect last summer was in need of finishing off and, what with the bad weather over the winter, had remained rather sorry looking for far too long. Now? Well now it looks absolutely splendid with green painted planks forming a slatted fence to the sides, rear and a small section at the front and all clad in a rather spiky but altogether fine looking heather stem screen. The two-seater looks a bit lost on it though at he moment so we’re going to get a bit more garden furniture and I’m going to build a big heavy duty coffee type table out of some old, rather rough looking timber that I scrounged off a building site. Apart from the nails, the only parts of the whole construction we actually bought were the planks and the screen. The posts are straight from the forest and the decking was surplus from a building job; as were all of the timbers forming the actual load-bearing structure. We’ve also bought, from a company down in London, a lovely cast iron chimnea complete with its own integral cooking grill and I’m looking forward to sitting out there, with a glass of fine malt while the embers crackle with dripping burger fat, the sun dips away over Greshornish, the snipe thrums overhead and the head actuary of a rather well known pet insurance company discovers that his manhood has turned into a rotten, mouldy and rather tiny aubergine… Tuesday 3 5 2011 A lovely May the first… Twenty-four degrees, mirror flat water with minnows flashing in the margins, a pastel blue sky above and all around, on every horizon, the lush, vibrant, almost lime green of new growth. Mallard drakes paraded round the central island, splashing and squawking, all vying for the attention of a single duck. She looked as though she’d rather be anywhere else to be honest. The loch at Plockton didn’t disappoint. Ok, the pike were truly dismissive of my attempts to catch them, once again (apart from one tiny little thing that should have stuck to eating minnows rather than a dead smelt). The weather had been so great that, after spending Saturday getting Maria out of the garage for a good old wash down, moving the trailer and shifting a load of wood (carefully – with a knee like mine, it’s the only way to do it), we decided Sunday would be a chance to sunbathe, walk Bella (Harry’s still taking after his dad) and fish. On the way there, the temperature sat around the twenty-degree mark and over each peak lay a hazy blanket. The sea, between Skye and the mainland was a deep blue and the far distant hills of Torridon were smoky smudges. Beautiful. If ever I have reason to doubt whether our moving here was a mistake, it only takes a day like that to make me realise that I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. I, quite honestly, can’t remember seeing such stunning vistas. It was almost spiritual… Thursday 28 4 2011 A very good, Good Friday – and another 3 holes… It really was, very good. It also sort of goes to show that a good day’s fishing doesn’t necessarily have to include a fish (just as well really). We went to Loch Cluanie, one we’d driven past hundreds of times but never really stopped to have a look at and certainly never fished. Max walked the dogs, well actually just Bella, Harry’s come out in sympathy with me at the moment and can’t walk too far due to knee issues (he’s in for x-rays and stuff next week, bless him eh?) And I fished for pike that simply weren’t playing ball in maybe the most stunning scenery I’ve ever watched a float. All around me, great, 1000 metre peaks spread away into the hazy distance, the sun shone, the water rippled gently, the temperature rose into the seventies and my float never shifted an inch. But it didn’t really matter, great as it was to be out in such a remarkable place. I’m not saying that a nice fat, double figure pike wouldn’t have made the day that bit sweeter, but it was still, a super day to sit and stare. That was Good Friday. Monday saw me back to Raigmore for an arthroscopy to finally see what the hell was going on with my knee. I wasn’t looking forward to it but, the drip thing went in the back of my hand this time with no problems and I faded out before I could even finish saying ‘Is that the anaesthetic? I feel……’ The upshot (and I’ve got a photo to remind me) is that there’s a big chunk of cartilage missing from the end of my femur. Where, how or why it’s gone is a bit of a mystery and it would make things much, much easier if it were to just stop messing about and come back where it’s supposed to be. That, however, simply isn’t going to happen. I got the feeling that the consultant was quite surprised that I was able to walk at all, what with bare bones rubbing against each other. Suppose I’d better lose some weight to help out a bit. What happens next? Well, he’s going to have a consult with some of his colleagues then, In June, I’m going to see him in Portree and take it from there. There are a few options, most of them pretty grisly, some fairly radical and others that seem to be quite sensible – Antologous Chondrocyte Implantation, Microfracture and Cartilage Transfer to name but three. Whatever happens, it looks like being a bit of a bumpy ride. Oh well, better get on with it… Wednesday 20 4 2011 Phew, I’m knackered… Been a busy old time (as usual) for the last week or so. Chelle, Rich and Ben came and stayed for a week just gone, which was great (as always) and then yesterday, following my dealings with Hi Arts (Highland arts organisation) I had a trip over to Inverness where my monotone reading voice could be heard on BBC radio Scotland, Culture Café reading a section from my, as yet, unpublished novel. (Very nerve-wracking). Then, in the evening I sat down in front of another group at the Literary Salon in the town to read yet more of the same. I think they liked the section I read regarding the ceremonious dumping over board of a dead paedophile – the room was very quiet if nothing else. It also turns out that the other reader, also from Skye, has set up a similar group actually on the island and I’ll be doing a piece at her next event in May. So, it’s all go on the writing front. I’ve also contacted Martin, my website guru with a view to a complete upgrade and update of the website so… watch this space. Back to work now I suppose. Wednesday 30 3 2011 Sun, rain, wind, snow… We’ve had a right mix just lately. There was one day last week when I left the back door open, one of the windows upstairs and wandered about in a tee shirt all day. The sun was so warm, you’d have thought it was mid June. We’ve also had some snow flurries, periods of high wind, heavy rain showers and now, as I write, the rain is once more pattering down on the Velux and there’s a cool wind that speaks of a change coming. Work is good (just finished a big job for Ben, one of the nicest blokes I’ve met on the island) and I’ve plenty more to be going on with. Pity about the knee though. I’ve just started a course of physio and the consultant is scheduling me in for an arthroscopy and possible secondary operation to relieve some tension and allow the knee to pull over to the centre rather than trying to skip out to the outside of my leg. That should be in around ten weeks now. So, more pain and discomfort to come but hopefully for the best in the long run. Rosemary, my physiotherapist seems to know exactly the right amount of pressure and force to get my knee to work and build up the muscles without causing me to scream and take the copy of my book back that I gave her, though I have been known to shout out on the odd occasion, bless her eh? I actually managed to christen my new rods the other day and had a small pike on each one during a day out last Saturday, which started at Loch Achanalt, some 95 miles away and ended back at the old favourite, Plockton. What was interesting was meeting another piker who told me tales of another loch, which produced fish after fish for him the last time he - went “honestly, they were jumping!” was one of his comments. The venue shall remain a secret for the time being and, as he reckoned it seemed like he was getting one every fifteen minutes, shall probably be destined to remain so in perpetuity. I’ll let you know how I get on. I asked him why he was fishing at Plockton when he’d had such good sport at the other loch and his reply spurred me on somewhat – the last time he’d been to Plockton he’d had an eighteen and a twenty four pounder there in a weekend session. (We saw him camped when we went a couple of weeks ago, over on the other side of the water.) Anyway, work calls. I’ll be in touch… Wednesday 9 3 2011 Cold, cold cold… A beautiful day to be indoors! Went to Dunvegan this morning and the road had a covering of snow down each side, which, on the way back, turned, into a stream of slush, which made driving entertaining. The temperature thing said it was 2 degrees but, with the strong wind from the south felt more like about –5. It’s a fabulously clear day though, with big clouds on every horizon and great curtains of snow and hail sheeting down from various areas of the sky. The Trottenish has a fine covering and, I would imagine, the Cuillin look pretty fine in the winter sunshine. Watched a ‘Countryfile’ programme on Sunday and John Craven was investigating the disgusting plight of litter and fly tipping in the rural areas of England and it made me think of a conversation that Max and I have had a number of times. Stop in any lay-by or car park up here and, although not necessarily obvious straight away, there’s always a pretty eclectic collection of rubbish strewn around. I remember taking the eastern road along Loch Ness some time ago and stopping for a breather and a bite to eat in a lay-by towards the northern end of the loch. All seemed fine until we got down to the water’s edge and there, in great piles were all manner of day-to-day human detritus form crisp packets to burger cartons, pork-pie wrappers to bread bags, disposable barbeques to baby’s nappies. All neatly parcelled in Co-op bags and chucked into the surrounding grasses and heather. It spoiled the whole break and just made me angry. I know it’s an old one but, why, if they can carry packages from the car full of produce, can’t hey carry them back to the car when they’re empty? I feel so strongly about this issue and can’t help thinking there ought to be a test that needed to be passed before anyone is allowed into places of such natural beauty. And here’s the real poser for me – why would anyone make the effort to drive into such places only to defile them with all manner of waste produce? Surely the whole point of going to somewhere like Loch Ness, Loch Lomond or in fact anywhere up in the Highlands of Scotland is to take in the limitless beauty of the place, to see the sites, watch the wildlife and see the views? Why then do what amounts to defecating all over it? Surely, if one wanted to drop crap everywhere it would be better to go down the local tip and watch the rats and the seagulls? It’s beyond me, it really is. I honestly think that if anyone is found turning such places into pretty rubbish dumps, they should be fined – not a slap on the wrist, £50 but a serious, £1000 or so; no, make that £5000 and a 2 month jail term plus 10 years voluntary service as un-paid litter pickers. Bastards. I once stopped on the north road from Lochcarron to Inverness for a breather and, while I was sitting on the wall having a coffee and watching the water of one of the lochs slap against the rocks below me, noticed, a few yards to me right a huge pile of excrement, just on the loch side of the stone wall. I’m not sure of the origins of it but I don’t remember seeing Harry or Bella ever using toilet roll. I was flabbergasted but since have seen the same ‘leavings’ at my loch at Plockton. I suppose everyone can get caught out and, being an angler and often out for 12 hours or more have had to answer the call myself (every walker, climber or angler will have done the same I’m sure). But BURY IT FOR GOD’S SAKE! I shifted along the wall, away form the offending item and try to shut it out of my mind and, a few minutes later, a car pulled up and out of it sprawled several young Indian lads. One promptly bent over and was sick all over the tarmac another swigged from a can and tossed it into the bushes and then, literally 10 yards from where I sat, all four of them had a piss against the wall. What chance have we got when that sort of behaviour is obviously seen to be perfectly acceptable? What chance has the beauty of the Highlands got when there are scumbags like that allowed to drive through and defile it? I drove off shortly after, glowering at them from my open window and shouted something about them being dirty bastards. Good job the Subaru’s quiet a bit faster than a 1.4 Corsa hire car… Monday 7 3 2011 A rather wonderful do… I’ve not been to many funerals in my 43 years (though, with my advancing years, I suppose that won’t continue to be the case) but I can honestly say that Neil’s was the best. And, in itself, that sounds an odd thing to say but, if a life can be measured, on some level at least, on the success of someone’s funeral, then Neil, quite rightly, scored a huge, eleven out of ten. I don’t know how many people attended but would have to guess at close to four hundred. I do know that we ended up parking three hundred yards from the crematorium and cars were piling in behind us for a long while afterwards. I also know that there was a huge and palpable feeling of both love and grief during the service along with quite a bit of laughter, which was good. The wake held more laughter than tears and everyone remembered the life rather than looking at the death. My only regret is that I wasn’t able find any blackjacks anywhere so couldn’t chew one in his memory. I did, however, manage to find a vodka and tonic behind the bar with which to toast his life. Cheers Neil… Wednesday 2 3 2011 They can put a man on the moon… It’s been a strange old month or so. The report on my knee speaks of all sorts of nasty and technical stuff such as ‘necrotic bone marrow, lesions and fracture callus’ but basically, when you get right down to it, there’s nothing to be done. It seems I’ve got to put up with the horrible crunching, grinding unpleasantness and, instead of any more surgery, reconstructive or otherwise, I’ve got to make do with another steroid injection and another course of physio which, to my way of thinking, will simply build up my muscles so that that the knackered knee cap can exert more force on the knackered femur and wear out both, completely and more quickly. The surgeon says otherwise. He reckons it may make the kneecap track more efficiently and keep in line, rather than pulling over to the one side, which is probably correct – until it locks again and leaves me on crutches for another week in which time the muscles waste away again and I’m back to square one. Frankly, it’s all a load of old bollocks. Anyway, tomorrow we leave for a whistle stop visit to the Midlands to see off Neil who sadly died a little while ago. It will be the first time I’ve put on a suit for probably 7 years (I’ve tried it on and, yes, it still fits) and, after wearing one every day for about 300 years, I can’t say I’ve missed it. If you remember, spare a thought for Neil on Friday and, if you’ve got any, chew a Black-Jack in his memory… Friday 18 2 2011 What Northern lights?… I reckon it’s a myth, a conspiracy theory put out by the combined tourist industries of far Northern countries. There were reports in the news yesterday saying that last night would be a great opportunity to watch them, possibly anywhere in the country as the conditions were supposed to be so good. I had a go on the drums for an hour, albeit painfully as my knee still won’t really bend to ninety degrees which means I’ve had to adjust the position of the two concert toms and my hi-hat which, operated by my left foot causes some discomfort. Then, once sweaty and pumped up, I stood listening to a couple of tracks on the i-pod searching the Northern sky for signs of swirly lights. Nothing, not a carrot. Apart from the glow created by the four super bright, light polluting spot lights on the front of our neighbour’s house which makes the surrounding croft land look a little like a floodlit five a side football pitch, the sky was black. Light, lumpy, dappled cloud cover didn’t help matters but I would have thought that we ought to have seen something. Garry is on Lewis at the moment and even he, fifty miles further North with no land mass to block his view, didn’t manage to catch a glimpse. Oh well, we’ll keep looking. The knee is still pretty bad – painful to push anywhere near straight and anywhere towards ninety degrees flex. How the surgeon thought there may have been a chance I could have driven after the operation is a mystery considering I’m not comfortable driving now, almost three weeks later. In fact I was supposed to be going off the island today to visit a couple of new jobs and then onwards to the Loch With No Pike but have re-arranged it for tomorrow so Max can do the driving. Her suggestion. So, anyway, I suppose I’d better get on with some work today. May have another look for those Northern Lights tonight… Tuesday 15 2 2011 A sad, sad loss… Last night, a friend died. He was pretty much, the most positive, life affirming person I ever had the good fortune to meet and yet I didn’t really know him that well at all. Having worked with his wife at Abbey Life for many, many years, I hardly ever really thought about the man behind the high performing, successful lady adviser that I knew as a friend, colleague, adviser and role model. He battled with cancer for 12 months, almost 12 months to the day in fact and in all that time he was an unbelievable figure of strength and positive attitude. He was, right up to the end, so strong in his outlook that I hardly believed there was anything wrong with him. We saw him in the summer, raising money for his charity, at a garden party that will live in our memory forever and, at this time it almost seemed like a hoax. There couldn’t, surely, be anything wrong with him? He will be the man who has scared me most in a car (a Westfield – very fast) and remains, to this day, the only man I’ve ever got really drunk on vodka with (he was up, almost at dawn the next day while Max and I struggled with swollen heads until lunchtime). I miss him already – God knows how Lynda must feel. I still have a couple of blackjacks in the fridge from last year. Neil was handing them out, the day before the party, a big bag of sweets like a big kid and, on the way home, I found a couple still in the central console of the car. I said then that I’d keep them and have one in his memory. Here’s to you Neil, a blackjack and a whisky. Thursday 10 2 2011 The thing is… Spoke to the consultant yesterday, the one who cut me open last week. He’s a nice bloke I’m sure - just a consultant through and through. Orthopaedic surgeons have a reputation for being ‘the worst’ I’m told, by which, the person who gave this information meant, masters of that ‘aloofness’, that attitude bordering on arrogance or even, possibly, indifference that can come with the territory. I wouldn’t say that of my consultant. He’s obviously good at his job anyway. So, yesterday, he called and I answered and we spoke for a while and he talked to me about a 5mm drill hole into the bone and of scraping about to get a sample and about uneven surfaces and the cause of the grinding and crunching. I asked, “Ok, what now?” and there was a pause as if he didn’t understand the question. He obviously didn’t. He spoke again and I said goodbye and put down the phone. The boffins have to run tests on the stuff he scraped out, which involves a process that I imagined as melting it down to a liquid form. Then, if it’s a nasty stuff, something that’s going to spread or give me problems, they’ll go in again and remove it. In doing so they’ll almost certainly leave the joint with a nice smooth surface (it would be plain rude not to) and hopefully, that will be that. If it’s nothing to worry about (and this is what he thinks), totally benign, harmless and just an inconvenience, he’ll move on to his next patient, close my file and pass me back to my GP – job done. He suggested steroid injections (which are nothing more than a temporary relief and dangerous if given too often - I’ve had three in the last twelve months so don’t really want any more) and physio which, for the life of me, I can’t see working. It seems a bit like getting someone to exercise their broken ankle to get it to mend. It’s never going to work. The upshot of it all, which hit me last night as I got into bed, is that I may never get up on to the Cuillin again. I may never walk Greshornish Point again. My fishing may be limited to places akin to those having wheelchair access – no more walking for miles over bog and moorland to get to the river, loch, or pond of my choice. No more crawling on hands and knees through jungely undergrowth to get a cast at a carp. I honestly feel totally abandoned by the medical profession; feel that all the MRI, CT, and bones scans have been a total waste of time; the trips to Inverness just a waste of time, diesel and money. It’s a bit much to take in at the moment and too early in the day to pour a large one… Wednesday 9 2 2011 Ever have one of those weeks?… Work won’t go away, won’t get done, won’t sort itself out. Everything takes longer, seems harder, means less. Little jobs are huge. Big jobs aren’t even considered. Cheques don’t arrive, invoices don’t get written. Things get put off, things get behind, things get broken. A person is mean, hurtful, petty. A person is false, cruel, pathetic. (Not long now). A bit deep, I know, but sometimes my writer’s muscle needs a bit of a sideways flex. Modern life is a right bloody pain in the arse sometimes and yet… and yet… Outside the night is black, the wind has dropped and the sea is silver under the moon. Time for a large one I reckon… Tuesday 8 2 2011 This and that… The last entry, I noticed after I’d written it, didn’t have any stuff about what had been going on up here with Max and I. I just sort of got carried away with relaying the story that I’d heard. When I finished, I re-read it and thought it sounded very much like a column from a woman’s magazine (possibly something written by the ‘Sex and the City’ woman). Anyway, thought I’d better add a few lines about things even closer to home. Monday and Tuesday last week were spent in varying states of agony and also in various stages of stoned-ness depending on the pain killer level washing through my system at any one time. Wednesday saw the bandage come off and my first trip downstairs since the op. That’s the good thing about having a bedroom, en-suite, living room and office all on the first floor of the house – throw in a kettle and a couple of mugs, a cool box and some sandwiches and you’ve got yourself a bed-sit! Max was away on a pre-arranged trip down to see Chelle for her fortieth birthday so I was home alone for a few days. Had I known the op would knock me about so much, I’d have put it off for a week or two but it was too late to do anything about it. Garry came round Friday to watch the rugby (England v Wales at Cardiff) and brought with him a couple of rather fine steaks, pre-cooked chips and a big bowl of salad. Very fine indeed! We both fell asleep on the settee watching The Da Vinci Code. Saturday I braved the car for the first time and spent an evening with Mom and Dad, then on Saturday, drove over to Garry’s again to be fed once more. A pretty good weekend all in all, considering I was a bit crippled and without Max. Monday saw Max come home (the dogs went absolutely wild) and following another drive to the docs, I realised that driving was probably not that great an idea as I spent the next day (yesterday) back on two crutches and in some pain again. Obviously did a bit too much. I’ll certainly be glad when it’s sorted and I’m able to walk without a limp. You know, I can’t remember what that feels like… Monday 7 2 2011 The Internet’s a funny old thing… I heard a story the other day about how it was recommended by one member of staff to another, that a highly qualified, highly competent, superbly experienced and unbelievably organised lady should not be given the job for which she’d applied on the grounds that the moaning staff member didn’t agree with what the applicant’s husband had put in his blog! She was employed apparently but in the time she stayed there, could never understand why a certain member of staff treated her so badly. I found the story incredible and it made me think about my scribblings in this little space of mine to such a degree that I had to have a look back over my pages to see if there were any entries that could have a similar effect on Max’s potential employability. I found, looking back over the last six years (SIX YEARS) that my pages seem to follow a number of topics. 1) The weather. 2) The changing scenery. 3) The sea. 4) Fishing of many kinds. 5) Family and friends. 6) My joints. 7) Being a pair of Wombles and managing to turn old discarded tat into useful stuff that saves us money and helps us do our bit for the environment. There were a couple of entries around July 2008 that I penned after we were let down dreadfully by a young lady we tried to help by giving a place to stay, that may have strayed into the realms of irreverence and another couple I noticed about my reaction to being given the finger and other charming hand signals by a local resident and her family members but, other than those marginally contentious issues, I couldn’t find anything to potentially annoy anyone. Which is how I like it. I love jotting things down in my web diary (I never call it a blog – I’m too old fashioned) and I like to think that the odd person (not an odd person you’ll understand – ‘you don’t have to be odd to read this but it helps’ for instance) reads it now and again and maybe has a chuckle. Perhaps after reading A Fall of Stone, the reader may be so enthralled that they simply have to have a look at the author’s website to see if there are any more novels on the way. Maybe. I know there are a hardcore group of readers who cast their eyes over these pages because of the emails I get (you’re all lovely, lovely nutters! – thank you) and, if someone doing a Google for things going on in the South Wales town of Neath happens across them by mistake and reads the odd line, just as good. I suppose there must be more people who have a little read now and again though because, if the opening story is anything to go by, the blog of the man who’s wife almost didn't get a job and then was victimised for a whole year following her appointment by an obviously very bitter woman, must have had a few readers he didn’t know about; in reality, probably far, far more. I’m just glad I keep my jottings to simple things like the weather and scenery and try not to stray into topics that could wind people up (heaven forbid). Beautiful day here today by the way; though a little on the chilly side… Sunday 6 2 2011 That’s quite a swelling you’ve got there… Took the bandage off on, I think, Wednesday evening to reveal a fair collection of stab wounds where, we presume, the surgeon had tried to collect his biopsy sample via a biopsy needle. Judging by the 3 inch scar running parallel with my kneecap on the outside of my leg, I don’t think the needle attempt worked. I seem to remember, after the operation, him saying that he’d managed to remove enough material but also that it was crunchy and hard rather than the gelatinous stuff he was expecting. Hence the scar rather than the needle puncture wounds. It would also explain why, initially, he thought I might have been able to drive home when, in reality, I could just about manage an uncoordinated wobbling, crutch assisted hobble. I exited the hospital on a wheelchair. He may well have said more but I was either barely conscious after the anaesthetic or had just had a syringe full of morphine squirted into my mouth so I’m really not sure. (Tasted just like those little purple sweets, parmoviolets I think they were called.) My knee is about the same size as my thigh and a sort of pasty white with some fairly impressive yellow bruises starting to appear. The last couple of days have seen an improvement in both size, pain and mobility and I actually managed to drive round to Mom and Dad’s last night for bacon joint, veg and parsley sauce. Max is down south with Chelle, celebrating her 40th birthday (Chelle’s) and is due back tomorrow. It was bad planning really and, had I known that the minor biopsy op was going to be a bit more than minor, I’d have put it off for a few weeks. It’s Sunday, the sun is shining, the sky is blue and the sea looks divine. I ought to be fishing on the mainland for pike instead of working (and having a break to add a line or two to my diary) and I would have been had I not been ever so slightly crippled at the moment. I actually considered going off for a day’s piking but, even though I reckon I could have (foolishly) got to the venue, I don’t think I could have walked very far on crutches, carrying all my gear. Never mind, Garry has invited me over for a roast beef Sunday dinner so, once I’ve fed the dogs at 5.30, I’ll be away to stuff my face. Max is back tomorrow and I shall be really glad to see her… Wednesday 2 2 2011 SON OF A BITCH… Whilst I can comfortably say that, being a bloke, I’m never going to experience the pain of childbirth, I have been unfortunate enough to dislocate both kneecaps fully and, on several occasions, partially. It is extremely painful. When I last went to see the consultant he said that I’d need to come in so he could have a look at what was going on under my knee and, in response to my questions about whether I’d be able to drive back he ummed and ahhed and said it would probably be best if I got someone to come with me as I’d be a bit sore and would have a bandage on. Now, I’m either a wimp, something’s gone wrong or he did a fair bit more than he planned once I was in the land of nod as I’ve been in a state of agony for the 36 hours or so since going under his knife; a pain easily comparable to the dislocations I mentioned earlier. Without Max to drive me back (in some of the worst wind and driving rain I’ve ever experienced while in a car) I’d still be there now. I must admit, today is much better – very little pain just a steady throb from beneath the highly padded comedy bandage on my left knee – and I’m getting about ok on my crutches. BUT to even contemplate that I could have driven home myself after the treatment is optimistic in the extreme. I put a call into his secretary yesterday to see if she could get any more info about what he actually did during the op and to find out whether he’d used a blunt spoon and a Black and Decker drill (only joking) but, as yet, she’s not got back to me. The bandages come off tonight so I’ll be able to see his handiwork and then, next week, I’m to see my own GP for him to have an inspection of the wound etc. Hopefully, sometime later next week I’ll have the results of what was actually under the kneecap and whether it requires any further excavation work. To think that the pain and discomfort generated in the last few days was as a result of mere investigations and biopsy I dread to think what the removal of this enchondroma (what they think it probably is) will be like. Dig it out, remove a bit of bone from my hip, grind it up and mix it with some medical polyfilla then spatula it into the void in my femur before replacing my kneecap and stitching everything back together again. I think a month in the Bahamas should just about do it… Friday 28 1 2011 Bit bored you know… It’s an odd thing, working from home, on your own. It sounds idyllic, I know; I’ve got music playing, plenty of work to do, I’m warm and comfortable. I can look out of the window and watch fishing boats, ferries, birds and seals, all set in a fabulous panorama that spreads for perhaps forty miles to the Isle of Harris and Lewis. Doesn’t stop you feeling bored though. I think, if I’m honest with myself, this problem with my knee gets me down a touch more than I acknowledge. I suppose it’s got to – I can’t really do the things I want to with any sort of ease, it crunches to the point of making me feel sick and is generally a right bloody nuisance. Hopefully Monday’s biopsy will at least enable the medical bods to sort something out and get me back up the mountains again and allow me to walk through long grass and heather when I’m fishing instead of limping and falling over like a bloke with a wooden leg. Right – I’m going to take the dogs out for a hobble, then have some lunch… Wednesday 26 1 2011 How do you get a forty-foot tree in a Subaru? There have been a number of times since my last entry when I’ve thought ‘THAT’S got to be worth a diary entry!’ And, as usual, I’ve been too busy, too lazy, too disorganised to make time to sit down and do an entry. Yesterday I finished a site plan incorporating a level survey and some stone infill calculations that has been hanging around for a while (due to the bad weather, getting out wasn’t really an option) and now, this morning have squeezed a little wedge of time into my day to catch up. The title of the entry refers to a couple of Sundays ago. Max and I went out to carry out the level survey I mentioned above and, as we were in the right area and had an hour before dark, headed off for the forest with chainsaw and a pair of bright orange protective trousers. The trailer is, at present, full of junk destined for the tip so any timber chopped needed to go in the boot. And it did fit – 40 foot of dead pine tree in the boot of a Subaru Forester; chopped into 600mm sections, the boot was full and the gap between wheel and wheel arch seriously diminished compared to on the way there. Three to four weeks’ worth of firewood I reckon, not bad for an hour’s work. We’d packed the car and, hot, tired and sweating, I was drinking the last of the coffee as the light leached out of the day and darkness seeped in through the surrounding trees when, drifting on the windless air, came the hoot of an owl. Now, not being one to boast or get involved in any self-trumpet-blowing, I have to admit to being and excellent owl impersonator. With cupped hands and just the right amount of gap, I have been known to get a dozen feathery night flyers calling back to me. Whether it’s confusion or they’re genuinely fooled I don’t know but it seems to work. Once, at the caravan in Dolgellau, Al and I had either already been out fishing, not bothered going out or had fallen asleep only to wake up at midnight when it was too late to go. Either way, we were sitting drinking whisky and burning large quantities of wood on his chimnea, when, from the far distance came the hoot of an owl. I put down my glass, cupped my hands and made the call. Now, I’ve been known to exaggerate in the past I’m sure but, I kid you not when I say that, within ten minutes, we had at least half a dozen different owls hooting and woo-wooing from various trees around us. We never saw any of the callers (apart from the slightly fat, slightly pissed one who’d started it all off) but we kept them calling until it was time for bed. In the forest, a couple of weeks ago, I managed to get three owls fluttering from the trees, to swoop over our heads as we stood in the clearing where we park. A pair came in from the right, dipped into the clearing and, seeing that a car and two humans occupied it, banked around into the conifers again. Another repeatedly circled a tree to our left as if in confusion – he could hear an owl but couldn’t see it. It’s not the sort of thing you’d put on a C.V. but, nonetheless, it’s a talent I’m really quiet proud of. Other stuff going on – I’m off to Raigmore next week for a biopsy on the thing under my knee, we let some Chinese Lanterns off from our house (I’d bought some for Max’s birthday) and watched them soar way over towards the Trottenish Ridge – quite moving really. And a young lady fan ‘Penny’ left a much appreciated message on my website about how she’d really enjoyed ‘A Fall of Stone’ and how she was looking forward to the next Richard Neath Novel. It’s good to know that people are still reading it, still enjoying it and, more to the point, want another novel by me. Now, all we need is a few hundred entries saying the same thing and maybe a publisher or agent would start to take notice… Saturday 8 1 2011 What a day... I let the dogs out for their pre-bed wees and stood looking at a sky so dark and yet filled with the sort of astrological splendour that we can often take for granted up here on this windswept isle. I say windswept but last night, of any wind there was no sign. Just blackness dotted with billions of silvery specks; the Milky Way a huge sparkly slash across velvet. Max reckoned we were due snow overnight; I reckoned not and told her so when I flopped into bed. We woke this morning to a world so bright and white, that it hurt my eyes just to look at it. Every fence post, tussock, tree and blade of grass was coated in its own shimmering crystal crown. In the time had had taken for me to drag myself into another waking world, the heavens had dropped a good five inches of snow and turned our world into a crystal encrusted wonderland. After eggs on toast and a couple of cups of coffee, I suggested we should go out for the day and take the camera with us so, after a quick visit to see how the old couple were fairing in their house with a very temporary looking kitchen ceiling, we took off into the wild open spaces, four wheel drive working overtime. We had a brief stop to take a few snaps of the River Snizort in its winter finery then headed off through Portree and northwards to the Storr Lochs and the Quirang. We actually tried to get over the hill road from Staffin to Uig (ignoring the ‘road closed’ sign) but gave up once we got to the really steep bit and it became obvious that we were following a single, determined set left by a crofter in a Land Rover. Oh well, it was worth a try and I reckon the Subaru would have got us over the top but maybe, not without a little too much excitement for a snowy Saturday afternoon. Back home, I got the fire going then went to meet Max and the dogs after dropping them at Lyndale to walk home and get their daily exercise. Walking along the loop road, I couldn’t believe that I’d driven along it – I could barely walk on the sheet ice beneath my feet and ski poles. Now, at 6.45, the sky is once again as black as several hats sprinkled with crystal chips, the dogs are both sleeping – Harry snoring on his bed up here in the lounge and Bella, ever the fire-bug, in front of the stove downstairs – and I’m being called to get the steaks on, now the baked potatoes are ready. I’ve got a large rum and coke and a pleasant, warm, homely feeling making me feel as sleepy as Harry. Happy weekend everyone... Saturday 1 1 2011 Quite a do... It’s been a strange old Christmas and New Year. A leak on Christmas Eve at Mom and Dad’s, above the kitchen wasn’t the best start really and though we had a lovely Christmas day it was tainted by constant thoughts about potential damage and fall-out from the water in the loft. We turned off the mains, left the heating running to try and prevent further freezing and hoped for the best. Boxing Day came and along with it, a whole mess of wet plasterboard, insulation and general mayhem. A good portion of the day was spent producing a huge mound of wet building materials in the garden that once made up the ceiling and insulation above the kitchen. The fact that the ceiling decided to give way as mom walked underneath didn’t really help matters either. Ever tried getting in touch with ‘emergency help-lines’ on Christmas or Boxing Day? Not easy. I hang on for over 50 minutes until an extremely bored and fed up sounding teenager answered the phone and failed to help. This was on top of Dad trying a number of times during the morning for shorter periods (he’s not as patient as me.) Anyway, Clive came out, fixed the leak and then the following days Mom and Dad spent clearing up. Having a plumber friend helped immensely. Building contacts are also a bonus and within a few days we’d had visits from Ben and Murray who are preparing quotes as I write. Just need the loss adjuster to pay a visit now and we’re away. Of course, during this time, the elderly dispossessed couple have at least had a warm dry place to stay – we’ve put them in the drum loft! (Only joking, they’re in the spare room and I can feel a bill building from Hentilagged Bed and Breakfast for that will soon find its way winging over to the Insurance company.) It’s just a good job we were so close and able to give them somewhere to stay. It’s always a pleasure anyway. Wednesday and Thursday saw Max and me in Inverness for a couple of scans on my knee (not pleasant). None of us feel like we’ve really had a break but at least the weather is fairly mild again and the ice and snow has gone (for the time being at least). All in all, it’s been ok – not great, but ok. I don’t remember ever wanting to go fishing quite as much as I do now though. Happy New Year!