HOME BIOG MY DIARY GUESTB00K LINKS My Diary Thursday 2 9 2010 A wonderful time… Some times are simply special in a way that’s not easily quantified. A trip out on Maria for me last week, was so wonderful, it was almost spiritual. Yes, I caught a load of fish, but it wasn’t just that. Yes, I watched a large pod of dolphin moving in from the north, their graceful shapes appearing for tiny fractions of time before spearing away into the depths. Yes, the sunset was pretty special and the Outer Isles seemed to float in a molten sea created by the shrinking sun. And yes, the coffee tasted great, sipped from an old tin mug that burned my lips and steamed gently in the complete absence of wind. I suppose, it was the sum of all those parts that made it really special. Adding into the pot, the glowing flare of the amoeba as I rowed back to shore and the pair of baby otters that squeaked almost constantly as they romped along the rocky shore simply added the icing onto what was already a rather stunning cake. Another wonderfully iced cake turned up at our door last Friday in the shape of Ade and Hel, Ryan and Nathan; old friends from a time when I had more hair and no middle aged spread. Ade had decided that he needed to catch a salmon on the fly and a ten-pound pollack off Maria. Also, due to the photos I’d sent him of my twenty-pound pike, he reckoned it would be a bit of a lark if Ryan could bag a similar (or even the same) specimen. Quite a set of tasks I reckon. Saturday morning arrived full of swirling north wind, grey skies and overnight rain that had put the river up to a nicely fishable level – perfect in fact and by ten o’clock, we were taking a picture of Ade’s first fly-caught salmon - a wonderfully silver, aggressive and thick-shouldered eight pounder. Monday saw us at the pike loch and again, after an hour or so, an obviously large and violently unhappy pike was dragging Ryan along the bank. At twenty-one pounds five ounces it looked almost as big as him. In the pictures we took, his smile is almost as impressive as the pike. Two down, one to go. A trip on Maria saw us bag a load of pollack mackerel and coalfish and made a splendid supper of barbequed mackerel fillets to start with fish and chips for the stomach-stretching main meal. Still no ten pound pollack though. They were due to leave us on Wednesday but after a tiny bit of coaxing, they decided to stay till this morning, giving Ade and I the chance to get out for a last cast or two which we set to with real determination, scouring all the known marks for the elusive fish. I suggested we try one last spot before getting back for the curry I’d put in the oven before we left (we’ve still got some lamb left). We’d promised we’d be motoring back by nine o’clock and, at about twenty to, Ade hooked into what could easily have been the sea bed, apart from the way his rod bucked and line buzzed off the spool. Could this be the third task completed? At ten pounds two ounces, it scraped the magical mark, just, but we couldn’t have been happier. I never even had a ‘last cast’ and we were back at the agreed time. The curry was great and the wine excellent, but the few days we were all together was perfect. Perfect in a way, as I said at the start of this entry, that is not easy to explain. Great company, dear friends - we both miss them… Thursday 12 8 2010 Now then… Last night, Max arrived home and instead of getting straight out to walk the dogs, I took her over to Lyndale in the car so she could walk along the old road and have a bit of a scenery change. After I dropped her and the pooches off, I continued over to see what any of the rivers were doing and whether any of them (Snizort, Varragil or Sligachan) were worth a cast or two. Last night was a touch special and the short fishing session was a ‘Bloody hell, congratulations – it appears I’ve not got a tumour after all fishing trip’. I went to see doc yesterday, just to get some more info, find out more about the procedure and potential after issues so I was ok in my head for Monday and, during our chat, I mentioned that it looked to me as if it had shrunk quite a bit and almost as if, on the surface, it was clearing up. He looked surprised, got up and turned my head into the light coming through the window, had an inspection and looked a bit flabbergasted. ‘Basal cell carcinomas don’t get smaller and clear up’ he said and smiled a big bearded doctors smile ‘looks like it was just an infection after all’. Now, I’m no doctor and know nothing about doctoring (apart from the odd bit of info from that wonderful Google Medical Encyclopaedia) but I reckon that sort of mistake is, well, a bit crap to be frank. I’m absolutely overjoyed my tumour is in fact nothing more than a little infection that has now pretty much gone completely apart from a slightly sore spot that is no worse than the after effects of a real good finger flick from behind. I’m also sort of glad that he took no chances with what looked like, to all intents and purposes, exactly what he said it was. But the last week has been a tad fraught to say the least and I could have done without it. It seems to me that it’s not only us mere mortals that get a little edgy at the hushed mention of words such as cancer, malignant and carcinoma. It seems to me that the medical profession, for all their training, also run a little scared at such things also. I for one reckon that’s no bad thing… Tuesday 10 8 2010 Ho hum… Doctors, tests, consultations, disappointments – I could get a bit miffed about it all but, ho-hum let’s keep going eh? The thing on my ear is due to be whipped off (or scraped out, I don’t know) next Monday and I’m back to the local doc’s on Wednesday to try and get a bit more info so I’m right in my own mind. I don’t feel bad about it at all now; it’s really nowt to worry about. Went off to the lovely pike loch at Plockton over the weekend and had one little one about 18 inches long that was grabbed by another leviathan as it came in. Unusually, I think it was grabbed as it was in the process of taking my bait, before I’d even hooked it. I wandered (hobbled, slipped and stumbled actually) round to the eastern bank where massive beds of lilies and reeds stretch along the whole of the margins. It looked more like a southern estate lake than a Scottish loch. I’ll be back! The sun is out today and the sea is fairly flat. I’m going to try and persuade Max that an evening trip on Maria is called for when she gets back as last night I was so frustrated and bored at home while the sea sat like a great big mirror and the sun set a brilliant gold-red over the Outer Isle and all I wanted to do was grab my lifejacket and head out to sea. Lovely when it’s like this… Thursday 5 8 2010 B.C.C. Yesterday, I spent some time consulting my great big medical encyclopaedia (Google) and feel a lot better about it all. The mention of the words malignant and cancer are enough to stir feelings of dread and have sane people running for their fishing tackle, only to lose themselves in a day’s fishing when they should be working (1 Sea trout and a lost salmon if you’re interested). However, the correct terminology for the ‘thing on my ear’ (how one particularly arrogant member of the medical profession described it, glibly, yesterday) is a Basal Cell Carcinoma. It sounds much better without the ‘malignant’ bit in it don’t you think? So it’s not too bad. Not as good as not having a BCC, but not as bad as I was originally made to think. Apparently I’ll be going to Broadford and they’ll just whip it off (hopefully not the whole ear!), as they seem fairly certain as to what it is, rather than messing about with a biopsy and then check out what they’ve removed. I’ll leave it to them … Wednesday 4 8 2010 Oh shit (continued)… ‘Non-basal malignant carcinoma’ – that’s not a phrase you want to hear when you’re at the doctors with what you thought was a horse-fly bite on your ear gone bad. I’ve got to have a biopsy to make sure, then will probably have a fair chunk of my ear chopped away (good opportunity to grow my hair really long again I suppose). The doctor reckons it’s all pretty common and nothing really to worry about, which is ok for him to say as it’s not his ear. A client who’s been absent for the last 12 months or so came round for drinks last night with his wife Carol and daughter Stephanie. What I found quite a bit of an odd coincidence is that the reason he’s been absent is that Carol has gone through Bowel cancer and all sorts of problems. She looked great. Then there’s our friend Neil, a wonderful source of inspiration if ever there was one who’s problem is infinitesimally more serious than mine. I’ll be ok. Back to work eh? I’ll let you know how things go. Tuesday 3 8 2010 Taking things for granted… Oh Shit… Monday 2 8 2010 168 frogs. August again (already) and outside, the sea is a lovely big gently rippled sheet. It’s as cloudy as you like but what breeze there is, is at least on the warm side. With the onset of wind free weather, Maria has been seeing a little more use and, on Sunday, yesterday, Max and I caught our first mackerel of the year. Max, of course, caught the biggest. On the previous trip out, I didn’t motor out of the loch until 9.30 in the evening, but spent a really pleasant couple of hours catching some pretty big pollack and watching one of the most spectacular sunsets I’ve seen for at least 3 weeks (they can all be pretty special). Driving back along the single track road from Greshornish, anyone following would have thought I’d had one or two too many in the bar as I weaved from left to right, sometimes onto the grass verge. And the reason for my apparently drunken rambling over the road? Frogs. As usual, it’s the season for frogs at Greshornish and, as soon as the light drops from the sky, on any damp night, the frogs come swarming out. I counted 168 on the way home (hence the title of this entry) and reckoned I only squashed 2 unavoidable ones. A less careful or less keen-sighted driver would have left a trail of mushy amphibians in his or her wake, so I was quite happy with the relatively small losses. Short of getting out and shooing them to the grass verge, there’s not much more that can be done. On a less cheery note (not, I suppose, that squashed frogs is particularly cheery), we heard that a couple close to us living back in the Midlands,had been burgled last night by some thieving low life scum of the earth criminal bastards. While they slept upstairs, at least 2 detestable pieces of dog shit removed a pane of glass from a door, came in and helped themselves to the 2 cars on the drive and a handbag complete with purse and everything else that was in it. What right have they got to do such a thing? They probably think ‘well the insurance will pay up’ which it probably will. Apart from the fact that everyone’s premiums continue to rise because of these scumbags (not that it will ever bother them as they almost certainly never bother with such trivialities) they have left a family and child fearful of being in their own home. And what can be done? Hide the keys to the car and then get woken with a baseball bat, knife or shotgun wielding, baseball cap wearing thug? No; best to let them just get on with it unless you could be sure you could hit them hard enough so they wouldn’t get up for a while. I’m sure the boys in blue will catch up with them at some point, bang them up and then have to let them go again when the judge say’s that they should be good little burgling bastards and not do it again. My heart goes out to the victims of these crimes and the attitude of ‘that’s nice, I’m having that’ makes me so angry I could spit. Makes me glad that we live somewhere where we can leave the house and car unlocked. At least for the time being anyway… Tuesday 13 7 2010 What a difference a day makes… I typed yesterday’s entry, spell checked it, posted it and re-read it. It all seemed pretty good – not a great one but you know, ‘ok’. Time for a coffee I thought and pushed myself back on my swivel-roller-office-chair and, as my left leg extended there was a blinding pain in my left knee and I may have sworn a little bit. Now, for about the four hundredth time in my life, I’m on crutches with an appointment next week at the fracture clinic in Broadford with the big friendly bearded guy off the telly (you probably don’t get him down in the midlands but he’s on a ‘Highland Rescue’ type programme up here). When my knee started crunching, around March time (reeeeeaaaallllyyyy crunching!) I told the doctors that, in my humble opinion, it felt like my knee had exploded internally; as if the cartilage had decided to come unattached and was all floating around in the joint. It happened quickly – one day fine, the next, watching Sunday night telly, it was all crunchy and horrible. I’ve had x-rays and a load of physio to build up muscles and now the exercise I’ve been doing over and over again is not possible because my knee wont extend without pretty severe pain. So I’m hobbling about a bit, on crutches and, I think quite rightly, pissed off about it. The river is full, the salmon are running, the sea is flat calm and Maria is waiting. And I’m stuck, unable to drive at the moment (but I reckon I’ll get that sorted by a little driver's seat adjustment) but certainly unable to get out on the river or beach or rocks. All because of a little fragment, some tiny bit of cartilage or some other bit of bloody stuff that’s decided to go walkabouts in my knee joint and is quite happy to come to rest in a place that stops my knee working. Bah humbug, bother, pooh and plop. Anyone got a hacksaw… Monday 12 7 2010 Monday again… Not that being Monday is necessarily a bad thing (Max would disagree – she always has her grumpy head primed, polished and ready to go on a Monday!) it’s just that, well, it doesn’t seem anything like a week since the last one. The sea of grasses mentioned in the last entry (and appreciated greatly by ‘dear reader’, Brenda) has frown about a foot due to the rain we’ve finally had in the last week or so and today, is looking the tiniest bit bedraggled. The rivers have all come alive with great torrents of peaty brown water and jumping salmon and sea trout and Derek is finally smiling again (well, almost) as anglers flock from miles around to cast a line. Got up on Saturday, went straight in the poly-tunnel and spent a few hours shifting stuff around and re-potting cucumbers and courgettes that had either out-grown their pots or, as far as the ones in the grow bags were concerned, simply in danger of taking over the small area of remaining floor space. It’s looking great, we’re having lettuce from it pretty much every day with our dinner, the toms are due to start turning red, the courgettes and cucumbers are, if the plants themselves are anything to go by, going to be stunning, the pepper plants are shooting up and we’ve got peas a plenty. What with the pots, carrots, radish, parsnip and beetroot outside, I reckon it’s going fairly well and, the tunnel stood up to the odd 50mph blast last week too so the likelihood of it still being there next spring has gone up a bit in my mind. How things change eh? If anyone had said to me 10 years ago that I’d be getting excited about a cucumber plant I’d have probably thrown a carrot at him… Friday 2 7 2010 A sea of grasses… When we built our house, we didn’t give too much thought to the garden area – we were too busy getting flooring down, painting walls and everything else that goes with moving into a bare shell. We had a thought that we’d leave it to grow naturally, moulding itself around the house and letting the structure become almost part of the land itself. Now I’m not really sure whether this was an environmental decision on our part or whether it was the architect coming out in me in wanting the building to blend with its surroundings. Or, quiet possibly, whether it was our (mine mainly) real loathing for anything to do with a lawn mower but whatever the reason, it seems to have worked. The bank at the back of the house is an absolute mass of heather, grass, wild flowers and ground hugging willow bushes and this extends on both sides as if protecting the house in a cloak of greenery. It’s the front bank however, that really steals the show. While we were away last week, the grasses have grown as if they’ve been given a blast of super strength, radioactive fertiliser. When we left it looked beautiful but on our return, each stem had shot up a foot or more and now, as I watch, with a fairly brisk south westerly adding life to the stems, the whole bank sways, tilts and shudders with each blast. The bright green of the stems contrasts with the yellow gold of the seed heads and in the centre of the bank, glowing in bright green-yellow brilliance is a patch of Lady’s Mantle which looks set to embark on taking over the whole of Kildonan. There’s also a couple of patches of bright violet flowers, the name of which escapes me but Max could fill you in I’m sure. The whole effect is one of amazing fluid motion, to the point where the whole bank almost comes to life. Out in the loch, the sea is dark blue, almost black; a pulsing, never still body of menacing grace, topped with wind flung foam and on our bank, soft and gentle, our grasses sway in time with each wave. I think I may have to go and take some photos… Wednesday 30 6 2010 Another month… It doesn’t seem 5 minutes since I put the last entry on and yet it’s been nearly a month. The article ‘A Coarse Angler on Skye’ which formed the last ditty has been accepted for publication at Waterlog – so that’s good. It’s always a pleasure to see one of mine in amongst the regular contributors, many of who are quite literally part of the angling writing elite. Had a trip down to the Midlands a couple of weeks ago for a long weekend to see Lynda and Neil, good friends with massive reserves of personal strength, good cheer and humanity. Neil has inoperable, terminal cancer of the oesophagus and yet is an unbelievable source of strength and positive energy that I feel energized simply writing about him. Every year they hold a garden party to coincide with the Cosford air show and this year, despite their situation, was going to be no different. Nearly 200 people had a great time, ate lots of hot pork sandwiches from the pig roast and drank loads of beer and superb sangria, beautifully prepared by Neil. I had the great privilege of a trip out in his Westfield 2 seater sports car and can only compare the experience to when I jumped out of an aeroplane at 10,000 feet. Fabulous. The weekend was tiring and hectic but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Work’s as busy as ever. Last week Max and I took the 2 beagles with us to Islay (pronounced eyeluh) and stayed in a cottage in Port Ellen. We walked on the many beaches and visited all the distilleries. I fished a lot and caught very little. The weather was fantastic and the island was remarkable – a lot like Skye would have been 30 or 40 years ago. Very little tourism (which can be a little infuriating, specifically the lack of information available to visitors, until you settle into the island pace), people wave at you as you drive along as a matter of course and virtually no crime. The lovely fella at Laphraoig told us that someone had had their i-pod stolen from their pocket recently and, whist this is a pretty crappy thing to happen, what made me smile was that he’d read about it in the local paper. I can’t imagine such a crime making the paper in many parts of the country. Last night I went with Garry and his mate Iain over to Glenbrittle to fish the tide for sea trout. I got back about 2 a.m. and despite fishing with a backdrop of a cloud shrouded Cuillin Ridge in one of the most spectacular spots imaginable and having the odd sea trout splash through the mirror flat surface, not one of us managed to winkle one out. Next time, always next time … Monday 31 5 2010 A coarse angler on Skye. The following entry is, hopefully, the next Waterlog article. Please excuse the lack of paragraphs, the site doesn't seem to like them. A coarse angler on Skye. The perfect big perch water; sit a group of perch fanatics sat down and get them to draw up a list, a blueprint, for such a place and I reckon they would come up with something that would include at least some of the following attributes. It would be at least 3 acres, hundreds of years old and completely surrounded by a fine mixture of equally ancient trees. Along one bank, the water would be deep, entirely overhung with trailing branches, their tips dimpling the surface and dipping into the depths to form a tangled sanctuary for hoards of stunted roach. Weed growth would be minimal in the dark confines of the underwater jungle where a forest of roots would creep from the undercut bank. The opposite side would have a shallower, silted bottom rising up to form a three-foot deep shelf where a mass of intertwined reeds would sway in the breeze and collect the morning mist between their bright green stems. It would be a slender taper from the shallow, muddy inflow to deep water at the dam. A sluice would gurgle with the passage of the pool’s crystal clear excess and the dam itself would be home to well-spaced birch, alder and willow. Along this dam, an angler could wander, casting under the dipping branches to perch more than willing to snaffle a free lined worm or a slowly twitched minnow. The perfect big perch water does exist. I fished it regularly for many years prior to upping sticks to an island five hundred miles north. It exists exactly as I’ve described it; exists in every way apart from one minor point. There are no perch. Al used to shake his head when I said with an utterly frustrated regularity that there should be perch, that if anyone were to slip in a couple of dozen half pounders, we’d have three pounders to fish for in five years time. Everything screamed perch; there just weren’t any there. During a recent phone call, I could see him doing it again, looking down at his feet whilst contemplating his next mole trap (he’s a mole trapper, amongst other things) because you see, it appears I’ve now found another perfect water, a perfect pike water in fact; without any pike. Living on Skye and being a coarse angler at heart can be extremely frustrating. I spent the first few years immersed in a fragrant potpourri of pollack, brown trout, sea trout and salmon, mackerel during the summer months and always the possibility of bigger stuff such as conger, ling and skate. Now, while I cast a fly line with the best of them and can work a jelly worm with practised ease, deep down, where it really matters, I’m still a coarse angler. Even though I wouldn’t move back to the Midlands under the threat of having a testicle removed with pliers, I really do miss the tree lined intimacies of lowland rivers and ponds, the splash of a chub beneath majestically draped willows and the surge of a surface hooked carp pushing a sunset painted bow wave into the middle of a still pond. I basically have an incurable soft spot for all fish deemed coarse. But there lies the problem – there are no coarse fish on Skye. I’ve toyed with all sorts of crazy ideas during my five years up here, everything from waggler fishing for pollack and wrasse off the back of my boat to trotting a stick float on the myriad of small burns for trout. I’ve quiver tipped worms on the Sligachan River for sea trout with great success and caught them with the regularity of greedy immature chub on occasions and I’ve fished a float at Neist Point for the pollack, suspending strips of mackerel and sand eels in sixty feet of water, watching as the red tip plunged into the depths as if to the pull of a double figure pike. But as far as actual coarse fishing is concerned, I’ve been in a five year drought save for the annual trip down south to fish the waters of my memories. I’ve even hatched a plan to have a lake dug on some croft land we own. We’re in the process of planting the five acres or so with trees and I’ve already spoken to Ali, my digger driver friend about digging out a very wet area to form an arrow shaped pond and a perfect home for roach and perch even, possibly, the odd tench or carp. I can see the overhanging trees, the beds of candle shaped lilies and patches of weed and can imagine wandering down on a summer’s evening with my old match rod and a pocket full of bits and pieces. I can imagine the simple tackle splashing lightly on the surface and the hesitant dip of the float to the pull of one of my own fish. Given the correct level of financial well-being, this daydream will become a reality at some point in the near future. It was Paul Young and one of his ‘Hooked on Fishing’ programmes that eventually gave me the push I needed to take the plunge back into my old world. He was fishing with another southern escapee. Another coarse angler who’d left his English home to work in the Highlands, found some great pike fishing and never gone back. A seed was sown that slowly germinated into a sapling of an idea. I would branch out, onto the mainland in search of essox. Over the following months and years Loch Oich has drawn me to make the two hundred mile round trip to its vast, tree lined banks on many occasions and I’ve fished for the rumoured monsters in a decidedly cack-handed manner with a hotch-potch of left-over coarse tackle to no avail. Yet despite speaking to the odd angler also on the loch and hearing tales of twenty pounders, my net has remained dry and my dead baits unmolested. I’ve fished in weather cold enough to freeze off unprotected fingers and in wind strong enough to render a brolly a dangerous option, all without even the sniff of a pike. So I trawled the web, seeking out sites, which extolled the virtues of many huge expanses of water and read forums on the topic while dreaming of connecting with a Scottish pike. Internet tackle shops gave me ideas for better rigs and, over a period of months, ‘Jimmy The Post’ delivered various parcels containing new hooks, buoyant leger rigs, polly-balls, slider floats, rubber beads, a new bait-runner reel and even, heaven forbid, a three rod, rod-pod. (I didn’t succumb to buzzers though. The ground around Scottish lochs is simply too hard to get bank-sticks into, so a pod is a useful gadget but buzzers are simply annoying in such a perfect stillness.) Also, from a shop situated down on the south coast, came a fine selection of frozen pike baits. Carefully packaged in polystyrene, they arrived only slightly pliant. I spent hours tying new rigs in my converted garage drum loft (I have an eight piece, Premier drum kit which serves me well as my own personal ‘mid-life-crisis’). I actually began to feel a little bit like a specimen hunter. I just needed a water on which to try it all out. Divine intervention came in the shape of my wife’s boss, a keen salmon and trout angler who happened to know of a small loch about an hour away, which definitely held pike. Well, definitely, as far as the rumours he’d heard were concerned, anyway. My first trip there, with my mate Garry, a staunch salmonoid angler who thought a pike might be fun, was in early February. We mused on the way about the wonderful fish soon to grace our nets and only worried slightly about the freezing weather gripping the area at that time. It wouldn’t be frozen – no, no way; it was easily big enough to still be liquid and, yes ok, the temperature was showing as two degrees as we travelled over the bridge, but it would be ok. It was solid. Our hopes sank as we drove down the tree-lined track, seeing a large expanse of white and grey spread before us. Three times we went and three times it was frozen, the last occasion gave us some hope though as a small section of water on the north bank allowed us to at least cast out our baits. I actually hooked the world’s smallest pike as I retrieved a legered smelt, only for it to drop off as I lifted it out. Garry caught the second smallest on a lure, but of anything bigger, there was no sign. March saw us back again as a thaw allowed us the whole of the loch to fish and this time, one of the most beautiful places I have ever fished, graced me with the third and fourth smallest pike in the world and the loss of an almost respectable six pounder. The loch called to me again in May on a morning full of springtime optimism. The day was warm and sunny with a soft westerly breeze. The trees whispered as their new leaves opened to the promise of summer and I sat, behind my shiny new rod-pod, two baits ‘popped up’ off the bottom in about eight feet of water. The left hand one, on a new fangled buoyant leger rig never twitched but the right hand bait, suspended four inches off the bottom with a piece of bright red, ridiculous looking ether foam set over depth under an equally bright red float, shifted to the right and sailed out of site. Line pulled from the spool in a steady stream and my pulse must have soared to near cardiac arrest; a proper run, from a proper, honest to goodness pike. Once struck, a fish kited slowly to my right and allowed me to pump it almost to the bank where it wallowed in two feet of crystal clear water. It looked huge, so huge in fact that I felt my mind must have been playing tricks. No pike could be so large and yet allow itself to be drawn in to the bank without so much as a token gesture of resistance. Given the rumours of hard fighting Scottish pike, I admit to being a tad disappointed with her poor efforts. I actually spoke out loud as I reached for my net. “It’s a twenty, got to be”. And then, with a leisurely sweep of her tail, she took stock of her situation, realised something was amiss and simply swam out towards the middle of the loch with my clutch stuttering out yard after yard of line. Unbeknown to me, the water to the right was a shallow bar covered in a tangled mixture of oxygenating weed and lilies and as she pushed away from me a huge raft of severed plant life drifted to the surface. It looked as though a sub-surface weed-cutter had been at work. I’ve caught a few pike in my previous life, including many doubles and one fish of over twenty five pounds from the River Wye, which was in the net in less than three minutes. My first, proper Scottish pike continued in a slow, ponderous, unstoppable plod out into the loch for forty yards leaving a trail of weed in her wake and an extremely nervous angler on the bank wondering exactly what he’d finally got himself attached to and, more to the point, whether his ten foot, light spinning rod and frantic nerves were really up to the job. Fifty yards out, a huge boiling bow-wave formed behind her and I watched as she lunged again and again, pulling off another yard of line with each swipe of her huge tail. Twenty pounds? I honestly started to think she might be a thirty. It seemed like an hour later but was probably just less than fifteen minutes when, with more luck than I’d likely care to admit, she actually swam over and then into the net. The rod top was festooned with about twenty pounds of weed, I’d been unable to wind in the last ten yards of line, my nerves were at snapping point and my legs actually shaking, but in the net lay twenty pounds, five ounces of Scottish pikey perfection. She was still in the sack when Max came back from walking the dogs and did the honours with the camera, just in time for a freezing shower blown along by an equally freezing wind. Big Bertha swam off without a care in the world making huge tail patterns and swirling vortexes over the shallows before dropping out of site into deeper water. Sitting with a coffee, my mind filled with the memories of the previous half an hour, a house martin swooped low over the water, the first of the year, followed by its less speedy mates ten minutes later. Soon, there were dozens dipping into the water and helping themselves to the first, tentative hatch of fly life. So what of the perfect pike water without any pike? Well, less than a mile to the north, as the buzzard soars, nestled in a deep forested glen, lies another, smaller loch. Its banks are completely shrouded in birch and beech, huge fallen Scots pine sleep in the margins, their skeletal branches reaching into clear water completely devoid of the more normal, Scottish peaty stain. Shallow margins drop away through lush weed growth over steeply shelving stone to a depth of fifteen feet or more. Rocky promontories push out from the banks and allow a bait to be searched along acres of classically shelving water that simply must hold large pike all queuing up to pounce on a slowly twitched sprat. And yet nothing, not a dither from my float or a dimple from my line as it breaks the surface, no dropped runs, swirls, lost fish or splashes from hungry pike striking at the thousands of minnows and young trout that swarm the margins. It’s a place of such peace, such beauty, such unquantifiable tranquillity that, to quote a much overused fishing cliché, it hardly matters that I’ve not caught anything; it really is almost enough to simply be there. Almost. I’ll keep trying. Tuesday 25 5 2010 Objects in the rear view mirror… Ever wonder how close we are to slipping off the mortal coil? Now, before you switch off, dear reader, please allow me to expand. I’m not being maudlin or depressive, but it is a thing I occasionally muse over. We get up in a morning and, during the night, while we’re asleep, our bodies have continued to tick along quite happily, sending the right amount of stuff here and there, taking in oxygen, breathing out carbon dioxide, turning this into that and storing our broken down food into useable other stuff for later when we need it. To me, that’s amazing enough in itself but, add into the whole melting pot, the normal activities of every day life and I reckon it’s a pretty lucky thing if we make it to the next time we lay down and fall asleep. Take driving a car for instance. Now, up here, we don’t have the nuisance of nose to tail slow moving traffic (apart from at the odd section of roadworks) and we don’t have a myriad of junctions and roundabouts with quickly moving lorries and taxis careering all over the place intent on mowing us down or ploughing into the sides of our cars. We do, however, have long fast roads that will quite easily accommodate hassle free driving at 60 or 70 (or even more if one’s really in a rush) – unless a sheep pops out or a tourist decides he’s back in the Netherlands and drives on the right (or rather wrong) side of the road. Or, unless, for a fraction of a second, a tiny, insignificant fraction of a second, we take our eyes off the road and clip the grass verge. Driving Max into work a few days ago, I glanced into the rear view mirror after a van had passed us in the opposite direction, only to see a blue hatch back spinning about 8 feet in the air before crashing bonnet first onto the verge on the opposite side of the road, rolling then coming to rest on its roof. We spun round and went back to phone the police and ambulance and help the poor soul who had come to grief. Walking up to the wreck from my car, hazards flashing, I came upon a quite remarkable scene. The van driver had stopped along with another car coming our way and, from the heap of scrap metal was crawling a young lad who turned out to be Mom and Dad’s neighbour’s son. He was shook up and had a few bruises, went into shock and was really fairly quiet but, my God, he really ought to have been dead. The window out of which he crawled was about the size of a letterbox (I would have been well stuck), the whole of the roof had crushed in, the bonnet was mashed and not a single piece of glass remained intact. Such is the line between life and death and that particular young lad had certainly walked right along it, then, with barely a scratch, popped out on the other side. He’s back at work now (his Mom’s taking him in to Portree each morning) and everything seems to be ok. I just hope he realises how lucky he was and doesn’t forget that it’s a very, very fine line we walk each and every day. I’ve started going to bed in a parachute and a life jacket now, just to be on the safe side… Wednesday 12 5 2010 Wonderful stuff… It’s been a while. Too much work to do, too many things to build – life is pretty full up at the moment (not that it’s ever empty). Work is good, plenty of varied projects going on to keep me occupied, interested, sufficiently paid and also enough, just, to stop me thinking about things other than work too often. I almost headed this entry with “If you ever think about trying to build a polytunnel…” but decided against it as, time consuming and horrible as it was, there’s been to much other wonderful stuff going on to belabour the highs and (many, many) lows of trying to build a dome out of polythene. It would have been fine, the instructions would have made sense and I would have sworn much, much less, had the structure in question been erected on a nice flat lawn with plenty of space around it to spread out the sheet, nice soft ground to dig holes for the supporting poles and hadn't been a near constant wind that left it, not so much a tunnel as mess of steel tubing for so many weeks. Trying to put the sheeting over the tubes in anything more than a very light breeze is the sort of task that will leave you with broken fingers and a chase across fields following a couple of hundred square metres of wildly flapping parachute. Anyway, rocky ground, strong winds and no room aside, the thing is now up and has transformed magically from a hateful selection of steel and plastic to a warm safe place where tiny seeds are in the process of giving us lots of lovely veg in a few months. The weather has been, much like the rest of the country, a wild mixture of unpleasant, cold, north winds and warm sunshine interspersed with showers of drizzle, full blown rain, hail, polystyrene balls and, last night, a sprinkling of snow. The Trottenish Ridge has a fair covering this morning and I’m sure that the Cuillin is also suitably covered. Maria’s bum is still dry though we did get ready last night to launch her (I’d actually loaded the car with all the bits we needed – waders, life jackets, oars etc) then decided that the wind was just too icy. I asked myself whether, had she already been launched, I would have gone out fishing. And the answer was a resounding no bloody way. Tooooo cold. There’s always tonight anyway; as long as the wind holds off and stays as it is at the moment. Tomorrow I’m going to Broadford for a brief site visit then off to my secret loch to hopefully catch some more pike. I had a rather special day there a little while ago and one of the things I’m intending to do tomorrow, apart from enjoying the place and catching some more beautiful fish, is to write an article for Waterlog about the place, the fish and what it’s like being a coarse angler (at heart) living on Skye (where, of course, there’s no coarse fish). I think I’ll just paste the whole thing in as an entry, for those of you who would care to read it. It will surely be the longest entry yet. Watch this space. Other wonderful things: Cuckoos (early April actually), drumming snipe (late March), the first house martins (end of April), starlings nesting in the garage roof and putting up with some serious drum noise, a new rifle to help supplement our dinner times with lovely, tasty, healthy rabbit, sunshine, sea views and springing optimism. And also an event, which helped restore even my faith in human nature (grumpy old cynic that I am). A client left me a message and seemed a bit grumpy to be truthful. I phoned her back expecting trouble only to be told that a cheque she’d given me for work done last November still hadn’t been cashed and would I be kind enough to pay it in as it would run out soon. I assured her that I would be extremely surprised if I’d not got it into my bank the day after she gave it me but she insisted it hadn’t gone through. So I checked my statements and found a gap in them when the account was ‘reset’, meaning that I was missing 12 days at the end of November last year. After a call to the bank and a chat about my problem, they agreed that no, an amount of £380 hadn’t been paid in, despite me having a paying in stub showing that it had. Now, ordinarily I would have certainly missed a sizeable amount like that but we’d restructured a small credit card balance, switching it to zero interest rate and there was, briefly, more cash in there than would otherwise be the case. So we missed it. Anyway, the upshot was that I collected another cheque from a lovely honest lady the following day and had a £380 bonus that I thought I’d already had. I have asked myself a number of times, whether I would have brought it up had the situation been reversed and I’d like to think I would have… but I’m not absolutely sure. I suppose it would depend on how flush I was at the time. Who knows? A couple of things are for sure though, Mrs Bruley helped restore my shaky faith in human nature and The Bank of Scotland seem remarkably good at loosing cheques and aren’t any better at getting back to you when they’re supposed to be looking into it. Better get on, chicken shed conversion to finish and big pike to dream about… Wednesday 31 3 2010 Ha Ha – fooled again! That snipe must be shivering in its feathers! Yesterday it was really cold – so cold that, by 11.00 I’d lit the fire (it’s going again today and it’s 12.50). Not cold as far as the temperature read-out in the car was concerned, no, according to that piece of electronic trickery, it was 8 degrees but, add in the bitter, appendage freezing east wind and anything sticking out said most definitely otherwise. Today we woke to snow, only a little, granted, but nasty white stuff none the less. By 10.00, a great big storm blew in and left the road covered in really slippery polystyrene balls that sort of melted down into a hard packed smush of ice. I went to Dunvegan and nearly came a cropper at the top of our road when, at 15 mph, the car slid onwards into the middle of the A850. If someone had been coming, I’d have had a bit of explaining to do to the insurance company (and Max!) Now, as I prepare to start work again, the sky is a boiling mixture of dark and light grey, white on the Trottenish and the sea is a horrible steely grey sheet topped with white caps and dark smudges as snow and sleet showers move in from the north. Glad I’ve got the fire on… Thursday 25 3 2010 Holy springtime, is that a snipe? I never really used to take much notice of specific annual events when I was in the Midlands. Ok, I couldn’t help missing the daffodils on the roadside verges, the odd snowdrop or even carpets of bluebells in the wood surrounding the pond where I used to go chasing carp. But I never actually listened or looked out for them. Up here, the changes seem more obvious, more un-missable – or perhaps, after a winter of high winds and loads of rain (like we normally get) or one filled with frost, snow and ice (like we’ve just had), I’m more inclined to look for them. Anyway, sitting in my drum loft window last night with a dram, my present Stephen King and prior to making a right racket, I heard the unmistakable thrum of a snipe marking out its territory and knew that spring was sprung. This morning, the loch was as flat as a mirror backed snooker table, the sky was a huge, white dotted blue screen and the temperature was on the pleasant side of 11 degrees. Bring it on I say… Friday 12 3 2010 Chucking a ‘sicky’… Skipped work, had a flexi day, bombed off. Whatever, I decided that too much work makes Richard a right dull boy so, on Wednesday just gone, decided that the Loch at Plockton needed a visit. I dropped Max into work then headed off south, through a load of road works and then over the bridge. As I drove down the track to the loch, my heart sank a little as I could see white/grey ice spread over the surface along the north bank, however, in the distance, down towards the southern corner, dark ripples spread on a clear surface. I’ve said it before, but it really is a wonderful place, surrounded as it is, by 1000-foot peaks clad in the green cloak of fir trees and broken by large outcrops of grey rock. Once settled, I sat in peaceful silence, the surface a still film, reflecting the hills all around. After a little while and as I was halfway through my second cup of hot blackcurrant juice, a light breeze sprung up and a lady walking her dog stopped to have a chat. “Chilly morning to be sitting around”, she said. I was warm though in several layers of thermal clothing, my waders and a waterproof jacket. I watched as she walked towards the south end of the loch and silence descended once more. I began to make out a faint tinkling sound, just like the chattering of a thousand sparrows or finches in tall trees and soon realised it was the wavelets breaking on the edge of the ice, some 100 yards or so to my left. As the breeze picked up, it became more insistent and, after a while began to become quite a blot on the surrounding calm. Within an hour, the effect of the waves meant that the ice edge had been pushed back another 20 yards or so, the sun had come out and I was glad that, hopefully, the next time I visit, I’ll have the whole of the loch to fish. Can’t wait. As usual, the pike were elusive, in fact I’m beginning to think the little chap that Garry caught is the only one in there. I’ll keep trying though… Tuesday 2 3 2010 Just another day near the Arctic Circle. There have been no more otters in my toilet to report. When Max read the title to the last entry about said otter, she had palpitations, I think, imagining that I’d finally lost the plot completely and written about something that really shouldn’t be written about! Once she realised the otter really was an otter, I’m sure she felt a huge wave of relief wash over her and then a twang of jealousy that she hadn’t seen it (she really loves them). Today, I’ve been sending pdf copies of a few house designs over to Layla (the ex-plumber come engineer come gender-switch guitarist) as the planners (bless 'em) have decided that the simple bungalow we’ve put in with his planning application is not up to scratch. I actually agree that the site deserves a much better detailed design and that the little simple (boring) bungalow we’ve put on it, doesn’t do it justice at all. If the client wants to save money though, what’s a designer to do? The weather today is all glorious sunshine, clear blue sky, frost on the grass and snow on the mountains. In short, beautiful as it is, it’s much better seen from inside where it’s warm and not out there where it would be quite possible to lose a nose. I’m playing Vivaldi and just about to carry on with Colin and Val’s building warrant drawings, which should be finished by the end of the week (otters, frost, snow and Layla permitting). Oh well, back to it… Tuesday 23 2 2010 An otter in my toilet… Ok, so it wasn’t actually in my toilet, or even in the room itself. It was maybe 150m away in loch Greshornish paddling along on the surface, hanging motionless and then diving, all sinuous silky grace as though poured from an invisible jug. I only watched it for a minute or two – just long enough for me to finish what I was doing and, as I flushed the loo, he disappeared. The sun today is brilliant, as it was most of yesterday but it’s cold – bitter in fact. Hardly any wind, but what there is, is sharp enough to slice off an unprotected nose. Beautiful here. Think I’ll nip and see if there’s an otter about… Sunday 21 2 2010 A rather lovely weekend. I made a New Year’s Resolution this year. I don’t normally, other than the usual ‘I’m going to drink more, do less exercise and spend more on fishing tackle’ which, strangely enough I usually manage to stick to. No, this year, after the run up to Christmas and entirely stressful, working till 10 pm every bloody evening extravaganza, I made a decision that, having come up to Skye to have a more fulfilling, less pressured life, I was going to do just that. I was going to make sure that I spent more time doing the things that I love and, make sure Max was on board too. I was going to fish more, walk in the beautiful landscape more (joints permitting) and spend more quality time with Max and, for the last few weeks, I’ve actually had at least a day or half day during the week, doing just that. I’ve still got a heavy, self induced work load (being self-employed it’s difficult to say NO) but the difference is that now, things just have to wait. I’m not a surgeon or RAF helicopter rescue pilot so none of the work I do is ever a matter of life or death. If something desperate comes up, usually due to planner’s whim or the road’s department wanting an access fit for HGVs leading to a small bungalow, I swear a bit, stomp around the house cursing their bones then make the necessary alterations. No sweat. Well, only a mild perspiration anyway. At the moment, I’m sitting in the lounge tapping away at my extremely underused lap-top while Max is at the table painting. The dogs are both curled up as tight as is possible on their extremely snugly beds, the house is warm and quiet, classical music is tinkling away in the background and outside the day has slipped away, leaving a cold, snow covered world and clear, star-filled night sky. (Once again, no mention of this by the weather guessers.) Yesterday we went to the lovely little loch near Plockton, which is rapidly becoming something of an obsession for me and, initially, due to the thick ice that seemed to be spread over the whole surface, simply walked around with the dogs having a lovely time. Near the southeast corner my heart skipped several beats when we discovered the surface generally clear and wind rippled apart from a ten foot thick band in the margin. Back to the car we went and within half an hour, I was sitting behind my rods with a couple of deadbaits suspended beneath red-tipped floats that sat really prettily amongst the reflections. Max went off to explore with Harry and Bella pulling wildly at scents only they could smell and I watched as they made their way around the far side of the loch. All around us, craggy, heather clad hills and mixed woodland spread right down to the water’s edge, various ducks flew, whistling and with frantically beating wings, breaking up the reflections as they slid to a halt and fractured the mirror image. There were a few families wandering around the banks and a couple of highly determined looking lady walkers who came striding along (one singing quite unashamedly and, if the truth be told, not too well either) but generally we had the place to ourselves. I caught nothing (again) but really couldn’t have cared less. A red-tipped float always looks sublime against the reflected splendour of Scottish mountains, whether it slides away to the pull of a large Scottish pike or not and, you know, there was a period of maybe 5 minutes when the silence was so complete, I only knew for certain that I hadn’t been struck totally deaf by physically making a noise myself. That is what I call quiet. I think its banks will be seeing a fair bit of me this coming spring and summer. If it wasn’t for work, I’d be there tomorrow... Monday 8 2 2010 It’s Spring, no it’s Winter … I just can’t tell. Wednesday afternoon just gone, I went over to see Colin and Val to deliver drawings and pick up a couple of cheques. We chatted about the job and I was probably there about an hour and a half. I went in from a warmish day with white fluffy cloud and sunny breaks and came out to a darkening one full of grey cloud and swirling snow. The Kildonan loop road was sitting under an inch or so of freshly fallen white stuff. Ok, we were forecast a bit more winter and yes, they did say that we may get a cold snap with the chance of a snow flurry or two but, not being a great believer of the weather guessers, I didn’t really hold my breath or get the wax out for the sledge runners. And I certainly didn’t expect four inches of snow to fall over the next two hours. I came down from the drum loft (I’d been sorting out pike tackle and tying a few rigs) and stepped out into a raging blizzard. Once inside I said to Max that, if it carried on till morning, we’d have a foot or more and probably be stuck. Then, around 10.30, we heard what at first sounded like hail on the Velux but on checking, turned out to be rain. By the morning there were a few sad looking patches of snow lying between the heather and that was about it. Today, Monday, is warm and sunny with high cloud and a light North wind. It could be late April. The weather guessers reckon we could have more snow and right nasty stuff by the middle of the week but, as Garry and I are off to Plockton to try the ‘new loch’ again as it was frozen solid last time we went (but looked lovely all the same), I hope their guesses are way out and we’ll be able to cast a bait at least. Who knows though, with weather like we’ve had recently, we may be in the middle of a heat wave by then and I haven’t even got any sun screen yet… Saturday 30 1 2010 Saturday morning – quarter to twelve What a lovely, sunny, beautiful lazy day. Max is sniffling about having just got out of bed (she has got a cold so it’s excusable I reckon) and I’m sitting at the computer in my finest, Guinness dressing gown, doing emails, looking at images of local(ish) lochs for pike fishing potential and generally having a laid-back time of it. The sun is most definitely out, the sky a soft light blue almost exactly the same shade as a … what’s that flower called? Small petals, pretty. Can’t remember. Anyway, it’s like those, really serene and hinting at Spring (Just remembered what the flowers are called –ironically – ‘forget me nots’). Work is busy, the new car is great (despite some idiot denting the door with his door – don’t worry, I reported him to the police after he drove off and they’ve got him - I’ll let you know how that turns out) and all the important things are ticking along pretty well thanks. Monday coming has been designated a DAY OFF since I realised that I seemed to be getting all of the downside of being self-employed with very few of the good bits. Garry and I are off to Loch Achhhhnnnaaaid – ha hnnnd (or something like that) near Plockton to try for the old toothy critters, relax and generally chill right out. He’s in Arbroath at the moment visiting his daughter and new granddaughter and has promised to visit the local tackle shop for some essential supplies. I can now feel a little wood-chopping coming on and, as an old fella in a funny hat is walking along our drive this way (dad), I’d better go get dressed. See you soon… Wednesday 13 1 2010 And then there was Ice… It feels quite odd writing ‘2010’ as a date. It doesn’t, somehow, sound like a proper year – rather, something out of a science fiction novel or movie. Surely by now, we ought to have jet packs and, for really long journeys, be able to tele-port ourselves. You know, like when we have to go to Asda or something. I don’t really know where that introduction came from. I’m sitting at my desk about to start work and decided, on the spur of the moment, to add an entry. I’ve been intending to add an entry since Christmas Eve though so I suppose, in truth, it wasn’t really a spur of the moment thing – but I’m sure you know what I mean. The intro subject came about because it quite genuinely seemed odd writing the date and, as there have been about a thousand topics and events over the last few weeks that have been worthy of note for these pages, it seemed a good enough place to start. Much like the rest of the country, Skye has been in the grip of a ‘wee cold spell’ lately. Unlike the rest of the country though, this really is mightily unusual for Skye. Being surrounded by sea, close to the Gulf Stream and subject to (apparently) catabatic winds or something like that (thanks Paddy), we don’t really get intense cold. When the U.K. in general is wrapping itself in the duvet and watching icicles form on the windowsills, we’re usually just wet and windy without the slippery stuff. Mother nature seems to have decided enough is enough though this winter and given us a real one. We haven’t had a lot of snow, in fact we’ve probably only had about 4-6 inches over the whole month long cold snap, but it’s still here. On the heather croft land, the peat has frozen solid and looks as though it’s covered in a thick layer of clear varnish or super-glue. Our 2 sheep have, for the last few weeks been confined to the upper part of their 30 degree sloping field because, to venture anywhere near the bottom would have them sliding at high speed into the fence. We’ve had to sprinkle straw all over the ground around the feeding area just so they can stand up. If I were them, I’d only come out of the shelter to eat. Christmas was good. A nice relaxed time with mom and dad round for Christmas dinner and evening, then again for Boxing day and then possibly the quietest New Year’s Eve ever due to a last minute cancellation of a party at Garry and Nicki’s. We saw the New Year in and then shuffled up the icy road to mom and dad’s for a dram. The wintry conditions have made for superb views, with scenes remarkable enough to leave me quite literally speechless. I’ve never seen quite so much snow on the Trottenish Ridge, with each rise and fall of its dozen or so swooping miles made extra smooth and rounded by the startlingly white covering. The Cuillin look absolutely terrifying – spiky crenellated peaks with every aspect of them exaggerated by the stark whiteness. The Outer Isles seem to have moved several miles closer during the last month; covered in snow, their mountains seem much grander and, with sunlight turning them gold, they seem but a short hop across the sea. What else has been going on? Several of the sea lochs have frozen (loch Dunvegan was, on Christmas Eve, frozen from one side to the other – 4 of 5 miles of open water – the edges creaking and cracking as the tide dropped). My 2nd book has gone off to an agent in Edinburgh and I’m so nervous about the outcome I’ve been putting off phoning ‘St Pete’ to find out any news for weeks now. We bit the bullet and bought a new car, well, a demonstrator, 2 months old with 1400 miles on the clock, Subaru Forrester diesel. It’s lovely and is averaging 45 mpg, which makes it even more lovely and just the job in the snow and ice. I built a sledge after not being able to buy one on the island (I think all the kids had snatched them up, which I reckon is a bit mean when there are bigger, 42 year old kids without one). As with most of the stuff I build, it was made entirely out of tat in the garage – 2 pieces of 6x2 as the runners, some decking as the seat, 3 galvanised steel ties bars used for holding down houses, to tie it together plus a couple of 2x3’s for a bit of extra strength, then strips of aluminium checker plate turned upside down and screwed to the runners to make it go fast and render it largely unsteerable. It survived several runs down the steep hill at Lyndale and, having proved its worth, is awaiting a coat of varnish and a bit of tweaking. Max has a bruise on her leg the size of Portugal following our last run down which ended at different times and places for both of us and the sledge. I think that’s about it really. There’s almost certainly more and I could, work aside, keep writing all day, quite happily but, hey-ho, drawings are calling and the need to pay for the new car. Happy New Year… Tuesday 22 12 2009 Where’d the time go again… It seems like every time I write an entry, I end up mentioning that ‘it’s been a bit hectic’. We’ve either been digging holes, building stuff, chopping down stuff, burning stuff, laying it, shifting it, building it or breaking it. This time it’s just been work, for both of us but for me, being self-employed and therefore at the mercy, somewhat, of client’s demands and pressures from the bank balance (not to mention my own, self imposed pressure of wanting to get things finished before… the weekend, our holidays, Christmas – always something)it's certainly been a bit more manic. There’s been at least 2 occasions in the last 2 weeks when I’ve switched off the computer at midnight, several around 10 and most nights after 8 or so. So I’ve not had the time or inclination to sit down and type on a keyboard when that’s effectively what I’ve been doing all day. Anyway, Christmas nearly here, still got loads to do but hey-ho, it’ll probably get finished. There’s only so much I can do. Harry’s getting back to strength complete with a rather dashing scar and a shaved bit that makes it look decidedly like a turkey leg. It will be a few months before he’s running around again, but he’ll get there. Delivered a set of drawings to Murray and Ellie down in Broadford today and the journey was quite remarkable. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the views look as stunning. The sea a flat calm mirror, the tops of the mountains brilliant white against an equally brilliant blue sky, snow lying everywhere and sunshine bouncing and reflecting enough to dazzle. Looking across the water from Broadford to the mainland, the view was almost arctic. Murray and Ellie were delighted with their plans – the house turning out even better than they could have hoped, Murray’s mom left to go on delivering prezzies and all of a sudden, I started to feel Christmassy. I’m sure I’ll drop another line before, but if I don’t, have a lovely one. I’m going to pour a nice big one and have half an hour on my drums… Friday 4 12 2009 Just a quickie... Harry, the silly beagle boy, has snapped his cruciate ligament chasing Bella round and round as he does. He’s already been to the vets once this week for x-rays and today, actually in a few minutes, he’s going back in again for an op. He’s fit and healthy, the operation is usually very successful and he handles anaesthetic well so there is no need to worry. I still do though… Thursday 12 11 2009 Digging big holes (or crofting, as it’s also known)… After the firework and bonfire party mentioned in the last entry, we woke a little later than normal and spent the morning ‘coming round’. Max in particular took much longer then normal and then basically groaned her way through the day until she groaned her way into bed in the evening. Despite the late night and alcohol effects we still managed to dig what looks at the moment, a lot like a gun encampment – without the gun of course – but will, once a roof has been added, and a trench dug around the outside to try and prevent water dribbling in, provide a nice shelter for the sheep when its hammering down or frosty. The title of this entry refers also to the metaphoric hole down which we are tipping cash at the moment to justify our acre of steeply sloping useless croft land that, without supplementary feed, would support about half a sheep, three or four rabbits or one, anorexic pigmy goat. What with buying them in the first place, injecting them, feeding them, having them sheered, building a fank to contain them when needed, fencing the area off, new tyres on the trailer, a new floor on the trailer, transporting them on a 240 mile round trip to get them slaughtered, paying the abattoir to do the job and getting the box of lamb joints back here into our new, bought specifically for the job, small chest freezer, I’ve calculated we need to sell every joint at about £35.00 a pound to break even. And that is without having to buy the trailer onto which said floor and tyres have been fitted. Add that into the equation and it would be a similar price to gold. Having said that, it is quite enjoyable, we will be kept in meat through the winter and the trailer and fencing should last us a few years. Pity Max doesn’t like lamb too much. Anyway, anyone want to buy some very expensive lamb chops… Tuesday 10 11 2009 All sparkle and no bang… The last few days have been a mixture of cold, east or south easterly winds with showers sharp enough to slice cold skin. The sea has been making a fairly impressive whooshing noise in the evening and the stars have blinked on and off as dark clouds race towards Iceland. Today there are huge, mountain sized clouds on the northern horizon but the day is calm and really quite warm. The sea is placid with just the odd patch of shimmery, breeze-rippled water to spoil the reflections. I’ve just spent half an hour looking at cymbals on the internet for my impending birthday and have decided on one in particular that, although isn’t the exact one I’d really like, will be a splendid addition to my kit without the need for a second mortgage to buy it. And, who knows, if people start paying their bloody bills a bit quicker once I’ve invoiced them for work completed, I may be able to afford another for Christmas (moan over). Garry and Nicki came over last weekend for a curry and general get-together and we celebrated the evening with a superb fire (built earlier in the day) and selection of sparkly fireworks and rockets. The fire was, although I say it myself, absolutely splendid. Built in a wigwam shape, about 6 feet high and actually nailed together for stability, it flamed like a Roman Candle within minutes of lighting. The fireworks, although pretty, must have been built to European quiet standards – designed for use without scaring dogs or annoying anyone of a non-firework persuasion – not a single bang between them. I particularly like the rockets Garry let off. Not realising that there were special tubes already placed to launch them, he stuck them in the ground and maybe a tad too firmly – watching rockets go through their paces and exploding at ground level is a rare treat. Always follow the firework code kids… Tuesday 3 11 2009 All hail St. Pete (possibly)… It’s been a long while since I’ve thought about the possibility of my writing being anything other than a bit of fun. Something to do when I need a break from drawing plans of houses and boggy areas of hillside with red boundaries to be read by a few (dear) readers who, like me, are possibly a bit daft. (I jest!! – I know you are all highly intelligent, discerning lovers of fine literature.) I love ‘A Fall of Stone’ and I love ‘Breakfast Will Do’, my second, as yet un-published novel. I also feel extremely proud of the short stories published in ‘Waterlog’, possibly the finest, and most literate of fishing magazines. And I also think that the jottings I scribble here, at my desk and send out into the ether are well written (usually) and I hope, entertaining and interesting. (I also know that may they often take the form of only mildly controlled rants about stuff I dislike or disagree with – but to quote most teenagers I’ve ever spoken to – Whateveeeerrrr.) But, since I’ve been on Skye I’ve had little time to even think about the possibility of it ever being more than simply something to do when I have a bit of spare time. Which brings me to the heading of this entry. I had a meeting with a man called Pete who may be able to help me change all that. Working for Highland Arts, his job is to promote authors and literature in general, in Scotland and in particular, the Highlands and, despite a scarily slow start and a mess of email correspondence, he seemed generally impressed with my work and what I have achieved so far. I spoke frankly with him about ‘Breakfast Will Do’ and how I had made enquiries about self-publishing it this winter and he suggested that, taking into account how well received my first one was, I ought to let him try and help me to get a proper book deal with a proper publisher. I feel I’ve been here before, a few times actually, but this time does feel different. Maybe it’s because it’s an Arts Council funded thing and they don’t want any money from me. Maybe it’s because they don’t stand to gain anything financially from making my new book a success. Maybe it’s because I’ve always known that at some point, exactly this will happen. Or maybe it’s because he was simply a nice bloke who seemed to really get where I was coming from, appreciated what I’d try to do so far and knew what I wanted to achieve in the future. Please, wish me luck… Friday 30 10 2009 Getting the finger off your neighbour. October’s nearly gone, Maria’s sitting on her newly reconditioned trailer in front of the garage and the wind is strong, cold and from the east. I remember, when we lived in Wolverhampton, coming home from one of our trips to Skye and standing at our bedroom window, looking out at the back gardens, patio furniture, ornamental ponds, kid’s bikes and trampolines and thinking how I’d really love to live on Skye. It seemed, back then that, in Wolverhampton at least, the whole of humanity was squashed, battery hen-like, into little groups of boxes corralled by tiny squares of green lawn and concrete slabs. Every window looked at another hundred similar panes. Now, when I look out of the roof window to my left, I can see (hang on, I’ll have a look) 2 houses, a garage, a timber cabin thing in the shape of a Toblerone section and one car. I can also make out, in the far distance, the tiny blobs of white houses sprinkled across the hillside but they’re so far away (maybe 6 miles or more) that, to all intents and purposes, they could be sheep; or big chunks of calcite. The crucial point to this is the fact that I can see, from my window, an area of, what, 30 square miles? Back in the Midlands, if I were able to see that far, I would have been looking at thousands upon thousands of houses. Which brings me on to the title of this entry. You may remember, dear reader, a number of entries some time ago about a miracle in Kildonan. In the months following, I put up with obscene gestures from a couple of people involved every time our cars passed in opposite directions along the road. These particular protagonists don’t do it anymore (largely because it must be quite difficult to make such gestures from the window of a bus – not impossible, just more difficult). However, I now seem to have picked up another finger pointing neighbour, probably because they disagree with another planning application I’ve recently put in that means they’ll be able to see 5 houses now in their panorama. How sad. People really ought to keep a sense of perspective and not resort to such disgraceful, obscene behaviour. Particularly if you’re a mother, mid forties, supposedly respectable, business owning pillar of the community… Tuesday 13 10 2009 A rather lovely time. Just had a visit from Son and Tone – Max’s favourite aunty and uncle who actually aren’t aunty and uncle at all. In fact, after this last visit, I’m sure she’s actually Max’s sister, separated at birth. I’ve never really noticed it before but they are so similar in so many ways – how they think, what they think, what they like and dislike and how they do things (organised and slightly bossy but in a nice way!). They even look remarkably similar. It was, unfortunately, a flying visit over a long weekend and we both wished they could have stopped much longer. Oh well, not to worry, it was great to see them and we’ll hopefully see them again for much longer next summer. The weather at the moment is a bit of a mix – periods of high winds which shift and change, coming from all points of the compass in successive days. Today it’s the turn of the south west and with it, as is most often the case, wet dreary weather, overcast skies and low cloud. As I write, whilst waiting for a map section to be emailed from Glasgow Map Centre, the cloud is sitting at about 400 feet, forming a light grey cap over Uig and the Trottenish Ridge. A little blue-hulled creel boat is motoring slowly from the bay to the east, past the headland and in towards Loch Greshornish. He’s out in all weathers and today, I would imagine he’s rather wet. The salmon fishing season is drawing to a close (Thursday the 15th) and I would like to hope that Derek would manage to get us a beat for the last afternoon or at least for an hour before dark. If not, I’ll be out on Maria for an end of season pollack or two. I can feel winter in the air now; a biting coldness on occasion, first thing when I walk the dogs. Let’s hope for a good one without any scary winds… Monday 5 10 2009 Anyone order a hurricane? Well, blow me down – quite literally! I finally got round to ordering new hubs and suspension units for Maria’s trailer after not getting round to it last autumn and they arrived last week. Wanting to make sure that the bolts didn’t rust, I went into to see ‘Malky’ at West Coast Marine to get nice shiny stainless ones. We chatted and I explained that Maria was still out, bobbing at her mooring in the bay at Greshornish and that I hoped we didn’t have any bad weather before I could get the trailer up to speed and get her on to dry land. He looked at me with one part scorn, one part pity and several parts ‘idiot landlubber Midlander’ and proceeded to tell me of the 50mph winds, gusting 70 over the next few days. Now, the locals are not averse to winding up us incomers and, with the sky blue and a mild breeze just shifting the branches, I hoped this was just another case of exactly that. I was wrong. Meriel’s daughter was up staying B&B for 3 nights with her husband and the wind certainly put on a show for them, giving them a couple of days to remember. The tiles rattled and the house shuddered, anything not tied down or of sufficient weight, was swiftly blown off into the distance. Torrential rain came, sideways, filling the rivers to bursting point and causing streams to flow in every ditch and along every road. I spent Saturday frantically fitting the new units onto the trailer so that I could get Maria in as soon as the wind abated and now, with shiny painted wheels and rust free suspension, the trailer sits on the drive under a blue sky. Maria is swinging gently at anchor and the sea is a benign, gently rippled expanse of silvery grey. It was so calm and lovely yesterday (Sunday), that Max and I went out for an hour to try and catch tea. Of course, we chose to motor out a short while before a really strong downpour that left us (well me anyway – Max stayed in the cuddy), shivering and wet. I caught loads of tiny coalfish and pollack, lost one huge fish and landed another pollack around the 5lb mark (too big and lovely to kill). We had chips and egg for tea and lovely it was too… Tuesday 29 9 2009 Now, where was I? ‘The last few weeks have been busy’. That was the beginning of the entry I started writing on the 1st of September (and never finished). And they were, busy. Thing is, they’ve carried on being busy and don’t really look like ever stopping. “We take too much on you know.” Max said this a few days ago – Sunday I think after I’d just been over to Glendale with Dad to tow an unwanted horsebox home (don’t ask). The tyres were all flat but at least they responded to the attentions of the air pump and only one went flat again before arrival back at Kildonan. The horsebox is to be put to use transporting 2 of our rams off on their ‘holiday’ to Dingwall while we take responsibility for 2 more and receive back a mystery package in the shape of a large cardboard box full of vacuum packed cuts of lamb… But it does seem the case that we have too much on all the time, what with work, building stuff (dog-runs, raised beds, woodstores, garage loft conversions, fencing, gravel laying), collecting stuff for recycling into other, totally useful stuff, trailers, horseboxes, other fencing, sheep and of course collecting logs to fuel the fires. Perhaps I’m just being a really grumpy old git but it does feel a bit as though we need to be able to do nothing for a while. This winter there’s a list of stuff I want to get finished so that, come the summer, we can enjoy ourselves and, more to the point, enjoy the house and grounds that we’ve worked to put round us. So, with the timber we got from Mike’s site at Glendale, we’re going to build decking; at some point we need to build a poly-tunnel so we can grow more veggies next summer and turn our raised beds over to (purely) carrots, tatties, beetroot and radish; and upstairs, we really want to get rid of the dog and fire-stained carpet (should never have bought cream coloured) and lay proper floor boards instead. This is going to entail taking up the existing chipboard stuff and making an unbelievable mess. What else have we been up to? Well, we had a lovely visit from Jaynee Mansell and her two children, Jamie and Abi in August – a complete surprise for Mom and Dad, whom they’d really come to see. September saw us welcoming my old long lost ‘brother’ Ade, Hel, Ryan and Nathan, the Lowe Clan, for a few days and a right good time we had too. Ade said that he’d really like to have seen a Golden Eagle and a Sea Eagle in the 2 days that they were up, a tall order really but one that we managed to sort (plus a Peregrine Falcon, Raven, seals and a load of mackerel off Maria). Add to this, fine wine, Southern Comfort, too much to eat and much laughter and you can guess that we all had a pretty good time. The following week we travelled down to the Midlands for fishing (with Al) and all sorts of family visiting including seeing our nephew, Ben off to start school and managed to see the Lowes again for fishing and eating. 1600 miles later, we were back home in need of a break. Now, as September shuffles off and October takes over, the weather has broken and is beautiful, calm, clear and warm. The river is still high, the salmon are running (I’ve had 5 in the last week!) and work is still ticking along, busily. Tonight, the sea is flat and later, if I ever manage to get any work done, I’m going to take Dad out for an hour or so on Maria to see if the Mackerel are still there. And of course, there’s more to write and more to tell but time is pressing, Anne wants her extension drawings, Ali wants to know where he’s got to dig, Harry and Bella want a walk and I want to go fishing. Always things to do. See you soon… Wednesday 5 8 2009 The return of the Kildonan Tinkers- part 2. Back in September last year I wrote an entry about how, in my advancing years, I seemed to be morphing slowly into my father in a particular way. Namely, my need to make things last, to re-use, modify give a new lease of life. Now, while I’m not at quite the same level as the old fella (I can’t get excited about stuff that really is just junk and needs to be consigned to the fire or landfill) I have to admit to getting a real buzz over salvaging something. Thankfully, Max is of the same ilk and recently we’ve had a real ‘tinkering’ field day. A client for whom I’ve done planning and building warrant work for in Glendale for two houses, who lives in Lancashire asked me if I wanted any of the stuff left on site as it wouldn’t be worth him transporting it all the way back down south. Knowing the site, I knew that there was a load of timber cladding that would be ideal (in a recycling sort of way) for areas of decking we’ve been thinking about; one in front of the house with a great view and another for at the rear of the house for when it’s sunny but cold. I also knew there were a few other items that I felt sure I could find a use for. The upshot is that, last weekend, Max and I adapted the boat trailer for use as a timber cargo transporter and came away from the site with a whole load of booty, namely: 50 odd square metres of 30mm thick external timber cladding, an old wheel barrow that needs a new wheel (ordered, Ebay, £8), a spade, an old black plastic bin for soaking shredded newspaper in (we turn it into dense paper blocks for burning on the log burner – ‘Ekomania paper log maker’, Ebay, £16), a whole load of timber scraps, ideal for kindling and a silver ‘S’ reg, VW transporter van. Ok, the van is actually still on the site as technically, it won’t start but Kenny is going over to have a look and see whether it’s worth saving. It looks pretty good to me and I’m sure someone will buy it once it’s MOT’d and back on the road. It must sound, to the outsider as though my client must have more money than sense but, thinking about it, I really am doing him a favour. The van won’t start and would need either fixing or towing back to Lancashire. Either way, this is going to be an expense for a businessman with better things to be doing. The timber has been paid for, used and what is left is surplus to requirements - a business expense. In return for this booty, I’m in the process of arranging quotes for the initial stages of his building work and will liase with the builders once the job has actually started. All in all, it’s work that would have cost my client a fair amount of money. So every ones’ happy – I’ve saved more stuff that would have probably been burned and instead, will look lovely as decking around our house. I’ve got a spare wheelbarrow, spade and a big plastic bin for making my paper logs. Oh, and I nearly forgot – an old oil drum for turning into a fire bucket for burning rubbish on a windy day. I can’t wait to stand around it in a duffle coat, drinking sweet tea from a flask and waiving a placard… Tuesday 4 8 2009 The return of the Kildonan Tinkers Oh blimey Charlie it’s August and soon it will be Christmas. The last time I wrote anything, we were about to have a week off doing touristy things on the island and I have to report that we had a fine, fine time. Spent some time down at Elgol, walking along the coast, doing a bit of fishing, watching the birds and wearing out the dogs. It was a great week; even though I’m still not up to fighting fitness and unable to do the big hills. The summer has been, largely, excellent. The sun has shone and the winds have been light, right through May, June and July. We’ve had hardly any rain and as a result, the rivers have been trickles rather than torrents so the salmon and sea trout have stayed at sea. Maria has been earning her keep, taking us out catching pollack and the odd mackerel, but it’s been the wildlife that’s really shone this year rather than the fishing. I’ve been out a couple of times at night, catching fish, watching sunsets that, even by Skye standards, have been remarkable and being entertained by dolphin, sea-eagles, fluorescent glowing insects and whales. One trip with Max, grabbed in a spare hour before going off to see ‘Harry Potter and the Raging Hormones’ (ok I lie, but it should have been called that), we motored out to a group of several hundred Gannets, diving off Greshornish Point. The sea was literally filled with millions of tiny baitfish and yet, bizarrely, no mackerel. What did appear, 20 feet off the bow, was a Minkie Whale, breaching the surface and swallowing a few thousand fish with each gulp, closely followed by another. They breached and dived a few times each before we had to go and left with us a wonderful image. I could have almost touched them. Now, to the title of this entry – I’ll let you know later… Friday 19 6 2009 Must be progress then ... Just had a meeting with someone I've not seen for a while - and I was dreading it. We've had a few house problems, nothing major but niggling things that can eat away until, boom, everything goes up in the air. Letters had been sent but things had not progressed at all until Max's boss, the solicitor, fired one off and now we've had a meeting. Johnnie, the guy who built our house arrived with John Alec and Storn and, after an initially frosty start during which I suggested we reconvene when the solicitor is present, it all went well. Perhaps I've learned a thing or 2 today and maybe Johnnie has too; all I know is that I'm glad the jobs are going to be put right and that at least we're speaking again now. I'll keep you informed, dear reader, of any developments and, surprisingly, I must say, feel glad that hatchets have been buried (not in skulls, thank God) and that Johnnie and I are friendly to each other again. Max and I have decided to have next week off to do the sort of touristy things that we don't seem to do any more and I've got to say, I'm ready for it. For the last few months (Dingwall Clinic aside) I've been working till late in the evening just to try and keep afloat. I've been stressing about work, money and all sorts of stuff - the sort of stuff we both, naively, thought we could get away from by moving to Skye I suppose. Work and money and relationships and everything else that go along with life today are I suppose, the same wherever you live. The issues may be different but it all bores down to the same thing at the end of the day I reckon: in a life where we need money to live, it's always going to be the same - at least the views here are far better... Sunday 14 6 2009 Veggies After a load of digging, cutting logs, more digging and then transporting about 4 tonnes of soil from Lou and Eric's, the raised bed is finally full of soil and not just an empty frame (forgot, we collected a trailer full of horse pooh too) with horse pooh in the bottom. Spent a very pleasant afternoon sowing seeds and transplanting seedlings on Saturday and now looking forward to eating the veg and salad stuff. Could do with hurrying up though, I'm hungry ... Wednesday 10 6 2009 My biggest entry yet... The following entry was typed over the 2 weeks that I was in the 'Geri clinic' as Garry so caringly described it. The website diary typing bit, deosn't seem to like spaces and gaps so it may well all run together like that weird book by Bob Dylan. I'm sure you'll get the gist though ... All sorts of stuff going on. (21st May 2009). Hospital time can be insufferably slow. Not unpleasant, just slow. It’s weird, an hour can pass, after lunch say, in almost the blink of an eye and yet, roll the hours one on top of another and the overall speed is often glacial. I’m here in Dingwall, at the Highland Rheumatology Centre, a place of surprisingly good cheer; considering the situation most of the patients find themselves, sorry, ourselves in. I nearly cancelled, or at least, I considered cancelling, purely because, at the moment I’m really not too bad. My fingers can be sore and stiff in the morning, my left knee still has limited movement and my right foot can be bloody painful but, generally, I’m not too bad. Not what you’d automatically consider as a hospital case (basket case possibly). The nurses and auxiliaries are all great; cheerful, helpful, often almost motheringly caring, as nurses usually are. The physio staff are dedicated, professional and generally pretty great at what they do. Some of them are pretty pretty too. Mealtimes are interesting. Despite the stereotypical view of NHS food, it’s really quite good. It’s not overly adventurous, but neither would I be if I were cooking for dozens every day; it’s the conversation that makes for unusual eating. Yesterday Bill and Willie (combined age of over 140) discussed the merits of local or general anaesthetic whilst having a knee replaced. Bill reckoned that he watched his foot being shifted out of the way (somewhere near his shoulder) while the surgeon hammered a great big spike into his thigh bone. Lovely. The ideal mealtime topic I say. We’ve also discussed fluid removal from swollen joints, steroid injecting, ulcers and skin grafts. All very interesting, I’m sure; perhaps though, better placed to somewhere other than the dinner table. All around the place there’s a collection of ‘sensible’ chairs, with straight backs and arms, in slightly tired, slightly old-fashioned fabrics and colours that remind me of my Nan’s flat. Various paintings, water colours and oils of traditional subjects adorn the cream wallpaper, 18 inches above the blue plastic handrail that runs the length of the building, along all walls, to remind everyone that, here, people are generally a little unsteady on their feet. It is (granny flat look aside), a great facility. A hydro pool allows exercise in a warm, protective environment with all the foam rings, floats, balls and lengths of tubing that you could throw a walking stick at. The gym is well equipped, if a little tired and slightly sad looking and the rooms are neat and tidy, overly warm but with windows that open just enough to let a breeze through, without enabling midnight escape. A number of the patients are here for their second (or more) visit and the praise that they have for the place speaks volumes. The afore mentioned Willie has been a regular visitor since his battle with Rheumatoid Arthritis began at age 30. AGE 30...30. I admit to being surprised by that one, until one of the nurses told me they have admissions as young as 17 on occasion. Willie is quite badly affected by the disease which seems to have attacked almost every joint in his body. He’s in a wheelchair at the moment after a bout of septic arthritis which left him hospitalised for several months and, by his own admission, very nearly dead. And yet he’s in good cheer, always. I really think, put in a similar position, I may have given in way before getting to that stage. Strength of character in abundance indeed. The nurses, auxiliaries, cleaners and physios are all wonderful, the first two in this list in particular stand out as angels in blue or yellow, or white. Dedicated, caring, professional, hard working and cheery, they go about their work as if in a protective cloak, one which seems to keep off the effects of the worst of the suffering going on all around them. They are quite remarkable. So, that’s what’s going on now, as I write, Saturday 23rd May 2009, but what of the last month since my last entry? Well, the computer suffered some sort of weird go slow that meant anything other than checking an e-mail while attached to the internet was almost impossible. It was thought to be a server problem then possibly something to do with the exchange at Edinbane then maybe something to do with the network (is that the same as the exchange?) and then, after 3 weeks and literally dozens of calls and collective hours talking to the helpdesk, they decided that a new router- come modem was required as a windows update may have knocked the original modem on its arse. 41 degrees in India with night-time temperatures of over 25 at the moment you know. Anyway, with all of the above, I couldn’t add to my diary until very recently and, as I was really busy getting stuff ready for my little trip away, nothing got done. The weekend prior to coming away, we had a visit of the Non Bagger’s Club of Great Britain (Sutton on the Forest and Skye Branch) for which I will, as secretary, be writing up the club report. For those of you not aware of the Non Baggers and what we stand for it’s really rather simple. Bagging Munroes (mountains in Scotland over 3,000 feet) is something of an obsession with a large portion of the British walking fraternity. They make lists, document when they walked up each mountain and basically turn the whole joy of being in amongst mountains into a great big list to tick off. Non Bagging is the act of climbing a mountain then not quite going to the summit. To this end, there’s some disagreement as to what satisfies a non bagging; half way up? At the car park at the start of the walk? In your jim jams at breakfast with a guidebook open on the table in front of you? It’s really not clear, in fact it’s downright ambiguous, but basically it comes down to not touching the summit cairn, or, if you do, at least doing it in a carefree, couldn’t really care less manner. Basically, the summit isn’t everything. We had a great time and even came up with a new sub-name for the club – ‘913’. There’s an outdoor shop near Kyle called 914 which is the metric equivalent of 3000 feet, the Munro. 913 on the other hand, isn’t. ‘913 for when getting to the summit isn’t everything’, quite a catch line I reckon. We welcomed 2 new members to our anarchic little merry band even though one of them, Alan, bought along with him ‘The Munro book’ Complete with notes on when and with whom he’d walked each one completed. There weren’t too many either that didn’t have a little red dot next to them and a little cluster of notes. The official club newsletter will have a few stern words I can tell you regarding the renouncing of his former life and a commitment to reversing all the bagging that he’s carried out so far. Also present was George, a keen footballer and mountain virgin. I think the lads introduced him splendidly to the great vertical outdoors by taking him up on the Forchen Ridge, Glen Shiel in foul weather then Bruach Na Frithe on the northern edge of the Cuillin in beautiful weather the following day. Both are classics, scary and a real achievement for a first couple of ascents. He did well the lad; got a bit scared on occasion, ached the following day in true hill walking fashion and vowed never to go up on ‘that Forchen Ridge’ again (at least I think that’s what he said). He was welcomed to the club and appointed ‘Decorum and Social Etiquette secretary’ for his superb table manners and general skills regarding all things ‘right and proper’. Maria is bobbing nicely, the sea is warming up and the Pollack are feeding well. No mackerel as yet but the Gannets are back, diving for something, so summer is almost officially here. On the subject of summer, I may well have set a new record for the earliest sighting of a cuckoo on Skye (March 26th or thereabouts). It sped across the road in front of the car at Fanks. I was only doing 20mph and saw it very clearly. Having reported it to the RSPB, they were originally sceptical but, when realising that the previous record was the 29th of March, he agreed that I may well have not been seeing things. I knew that they were an early visitor to Skye, having seen them and heard them in April before. Like me, they obviously can’t wait to get back there... Into week 2 25th May 2009. Bloody oystercatchers kept me awake last night with their shrill, high pitched peeping and squeaking. They perch on the fence surrounding the Dingwall F.C. ground which is about 50 yards away on the other side of the hospital car park during the day, behaving themselves. And then, as soon as dusk descends, they set off, backwards and forwards, flying at full pelt in groups of what seems like a thousand or more; peeping. In fact, to remind me of what seemed much louder last night, they’ve just set off, noisily, annoying the starlings with their stroppy, almost arrogant display. Better than listening to traffic I suppose. It’s 9.25 and I’m just about to get changed into my shorts and walk the 25 yards to the gym where I’ll peddle the bike for 10 minutes, bounce about on the trampoline for another 10, then repeat until tea time at 10.30 ish. At 11.00 I’m in the pool and by 12 I’ll be ready for lunch. Routine, the staple food of hospital life. See you later. No bike, no trampoline. Instead, Fran the chief physio, had other plans for me in the form of a big blow up yellow wellie called a Flowtron (sounds like some weird organ that Rick Wakeman would have played in the 70s) which inflates under pressure to force the knee straight, then deflates to make the joint relax. As the pressure drops, I then tense the muscles to keep the joint straight via muscle power. After 2 sessions of that, she then decided to hook me up to a further instrument of torture to make a particular muscle spasm and then relax. She basically electrocuted me in a controlled manner. There are people out there who’d pay good money for that sort of treatment. Just throw in some rubber pants and a whip... The second Tuesday of my little trip to Dingwall has begun with rice crispies, toast, fruit juice and coffee. The sun is shining and Ann, the nurse from Skye is on duty, also shining (with good cheer and bustling, optimistic energy). She bounced into the breakfast room with a shout of “morning Dudley!” I answered with “morning nutter!” Another day has begun. Wednesday morning – two sessions in the pool, lunch then an hour in the gym. Had lamb casserole today with soup to start and treacle pudding, custard and ice cream to finish. It’s a testimony to just how much exercise I’m doing that I’ve actually lost 6 pounds in the first week despite having a 3 course lunch every day, a slightly smaller meal in the evening, tea and biscuits on a pretty much constant tap and a couple of rounds of toast before going to sleep at 10.30 with another cup of tea. Wednesday is the day of the ‘ward round’ – one or other of the consultant comes along to prod and poke, administer drugs and generally discuss each individual patient’s situation and progress. There’s a palpable increase in tension, like having a Royal visit, until, once they’re away, the unit breathes out again and calm returns. I’m wearing a tea shirt with ‘BLAH BLAH BLAH’ on it at the moment and Trevor, a new patient this week has one with a smiley face and, written above it in scrawled black letters ‘YEAH, WHATEVER!’ Just the right level of irreverence, I reckon for such a visit. Over the last 2 weeks I’ve been thinking about the future and what it may hold for me, fitness and ability wise. I’ve basically decided that, come hell or high water, I am going to get back up the mountains of Skye and the Highlands. It was, after all, one of the reasons we moved to Skye in the first place and, while my thighs and the rest of my leg muscles have been shrinking due to the combined effect of arthritis and forced lack of use, Max’s have been honed to athletic excellence due to her sole responsibility for walking the dogs. It’s only fair that I try and catch up so we can start taking the dogs on more adventurous treks. My thoughts, while I’ve been here, have been concentrated on getting back to the summit of my favourite mountain – Blaven. I long to see the view from next to its cairn; the whole of the Cuillin Ridge stretching away to the north and south, Rhum and Eigg to the south west and, on a clear day, the sort you get on a crisp day in September say, the Outer Isles 70 miles or so to the north. So that’s the plan – get fit enough to climb the 3 and a bit thousand feet from Loch Slapin to its lumpy summit ridge... by the end of September this year. I thought, to make it interesting and even more worthwhile, I’d try and get some sponsorship in the shape of a few quid here and there from friends and family, readers of this scribble and anyone else who feels compelled to chuck in a pound or two and donate it to the Highland Rheumatology Unit, here in Dingwall. The work they do here, tireless and with such good cheer has been an inspiration to me and some of the patients’ positive attitudes in the most dire of circumstances has moved me. If anyone fancies donating, watch this space and I’ll get the necessary information out in a subsequent entry. Anything that helps them in their work has got to be for the good – I can honestly say that, personally, they’ve changed my life. Friday 24 4 2009 The internet is a wonderful thing... Or actually, sometimes, a bit of a pain. Ok, without it, I wouldn’t be able to sit down and write these ramblings, send them off into the ether and have them read by anyone who has a little time to spare. I can rant and rave about stuff that annoys me, things that I’m passionate about or simply small insignificant things that are going on in my life that I feel, someone, somewhere may be interested enough to read. But it does have its downside. It brings people together, which, on the face of it is a good thing – but only if those people actually want to be brought together. There are people who, to be honest, I never want to speak to ever again. People who, as far as I am concerned, don’t exist anymore, except in my distant memories, which, despite my best efforts, won’t fully go away. And therein lies the problem. With social networking sites, blogs and the like, contact is sometimes unavoidable and, because of the way that contact is right in front of your face, a message on a computer screen, a written message that just pops up and spoils your day, it’s all the more personal because of it. But what can we do? Any one of you who read this diary could, if you wanted to, contact me through the website and, generally speaking that would be a real joy. It would be nice to hear from anyone daft enough to actually read these often inane, rambling, ranting monologues and, more to the point, mad enough to enjoy them. But, if you’re considering being unpleasant, please, don’t bother, this isn’t that sort of website… Tuesday 21 4 2009 (Almost) normal service has been resumed... Well, as normal as possible given that it’s me doing the scribbling. A short update on the topic of the previous entries is, I feel needed initially. Doc says the restless leg, sweating and other horrible symptoms were as a result of simply stopping the painkillers so, Mom was right (don’t you just hate it when that happens?) Restlessness has gone, the pain is manageable and I’m ok, thanks for asking. Life in Kildonan goes on. It is, as I’ve said on many occasion, an odd place; an eclectic mix of mis-matched oddballs trying to live in fairly close proximity with some vestige of harmony. Or not even trying as is often the case. Apparently I am the new demon developer of this little chunk of Skye; the new anti-Christ, Devil and all round bad egg nicely wrapped up in an ever so slightly lop-sided, limping sort of a package. I’m not going to say anything else on the subject of OUR LAND (no-one else’s, but OURS) or what plans we have for it other than, if you want to know, ask and I’ll tell you. People should really learn to get their facts straight or, if not, at least try and make something up that resembles something like the truth before sprouting off a whole bunch of fiction, lies and potentially slanderous tittle-tattle. But, there again, once a gossip, always one eh? There are people in the area who really ought to start writing fiction for a living as the made up stuff just rolls out of their heads and off their tongue with such apparent ease that writing a story ought to be a piece of cake. Whether the resulting garbage would be even remotely believable though is another matter. On to more pleasant things (though secretly, I do like knowing stuff while other people guess and make up what they like), last night Max and I donned our chest waders and, a lot like ‘Billy and Johnny’, waded out into the cold waters of Loch Greshornish and launched Maria. It was a calm evening, cold and with a little cloud cover and, due to restricted time, we stayed in the harbour, moored up to our buoy and had a splendid bacon sandwich and a cup of hot black tea. The cabin smelled of cooked bacon, the water lapped gently at Maria’s hull, the sea birds squawked and, as the first few stars started to show (at 9.30 it was still pretty light), we rowed ashore in our brand new dingy called ‘Dave’. Roll on the long nights, calm seas and great big pollack of summer. Bring it on… Monday 13 4 2009 Good at being flippant … Just like busses – you wait ages and then … you know the rest. So, 2 days and 2 entries. The first, well if I’m honest with myself and let’s face it, if I can’t be honest with myself, who can I be honest with? Not great reading. That’s not to say that I think it’s written badly, far from it, in fact, when the writer’s neck’s on the block, that’s often when the best stuff comes out. Just not very pleasant reading. I thought long and hard about altering the previous entry or in fact just plain deleting it (get rid of it before anyone had a chance to read it), but no; I think it’s got to stay for the sake of the statement about honesty above. And yes, as the heading says, I am good at being flippant, ironic and sometimes just plain irreverent and I’m ok with that; I hope you are too, dear reader. But I don’t want you to be offended or think that in my last entry I turned a serious issue into a joke – that’s not what I intended. I take my health (or just lately, a distinct lack of it, seriously). And there, you see, I’ve just done it again. The restless leg thing is an absolute nightmare, even worse when it seems to be a restless everything (limbs anyway). Imagine a slight pressure in let’s say, ones left leg; the pressure, over the space of a minute or two, builds until it feels as though there’s a niggling itching, tingly feeling right in the depth of the limb. Like pins and needles but, at the same time, not exactly that. Rather, more delicate, an unpleasant tickle that can’t be stopped or scratched. Eventually there is nothing else to be done than shake the offending limb, or beat it with a balled up fist, newspaper, fence post or mallet – anything in fact that is at hand. And it works – for a few seconds; then it starts again. Not good for sleeping to be absolutely frank. This diary, as I’ve said before, is supposed to be about life on Skye; about our move here, our trials and tribulations, about the ups and about the downs too. The fact that this is a bit of a slump is just how things are. If I don’t report it, I’m not being true to the whole ethos of this diary. Some things are just too personal and I would never put them into text but my health? Well, I’m irreverent enough to be nice and flippant about that. For now anyway … Sunday 12 4 2009 Crying on your own seems quite pathetic really… For me, it’s been a quite remarkable rollercoatser of events over the last month. Had a mini nervous breakdown one Sunday morning that resulted in my flushing all of my wonder arthritis drugs down the sink, and moping about for the rest of the day in a dazed and quite frankly pathetic stupor. At my visit to my doctor the following Tuesday, he said he felt it was probably for the best as they were clearly not working and so for the time being they would concentrate on treating the pain as an illness on its own and, once that was under control, try again at sorting out the root of the problem. I don’t think he was surprised, even though I told him that I’d admitted to Max on the fateful Sunday that, had I keeled over stone dead that very morning, I wouldn’t really have given a shit because as it was, I wasn’t really enjoying life at all at that moment. Life, for me, really wasn’t much fun. And really, I’m not being melodramatic; it’s just how I felt. I had a visit to the specialists planned early this month and I duly went, expecting to get a ticking off by the consultant for coming off the super wonderful expensive miracle drug and more so, for having the audacity to swill them down the sink. Instead, he explained that they would like to admit me to a clinic where I could have the benefit of 2 weeks physio, hydro pool and massage treatment. They could also look to find out what other drugs might do the trick and give them a testing too. So, 2 weeks off work and more importantly, away from Max, the dogs and my home. (I find I miss home and everything that goes with it even when I’m away fishing, so god knows what I’m going to be like when I’m sharing a room with other, most likely much older, arthritic blokes). But I’m sure it will do me good, help build up my thoroughly wasted thigh muscles and get me back on track to being able to walk the dogs without getting knackered after 200 yards. So anyway, in the meantime my doctor prescribed some painkillers then, after a couple of weeks, some stronger ones. The first really didn’t do much and the second lot put me into a wobbly, stoned stupor for the first afternoon when I took 2 as he recommended a short while after getting home. I only took one at a time after that. Also in the meantime, I’d spoken to Al and he’d told me about an Aloe Vera product he was using that really made him feel pretty good and healthy. He’d also spoken to the ‘doctor department’ at the company who provided the stuff and he’d said ‘120ml per day plus 2 capsules of high class fish oil with every meal – let’s really blitz it’. And you know, after less than 2 weeks of taking the stuff, I have no real pain in any of my joints. I didn’t know whether it was the painkillers or the slop so also, Friday just gone, I stopped taking the painkillers. And now, on Sunday – still no real pain, so who knows, it may be back tomorrow or it may not and it is in fact, the plant slop that’s done it. Yes, who knows? All I do know is that it’s Sunday, Max is away at the moment and I’m missing her which probably explains this rambling shambles of a diary entry that’s full of self-pity, has probably lost me a few readers, scared some more and embarrassed the rest. Sorry, but I’ve not finished. I remember saying to a nurse some time ago, in response to her question about whether the pain stops me sleeping that, no, sleeping was an absolute pleasure; the only time when I wasn’t aware of some level of pain. And I meant it – I love sleeping, it’s a comfortable thing to do, especially with someone you love; and if that pleasure was ever taken away from me I’d be seriously down about it. For a few nights over Christmas just gone I suffered with restless leg syndrome – ever heard of it? It’s a truly maddening, itching, crawling feeling, usually in the leg and usually in the evening. It’s not known what causes it, only that it’s neurological in nature, is usually there for good and cannot be cured. I had suffered with it a few years earlier in Wolverhampton (a pretty bad place to suffer with anything really) and at that time, it had lasted a few weeks, so at Christmas I was pretty glad when it cleared up after only a few nights. Last night it came back and had me dancing around the house at 2.30 in the morning then tossing and turning, thumping my arms and legs in bed while waiting for it to go. It did, eventually but has been back on and off today, all day. Perhaps it’s a pay off? Perhaps that’s how life works? The pain’s gone so ok, what can we torture the poor bastard with now? I know, he loves his sleep – let’s mess with that a bit. Add to the restless leg (with me it’s the arms more than the leg), a whole host of symptoms that I can only suggest are as a result of stopping taking the Tramadol (fevers, shivering, aching) and you can probably guess that I’m not too good at the moment. Johnnie MacPherson, colourful builder of houses with hundreds of defects has a bit of a catch phrase – ‘Aye, it’s good to be alive’. Aye, Johnnie sometimes it is. Sunday 8 3 2009 A busy old Sunday afternoon... Today has been a day of strong winds, swirling showers of ice and freezing water that really ought to be ice, grey scudding clouds, out of control hooded crows and white-capped sea. We had breakfast late, watched Countryfile, drank coffee, lit the fire, kept it going and stayed in doors. Yes, I know, that doesn’t seem like a particularly busy sort of a day and it wasn’t until this afternoon when I decided to go through all of my web entries, sort them, spell check them and save them to files within my computer as word documents so that, in the future perhaps, I could put them together as some sort of memoir of our time on Skye. Let’s face it, I’ve been meaning to do it since before we even moved up here – I thought of the title on the way up here for the last time with Max following along in the old Golf. It’s taken hours and there’s enough for a good read on a lazy Sunday afternoon already. You know, I’m starting to sound a little bit like an author again. Measured a garage on Friday and had a sea eagle fly over me so close that I could have poked it with my surveying pole. It was so close, that when I laughed in surprise, it looked straight at me and swerved in its flight. It had tags on its wings and I could hear them flapping in the wind quite clearly. Remarkable… Thursday 5 3 2009 Wow, quite a few days really... We had a dog once, a beagle called George. He was Max's dog really, if I'm honest and he was a sweet old thing. He had a number of odd traits and cute little things that he did, as do most dogs and one of them was to try and bury biscuits or chews in the carpet. He'd push said chew into the corner of a room and then brush the carpet with his nose towards it, as if sweeping loose soil over it. He'd carry on for some time, finally pushing his nose over the chew as if 'tamping down' his work. As far as he was concerned, it was buried. I'll tell you why I've told this tale later. Saturday night was Jackie's 60th birthday bash over at chez Garry and Nicki's. We had a truly splendid evening, not too riotous, not even too boozy (apart from the birthday girl) but plenty emotional. Jackie was clearly moved by the whole evening and was genuinely glad to have such close friends around her. She's a lovely lady. One thing that came up over dinner (doesn't sound so great does it that?) was, I found, quite incredible. I was born in 1967, so missed all the hippy, free love psychedelic sort of era but I believe there was some sort of festival that took place in the States called Woodstock. I believe it was a bit like Glastonbury but without the mud. I jest, I'm quite aware of what a groundbreaking event Woodstock was and have even seen bits of the film that was made of it. Anyway, I think there was something like 350,000 people there and bearing in mind this event took place over 40 years ago and most of the partygoers were fairly regular drug users, it would be safe to say that a fair few of them would be puffing the great bong in the sky by now. So let's say that reduces the amount, by the effects of old age, by 100,00. Lose a few more to accidents and you've got a figure of about 230,000 left. Now, most of those would be in USA - got to be at least 80%, which means there are 46,000 people left around the rest of the world who danced and smoked stuff at Woodstock. Not many really, ok you wouldn't want to put them all up for the weekend, but not really very many people in the great scheme of things. And yet, as we talked and drank on Saturday night, around that small table in Kingsburgh, Isle of Skye, it transpired that 2 out of our merry band were at that event. Jackie and Derek. Quite remarkable really. Earlier on, when we getting ready to leave for Kingsburgh, I'd jokingly said to Max that we had 2 close friends who were 60 and another who was nearly 50 (sorry Nicki) and that we really ought to start looking for some younger friends. I now take that back. Turns out that the eldest people around our dinner table that night were the coolest by a margin of about a thousand. More power to the wrinklies I say. We left around 2.30, dropped Derek off at the Gatehouse where he lives and continued our way. The rest of the journey home turned quite rapidly into a minor nightmare. Max has always maintained that she would hate to run anything over whilst driving and, mercifully, had managed to avoid it such an event. She was driving, as I had had a few rum-punches and so it was she that hit the otter that ran out from the side of the road at Bernisdale. She was devastated. The otter was still alive and so I put it in the back of the car and we took it to the vets but, at 3.30 in the morning, they weren’t answering the door. It would have made no difference as it died very shortly after. Very sad indeed. It was more annoying that in the entire journey home and while we waited at the vet’s house we saw not one other car. Why she chose to run out at that time is beyond me. There was nothing anyone could have done - I'm convinced of that and I think Max has made her peace with it. I took the body to the otter survival fund office in Broadford on Monday and they sent her away for a post mortem (it can tell us all sorts of things about the environment apparently) I bought Max an 'Oscar the Otter' from them and made a donation to make us feel better about the whole thing and to help them in their work too. A strange and quite frankly wonderful and moving addendum to this story concerns our 2 dogs, Harry and Bella. The otter was lying in our garage on a piece of polythene while we tried to find out what we needed to do and whether we needed to report the accident and we let the dogs go in to have a sniff and to see their reaction. What happened was totally unexpected. I held Harry's lead tightly as I didn't want him to try and eat the carcass - it was, after all, basically meat. They sniffed at full stretch, as if wary of this sleek, brown form lying in their garage. Then, gradually gaining confidence, sniffed all around the body, before both of them, as if on cue, started to try and bury it. Harry concentrated on scraping sawdust off the floor with his nose and flicking it over the body whilst Bella started on the polythene sheet; pushing the edges up and over along its length. They carried on for some time until Bella actually dragged a nearby empty coal sack so that it completely covered the otter. I think they would still be there now, had we not coaxed them away. Just like George. So, a mixed time all round, highs and lows and highs and lows. That's life eh? A new experience every day... Thursday 26 2 2009 Back to the drawing board ... If I still used one that is. Back to the computer aided design system doesn't really have the same ring to it. Been away from Jackie's building project for almost 2 weeks and are planning to get back to sawing hammering and general hard work that makes me ache, sometime next week. Been good to get back on with drawing work, shift one job and progress with another, get some cash back in the bank and rest my aching fingers. Amazing how quickly the whole drawing process became alien to me; unnatural and awkward. By the same token though, I seem to have grasped it once more already. Weather's been dreary, wet and windy for the last couple of weeks and I've noticed the log pile is getting worryingly low (I do tend to get the home fires burning quite early in the day though - and keep them going until snuggly bed time). Perhaps a job for next weekend. Had the first day out on the river on Saturday just gone. A largely accedemic affair really as the Snizort is not really known for its early run of salmon. We were out (Garry and I) for the craic, to practice casting with our new double handed rods and for the off chance of a kelt - something to bend the rod and get the adrenaline running along with the line. The river was in fine fettle - clear, almost full spate and very cold as I found when I fell in whilst wading on beat 2. My foot slipped of a large rock and I found myself neck deep. Thank goodness for the wading staff as I reckon without it I'd have been bobbing about and in a little trouble. I'd certainly have got a lot wetter if nothing else. As it was only my pride and unfortunately, my mobile phone sufferred any ill-effects. I'm back to an old one now and learning what the buttons do all over again. I 'm thinking of throwing this one in the river too ... Monday 9 2 2009 The sky(e) at night Been out working on Jackie's roof conversion all day, after, that is, doing a few phone calls and towing Layla's van out of a ditch where it was stuck in the snow. Oh and after collecting 'a few items' from the plumbing shop. I never knew bits of extruded plastic pipe could be so valuable. I think they must be famous bits of plastic or at least come from blue blooded lineage. I was sitting here minding my own, totting up the invoices against the account balance to see how little money we had left in Jackie's job when, from the velux window came a clatter of stones. Upon investigating the source of said distraction, I noticed a rosy faced munchkin resplendant in red jacket and high viz tabard with 2 equally munchkin-like dogs beckoning me out into the cold. And when I say cold, I really mean COLD. Hardly a cloud in the sky but what bit there was, hung accross a massive, full faced moon, veiling the biggest, shiniest, silvery-est lump of cheese I've ever seen. That was in the east. To the west, clear of cloud and settled in a limitless expanse of velvetty blackness, totally on its own was the brightest star I've ever seen. So bright, so big so flashy and magnificent, that we were both sure it was in fact 'something else' - no idea what exactly, I'll have to do some internet digging to try and find out, but definitely 'something else'. I can't believe a star could possibly be that bright and big and 'day-makingly-fabulous'. We had a whisky and sat on our tree stumps around the fire-pit in silent awe. How many times do we need reminding what a stunning place it is that we live in? I can smell lovely cooking smells drifting to me from downstairs, time for tea ... Saturday 7 2 2009 Write what you see ... It's Saturday afternoon and I'm sitting at the computer typing my thoughts. I've just cracked open a can of lager (I was going to have an hour on the drums and have to take a lager with me if I'm going to play along with any Led Zeppellin) and I'm listening to Vivaldi. In the distance, maybe 4 miles away, between the Sheep Island and Uig, grey curtains of snow are falling to the sea from clouds heavy with yet more. There are quite distinct columns of weather stretching the 4 or 5 thousand feet from the clouds and, as I type, the whole shooting match is drawing closer. The sea is shrouded as if through a veil of steam from the World's largest kettle, the headland at Uig is almost completely gone, the Sheep Island is faint, the Slipper Island even more so and now, exactly now, the first pellets of softly frozen water are bouncing off the Velux window. In the far distance, way past Uig and on towards the northern edge of Skye, near Kilmuir, the ridge is once again coming into view; vast mounds of pristine, snow covered moorland, tinged orange by the late afternoon sun which is poking through the cloud structure over there. The wind is from the north, though not strong and I'm sure Max will have found something to shelter behind on her walk with the mutts. At the weekend, she likes to really stretch all of their 8 legs and I, alas at this moment in time, would find it a struggle to keep up so, instead, I stay and look after the fires, write some stuff or, as I originally intended, make a right racket in the drum loft. Layla's back up here at the moment (formerly Gary the plumber) to do Jackie's plumbing work amongst other things and her guitar's up in the drum loft too so I could go and pretend I was Alex Lifeson if I really wanted and REALLY make a racket. Looking out now, one would think someone had spilled a bag of tiny polystyrene balls over the Velux, but for the fact that they're melting almost instantly. It's all clear again now, the far hills are a stunning glowing landscape of snow, rock, heather and sky, bright pinkish orange against a backdrop of massive grey and white clouds, so huge I can't look at them without the hairs standing up on the back of my neck. The Armenian Radio Orchetra (!?) are getting towards Vivaldi's winter now and, as I look towards the point where the road curls back inland, I can see a lone figure in a red jacket and two scampering dogs pulling this way and that, into everything and definately not ready to go home. They all look happy; cold but happy. I'd better go and stoke that fire again and get the hot chocolate on the boil. Nice to be home ... Thursday 5 2 2009 White stuff everywhere ... I suppose fate has a habbit of slapping the smug. Whilst the rest of the country has been snowed under and basically stuck or slipping about, we've had some lovely weather. It's been cold but not overly so and we've had a few days of wind. Basically it's been pretty good and the blue skies have been shining down on us prompting, on occasion, the odd smug grin as the south east ground to a halt whilst the far north west (us) wore shades when we drove our cars on dry roads. We woke this morning to a covering of snow and by mid morning, an hour long shower left us well and truly covered. As I look to the north, over the sea towards the Outer Isles, I can see dark grey clouds touching the water. The Trottenish ridge has disappeared and, each time it pops out of the cloud, it's had another layer of snow dumped on it. Basically we're going to get some more of the white stuff, I just hope it's sensible about it. Think I'll pop another log on the stove and have another coffee ... Wednesday 4 2 2009 Old enough to know better ... ... young enough to do it anyway. That's my Dad - 78 and up a ladder, fitting a new cowl to his chimney. All went well thank goodness and there was no need for any emergency services. Nonetheless - 78 and on a roof, remarkable really, reckless, foolhardy and downright daft, but still remarkable. Good luck I say (but phone me next time eh?) The wind's blowing from the North at the moment, straight off the Arctic, bringing blustery sleety showers, the odd spot of snow but mainly just a sky full of coldness. The joiners are, as I write, fitting velux windows to Jackie's upstairs conversion. I would dimagine they're a bit on the chilly side, wooly hats or not. The work's going well; both floors are laid, all the plumbing's on site, the boiler's there, the extra insulation's ordered and on its way, the door's being priced and various other bits and pieces are either ordered, lost, on their way or just plain forgotten. It's getting a bit much really but I'm determined to see it through. I don't think it's going to kill me and who knows, I may get the price of a new cymbal for my 6 weeks work. There's a real sense of satisfaction in seeing the various stages being completed, particularly the external staicase which we fitted last week (thanks Steve at Overwrought - if ever there's an accident waiting to happen, it's him) and, once the windows are all in, we'll have broken the back of it. I'm sure Jackie is delighted with it and, as I'm effectively doing it for nothing (other than friendship), I'm sure I'll be gaining a few brownie points somewhere along the line, with someone. I've lit the fire in the lounge and the heat is just starting to reach me in my little office. Time to get to work I suppose - hey, Saint Peter, put a good word in for me eh?... Thursday 22 1 2009 Flooring for the uninitiated ... Quite a feat really. Taking up an old floor, adding dense insulating matting (suspended off the ceiling below on wires criss crossed from joist to joist), then replacing the old floor, a layer of ply-wood, a layer of dense rubber matting and finally a finished layer of 18mm tongue and groove floorboarding: nailed and glued. All done with a large chunck of guesswork, a dollop of common sense and a large measure of largely unsubstantiated self-confidence. Tom and I finished one side of Jackie's floor today (helped massively by Garry in previous visits) sat back and had a coke each. We both scanned the finished job and had a little smile. Nice job, well done. It really is a funny old world. Anyone seen my PVA glue and tape measure? Wednesday 21 1 2009 It's a funny old world ... There was a time when, had someone started talking to me about shower fittings, wet wall panels, timber decking, floorboarding or intumescent plug sockets, I'd have simply glazed over, quickly losing any will to live. Now, while I'm not exactly sexed up about the afore-mentioned stuff, I'm surprised about how interested I can get. I've had long conversations about the finer points of flue cowls, quite recently and discussed, with some degree of authority, the relative merits of different profiles with regard to blow-back, backdraft and draw. Now, while this could be viewed as being a bit sad, anal or just plain boring, I take the point but, also make the point simply to explain how the world can turn on it's head in such a short (relatively) space of time. 3 years ago I probably would have glazed over at such a topic of conversation. 4 years ago, I may have nodded politely and 5 years ago I'd have probably run a mile. Now I make a living in these things and, not only that, am actually interested in them. I've said this before I'm sure but 10 years ago I had recently qualified for an overseas convention to Mexico; all expenses, 1st class rail and air travel, unbelievable hotel and amenities. My life was suits and ties, targets, motivational speakers, positive mental attitude and self help books coming out of every orifice. I had a manager who's idea of letting go was to pay his gas bill a day late and worked with people (some of which, I hasten to add, I still have loads of time for and would consider close friends) who's life revolved solely around 'making the sale'. I don't really know why I've gone off on this strange tack other than to explain, as the heading reads what a funny old world it is. Never say never; it's a good phrase to remember. Right, I'm off to play the drums .... Tuesday 13 1 2009 I really should be working ... I'm just finding it difficult today. I suppose it could be that everyone around me has come down with a bug of some sort or another, mom and dad are coughing and spluttering, I've got jobs that I should be getting on with, it's raining, I've upped the tablet intake for my nasty arthritus drugs, I feel a bit rough and it's January. Phoned the planners today as I was getting slightly concerned that I'd not had an aknowledgement for one I put in before Christmas only to be told that they'd lost it. You know the sort of thing '... it's Christmas, I was on my own, we're very busy , blah blah blah'. Anyway, I've reprinted the drawings and filled in another application form and will take it in to them tomorrow. These things happen I suppose but I've just wasted an hour doing something I've already done and I was already a grumpy old git so God help me now. Went down the west coast again yesterday to see a man about a great big barn-like structure and stopped a couple of miles from my destination to finish a telephone conversation with Al. My parking place over-looked falling ground to Loch Harport and Carbost. I couldn't see Talisker distillery but I could imagine all the good stuff happening there. We spoke for a while and I absent mindedly watched a large brown bird soar from left to right, dropping all the time towards the loch, before I realised I was watching a Golden Eagle (fairly slow of me really). Less than a minute later another followed the first and I watched it until it disappeared behind the hillside, mentioning it to Al distinctly offhandedly. Amazing how easy it is to take things for granted. I really must stop it ... Tuesday 6 1 2009 It's been a while ... There have been a few glitches in the system regarding web site maintenance/running/magic and because of that I’ve not been able to add any jottings for far too long. I apologise on behalf of whoever it was that decided to use Yampy as some sort of staging point for a malicious “so sorry to be botherings you but your bank details need amended” sort of scam. So much to say and, for a change, I’m making time to actually sit down and say it. I’ve got drawing work coming out of most major orifices and deadlines that have long since passed (thankfully there’s still more of an attitude of sleepy acceptance up here regarding that sort of thing). I decided this morning that I would order the windows and rubber matting for Jackie, (sounds like some sort of deviant doesn’t she? The matting is for soundproofing and windows to look out of). Make the couple of phone calls I needed to make and then, for an hour or two, or in fact, however long it took, would update my scribblings. Ok, so where to start? I suppose I better mention the great Kildonan web diary slur first and say that I’ve taken out a paragraph or two from entries earlier in the year that, apparently, caused a little offence. I admit they were a little ‘out there’ as far as pushing the boundaries of what is ok to write and they’ve been adjusted as far as I am prepared to adjust them. I always maintain that these jottings are my thoughts and my feelings, they are not meant maliciously and are not intended to cause any upset and the contents are always truthful as far as I see them. I must mention the weather for the simple reason that it’s been great for the whole of the Christmas period. It’s raining today but I reckon it’s the first we’ve had for a couple of weeks at least. We’ve had frost like I’ve never seen before, in fact, during a trip to Inverness between Christmas and New Year the frost was so thick on the fences and roadside verges, anyone would have sworn blind it had snowed. The windscreen squirters on the Honda froze up despite the washer liquid manufacturer assuring me their product was good to –5. So it must have been cold. Christmas was great; loud, full of food and drink, busy, not particularly relaxing but great. Chelle and Rich joined us and brought along Ben, their 3-year-old lad to add a little spice into the mix. We had a good time and they’re always welcome. New Year coincided with Derek ‘Old-boy’ Dowsett’s 60th birthday and we all thought a fitting way to honour it would be with a special black tie do, a bonfire and some appropriately aimed fireworks. Derek’s lad, Joshua, joined the gang (Max, Nicki, Jackie, Garry, Derek and I) and we all had a splendid time, finally putting out the light at 4.30a.m. The fire was still smouldering at 11.00p.m. the following day. And that’s about it really. The winter has, so far, been really pleasant and, though I can here the wind picking up as I write, hope it continues. I’m sure we’ll have a few gales as January pushes on towards February and we’ll probably lose a tile or two or have our wheelie bin whisked away but, whatever the weather brings, there’s always a day or two of beautiful, calm, blue skied wonder to make the nasty stuff seem a mere blip. Happy New Year to the half dozen ‘dear readers’ out there, speak again soon … Monday 22 12 2008 We really do live in a beautiful place ... (This entry was written during November but, due to we site problems has been added at a later date). The heading of this entry was spoken by Max as we rounded a small headland on the Lyndale peninsular, a couple of miles from our home. We’d been out for a walk (the first for a long time for me) with the dogs, along the coast and up over a grassy lump to Max's 'secret beach'. It was a day of beautiful calm seas, startlingly beautiful skies and a serene air that made it simply stunning to be out. The sun sank behind Greshornish Point around 4.30 and as it did, set the whole sky alight in bright orange bands of high cloud that drifted away into eternity. That was Sunday but Thursday had seen me travelling down the West coast, always a stunning vista, to Eynort to measure a house, Crossal to talk about a new transport depot and then on to Kyleakin to discuss a big extension with Evander. The road along that West coast dips and rises, sweeps and soars. Long straights blend into long sweeping bends and tighten into hairpins. The land rises to block the view West over the coast then drops away to reveal yet another expanse of island dotted sea and sky. It's a wonderful route to travel and one made more beautiful by the Cuillin to the South. On Thursday, they were covered with a liberal coating of snow from the summits to the pass from Glenbrittle to Sligachan at about 1000 feet. The sky behind them was a clear light blue with a complete absence of cloud and sun lit the myriad of faces, scree slopes, peaks and ridges in a light that shone like gold. On the summit of Bruach na Frith and along the ridge to the West hung a huge plume of cloud, the only one in the sky for as far as the eye could see and made it look, to intents and purposes, like the Mountains of Mordor, straight from The Lord of The Rings. Smoke from the cauldrons of doom indeed. And she's right of course, we do live in a beautiful place, one of the most beautiful places in the world in fact and for that, we should give our thanks every day. A sad postscript to this entry is to remember a lady who was cruelly killed in a car accident only a mile from us on Friday. Tracy ran the riding stables at Struthan, was 37 and, I believe, married with at least one child. I only met her once or twice but remember her as a happy, smiling lady, bubbly and full of life. Garry knew her well and my thoughts go out to him and anyone else who grieves her passing. Tuesday 28 10 2008 Windy big big ... Two weeks ago tomorrow, Garry (the one in gent's clothes) and I went out for an afternoon on Maria. There was a slight breeze from the south west with a mix of clear skies, a couple of very light, short drizzly showers but generally pleasant late Autumn weather. And a great afternoon was had by all. Between us we managed a fine collection of pollack up to around the 8-9lb mark, lost a few fish, lost a few lures watched a mass of dolphins, saw a pair of sea eagles and generally had a pretty good time. The following day a big wind blew up and I remember saying to him that you wouldn't believe we'd been out and had a lovely afternoon on the boat the day before. It's not stopped since. Every day I look out of the en-suite window to see whether Maria's made it through the night and every morning she's there. Having left it too late in the first place, to get her in, I'm now a bit stuck waiting for a break in the weather to be able to actually get over to her and navigate her back onto a trailer without sticking her into something solid. The pleasures of boat ownership. The last couple of weeks have been taken up with laying a hearth for our upstairs stove and tiling the wall behind it. It looks great although I say so myself all we need now is someone brave enough to knock a hole in our roof big enough to stick the flue through. Where did I put that great big hammer?... Thursday 16 10 2008 Egypt continued ... I think it was on all of our minds, a little niggle chipping away at our resolve... 'thought it would be a bit more frantic than this'... 'thought we'd have had more fish'...'thought they'd have been bigger'...'it's been over an hour of trolling since Harry lost that fish - and nothing'. I know I was starting to think all those things and yes, when one of us hit into a fish after a couple of hours inactivity, there was a palpable rise in the mood on the boat, as if an actual, physical weight had been lifted. It was slow though. And the fish were smaller than expected - by us, the guides and the organisers of the trip. We expected more fish and a lot in the 40lb range with the odd one each day topping 60 or 70. These sound fantastic figures, but it's the norm, what keeps anglers from all over the world going back to Nasser to put up with soaring temperatures in the day and plumetting ones at night (we didn't get that, it never dropped below about 25 degrees, ever). What we didn't expect was fish of 1 and a half pounds taken on lures almost as big as them. I never expected to hear the words 'I don't know ... I think I've got one ... not sure ... could be a bit of weed'. And yet, as I mentioned earlier, it was an amazing experience. Sleeping under the stars, eating and living on a boat with a group of Egyptians, watching sunrises and sunsetts vivid enough to burn themselves onto your memory for life, swimming and washing in the lake, the sights the sounds and the smells. Wonderful. Not for everyone, I'm sure. The toilet facilities were ... basic to say the least, especially if you chose the more comfortable and cooler, al-fresco, island options. The chance of getting a dodgy belly was always there and, whilst I managed to avoid it until I got back to England, both Al and Harry had brief bouts of it. All in all would I go back and do it again? Absolutely - for the stars and the blackness and the food and the comradeship and the infinitely blue skise, the dotted islands, lizards, birds and of course the fish - bold, aggressive, beautiful spiky beasts. Just a bit bigger next time please ... Wednesday 15 10 2008 Bad, bad boy ... Disgraceful, inexusable and shocking! Sometimes, it seems as though each day lasts about a quarter of an hour and, shortly after finishing my toast, I'm letting the dogs out for their wees and poos before going to bed. It's no excuse though for leaving it a month between jottings and for that I apologise (Brenda, Bell, Suze and Rich - I'm sure there are more people who occasionally read these pages and I apologise to you too.) What a time though; it's seemed like there's been a whole year's worth of experiences crammed into one short month. Topping it all was the trip to Egypt in search of the fabled Nile Perch, a creature that grows to weights in excess of 300lbs and has the reputation of being a big nasty aggressive beast that will jump and shake its head when hooked, surge off on 100 yard runs, then sulk like a moody bull on the bottom while the angler on the other end of the line sweats in 30 dergree heat and begins to wish he'd stayed at home and gone after roach instead. Marvelous experience. There were a number of times when I thought quietly to myself that such an adventure could be almost life changing; the culture, the smells, tastes, rituals, beauty of the place. And, I suppose in a small way it was. Living on Skye, I know what clear skies are all about; continuing blackness that expresses the whole idea of 'infinite' perfectly, that seems to enable the concept of it to become clear - 'yes, I know what infinite is, I've watched the night sky from Kildonan in November'. I have to admit that I was only just starting to come to terms with the idea though. Falling asleep on top of the boat in shorts and tee shirt to a backdrop of blacness that's been liberally sprinkled with silver paint from the world's biggest brush is quite a thing. I've never seen the Milky way look so immediate, so'in your face' - almost touchable. The fishing was difficult. Day after day of trolling a lure behind the boat in temperatures reaching up to and then past 38 degrees. (Paul and Peter, on the other fishing boat, had a thermometer and at one point, the temperature in the cuddy of their boat reached 44.9 degrees. I chose the same time to use the toilet for a sit down job and almost died in the heat. I reckon it was over 50 in that small, barely ventilated room. I used the al-fresco island facilities from that point on.) It all became a bit like hard work for a while, tension crept into our merry little group and the first thoughts of (unspoken) mutiny started to form ... I shall continue the story, don't worry, but for now, a building warrant ammendment calls. See you very soon. Thursday 11 9 2008 Manly isn't the word ... More fencing, cement mixing, post chopping, tree felling, laying concrete blocks, building all manner of stuff and jamming with a transvestite. All sorts of interesting stuff that requires hours of diary entering that I've sadly not got. Max is due home in a short while (she's gone to the Co-op after work for essential alcohol purchases and some bread apparently). I've just finished processing my latest planning job - converting an old stone byre-like building into a 4 bed house - and I'd got a few minutes before she gets back and I start sawing wood and making things. The building work is to do with the dog run that's required before I go galavanting off on a fishing holiday of a lifetime to Egypt, the tree sawing is to do with firewood for the winter and the dog run (it's rustically poled at the corners) and the jamming with a tranny is my engineer-cum-plumber-cum-middle aged transvestite mate Gary. He's only recently discovered his somewhat less than ordinary trait and I say best of luck to him. Too many people go through life being unhappy, disolussioned, feeling trapped or just plain depressed so, if he feels better as a bloke in a dress, then it's up to him I say, good luck to him and I won't put him down. I remember driving home from Raigmore Hospital some time ago after being dioagnosed with Psioritic Arthritis in some of my fingers, my left knee and a couple of toes. During the 2 and a half hours behind the wheel, I had plenty of time to think about the potential issues ahead if the drugs didn't work and how I felt about them. I basically decided that I wasn't going to waste time anymore and that I wasn't going to have anything to do with people I didn't like because, to quote a well used quote - 'life's too short' (that may be true but, to use a Peter Kay joke 'what is there that you can do that's longer?'). I even suggested to Max that we put a sign up at the bottom of the drive saying 'If we don't know you or we don't like you, go away' (or something like that) but we decided it wouldn't do much for the B&B trade. So, to Gary I say - do what you want, if it doesn't hurt anyone and it isn't illegal then fill your boots. Sorry to be serious and everything and, if anyone was waiting for a punchline I apologise because there isn't one. Anyway must go, my corset's killing me ... Tuesday 2 9 2008 I must be getting better ... I think it's only been about a week since I last added an entry, which for me is pretty good. Last weekend was another right manly affair what with finishing off the fencing (this basically involved adding another tensioner thing to one of the fence wires, adding a top wire and lots of swearing), moving a load of furniture for Tom then, on Sunday, shovelling 4 trailer loads of concrete mix (gravelly bits, or 'chuckies' as they seem to be known as up here and dust basically). This equated to about 2 1/2 tonnes, sore arms, a bad back and a tad more swearing (Max mainly). I think it was while towing our third load home that I started to think about what we were doing. Tony had mentioned he'd got a great big mound of concrete mix if we wanted it for our dog-run base and, as is my usual reply when someone offers me something they're going to throw away, I said of course I can use it. Much the same as the old wooden ladder that was quietly getting ready to rot that now carries me to my drum loft and the old cladding that was waiting to be burned that now forms the walls. The timber lying about in the forest, slowly turning back to soil that now will heat our house over the winter. The bit of old guttering that our sheep will eat out of. The rolls of insulation that mice had been nesting in that now keep my drums warm. Bits of old timber that are now the formwork for the dog-run. All this stuff, all this junk that now, following a bit of thought is being used again, being saved from pointless burning rotting or burying. Don't get me wrong, I'm not holding ourselves up as environmental do-gooders, we still chuck stuff away like everyone, but (and I don't know whether this is just coming with age, or if my Dad's influence is finally rubbing off on me) I get a real pleasure in scavenging about for stuff. It's not because I'm tight or because I'm always broke (although that does have a tiny bearing on it) - it's what we came here to do. I now realise that. I remember what we wanted to do when we first decided to come here, when we were full of ideas about a simpler life, of living off the land, of being a little bit self-sufficient, of being resourceful. Of being happy. We always dreamt of having some land, doing a bit of crofting, keeping sheep, growing our own veg, you know the sort of thing and now we are. We forage for wood, we build stuff out of materials that would have been thrown away and now we've got a few acres of croft land that we can keep our sheep on and, in the spirit of putting something back, growing a few thousand trees. We fancied a mix of spruce, beech and birch but, as we know nothing about forestry, we're keeping a fairly open mind about it until we've spoken to someone in the know. As always, I'll keep you informed (possibly belatedly, but informed none the less). Anyway, must dash there's an old fence strainer that I really must go and liberate ... Tuesday 26 8 2008 What's in a month? Now then ... done it again haven't I? left it ages and now I've got so much to say, I haven't got time to say it. What I should do, of course, is write a bit every other day, or at least every week so at least then, I'll be able to tackle my diary in a logical, sedate and altogether relaxed manner. Of course, it doesn't happen like that and also the problem is, the more that's going on, the less time I've actually got to sit down and write it. It's one of those vicious circles - the more you do, the less time you've got to write about it and the more you've got to write about. (That's a word I can never spell without checking in the dictionary - vicious, not circle - and as this blog still hasn't got a spell checker, I have to resort to the big Oxford blue book. In fact even writing it a second time then, I still went to add an 's' to it, which would make it 'viscous' and alltogether different. A 'viscous' circle - a rubber ring filled with custard perhaps.) So, anyway, not last weekend but the one before, was a right manly affair - tree chopping, log hauling, off roading, log splitting, fencing and all sorts of great stuff. I spent the weekend looking like one of the village people in bright orange day-glow anti chain saw chaps, helmet, goggles, industrial gloves, wielding a chain saw and log splitting axe like something out of a 1970's horror film. Fantastic. The knee ached like a pig for a couple of days after and I've still got the scratches and midge bites to remind me what fun it was. The suedo-lumberjack activity was for winter fuel and the fencing was to keep in our 3 sheep (rams actually but they've had their danglers off so they bleet in a high pitched voice and tend to have a penchance for anything pink) due for imminent arrival. Last weekend was an entirely different affair and started on Wednesday. My good mate Mark and his absolutely 'special as special can be' wife, Jennie were in London for his 40th birthday (there's a lot of it about). Mark didn't know where he was going, only that the 2 of them and their friends Darren and Jayne were going 'somewhere' and that he'd got the week off work. It was his birthday on the Wednesday and we were, unbeknown to him, or anyone other than Jen for that matter, going to surprise him by being on a 1920's cruiser, on the Thames, when they all got on for a meal Jen had booked. (Is everyone keeping up?) We had a flight at 9.05 from Inverness to Luton, a bus from Luton to Victoria then a tube to a hotel, 5 minutes from where the 4 were staying (on another boat, this time a house boat at Kew Bridge). We planned to have a kip in the hotel in the afternoon to make up for the 4.30 start from home, quick trip across London and on to the boat for 6.00. Ah, such sweet plans and how they fall at the hands of fate, technical hitches and pigeons (possibly crows or maybe even a seagull). The 9.05 flight was delayed for an hour and a half. No problem, we'd still be in London for 12 noon, at the hotel for 2.30 and having a kip by 2.35. At 10.30 the plane duly arrived and, as it did, flew into a bird which left a smudge on the nose cone (where all the radar bits and all sorts of technical trickery are) and a mighty impressive splat on the windsreen. I would have quite happily gone out with a squeegy mop and done the illegal immigrant, traffic-light windscreen cleaner bit, but no; apparently, by law, they have to get an engineer in to sign it off as ok. The engineer lived in Elgin which was 20 minutes away but was based in Glasgow which wasn't. We had to hope he was at home. At 3.00 it was obvious he wasn't in, or if he was, he wasn't answering his phone and, to cut a long story slightly shorter, we got to London for about 6.00. Obviosuly, we missed the boat and the meal but gave Mark a right shock at 10.30, just as they were all getting back to the house boat. We seem to be making a habbit of turning up late at surprise parties - double the surprise I suppose. We had a great few days seeing things in museums and getting all cultural over buildings, works of art, statues and Stella Artois. My feet still ache from all the walking and my knee is, yet again, protesting. I'm due to start a course of tablets soon which will hopefully sort everything out - bring on the drugs I say. That's about it really. It's 11.00 pm, Max is in bed as are the Italian couple who arrived earlier (first B & B ers for a long time - after Mary left to get on with her state sponsored pregnancy in her state sponsored flat, we've sort of been glad of having the house to ourselves and have been turning people away with tales of being fully booked. The couple tonight were really cheerfull though, so we relented.) Anyway, better go, breakfast is at 7.30 in the morning and I'm cooking it. Where's that bottle of wine gone ... Thursday 31 7 2008 sometimes, the sea really does sparkle ... Not just figuratively either; actual, honest to goodness sparkling! We've been going out on Maria for short trips in the evening as I mentioned a few entries ago, mainly to check the pots and watch the dolphins and occasionaly to do a bit of fishing (really need to go out for a whole day just fishing - it's been too long). Coming back in, the last time Max came with me, I was rowing slowly towards shore when Max commented on how the bubbles left by the oars were picking up reflections of the odd light coming from the hotel windows. We both watched the strange lights in the water for a few seconds before we realised they were actually coming from under the surface. Each dip of the oar produced a brief but really quite brilliant explosion of tiny pin-pricks of light. We spent some time just splashing around like a couple of kids with the oars, watching as the mini firework display flared at each splash. I even tried scooping water up in my hands and flinging it into the air; as the water fell in dropletts back on to the surface, a tiny explosion of a thousand lights sparked and faded. Quite odd. I know there are places in the Carribean where you can dive off boats at night and the water glows green like a wierd aura as minute organisms like gloworms do their stuff (I've seen it on the Discovery channel I think). But I've never seen it over here and wouldn't have thought it possible in a cold Scottish sea loch. Global warming? Who knows, perhaps it's quite common and I just don't know about it; If I'd been on my own, I may have simply put it down to going barmy. I'm just glad Max was there to witness it too. I'm always glad Max is there if I'm honest ... Tuesday 29 7 2008 Another day another thousand midge bites ... Blimey O'Reily they can be as vicious as a planning officer with a clipboard rammed forcibly up his a*se! Been out on site at Dunan. Interestingly, or possibly not, it's the place where I got the inspiration for 'Andy's' house in A Fall of Stone. It's on the left as you're coming north, cream coloured with green windows if you ever notice it. I always imagined that house (but on the Braes of course) when I wrote about Andy's. Had to measure a piece of steeply sloping bogland to create a deed plan for Ewen and got a real gamut of conditions. Left Kildonan in blazing sunshine which gradually turned to drizzle and then tropical downpour. Of course, what with the weather having been so great, I hadn't taken a jacket and so got tropically wet. Ewen showed me the site and then made me a cuppa in his house that looks as though it's stepped straight out of a fairy story or a Tolkien novel; character in abundance, wonderful. Went back to take measurements and the rain had stopped, the wind had died down and the steam rising from the bogland was full of midges. I scratched my arms raw and.have to admit I may have sworn a couple of times. Great view though ... Monday 28 7 2008 It really is quiet now. The Eaton family, mentioned in my last entry left around 10.30 am on Friday ... and were back again by mid afternoon! An accident near the middle of the island effectively left the exit blocked and anyone not wanting to hang around in a swealtering car for 6 hours, stuck on Skye. So we had the pleasure of their company for another night and what pleasure it was. Spent a goodly portion of the weekend collecting, chopping, splitting and stacking wood for our winter fuel. Strenuous exercise in 80 degree heat and not for the faint hearted. Dad even came out with us on Sunday for the second load and did his bit (he must be a touch barmy). The woodstore's looking great; neatly stacked and smelling gorgeous. The sea's flat, calm and extremely inviting as far as the boat and a spot of fishing's concerned. I've got loads of bits and pieces to do - you know the sort of stuff - necessary but boring, non-productive and unappetising. Nonetheless, it's stuff that I've got to do. Think I'll go and walk the dogs ... Friday 25 7 2008 And then there was quiet ... Funny thing 'family'. Reading the last couple of entries, you'd think that life in Kildonan and the Isle of Skye was, for us at least, a bit fraught. And while that is true in some respects, the fact that there are issues amongst the inhabitants of this little cluster of houses, will never take away from the fact that it's a beautiful place to live. The real Kildonan and the real Isle of Skye is in the sea and the rocks and the sunsetts. It's in the dolphins swimming half a mile off shore, their backs breaking mirror flat, slickly pulsing water in the half light at 11.00 pm. And it's in family and friends, real neighbours and interesting characters that cross our path and leave us only with happy memories - not sour tastes in our mouths and bad thoughts that linger far too long. Chelle and Rich and little Ben have just left (Max's sister, brother in law and little lad) and while they were here the house rung with squeals of laughter (not all Ben's), the chink of many beer bottles and the popping of a few corks too. We went to sea in Maria, watched said dolphins, ate together, talked together and laughed together. Apart from the blemish on the week caused by the incident described yesterday, all was well and we are sad to see them go. There was talk of coming back for Christmas which would be lovely. It's often said (and I've said it myself, often) that "you can choose your friends but you're stuck with your family" and while that is absolutely true, there's still some family that I'd choose every time. Thursday 24 7 2008 Oh well, that's life eh? Funny things, people. Spoke to 'Mary' yesterday, calmly, no raised voices, no hurtful character slurrs, just simple statements of disappointment; statements of how we felt, having been lied to, manipulated and taken for mugs. Sullen, teenage, downcast eyes greeted my words; nothing more. The only words spoken were to correct me; there's no grandson, just a granddaughter. Sorry for the error, but I think that's a bit picky if I'm absolutely honest. She left, the door slammed and I went back up to my work. Max watched. The car engine turned off and for a few seconds it seemed that the tears were going to create a bit of male bravado bullshit; a bit of 'upset my bird would ya...' you know the sort of thing. Anyway, the engine restarted and they reversed off. Mary must have talked some sense into Joe and convinced him that she was crying because of what she'd done, not what I'd said. If I sound bitter, please understand that this is simply my way of getting a bit of closure. I'm not bitter, just very, very disappointed. I even thought for a tiny moment that I'd been a bit hard; that we should ignore the lies and the deceit and the fact that we'd been taken for mugs, our home, friendship, trust and love been abused. And then, as Joe drove off, hand on top of the steering wheel, middle finger extended towards our house, I thought, no, I reckon we got it just about right. Very sad - time will tell I'm sure. Tuesday 22 7 2008 It's official ... Three things actually. Number one - I'm officially the most gullible, worst judge of character ever to walk the Earth. Number two - because of the above and my unyeilding need to think the best of everyone, Max now has the say as to whether anyone is OK or not. If she says no, then no it is. Thirdly - there has been a miracle in Kildonan. For the first time in over 2,000 years, a new Massiah is on the way. Immaculate conception or virgin birth - call it what you will but a baby is due to a girl who has definitely, catagorically, absolutely, "swear on my grandchild's life", never had sex! It truly is a miracle. The happy couple in question (we'll call them Mary and Joseph eh?) are expecting their little bundle of magic (shall we call him Jesus and give a great big AAAAAMMMMEEEENNN?) in February next year - which makes the date of the immaculate happening around 2 months ago. I await the arrival of three old and strangely inteligent men bearing unusual gifts of oddly useless chemicals around that time. Anyway must go, there's a bush that's been on fire outside for the last few weeks that I really ought to sort out. Anyone seen my bucket ...?.. Tuesday 22 7 2008 In case I've offended anyone... I apologise unreservedly, catagorically and most humbly. Obviously I was lying and exagerating in my last entry (actually the one above this one) earlier on today and the amazing miracle referred to obviously wasn't actually happening. If I've offended anyone of a religious standing with my comments, I again apologise. Of course there was no bush that had been burning for weeks that needed dowsing - that's simply ridiculous.... The rest of it? Absolutely true. I wonder if we could squeze a trio of wise old fellas into the B&B during February? Anyone know where I could get a side of goat or half a dozen donkey burgers? Thursday 17 7 2008 Done it again haven't I? Left it too long between entries and now I've got about a thousand things to talk about and not enough time between carrying out high profile, multi million pound design contracts for Skye's rich and famous. Also digging holes and watching water drain away and measuring areas of bogland. Ah, the rich and varied work of an Isle of Skye drawing and design consultanty, dogsbody sort of a chap. Anyway I digress (regularly). The weekend of the great Glen Coe Mormon drinking session-Glasgow-Harry Potter Hall-wedding-mad dash to Shropshire-Al's surprise party was pretty special and I know I've only touched the surface in describing the great Mormon drinking extravaganza but I don't think I could really do it justice in the time I've got. So, I'll simply say that the drive to Knockin from Glasgow was horrendous and if anyone ever considers leaving Glasgow at 8.30 in the evening in the pouring rain to attempt said journey, they should relax, have a big glass of whisky, then leave in the morning instead. Also, arrival at a surprise party at 12.45 am as the band are packing up to leave is likely to cause the host a near death heart attack experience (and a load of tears). What a night though and how rock and roll are we? The band's leaving and we're just arriving! What else? Oh blimey, loads - our lodger is leaving us for a council flat in Broadford; I went out on Maria (still without electrics) at 11.00 pm and spent an hour following Porpoise about in the loch; bought the new Colplay album (have you heard it - remarkable piece of work); had a steroid injection under the knee cap; got verbally beaten up by a middle aged lesbian; paid a first deposit on a trip to go Nile perch fishing with Al in September; watched some pretty spectacular sunsetts; lost the lobster pots; found the lobster pots; had the lobster pots raided by thieving shellfish pirates. It's all a bit much really. I promise next time, it won't be so long. Think I'll go and have a lie down ... Tuesday 1 7 2008 Drinking with the Mormons ... Honest, I kid you not. We recently, in fact, on our wedding anniversary evening, had a meal and got mildly drunk with a family of mormons. Bizarre, surreal but incredibly enjoyable. We were at the Clachaig Inn, Glencoe, stopping over before a wedding in Glasgow the following day and a mad drive to Al's secret, surprise party (more about that later). The place was busy and we were advised to get a table early if we wanted to eat, which we did. The only table free was a large one for 4 with a little round 2 seater tagged on the end so we grabbed a seat next to each other, ordered food and had a pint of real ale each (Anoch-Eagoch-brain-liquifier I think it was called). And, basically we were joined by a married couple and the wife's two younger brothers and kept entertained until the wee hours with tales of goats, drinking laws in Utah, hip-hop, being a missionary, stainless steel artifical joint technology, The Simpsons and life in general in the desert states of USA. The two brothers were, I think by their own admission, not really overly committed to their chosen religion, considering the bottle of wine they shared, the beer they quaffed and the whisky they finished the evening off with (oh and the fag breaks the younger one kept taking). What started off as a quiet evening ended at half past midnight, exchanging email and website details, being far too noisy and staggering off to bed. I doubt if there's too many people who can boast a drunken night with the Mormons. It was one of those special evenings though, unexpected, unplanned, rich, diverse and absolutely unforgetable. So to Mat, Aly, Trenton and Colter a great big thank you. Now, what shall I do tonight ... Wednesday 25 6 2008 Ever had one of those days? Or weeks, or months? Ok ... I'm in danger of being maudlin, possibly a bit depressing or downright wierd here and I don't really mean to be. These pages have always been a stage for me to share the wonders of living in a remote, unusual, beautiful, life enriching place and, so far, pretty much anyway, I've kept largely to my remit; my initial intention. "We've moved to an island 500 miles north of our birth place, took a great big gamble, stuck our necks out, bit the bullet and all that stuff and here's a diary linked to a website about the book that fueled the dream and isn't it absolutely great and wonderful and marvelous and terrific." Sometimes it isn't. Sometimes it rains a lot and the wind blows so hard that it scares me. Sometimes working from home, on my own gets a bit waring. Sometimes, trying to earn a living in an industry that I (to be truthful to myself), hardly know anything about and earn enough of a living to keep the bills paid and things ticking along nicely is unbelievably stressful. Don't get me wrong, I don't lay awake worrying about whether the phone's going to ring with another job and another month's work every night. I probably have enough work for the next 3 months; if the phone hasn't rung within the next 8 weeks - then I'll maybe have a sleepless hour or 2. Sometimes I don't like the fact that I can't phone my boss, leave a message and say "sorry, I won't be in today, I'm not feeling so good." That's life though, eh? Living on a remote island amongst a hotch potch mix of outcasts, and wierdos, anti-English natives, bigotts and hypocrites can be difficult. In the same way that trying to remove one's eyelids with a carving knife is 'difficult'. Don't get me wrong (please, for God's sake, I value anyone who reads this stuff greatly and would hate anyone else to misunderstand me) there are some truly wonderful people up here; some caring, fascinating, loyal, good people - lots in fact. The problem with a small comunity (and I use the word in the most loose sense imaginable) is that it's more dificult to get away from or, more to the point, ignore the ones that aren't. We moved here to be able to leave our doors unlocked; to be able to say hello to people we meet in the street who we don't know; wave to people passing in cars, simply because we caught their eye; to live a more simple life, where 'things' don't matter, where 'stuff' is less important, where money, wealth and materialism aren't brandished about like some big bully's fists. It's an odd place, sometimes. I can look out to sea some days, watch the birds swoop and soar, the waves break over the small islands, tiny blue and red boats bob on a choppy ocean like insignificant corks. I can stand and wtach the wind race through the long grass on the top of our bank; watch it flick and switch, sway and dive. I can listen to the snipes dive and thrum in the evening half light; the buzzards call from their high seats in the thermals. I often gaze far out of to sea, trace the outline of the Outer Isles with my eyes; the fall and swoop of each moutain and glen. The drive to Portree, especially in Winter without the camper vans and slow moving tourists (God bless em) can be sublime; no traffic, clear crisp air that lets you see a million miles into the depths of a sky so blue it hurts the eye simply to look at it. A morning on Maria can be an exercise in pleasure so intense that I wonder sometimes whether I actually imagined that the water really was so flat, that the reflections were quite so unbelievably clear and crisp, that the birds, seals and wildlife in general really were so, well ... real. I could go on, and on, and on until my fingers siezed up, my keyboard fell to pieces, my computer cried 'no more' or until Max says I really ought to get to bed at least, but I won't; I think I've probably said enough. But to be honest with you (to coin a Stephen Kingism) 'dear reader', I haven't said enough, not nearly enough. I could carry on, I could talk about double standards, arrogance, bullying bigotry, sneaky back stabbing absolute horrible awful spine tinglingly nasty nastyness and probably end up in court facing charges of slander or liable or whatever; but I won't. We moved here for all the things I rambled on about earlier and we've found them; in abundance. Let's just say that the more I have to do with some people, the more I find I like Harry and Bella ... Tuesday 17 6 2008 I don't know what to say ... Sorry, that should read 'I've got too much to say and not enough time to write it down'. Lots been happening so I'll try and cram it but still attempt to do justice to my beloved diary spot. It's been a while and I apologise but, in my defense ... sorry, got none - I've not made time and for that I deserve a right slapping. Had a visit from the 'non-baggers' a week or so ago. Pete, Steve, Paddy and, newest member, Martin up from Yorkshire for a go at the Cuillin Ridge, several gallons of beer, a number of bottles of whisky, ridiculously late nights and an absolutely splendid meal cooked by the gay cheifs (Pete and Paddy - they're not really gay -they just look it when they're in the kitchen talking about utensiles and garlic crushers). The idea behind being a 'non-bagger' was dreamt up during their last visit and basically involves climbing to the top of a mountain and, when you're almost in touching distance of the summitt cairn, you ... just don't bother. It's a direct anti-establishariantism (?) idea against people who climb mountains just to say that they've 'bagged' it - all the Munros, all the Corbetts etc. And, in fact, it's a direct stand against the habit of even catagorising mountains in the first place. Anyway, they did a fair portion of it but decided that, in the interest of staying alive, they would cut the route short after 36 hours up there, agreeing, once back somewhere nearing sea-level, that they had underestimated the challenge in a big way. Pete was given an official warning from the secretary of the Non-Baggers Association (me) and the Chairman (Paddy) for going to bed early after the climb and effectively turning down alcohol without a note from his mom. I shall be cataloging the event in the Club newsletter in the next few weeks. Other stuff? Maria is happily bobbing about, the mackerel are in, the drums still sound great and I'm going places, rythmically, on them that occasionally amaze me, work's still work and, oh, it's raining so bring on the salmon. Bloody weather ... Tuesday 20 5 2008 Could do with a drop of rain you know ... Not often someone up here says that, I can tell you. But we do, we really do. The River Snizort is a bare trickle - I can honestly say that I've never seen it as low. A trainer clad hoodie could quite easily skip across the stream bed carrying a stolen DVD player without getting his socks wet. The ground is dry and, in places, becoming cracked and parched. Grass is beginning to go brown which, in May, is odd to say the least. And - Maria is still bone dry too. The electrical fault is extremely baffling and, being electrically challenged myself, I can't suss it out at all. The way I see it, if you get a fully charged battery, connect it to an electrical system and flick a switch, the thing on the end of said switch should light up, get warm, pump stuff out or make a fine parping sound; nothing, absolutely nothing. Somewhere, amongst the devilishly clever, magical and almost mythical series of wires that makes up the loom on my boat, a great mischief is going on and the electrickery is not getting to the correct spot to do its thing. I've contacted an electrician who says he will 'pop out on his way back from work sometime' and spoken to the 'boat shop' who say they could have a look but expect a bill for anywhere between £400-£800 and they could do it sometime this year... probably. So Maria has a dry bum, the weather is so good it makes me want to spit with frustration at not being able to get out and, to cap it all - I looked out this morning and SOMEONE HAS MOORED THEIR BOAT ON MARIA'S MOORING!!!! Think I might swim over tonight and pull his plug ... Thursday 15 5 2008 Bloody spammers are back then ... What exactly is the point? What possible purpose can a load of old jumbled crap in the form of squiggles and disjointed vowels have? You can probably tell, I'm a bit miffed. The guestbook is there for people to drop a comment or two about the book or perhaps say something about my largely daft but occassionally poigniant and useful ramblings in this diary bit. Not to sprout a load of old cobblers that nobody gives a monkeys about. I'm speaking with my web guru, Martin to try and sort it out once and for all - but it's difficult. Maria, my lovely, freshly painted and scrubbed boat, has sufferred some sort of electrical breakdown which will hopefully be sorted soon but, as we speak, she is still sitting in dry docks yearning for the open sea. Very frustrating as the weather has been nothing short of Mediterranean for the last few weeks. Last night I took the mutts out for a stroll about 11.30 and, for the first time this year, under really clear skies, saw the yellow gold and silvery domed glow to the north which seems to show summer is pretty much here. As the year slips onwards towards mid June, this glow becomes more pronounced, brighter and longer lasting until, in late June and into July and August, it never really goes away. From sunset until sunrise, it looks as though someone's left a light on in the next room. Must be some bulb ... Friday 9 5 2008 Woke up in southern Spain ... That's what it feels like anyway. I think the temperature yesterday was up around the mid 70s which, for Skye is pretty damn hot, I can tell you. It's odd though because, somehow it always feels hotter up here and I don't know whether it's because of the cleaner air or just because normally we're getting rained on in our wooly hats. I bet some bright spark could tell me (though no one ever offered an answer to my 'really bright, twinkling star question' last year - cassiopi by the way, so I won't hold my breath). Maria has a blue, freshly painted, anti fouled bottom, my drums sound superb in their new home, snipes are calling, the swallows are here, cuckoos are up to 'stuff' on the telephone wires and it's hot enough to melt an eyebrow. Bring it on ... Monday 5 5 2008 I'm sorry - who are you? Really embarrassing (just had to look that one up). We were walking the dogs, ok, Harry and I were actually hobbling and limping respectively on our way to get eggs from the new, much inproved egg lady of Kildonan, Helen, when a large motorbike turned into our drive then, as we watched, turned right and went up to the house. "B & Bers" says I, "I'll go and tell them we're full." Only they weren't here for a bed for the night; this I gathered when the rider took off his helmet and strolled purposefully up to me, hand extended saying "Hello Richard, long time no see". I'm sure you know what I mean - I knew that I knew them both - I just couldn't place exactly where from or, if the truth be told, exactly who they were. They obviously knew me so I explained we'd be back in 5 minutes and in the meantime, they could go in and help themselves to tea or coffee. I know, I know, not the sort of thing you'd do in Tipton but, hey, that's why we moved here. Anyway, I felt sure Max could place them by the time we got back. And she did, immediately - also, strangely enough, as soon as I saw them again I knew also. So Cath and Bob from the Runrig concert/mud bath of 2007, we both say thanks for the lovely surprise, it really was great to see you and we look forward to a vist in the summer when you can stay, we can talk for longer, drink too much wine and, right from the off, I'll know who you are. Once again, sorry. The drum loft is finished, painted, rod racks up, carpet laid (not exactly fitted but at least nearly flat), desk up - had to go through the window in the end and, most importantly of all, drums polished and sitting around waiting to be assembled. So no, you're right, it's not actually finished yet. I'll let you know ... Tuesday 29 4 2008 Ok - so I lied ... It's wierd though; had someone asked me 2 weeks ago if I'd finished the drum loft, I'd have said "yeh, just about". And yet, as we speak, my little helper, Hannah, the runaway teenager I mentioned in the last entry (it's complicated, please don't ask, or at least, if you absolutely have to, ask Max and she'll explain) is up in said loft trying to shift about three tonnes of dust left when the window was fitted. And I've still got to paint the inside gable, put up some shelves, fit the rod racks, take a desk up and run some cable through so it's a bit neater than the extension lead that's there at the moment. Then I can think about getting the drums up there in their rightful place, set them up properly for the first time since I've had them, clean them and then set about annoying the sheep. Maria is still pump-less and needs her bottom scrubbed and anti-fouled but that will be done in the next week. Expect a fishing report before too long ... Monday 14 4 2008 What a strange old few weeks Ankles, knees, joints in general, run away teenagers ... Finished the drum loft - the recycled loft conversion I mentioned in the last entry. Why recycled I hear you ask (well Brenda anyway). Basically we've taken king post trusses, turned them into attic trusses, doubled up on the rafters, lined the vertical walls and the sloping coombed ceilings, put in insulation and a floor - all for about 25 quid. OK that's a bit of an exageration as we had to buy nails, galvanised nail plates, a bit of insulation, the flooring, varnish and half dozen sheets of Sterling board. But, all the timber for the joists, strengthening for the trusses and cladding for the walls and ceiling was earmaked for burning - surplus to requirements on a building job. Add to that,the flooring insulation of shredded legal documents from Max's office (works really well), odd bits of glass wool doing nothing other than providing a house for mice in a shed not far from here, a couple of sheets of surplus poly insulation, loads of cladding sitting about waiting to rot after being discarded years ago, a window for the front gable ordered in error and once again, surplus and all other bits of tat I've managed to utilise and I reckon I've got one of the most eco friendly loft conversions in the history of loftification. Doesn't look half bad either! The reference to the knee and ankle is a sort of ongoing thing that is now shifting from being a bit of an annoyance to being a real encumberance and quite frankly a bit depressing. It's been over a month since I've walked the dogs properly (other than short trots out to answer the call of nature for them) and this morning I could barely walk when I got out of bed (I don't know about turning 40, I think we've got the dates wrong and I'll be getting a bus pass shortly). Anyway, another consultation at Raigmore Hospital looms to see why my knees don't work properly and maybe a bit of an operation to have a look inside - great, can't wait. I've actually asked Max whether we ought to move to Inverness as I spend so much time there at the moment. NO, NO NO, stop it now (don't know whether you noticed but I reckon I was getting a bit maudlin there, this will not do). Should have the boat out soon, at least I don't need to be able to run about for that. Think the June trip across the Cuillin ridge might be out the window though ... Saturday 22 3 2008 Ally McBeal on a Friday night. We're recording them all at the moment you see, Zone Romantica, 8 and 9 o'clock pretty much every night. We've got them all linked so they just record, every one. Though, really annoyingly, we missed the first one. It's as good a way as any, I reckon, to pass a quiet Friday night - bottle of wine by the open fire, venison for tea (thanks Duncan), more wine in front of the telly, whacky comedy, well written, dogs providing light entertainment and a sleepy wife cuddled up next to me. Not bad I say. It must have been half one or so when we called it a night (I think we watched 3 episodes) and I ventured out into the dark to let Harry and Bella do their stuff. We'd had to turn the volume up a number of times to drown out the snare drum rattle of hail stones on the velux window, such was the ferocity of the weather but, taking a glance out of the dormer, I could see silvery light and a vague outline of the coast to the north. Once outside, the cold hit me. It's been a north wind for the last few days and a right vicious one too - enough to literally demolish a couple of timber stables or so the rumour goes and though it had dialled itself down a touch, I didn't want to be out for too long. I was in luck - the dogs seemed to be of the same opinion and even stood patiently while I took in the beautiful night. It was as though Loch Greshornish and Kildonan had been singled out for some special weather treatment. On every skyline, huge clouds hung ominously. Dark, brooding and hinting of right nasty stuff to come. And yet, above the house - nothing but stars and a night sky more blue than black. As the clouds pushed further south, they exposed a full, silver and magnificent moon, 'so bright I should have worn shades'. A gust buffeted me as I made my way back to the utlity door, enough to push me a long a little and make Maria bounce on her trailer. With the dogs in their bed, snuffling and grumbling their way to being comfortable, I made to switch off the outside light then realised, as my finger poised over the switch, that it was already off and the moon had fooled me perfectly. Tomorrow, I'm either going to fit a pump to Maria or carry on working on my recycled loft conversion. I'll explain ... Wednesday 5 3 2008 March already. Quite literally flying by or what? I used to really detest February. It dragged on and on, windy, rainy, dark and a bit depressing. The fishing was never any good and I used to get fed up with getting rained on all the time. This year it's slipped by with very little fuss - a few high winds and a couple of lost tiles, but generally pretty good. Now, it's March the 5th, tomorrow it will be mid June and by the end of the week we'll be sitting down to Christmas dinner again. Must be something to do with age ... Wednesday 27 2 2008 February and all that. Went out for a walk on Saturday, Max, Harry, Bella and me. The wind blew, the sea crashed against the chunks of gabro and gneiss that stretch out like mini Giant's Causeways around the coast here and the burns raged, deep and almost impassable. Sea birds wheeled off the coast, great flocks of fulmars, herring gulls and black backs, all competing (for what, I don't know, the sand eels are not due for another 3 months) and, while all this was going on, we 4 splashed like kids in the puddles and I, being the biggest kid of all, kicked great piles of cow muck into the air. Simple pleasures. Not particularly the cow muck kicking, rather the birds and the sea's motion; the wind whipping spray off the waves, the burns rushing towards the shore; the dogs snuffling and splashing through puddles, unaware of anything other than the next sniff. We were having lunch on Sunday (tomato soup and crusty bread - we tend to eat at night) when I noticed what I presumed was a sea eagle sauntering its way towards Edinbane. We rushed to get the monocular (thanks Derek again) then sprinted upstairs to watch it drift past the en-suite window and I started to have doubts as to what it actually was. I used to say "If you can't be sure if it's a crow or a buzzard, then it's a crow". The buzzard is simply far too big and if there's any doubt - it's a crow. Since being up here I started saying "If you can't tell if it's a buzzard or a golden eagle, then it's a buzzard" , the same logic applies. I've never been unsure whether a bird's a golden eagle though or a sea eagle and yet, on Sunday I was a little stumped. Quite patchy and mottled underneath, big head and beak, raggedy wings, huge in span but somehow not quite 'door-like' enough in width; and, no white tail. It was odd, to be over the sea too, I'd automatically presume it was a sea eagle. Then its mate appeared and followed slowly southwards. A lone seagull followed it, swooping occasionally, half hearted and cautious before diappearing from sight up past Mom and Dad's. Sea eagle? Golden eagle? Not a question many people have to decide while eating Sunday lunch, I reckon. Simple pleaures indeed ... Tuesday 19 2 2008 How can half a moon be so bright? Honest, I can't remember seeing such a bright winter's night before - there again, I'm rarely able to remember what I had for tea yeaterday. Plenty of times during the summer months, I've sat by the river waiting for darkness that just isn't going to happen, smoking a cigar (don't do that any more) before I wade in and have a cast for the sea trout. But the winter? February? it was something else - bright silver like a great big 'daylight light' in the sky, or as if an alien had on the biggest halogen head torch in the galaxy and had switched it to all 4 bulbs. There again, the last 10 days or so have been absolutely stunning - clear, calm, blue skies, sunshine; perfect. It's just as well really. After Egypt (but not because of it) Skye had lost its shine a little. Not dulled to a Wolverhampton smoggy squint, but dimmer none the less. It's all very political up here, especially when you deal with planning issues and some people, mainly incomers I have to admit, will insist on being downright, two faced back-stabbing, lying bast#*ds who ought to get on with their own lives, stop trying to mess up other peoples (neighbours for God's sake) and settle into island life rather than try to mould island life to them. Quiet and peacful- that's what's needed here - it's too small a place to get the knives out. So, there you have it - I've ranted a bit and now feel much better and what with the weather being perfect and lovely and smashing, my fitness levels creeping up with all the extra walking and our new arrival (Bella, an 18 month old beagle bitch who Harry thinks is absolutely gorgeous) making me smile every other minute, I'm really pretty happy to be ... well, doing what I'm doing and being where I am. I'll expand about Bella next time - in the meantime ... is there really no one out there who wants to give a nice lucrative book deal to a struggling writer? Wednesday 23 1 2008 Post holiday, New Year blues... ... and it's bloody raining.Got back from Egypt Monday.Sharm el Sheikh to East Mids airport in 5 hours 35 mins, overnight in a hotel then East Mids to Kildonan in 10. You can fly half way around the world quicker than driving to Skye. And that's possibly why I'm a bit grumpy. Also, two days ago we were lying in 25 degree sunshine relaxing as opposed to sitting in front of a computer putting off staring work while outside it's absolutely persisting down. Sharm El Sheikh was ok - in a fake, touristy sort of way that has little to do with Egypt and its fantastic history. It can be a frustrating place too, especially if you want to buy something. I've never been to a place that's so aggressively prowled by people trying to sell stuff to you that you don't want. Each shop is pretty much a facsimile of the one three doors away, in fact you could easily get every single item for sale in Sharm in half a dozen reasonably sized shops - not in the same quantity, granted - for that you'd need a football stadium or two - but one or two of everything, easily. We had a good time though but now we're back. Max has had the day off to re-aclimatise and I've gone straight back to work - or not as the case may be. A pile of letters and emails about work, phone messages to be answered and calls to the planning office to be made and I've had enough already. Time for a cup of Kerkadae ... Saturday 29 12 2007 Has anyone seen Christmas, I appear to have lost it? It's never gone? Must be my age but it seems to last less time each year. You spend ages planning, getting stuff in, filling the pantry and drinks cabinet, keeping secrets, telling fibs and then, in the flash of a reindeer's nose, it's gone. If it carries on like this it won't last till lunchtime and then where will we be? I'm working, Max is still wobbly and generally unwell with dizzy-wobbly-chucky-uppy-itus (labrynthitus actually) and Harry is happy in front of a crackling fire. Christmas is good, this year it was good and most years it's good - I just think we ought to get an extension. Got to go, I'm off to measure a ladies toilet ... Tuesday 25 12 2007 Getting mooned on Christmas day. You know how it is - big breakfast, nibbles all morning, a glass of wine here a wee dram there, then a sit down and a big turkey dinner, Christmas pud, more wine, a glass of port, a chocolate or three, a coffee and another dram. It's 7.00 and all I wanted to do was sit and doze, feel contented, full and prepare for a Talisker or two. The wind was lashing rain at mom and dad's front picture window in scary gusts and outside it was cold and unpleasant. But I had to go and walk Harry. I borrowed a pair of waterproof trousers off dad, zipped myself into the best Lowe Alpine has to offer - right up to my chin, popped on my neoprene wellies and set out. One man agaisnt the elements (I felt like I ought to have parted with the words "I'm just popping out - I may be gone some time...") An observation here that I've just thought of - I've never been to Christmas lunch before, dressed fairly smartly and then finished the outfit off with a pair of wellies. That's Skye for you. Anyway, Harry didn't seem too keen on being out either so I banked on a quick trot, a wee and a poo then back. The wind gusted, the rain lashed, Harry wandered from one side of the road to the other in the gale and all I wanted to do was go back and have another dram. In the south eastern sky, the moon was turning the cloud cover into a glowing silver screen (giants could have made finger puppets against it). To the south, where the typhoon was blowing from, the sky was clear and gradually, as I walked up the hill past Eric the mower man's house, it cleared. I could tell because all of a sudden I was casting a twenty foot shadow towards the loch. I turned round and witnessed a miracle. There were no angels, I haven't had a divine visitation, nothing like that - this was a miracle of nature. The moon, full, silver and clear enough to see the veins in the cheese, the footprints where lunar modules have touched down and my plot of land slightly north of the sea of something or other (Jackie bought me a 1 acre plot on the moon off the internet - I've got a title deed and everyhting, honest). In short, the sort of thing you don't see every day. The sort of thing that makes you stop and stare, take a minute, think about how insignificant we are - to simply wonder. Merry Christmas ... Monday 24 12 2007 Just seen a reindeer! Nah, actually I lie, it was a deer in the rain ... in fact I'm still lying because the weather's great at the moment. So actually it was just a deer. Harry thought it was pretty good though and became uncontrolable for the rest of his walk sniffing like crazy and trying to get into the forest. Max has started to bath him so I'd better go. Have a lovely Christmas one and all. Sunday 23 12 2007 A right old hooly, and no mistake. Walking H this evening, the wind (a southerly) was enough to stop us in our tracks and shuffle us backwards. We didn't go far. Harry seemed a bit despondant when we turned the corner for home after such a short walk but now, with the fire kicking out several gigawatts of heat and his belly full of crunchy dog food, he seems quite happy with life. Following advice from my solicitor, I've made a few ammendments to the two previous entries to prevent any awkwardness. Anyone who knows my father and I would realise that it was just a joke anyway but dad reckons he's too old for prison. (Does anyone else read this apart from Brenda?) Anyway, today (Sunday) has been a mix of work, shopping, fire making, roasting in front of said fire, watching re-runs of Allie MacBeal, listening to the wind, getting blown about by 70mph gusts while tyring to hang on to a semi airbourne beagle and eating chocolate. Pretty good all things considered - I've never been a big fan of shopping, ditto work, but the rest of it was OK. Our wobbly Santa with the little numbered blocks to indicate how many days there are till Christmas, says there's still 5 days to go. I reckon he's been on the Talisker ... Wednesday 19 12 2007 The perfect antidote to a right crappy day ... (And I've really toned that heading down, I can tell you.) Not good - pressure to complete work and pressure to get money for jobs done before everyone breaks up, heads off or hunkers down. Clients pressurising me for finished drawings that are getting overdue, clients not returning my calls and clients giving me a 'softly softly' hard time when the design and actual construction method for their house has only been decided a month. Oh, I know, it's not so bad; I could be a Nigerian diamond miner a Matalan sweat shop worker (nice clothes though - fabulous value) or, possibly worse, a traffic warden. And yes, I also know it's sort of nice to have clients banging on at me about work (I could have none, after all) but bloody hell - give me a God damn break. So, Max came back and I was still working, then Finley came round and declared our washing machine well and truly dead ('Aye, she's had it you know - it's a shame, she's a lovely machine' - nice to meet someone who loves his work!), so I stopped working and by the time he'd gone (having fixed our electric ignition on the hob too, all for a bottle of red) it was too late to carry on, but also too late to walk Harry so we gave him his tea and had ours as well, promising him we'd take him out once his Baker's complete had gone down. We started the walk and I felt up-tight, angry and, to be honest, ready to sell the house and become an itinerant dossing traveller (I actually do quite fancy that), we both moaned about stuff and felt quite grumpy with ourselves. By the time we'd got to the funfair (Mr MacRae Jnr, his parents and his sister - three houses next to each other with enough Christmas lights to illuminate Perth), I'd noticed that, contrary to what I'd written two nights ago, the sky was clearer than I'd ever seen it. There was a moon, only about half full, but the sky was so clear that we only used a torch so that we could see to scoop up Harry's little deposit. Everything was bathed in an incredible silvery glow and, with the frost lying thick enough to make you think it had snowed, it was light enough to read by (ok, well a watch at least). The tarmac twinkled, Harry crunched along in the grass at the side of the road and the stars shone. Ah, before I forget, I've been watching a star the last few nights and honestly, it's like looking at the brightest diamond imagineable, mined by the luckiest Nigerian diamond miner in the whole of Nigeria. When I look at it through my Monocular (thanks again Derek - wonderfull gift), it's as though it changes colour. Flashes of silver, a brief flash of gold, a glint of dark blue, then a bright shimmer of deep red, all in the blink of an eye. It's pretty much directly under Orion's right shoulder (presuming,that is, that Orion's facing forward. If it's his back we're looking at then it's his left one - just thought I'd clear that up), but way down, below his sword and kneecaps - almost on the south east horizon in fact - any ideas? I digress - we followed the old road until we crossed back to the Kildonan loop, dropped down the hill towards sea level then climbed back up towards mom and dad's. Harry scared a woodcock off the lawn while we stood and looked out to the north. We could see the headland that is Greshornish point, the sheep island (Eillen Mhor - big island) and the slipper island (Eillen Bheg - little island, imaginatively enough) and in the far distance, the lights of Kilmuir and then the odd flash from the light houses and marker bouys off Lewis. There was not a sound, the sea was flat and looked like thick, black trecle, my ears were burning, breath plumed thick enough to obscure the view, soil crunched beneath our feet, as dry and crystaline as brown sugar and the world was at peace. You know, sitting here writing this, a large and almost finished Glenlivet by my left hand, I can barely remember what I do for a living. Time for bed ... Monday 17 12 2007 The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl ... It always gets me, always brings a little tear to my eye if the truth be told. It never feels like Christmas until I've heard it and then, all of a sudden, the tree's going up, the cards are starting to line every level surface in the house and Max is wandering around singing 'They said there'd be snow at Christmas'. The bank balance is falling as the pile of presents, food, drink and everything else that goes with this time of year is rising, the first real cold snap has turned the ground crunchy and the sky clearer than the clearest clear thing imaginable - massive clearification! I've said it before but to be honest, I must have been lying before, because tonight, the stars are absolutely blooming AWESOME (who says I'm not hip, using a word like that). It's a great time of year, or at least it can be. Not so great if all it brings is bad memories so I suppose I need to be thankfull that all of mine are good. Getting back to music, Christmas music anyway, Max's Christmas CD is blaring away in the background as I write and Chris de Burgh is going 'la la la la la la la la la' and going on about some spaceman that came travelling apparently. Wonderful, evocative stuff, each one with its own little parcel of memories that come flooding back. I can't hear Chris Rea singing that he's 'driving home for Christmas' without thinking of my brother in Law Rich (he loves that song). That instrumental by Mike Oldfield, you know the one, it's got a nice guitar solo in the middle of it and a foreign name, I think, that I can't remember at the moment - that always does it for me too. Suppose I'd better go and help Max with the tree. We collected it last night (blah blah blah blah blah blah blah - censored due to sensitive info) me and my Dad - 77 and still out in the pitch black (blah blah blah blah blah blah blah - censored again). Said I'd only be a minute and I've already been 20. Hey what do you know, Chris Rea's just come on. Merry Christmas Rich, this one's for you... Friday 7 12 2007 Talking about wind ... Tomorrow we're going to Uist. We've been before, back in May and it was fabulous. Warm, blue sky, sunny, light breezes. You get the picture. Last night I walked up a slight incline and described it as being like climbing a major Himalayan peak. And yes, ok, I was perhaps exagerating a touch, using a tiny smidgen of writer's licence -but you got to see this wind to believe it. And we're going on a ferry to the Outer Isles where the wind always blows a bit stronger than here. I reckon the wind has dropped a bit over the course of the afternoon and hopefully it will continue its winding down overnight - or maybe that's just wishfull thinking. Anyway, it's been nice knowing you ... Thursday 6 12 2007 The sweet smell of melting brain cells. Oh blimey O'reily. In the last month I've completely switched my working practice around, turned it on its head spanked it a few times and then given it a bloody good shake. I'm computerised you see - my pens are drying up, the moving parts on the drawing board are quietly rusting in the corner and my brain is melting towards a complete mush. And yes, it is for the best, I can see the huge advantages of it and, having briefly switched back to ink yesterday to alter a few details on a chicken shed (don't ask), I can honestly say I don't realy miss scribbling away conventionally. But AAAAHHHH having to learn a job again is starting to get a little annoying. Is there no one out there with contacts to a decent publisher with sufficient foresight to take on a new author? Answers on a postcard to ... Thursday 6 12 2007 Climbing Kildonan's east face. If you walk from our front door, down our drive and onto the loop road, the view to the north, and west is one of sea loch, islands both distant and close (relatively - I wouldn't want to swim to them), rolling headland and heathery bog. At times, the sea is as flat and still as a pool of silvery treacle, at others it whips up into spinning plumes of spray, crashes against the rocks and generally looks cold, unforgiving, thoroughly inhospitable and, to be absolutely frank, downright terrifying. Tonight it's the latter, not that I can see it because it's pitch black - I can just tell. Harry needed a walk and I didn't want to let Max go on her own in case she was blown away, even though I'd got a drawing to finish, so we toiled against the 70mph gusts coming from the north west. The sky was black as brushed velvet, clear as a chalk spring and everywhere we looked, stars shone like neon pin pricks. The wind pushed us along until we dropped down the slight dip in the road and into a pocket of calm. Wind blasted over our heads and all around, trees and grasses swayed and shook. But down at ground level (where the best smells are, so Harry reckons) there was a relative calm. After half a mile, we turned for home, the full 2 and a half mile loop left for a more settled and frankly less dangerous night - getting hit by a tree branch or roof tile at the national speed limit can't be fun. The wind increased until, as we started to climb back up the dip, it blasted us, head on and I was reminded of pictures I'd seen of climbers on Everest, Kangchenchunga and Lhotse - taking one step and being blown back half a one. But I could see the light from the lamp on my desk shining out through the Velux, 5 minutes away, so I reckoned we'd make it. You can't be too careful where wind's concerned though ... Sunday 2 12 2007 Life begins now (apparently). Last time I put finger to silicone, I was talking about a camping holiday in the far north west and the outstanding scenery encountered. I must apologise because I never really finished and haven't added a single scribble for, what, 8 weeks or more? Shocking and unforgiveable. I know that there are a few of you out there who occassionaly read these jottings and for that I thank you. I hope you find them amusing or, if nothing else, at least mildly interesting. Anyone who has had a look at the guest book section will have noticed I've been getting a load of junk spammy type entries (literally thousands). I don't know why or how this happens (I leave that to Martin), but I do know how bloody annoying, petty and pathetic it is. I can't understand what anyone gets out of adding a huge block of undecipherable computer crap to a totally inofensive website - I just hope their typing finger goes green, scabby and falls off. The problem is all cleared up now (again, thanks Martin) so if anyone has been waiting to add a review or just a guest book entry, perhaps about these daft scribblings, the coast is now clear. Ray Tyler is the last one to add his thoughts and, my God, what a review. Thanks for that Ray, I owe you one. Anyway, Friday was a monumental day as I became two twenty year olds bolted together, in fact four ten year olds would probably be more appropriate. But to quote any teenager - WHATEVER, I'm now coming 41. More worrying, in less than ten years I'll be ... sorry, I can't even write that down but you know what I mean. I'm planning to take up bungee jumping, naked skiing, base jumping, paragliding, adventure trekking, in fact anything that is likely to mean there's a fair chance I don't last another ten years. There again, I did buy an 8 piece drum kit (well actually Max bought it me really) and I've also taken to walking round without my slippers so that's probably enough risk taking for now. Had a great birthday weekend -Mark and Jennie, good friends from the midlands 'popped up to see me' as a surprise and spent the weekend with us, had a great meal at the Bosville hotel in Portree (highly reccommended, in fact I couldn't fault it at all) and generally just relaxed, walked Harry (4 year old beagle pup) and drank plenty of good quality wine. Last weekend was spent down at Stirling with Al and Lucy and again, what a great time we had. Spent several hours in a hot-tub with two beautiful, gorgeous, sexy ladies, took pictures of Al lying, naked, semi passed out and incredibly hairy on his bed and had a trip to Stirling A&E with terrible eye pain that turned out to be a viral corneal ulcer (bloody hot-tub). The young doctor seemed really chuffed that I'd brought my infected eye for her to have a look at, so chuffed that she called her boss to have a look too. Glad eye could be of service! Last night was clear and cold and, around midnight the five of us went out with binoculars and telescopes to have a peek at the stars. 'Old Boy' Derek had very kindly bought me a new and altogether splendid telescope for my birthday (to help spot poachers) and through it, there apeared to be more stars than sky. Looking at the Milky way (or was it the Kit Kat?) was like viewing an out of tune tv - I've never seen so many stars. Today we drove down to Sligachan and walked towards snow capped mountains along the glen path for half an hour. The air was still, clear and crisp enough to freeze off a nose. The sun was bright and the sky blue, Harry barked at passing joggers and Mark's wholly inapropriate footwear managed to keep out the puddles. In short it was a perfect end to a perfect weekend, in fact a perfect two weekends. Familiarity can, I feel, dull beauty, take the shine off glistening jewels and make wonderous things seem very mundane and ordinary. Sometimes it takes a peek at the world through someone elses eyes to remind us what we've got on our doorsteps. Mr & Mrs Webb, I thank you. Wednesday 26 9 2007 Warships off the starboard bow. There really was, two of them just sitting, (or floating or bobbing about, whatever warships do when they're not firing stuff at other ships) several miles off the coast. They were pointing, thankfully, towards Cape Wrath and not at Durness and were taking part in a large military operation involving loads of European countries. Presumably, going by the scary explosions that echoed through the silence on a fairly frequent basis, they were hurling large lumps of armoury at the hillside (poor old seagulls). We left and travelled south, heading along the A838, a road which alternates between single track and two lane and travels through some of the most outstanding scenery I've ever seen. North West Sutherland is quite remarkable. It's a land distilled by time and the elements to the most basic of ingredients necessary. Rock, patches of green, patches of purple and water - lots of water, running at full pelt towards the sea, rippling between grey and green slopes or crashing against more rock, white capped and dangerous. The mountains are huge there; not necessarily in height but in stature, in prescence. Their names famous amongst their bretheren - Stack, Arkle, Cranstackie, Carn Dearg. It's a land like no other I've ever seen - majestic, rugged, awe inspiring all in one. We kept going south, along the coast, taking detours and photos as we went, filling our memories with visions and images, feasting and gorging as though in readiness for hibernation. Assynt, now there's a place ... Monday 24 9 2007 Back home Been away for a week - Max, I and a tent. Yes, I know it's September, yes I know we live somewhere slightly short of the Arctic Circle and yes, I also know that taking the above into account, camping is probably not the sainest idea for a holiday. Strangely enough though, even adding into the equation the fact that, after a short southerly trip to Oban, we headed NORTH, we had a great time. And we camped every night (apart from one night in the car). If you've never been, try taking the road from Lairg, near the East Coast, along Loch Shin, to a place called Laxford Bridge. Then, with darkness falling and rain lashing across the windscreen in violent sheets, turn right and travel for 14 miles to Durness on the far North Coast - next stop Iceland. I know it sounds horrendous, especially when you have nowhere to stay overnight, the tent (if you could actually pitch it) would be instantly torn away into the North Sea and all the B&Bs are full; but honestly, everyone should give it a go. The feeling of being so far out into the wildest country imaginable is astonishing and somehow refreshing - enlightening almost. The land up there gives the impression of having been stripped of all of its flesh; like a carcass down to its bare bones. Rock lies everywhere, puncturing the surface of the land as though bursting through to leave patches of heather or wind blasted grasses in between. I suppose, for most, in this modern age of 'stuff gadgets and objects', such a lanscape will seem too barren, too unwelcoming, too terrifying even. And I can see where you're coming from. But, when you push open the door at the 'Oasis' bar/restauraunt and let it swing shut behind you, cutting off the howling banshees whistling around the eaves, everything seems OK. Stepping into what seems like an episode of Northern Exposure, the beer tates great, the food is faultless and, forgetting the fact that you've still got to find a 'quiet' place to sleep in the car, life rarely seems to get better. (More holiday adventures to follow ...) Monday 3 9 2007 Mondays are always a bit pants. Even here, even when the sun's shining, the sky's blue, the sea is nice and flat and calling out to me. Even when I've been out this morning at the crack of dawn and hooked a salmon (hooked, not landed unfortunately). Still just a bit pants, too much work (of the wrong sort), hassles from planners, building warrant officers, hypocritical, biggotted neighbours (ooops, getting a little political there) and we still haven't won the lottery. Worse still, I've still not secured that book deal and Hollywood are, as yet, still managing to hold themselves back from beating down my door for the film rites. Now then, I've had a moan, it's 5 o'clock and I can legitimately stop work (though I suppose I did that about 15 minutes ago when I decided to write this). Think I'll have 10 mins on the drums then go out on Maria later for the evening. You know, Mondays aren't that bad after all ... Wednesday 22 8 2007 It's all about an aversion to routine you know! Yes I know, it's been two months since I last put finger to keyboard and added an entry. It's not as though I've had nothing to write about either ... Had a week down with Al in late June - fished, drank faaarrrr too much whisky and generally had a splendid time. It was a strange trip by all accounts though as he's moved to mid Wales (which, I must say, is a huge improvement on Wolverhampton), so I had a week with Al but didn't really see any of the old haunts. Max flew down to East Mids airport after a week and we met up to see her brother get married. The salmon finally started running the river Snizort - mainly because we finally had some rain. Now there's a strange how's your father don't you think? The rivers on Skye had literally dried up between April and the end of July. I kid you not, runs reduced to gravel banks with a trickle of brown water between the stones, deep pools rendered still and unmoving - not what you'd expect from a typical Skye summer. And yet, all the time while we were going through weeks without any decent amount of rain, the south of the country has almost been washed away. Odd indeed. Something completely different while I think of it - you know the sort of thing "... the world's best animal comedy moments", "... the best tv bloopers ever (6)", "... the best bus driving album in the world ever (5)", well if they ever do a "... the best bacon sandwhich in the world, ever", I reckon I recently ate it. On Maria, a cup of coffee in one hand, a bacon sandwhich, cooked on the little petrol stove while bobbing and drifting around in the other, a great big sky above and Max's smiling face filled with sarnie complete with a dribble of brown sauce - superb! I'm desperate to have a night on Maria again but, while we've not had a lot of rain, we have had an almost continous north wind which has made fishing all the good marks very difficult. I'm sure it'll clear and give me a few chances before the Autumn comes on with a vengeance (I'm determined to have her ready to launch at any time during the winter this year, see if there are any cod about - who knows). I've just thought of something I really ought to add ... I'll wait till next time. Wednesday 20 6 2007 (Nearly) lost for words. Quite a night last night. I've been meaning to go out on Maria in the late evening and stay out till midnight or so for some time now. The sunsets have been spectacular and the sea so flat once the evening takes hold and I've spent many a moment staring out of the window thinking "I ought to be out there". Anyway, last night I made up my mind and even though Garry couldn't make it and Max thought it would be too cold, I rowed out at about half past 8. I'd got a few things to do (tidying mainly) before I could set off and so it was after 9 when I motored out into a gently rocking Loch Greshornish. The western horizon was dark grey cloud but above me the first few stars were starting to show. By 10.30 I'd listened to Stornaway coastguard telling me what the weather was going to do, caught a load of coalfish and pollack and, in searching for the location of a large reef I'd seen on a nautical map some time ago, had travelled almost 2 miles off shore. Drifting in 250 feet of water as the light drips from the world, surrounded by a vast, rippling, silver sheet is a moving experience especially when, 10 feet from the boat a common dolphin circles, checking me out. Awesome ... I can think of no better word to describe it. I'll be doing it again (not tonight though 'cause it's our 15th wedding anniversary.) Friday 15 6 2007 Blimey, I'd forgotten just how amazing it was! For the last few nights I've wandered off to bed at around the 11.30 - 12.00 mark. Each time, I've taken a moment to scan the northern horizon and each time I've stood for a few moments in absolute awe at the sight that greets me. Roughly 30 - 40 miles away, lining the northern horizon are the islands of Lewis, Harris and the very tip of North Uist. Their mountains are nothing special in terms of sheer size and so their outline, scribed against the sky, should be nothing special either. And yet it is. Rounded and almost flat in the north, the horizon rises and falls in a series of gradually sharpenning peaks, then dips once more towards the ocean before dosappearing behind Greshornish Point. It's a pleasant outline, a pleasing enough horizon on which to look during the daylight hours and yet, throw in a backdrop of vivid orange and the mountains grow in height, the glens swell in depth and the whole vista seems to pulse with a radiant glow. We've been getting the same conditions every night for the past week or so and I love it. around 9.00, the sun becomes too bright to look at as it drops towards the lumpy outline of Greshornish. (We discussed blowing it up last night so that we get a better view but this would be very selfish and also take several thousand tonnes of explosive. It would also make one hell of a mess.) By 9.30, with a little bit of cloud to make the scene more interesting, the sky will be everything from vivid red through to orange, cream and the subtlest peach imaginable. Sometimes it looks as though there must have been a nuclear war that nobody has bothered telling us about, as though something huge has gone off, just the other side of the Hebrides. Such is the colour, the vivid, eye searing brightness, that you'd think the clouds were on fire. By 10.00 everything is calming down, growing more and more subtle, the horizon becoming, if possible, even more defined as if carved in to stone, which of course, is exactly how it is. 11.00 comes and the scene is a pastel glowing heaven, the sea, often by now, a shimmering mirror of calm. By 12.00 the midnight light is still enough to read a large print book by, take a stroll without a torch or drive your car without lights and without driving into a ditch (I wouldn't recommend it though). I woke last night at 3.30 - too much beer or possibly just my age - and the scene that met my blurry, half asleep eyes was a new day dawned. Fully dawned, get up and start work, get the boat out, go fishing, daytime dawn. To the north and slightly to east, the glow was as I'd left it 3 hours before, it had just shifted around a bit, from say, if you were looking at a clock face, 10 o'clock till 2. The sea was a great big mirror, the best, flattest, calmest I'd seen it for weeks - perfect to get out and catch some fish whilst watching the sun rise over the Storr. I'd love to say I got dressed, but I didn't. Saturday though, if the weather's going to be good, I may make the effort. I'll let you know. Wednesday 6 6 2007 What happened to May? Busy times - what with playing the drums, being on holiday (North Uist, fabulous), having friends to stay, fishing, climbing big scary mountains and of course, nasty work to do. Drums are great (filling the landing space upstairs now), work's actually not too bad and the sun's shining its head off today. The old, red, almost pre-war golf sadly passed away following a short, very terminal but hopefully painless cam-belt infarction. However, due to the wonders of modern auto-mechanical engineering a donor engine and youthful enthusiasm it's been re-born and is probably burning up Portree High Street as I write (a young mechanic bought it off me from the garage where it came to rest). The Subaru has also gone as it informed us it was getting a bit tired, replaced by a shiny red Honda CRV. (Never thought I'd have a school run SUV - at least there's no kids). Short and sweet today as I've got a drawing to finish, though, with the sun shining and the sea flat calm I know where I'd rather be ... Monday 23 4 2007 Does anyone else hear a ringing noise? Firstly, the drums have arrived as you have probably gathered by the heading. They make a rather nice feature in the lounge at the moment, in fact they pretty much fill it. Ho-hum, will need to re house them to the drum loft soon (once it's finished). They make a splendid noise, though not necessarily in the correct order at the moment but I'm getting there gradually. On a serious note, Max infroms me that there are a load of spelling mostukes in my entries. Please accept my apologies - there's no spell checker and I find using the dictionary a real barrier to my creative juices..... yeh right, I'm too idle to look stuff up - and my typing's a bit pants at the best of times so I tend to jit the wrong bittoms occasionally. Work's gone a bit slack at the moment, strange because this time last year was manic. May even get a chance to start my next book (in between playing with my new toys and fishing off Maria)... pity about that pesky mortgage. Oh, nearly forgot - hi Brenda, lovely sand dance you've got there. Tuesday 10 4 2007 'snot possible. It really isn't. Putting an entry on here about life on the Isle of Skye, without mentioning the weather is, quite simply outside of my abilities. It would be something like that really nice fella who sent his letter from America every week for about a hundred years starting one of his messages with 'a really strange thing happened to me in Preston t'other day'. 'twouldn't happen. So, anyway, the last few weeks have been terrific, splendid, bostin. Clear, sunshine, light winds, lovely. The boat (Maria) wasn't really ready to get in the water as I'm waithing for Kevin to finish her new stainless steel transom cover (sounds like I know what I'm talking about doesn't it?) but I aimed for Monday just gone anyway and decided to get her bottom wet whether she was up for it or not. The allotted day dawned cloudy with a hint of drizzle and developed into a right old minger with a stiff force 5 or 6... and so it continues. The morale of the story? I don't really know; however, for the first time since we've lived here, a mother and daughter Jehova's Witness team came to our door this morning and I chatted with them for quite some time. They really were quite pleasent ... perhaps I should have asked them all about it. Answers on a postcard to .... Thursday 22 3 2007 Oops - it's been a while! Naughty old me, leaving it such a long time just because Max said I was weather obsessed. No, that's not the reason, it's simply lack of time, too much work, boats to paint and varnish, Led Zeppelin CDs to buy (been accumulating the whole back-catalogue off ebay), drum kits to source and purchase (finally done it) and life to live. Also, I've been having a bit of a run in with the local planners and it's all got a bit time consuming to be honest. Oh well. Don't shout, but I must comment on the weather ... A month ago, Max and I went for a Sunday morning walk along the coast, a new peice of coast we'd not explored before and it seemed, finally that spring had indeed sprung. A couple of dozen seals lounged about on the rocks, two herons flapped away at our approach, woodcock sprang from undergrowth literally teaming with daffodils and primulas. The sun was bright, sky blue, a female perigrine falcon screeched at us continually because we were in her territory and all was well. Since then we've had a period of high winds and some snow, but today the sea is flat and I'm dreaming of polack from a newly painted boat resplendant with new fancy transfer name (Maria - same name, new transfer). Pity about the drawing work I've got to finish but Mr Campbell needs his new house, I need the money (to pay for a new drum kit amongst other things - it's an early 40th birtday sort of a thing) and I'm behind with the job as it is. God only knows what I'll be like when the drums arrive .... Monday 8 1 2007 It's really not that bad - honest. Max read my diary entries a couple of nights ago, declared me obsessed with the weather and reckoned that people reading it would think that I regretted moving here. Because the weather is, quite often a bit pants. Well, to put the record straight, I'm not and I most certainly don't. Yes, it does rain a bit and we have had a particularly wet and windy Autumn and winter so far but (and this is a great big scrumptious but) a wet and windy day on Skye is still worth a week of sunshine in Wolverhampton. In my humble opinion anyway. So, if any of you have had similar thoughts, or if I've bored you with meteorological (had to get the dictionary out for that one) ramblings, I apologise. Normal service will be resumed with my next entry ... weather permitting. Wednesday 3 1 2007 Happy New Year - told you they were a bit crap Indeed, happy New Year to anyone out there who regularly reads my scribblings (and to all of you who don't too). As the title for this latest entry suggests, the dear old Met Office got it wrong, well at least partly wrong anyway. Up until 11.30, the house had been rumbling quite happily as gusts of clear, Skye air bombarded the West facing walls in a relentless effort to dislodge a few tiles, blocks and, of course, a few more patches of paintwork. Garry and I sat in the window seat, sipping single malt (Bowmore, Laphroaig, Glen Moray and a rather fine 12 year old Highland Park) while the foam beneath us trembled with each blast of air (and we hadn't even had any home made curry by then either). Max, Nicky and the old couple (my lovely parents), sat on the two setees and, though less affected, still reckoned they could feel the timbers shaking beneath their feet. Garry had dragged me out to the garage for a smoke (yeh, right) and we'd been buffeted and soaked during the 10 second crossing from the utility door. Then, after a lull in the conversation about how I like to wind my mom up by disagreeing with her on such subjects as The Royals, farmed salmon, gay actors, political correctness and of course Tony Blair, dad noted that the house had stopped shaking and that the little drummer boy had stopped practising on the velux windows. Time to light the fire. And it all went rather well. The fire lit, though nearly taking with it my facial hair when the half litre of petrol went up with an extremly audible whoomph, the Champagne tasted delightful after the bells, the New Year kiss with Max was as good as ever and the fireworks sprayed their sparks and smoke into the blackness just as I'd hoped. Peter and Corole, our close neighbours, were having a bit of a do also and, although their fireworks were probably better than ours, we were better positioned to try a little 'precision bombing' being above their house. The wind was still blowing a bit so we had to reign in our enthusism for fear of setting their roof on fire, but it was fun to shoot them over the top at least (next year, conditions allowing, I reckon I'll be able to get one to bounce along the ground to the north of their house). So it was fun, ended about 4.30 with a last (quiet) blast of Led Zeppelin, last smoke, last of the Highland Park (straight from the bottle in the garage) and a rapid slide into deep sleep. I learned quite a bit about true friendship and the importance of loyalty, had the best New Year's day ever (thanks Garry and Nicky) scrambling about on the rocks at Staffin, had another luvverrly meal at the 'caravan che Shaw and Dagnall' and all this with barely a head ache. That's a true testimony to great malt whisky. Pity about the first stepping though ... Sunday 31 12 2006 If only ... Yeah, if only. The Met Office spend all year frustrating me with forecasts that could have been more accurately made using Old Mrs Miggins' fur cone and the mole on her laft hand that itches at the onset of a frosty spell. And now, when it's most important, they forecast strong gales, and rain. Annoyingly, it looks like they're going to be right on the money with this one. In the past, I've looked on the website at midday to be told that a high pressure is upon us, a bright sun is pouring down its warming rays and that winds should be a light and breezy 5mph only to be confronted, when I look out of my office window, by a scary, white horse topped sea crashing against the rocks. A howling gale is going about its business of peeling paint from our walls, tearing up grass and generally redistributing anything not securely tethered down. In short, apart from the odd relapse during which they can tell me what the weather in ten minute's time is going to be, or in fact what it's like at that specific point, I generally think they're a bit crap. Too often (MUCH TOO OFTEN) I make plans based on, for example, light winds ideal for going out on the boat, high rainfall, ideal for having a go for the salmon or nasty, foul weather ideal for staying in, only to find the exact opposite actually manifests itself and I've wasted a day. My Mom would disagree - to her they can do no wrong, bless her cotton socks (or rather wool, now she lives this far north) and any 'discrepencies' can be put down to the fact that 'they can't get it right all the time'. I disagree - I reckon they can't possibly get it WRONG all the time. The annoying thing is that, tonight, when all we want is clear sky and light enough winds to allow my rockets to be sent into the air and not into the timber Swiss chalet affair 150 yards away, it seems, is going to be one of those times. Watch the news for 'Timber chalet in tragic firework conflagration accident' ... Thursday 28 12 2006 Another day, another article. Blimey ... for the first time (pretty much anyway) since moving up here, I've sat down at the computer and dolled out a few thousand words. Let's get something straight though - I HAVEN'T been sufferring from 'writer's block'. Rather, I've been sufferring from writer's 'couldn't be arsed and haven't had the time' There's a big difference. I'm probably being a little hard on myself when I say I couldn't be arsed when, if the truth be known, I've really not had the time ... or more acurately made the time. Today the wind has returned gradually, building up from somewhere around lunchtime until now, at 7.00 it's blowing a right hooly. I woke this morning wishing that I'd arranged to go out on 'Maria' (our boat) and by mid afternoon felt rather glad that I hadn't - I'd surely have been sick, drowned or, probably both. Why today to start writing again? It felt right, I was stuggling with the work that pays the bills and anyway, it's still Christmas. What with the bad weather, strong wind, rain and freezing cold, all I wanted to do was sit in front of the keyboard and do what I love doing. It's forecast this right until the 1st of January ... pity about the fireworks we've bought... Wednesday 27 12 2006 Merry Christmas! I fully intended to add a diary entry on Christmas day but, well, you know how it is; turkey, presents, alcohol, general merriment and everything else that goes with the festive season. So anyway, it's the day after Boxing day and I've managed to get myself sat in front of the computer for half an hour. Max is back at work today (unusual for a solicitors office to go back much before the 8th) so I, alegedly, have started back as well. I've done nothing ... no that's not exactly true, I've downloaded the new Scottish Building Standards from their website and spent an hour going through stuff that's common sense, stuff that I'll never use and stuff that I don't understand. I got to page 76 of just under 800 ... Anyone out there want to turn my book into a film so I can stop having to draw houses for a living? Feel free to contact me through the website ... Monday 11 12 2006 "A light breeze is beginning to stir the grasses ..." Yeh, right. For the last six weeks, on and off (mainly on) the wind has blown ... hard. Not a breeze but a full force wind. It's not the sort of wind you get in a city or even a large town; there, the gusts are deflected around buildings, channelled, broken, calmed. Here, at least where our house is anyway, it either blows straight in from the north, over the sea, direct from Iceland, funnells down a sea loch from the south or attacks like a banshee, over Greshornish Point from the west, via about 2000 miles of Atlantic. I went to the west side of our house earlier today, to plug up an extractor fan vent with rubber matting and thus thwart the freezing gale blowing into the downstairs en-suite (as you do) and I noticed that the wind is blowing the paint off the walls. Think about that ... a wind that can blow paint off the walls of a house? Pretty special I'd say. You know, violent tornado-strength wind or otherwise, I still love the place. And no, before you ask, I haven't started the next book yet ... it's been too windy to write. Friday 17 11 2006 Chilly up here. I mentioned in my last entry that I reckoned Winter was upon us, but during this last week, the temperature's dropped another few notches. Wooly hats are the order of the day, even for a trip out to the garage for a smoke. Absent though, have been the constant, draining, high buffetting winds that seem to want to rip the roof tiles off, replaced, instead, by clear night skys, crisp mornings, a flat calm sea and a great desire to forget drawing houses and site plans and simply get the boat out for the day. I've resisted (with difficulty) and got my head down largely. Still haven't started the next book, though I think it's started itself as snippetts keep coming to me; ideas, phrases, characters, events. Too much bloody work. Tell you what, considering we moved up here for a quieter life, I seem to be doing a lot of work and very litle writing. Such is life (I'm not complaining though). Thursday 9 11 2006 Wind and drains and not enough writing That's the trouble with a new house - too many things, waiting, hidden beneath timber, concrete and blockwork, to jump up at you when you least expect it and start to leak or break or just plain play up. Nothing major I suppose, simply bad timing - an occassional slight aroma, a whiff to wrinkle the nose then, when the B & B is all set and ready to go, a right bloody pong. A drain problem with a bad attitude. As with most things on Skye, it's getting sorted, slowly. Ho hum, never mind eh? Winter seems to have arrived in the last week or so. Gone are the flat calm seas of summer and Autumn - mostly. Instead, wind rippled grey and white capped blue as deep and dark as any Mid Atlantic swell. With it, skeans of geese honking in the night, swarms of tiny little birds (some sort of finch I think) that flit about in gangs, pecking through the grasses, looking for seeds. And the Sea Eagle, glimpsed as a dark shadowy spectre, occasionally watched with breath held and eyes cast high. Glad the boat's in the garage, cosy and dry, safe from storms and waiting patiently for me to start peeling layers off her before adding fresh ones, of bright, sparkling paint and varnish. The drawing work's going well; plenty to keep me busy and away from the fishing rods. House designs, site plans, layouts, de-crofting plans and deed plans - all in a day's work. Pays the bills but I'd rather be writing, hell, I need to be writing. I've done so little since we moved here; a paragraph or two on a new idea, an article or two for Waterlog. But (and this is a fairly big, if possibly insignificant 'but') I think I feel a book coming on. Something to keep me up through the dark winter nights, something to stir my soul and flex my writer's muscle. Something to channel my love for this craggy, sometimes ugly, sometimes scary, often beautiful, wind-swepped chunk of fractured rock on which we've been drawn to settle. A love story? Something to tug at the heart strings? A psychological (is that right? - there's no spell check on this) thriller? A plain old fashioned, Stephen King-esque ghost story? Perhaps a little of each? Who knows, I'll let you know when I do. Monday 9 10 2006 Told you I'd keep it updated. Ever had a house built? Traumatic ... that's about right, sums it up neatly in one word. Getting everything to come together, all the bits and pieces that eventually go together to make up a home, sorting the kitchen, bathrooms, new furniture etc, etc, blah blah blah. Our builder was great - when he wasn't swearing and being a total pain in the arse. No, he was generally pretty good, in fact I get on better with him now than I did when the house was under construction, regularly recommend him to other people having their own house built and would share a coffee and a smoke with him whenever he fancied one. So at least that was one thing we didn't have to worry about. The fact that he was building a house for us 500 odd miles away was a minor added pressure, but all in all it went OK. We're in, have been in fact for 12 months and now, finally, it looks like a home; a proper home, one that's lived in and used. I'll perhaps get Martin to add a few photos of 'Hentilagged' (that's the house name - it's a bit of sheep's wool stuck on a branch or some other sharp sticky-outy thing. We thought it appropriate as we'd been blown here too) onto the site, if I get round to sending him any. If anyone fancies spending some time on Skye, we'll be opening as a bed and breakfast in the next few days - we'd love to welcome you as our guests (we need the money anyway). I'll keep you informed how we get on. Friday 6 10 2006 I can't believe it's been another year. Anyone remember that advert ... you must have seen it, a bank or something, possibly an insurance company. Anyway, the gist of it went "When was the last time you did something for the first time?" Quite a hook-line I always thought and, up until fairly recently I would have struggled to think of an answer. Over the last 12 months though so much has happened that a veritable flood of responses spring to mind. In fact, at one point, not long after we'd moved up, I could have quite honestly said, without fear of lying "every single day". It's been a whirlwind mix of excitement, uncertainty, joy, trepidation and downright terror. I make no excuses for not having filled in my diary for 12 months and 5 days other than the fact that, every day something has cropped up that has seemed so pressing, so important, so essential, that filling in this web diary has paled into insignifigance. I appologise unreservedly - especially after my last entry when I promised I'd fill it in on a regular basis. So much has happened that I don't know where to start; and let's face it, I've left it a bit late to try and catch up. So, I'll endevour to keep the thing up to date and, in doing so, add a tale or too each time. As far as doing things for the first time are concerned there seems to be too many to list, but here's a taster. Working on a building site; varnishing a log cabin; painting the gable end of a house on a scaffold in terminal state of collapse; falling off a scaffold (see above); buying a boat; watching a sunset with my wife, 3 miles off shore from a boat; chasing dolphins on the boat; sitting, smoking a cigar, whisky in hand while snipes dive and thrum overhead, hidden by the blackness; designing houses (scary business); listening to the whole house shudder in a November gale; welcoming friends to a home I'm finally really proud of; riding a bicycle, whilst drunk on single malt and smoking a cigar, at midnight, round our house. I remember, just before Christmas 2005 - I was earning a bit of extra cash, clearing bits of off cut timber from a building site. It was cold but brilliant sunshine, I was tired, dirty, sweaty and was collecting an impresive array of bruises. I stood, looking up at a sky so blue it defied belief and started to smile. I remember my thought so clearly "5 years ago, if anyone had suggested I'd be clearing wood from a bilding site, on Skye, in December, for £10 an hour, I'd have laughed at them". I'd gone from expensive suits, company car, overseas conventions and all the pretentious bullshit that goes with it, to a simple life where hard work equaled cash and tired muscles. At that point, I can honestly say, I'd never been happier. I'll add another entry very soon - I promise. Friday 30 9 2005 Nearly there Leaving tomorrow after a whole host of delays. The house is still not ready but should be in less than a week - we're just desperate to get up there now so we're going to doss somewhere. I think we're both feeling somewhat useless being stuck down here. Said goodbye last night, to the best friend imaginable - better than a brother, because with a brother you don't get a choice. I'll miss him. Thursday 15 9 2005 And another thing! God I must be bored ... trying to sort out buildings insurance on the web does that to me. Just thought I'd mention that an article did get published in 'Waterlog', and another is due for the next issue. Speaking with the editor yesterday, he's quite keen on having a correspondant for the Isle of Skye, so there's a bit more paid work for me. Richard Wednesday 14 9 2005 Big changes affoot! Looking at the news section of my site, it's been over a year since I added an entry which, although rather lax and, quite frankly, unforgiveable on my part, could also point to the fact that I've been a touch busy. - Well no more! I intend to keep a diary of events over the coming months in the hope that occasional visitors to my site may be interested in the changes going on both with my writing and, equally important, my home life. In a little over a week's time, Max and I will be filling our newly bought (Ebay) trailer, hitching it to the back of our Subaru and setting off with me in tow in our long-in-the-tooth-and-not-entirely-suited-to-long-journeys-golf, bound for Skye. The journey will be special in many ways - firstly because journeys to Skye always are, secondly because Max has never driven that far before and thirdly because this time, we'll be driving to our new home. The house is nearly built, the building control officer should be winging his merry way over with a completion certificate and the mortgage should be about set to start churning out interest for us to pay off. (Can't have everything I suppose.) I'll keep you informed of the progress there - the highs, the lows, the tears, the laughter, the bills, the sunsets, the rain, the sunshine ... (you get my drift) WRITING: After trying for the last few years, without much success (or come to think of it even a smidgen of hope) to gain an agent, publishing deal, in fact anything in the UK, I came across a website of a literary agent I'd not heard of. Reading through, it became clear that they were on the other side of the Atlantic and, having nothing to lose, I contacted them. The upshot is that, finally, thank God, someone is taking A Fall of Stone seriously. It's been critiqued, reviewed, loved and now is winding its way through their lengthy editing process ready to turn it into something appealing to US agents (pity about the spelling alterations that are going to have to take place to 'Americanize' it, oh well, can't complain.) So I'll keep you informed with that too. The second book? Finished, polished, spell checked, editted, re-written and polished some more. I think it's better than the first. I actually think it's a bloody good read with a fast moving, deep, blackly humourous plot and one of the best endings I've ever read - in any book. There again, I suppose I would think that wouldn't I? I've sent it out to a few agents; no takers yet but hey, early days yet. Must go, speak soon, Richard. Wednesday 30 6 2004 Media interest. There's been a minor surge in interest regarding 'A Fall of Stone' over the last few weeks from local media. A review is set to appear in the Express & Star (Wolverhampton but possibly not Dudley) this weekend, written by that talented and thoroughly likeable chap, Rob Davies. Rob has been a great help from Day 1 and for this I offer my thanks. Slightly further afield, the Birmingham Post is due to run an article and review of sorts in its Saturday edition. Written by Caroline Foulkes with additional photographs by John, It should make for an interesting read - and who knows, it may sell a few copies too ... Thursday 27 5 2004 Blimey! An article accepted for publication. At the second attempt, 'Waterlog' - definately the most prestigious Angling magazine in the country (if not the World), has accepted an article of mine for publication later this year. The article - 'Scratching the Seven Year Itch' - tells of my attempts over the previous seven years to catch a Salmon on the Isle of Skye and makes for a splendid read! Good old Waterlog I say!!! (The next article's almost finished and will be with them next week). Wednesday 12 5 2004 Struggling on! Thought I'd pop a line or 2 by way of updating progress. The publishing world is so fickle, more concerned with profit and scared to take any tiny risk, rather than promoting anything new. Thanks for the wonderful comments I receive on a daily basis - it makes it all worthwhile.