HOME BIOG MY DIARY GUESTB00K LINKS My Diary 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.