Transcendental Splish-Splashing.

Fresh from Sam Boughton’s 3 day art retreat on the Ballachulish Riviera, I’m still bearing the ink stains - and the hallmarks of a student who can’t do whit they’re telt, but who knows she can try harder, and brings home the genuine desire and belief that if she keeps going and never gives up, she’ll reap reward after reward.

That’s great teaching. Sam’s commitment to her group is complete. She knows this is hard even when she makes it look SO easy. She’s been developing her practice for years.

We see her online - splashing some ink on the paper, flicking a dash of colour across it, and quickly dashing down some marks with art Graf. And there on the paper we see the estuary, the epic sky and the expanse of the land. There might have only been 4 or 5 moves on the paper. But we see it in its entirety.

We were all there so that we could learn how to do that. To limit our marks, learn what to put in and what to leave out. To make something that feels like the place where we are.

Some had travelled from Iceland, California, and SW France as well as England and closer to home in Ayrshire and Skye - such is Sam’s reach.

The course was hosted by Morag Young at Woodlands, Glencoe.

https://www.woodlands.scot/

Morag’s hospitality was everything you’d hope for in the Highlands. Gentle consideration of everyone’s needs. A participant in the course herself, her main aim was clearly the wellbeing of the group. She was there throughout the whole retreat and never wavered from her role. She also understood where we were all at, as we listened to Sam and then set off to just do what she’d told us to do - ready to catch us as we faced our efforts and often our disappointments.

There was much scratching of furrowed brows, and cocking of heads in critical analysis as we looked at our papers from different angles and wondered why it wasn’t as easy as Sam had just shown us. Our brains seemed to get in the way, marking down too much of what we were seeing and forgetting to get the feeling. I don’t do landscapes because I just can’t get the perspective and I don’t know what to leave out. But looking at Sam’s work made me want to find a way.

These 2 are mine. We were working in soft pastel as it was raining and the dampness worked well with the pastel. Ink would just wash away.

Wendy’s - I think.

Petra’s - perhaps.

With the promise of sunshine we headed to Cuil Bay. I’m not sure how many of us thought Sam turned up at her estuary and moorlands and just started flicking paint about. I know I did.

The reality is that she will spend at least an hour looking at the landscape and carefully mixing her inks to make the colours she’s seeing. She tests them on papers to see if she’s got that right and keeps mixing until she feels she has the colours she needs.

So whilst we all got supplied with the same inks that are on the paper to the right of pic, the colours we created and splashed on the paper were all very different. Sam is just testing her colours on the paper here. You need a spray bottle to water down colours on the paper that are too strong. But you also need dry paper to get the strong marks, so you need to let it dry and work on several papers at a time. And you need to keep some dry brushes to be able to make some dry textures.

You need to be athletic to chase your pots down the shore when you forgot to weigh them down with pebbles (or sit next to someone who is.) You need to have speed to catch your papers before they reach the sea when a mini tornado catches them. Zig-zag rugby skills may be required as each paper goes in a different direction. Ideally you will not be holding an open jar of ink as your paper flips in the wind and when you grab it, the ink shoots out the bottle onto your paper. Swearing in new company is optional but hard to avoid. Thankfully there’s a lot of space at Cuil Bay and my very Scottish approach to limiting my language seemed to go unheard - I hope. If only I could limit my marks so well.

I soaked my papers and forgot to let them dry. I wet all my brushes and mixed lots of colours and couldn’t tell what was in each pot. I just made colours up. I was out of control and splashing and spraying and swearing.

I showed my darling husband my efforts and he said it was like an exercise in reading ink blots.

I forgive him for this as I was having an amazing holiday on my doorstep. Freedom from thinking about ANYTHING else. Not even my dog, who went to work with Spook (husband). I came home each night and watched Spook cook my dinner as I sipped my wine.

Sam took us back to the studio and showed us how to edit our pictures right down. Where we thought we had nothing, Sam found a wee piece of treasure. She showed us how to develop that little piece of treasure into caskets of gold - how to mix acrylic colours that matched the inks we’d made. How to make a delicious creamy white that was the same colour as the paper we were using. When she did this and then splashed it across a painting, there was a collective, soft, worshipping whisper of ‘oooooh.’

Sam grinned and said “I LOVE painting”.

Inside my head, I was imagining Spook being in the room and looking at us, thinking ‘what just happened there? What did they see that I didn’t?’

That’s what happens when a diverse group of people are all there with a similar aim.

Cuil Bay was so blue.

Sam took Jo’s work, below, as an example of how to develop an idea.

She spent a good while mixing acrylics to the right colours and then just experimented using the ink images for inspiration.

She mixed the white and splashed it down…..that was when our collective sigh of satisfaction emanated from us, as we leaned in.

She took Antje’s sketch and showed us how you could play around with pastels without committing until you were happy. A tiny slither of turquoise pastel on a slip of paper to see if that was the thing to make it zing….

Where am I in all this? I’m hopping up and down on the rocks just making stuff up. Totally absorbed but completely unable ‘tae dae whit ah’m telt’. Thankfully Sam’s cropping down to reveal treasure, even if it was found on another beach - in a foreign land - gave me something to play with.

She showed us how to zone in with Margo’s painting…..

Yet again, we all said “ooooh”.

Because the colours were what we’d been seeing, it picked out a landscape we recognised.

I was clearly somewhere else. On analysis of my cropped ink blots some thoughts occurred…..

It was a bit stormier where I was.

There was no ink left in the bottle I was holding after the wind flicked the paper - so this is evidence of that wind. No sound affects, thank goodness.

My dear friend, Running Girl said she saw a ladies torso here with a bit of boob. This may say more about her than me. On reflection it probably IS a better piece of Life Drawing than I ever did when faced with a nude. I might call it The Naked Landscape.

I transported myself to a distant, volcanic land at sunset.

I’ve stayed on at Cuil Bay long after everyone else had gone home, to catch the local sunset (which I hadn’t!)

I’ve nipped up Mt Lushan in Sechuan Province in China - just because.

Ehhhhh. Gorse bushes? Wind? Grass seed? Aye!

Running Girl said “that’s the snow melting up at Nevis Range. “. Spook did send me a pic of where he and the dog were whilst I was at the bay….

I ripped most of this away and thought I could stick a bit of my ripped ink blot onto it…..

When it’s not your thing, it’s hard to understand why splashing paint, ripping, glueing and in my case, just making stuff up, brings so much pleasure.

Thankfully I have also purchased Sam’s excellent Plein Air part 1 course, online. It’s £27 and you keep it for ever. There is so much guidance and encouragement in this wee package that I’m going to determinedly keep learning and see if I can use some of this process to record some of things I DO see. This little course is a treasure in itself and I’ll definitely be looking out for part 2. https://www.facebook.com/share/1Gsn8WrP7F/?mibextid=wwXIfr

And if you’re not interested in painting anything you can still escape for a coffee or a meal at Woodlands, Glencoe or even some spa treatments. It’s 30 minutes from where I live in Banavie, Fort William and is a world apart. Lochaber is so diverse a region - why would you ever need to go anywhere else? Ok, so the suns shining right now and we instantly forget how long our winter has been!!

Next 3 pics are this mornings dawg-walk.

Happy daze. Thanks to all who took photos on the course, shared them and let me use them here. A fantastic group that I loved being a part of.

I’ll Just Look That Up…..

Like many, I’m a shocking scroller. Procrastination is ever present and can be totally absorbing. I convince myself I’m soaking up facts, wonderful creative ideas, enlarging my field of understanding - whilst in reality, I’m only putting off chores which get in the way of adventures and creative pursuits and none of the scrolling translates into action - quite the opposite. Don’t bother telling me to just put the phone away. Nope! That’s not happening.

Even as I finish my coffee in the morning (my worst scrolling time,) a stern look from my cup doesn’t get me moving.

Sometimes I get a wee fright when I see him. He doesn’t appear every time so he can be a shock.

My version of reading the tea leaves, is reading the coffee foam!! He says “get off your arse you lazy woman!!!”

I’ve lost the energy for my creative projects but have been ‘making’ myself create a small collage every day as part of the 100 day art challenge. I started on the 22nd February so should conclude at the end of this month. My hope being that it gets me to the table and it might keep me there. And maybe I’ll like 10 of them. There’s little thought goes into them. It’s just a process to remind myself I’m still here.

One day I stayed and made a picture….

But mostly I don’t, I just find wee pictures within the collage…..

My husbands view on the matter? As long as it keeps you happy darling.

Hmm. Sort of.

Thankfully there are still snippets of sunshine to keep us going.

I can always add things to my concertina sketchbook when I’m stuck (which is most of the time).

The chaos of the concertina sketchbook is probably an accurate reflection of the chaos inside my head. In 7 days time I’m going on a 3 day landscape course in Glencoe which is led by a woman from Cornwall, who teaches that less is more. Sam Boughton. 3 days to just be out in the wild with limited materials and nothing else to do but splatter them onto paper. And potentially freeze our butts off.

I think that sounds like bliss.

Squalls and the Squidgy Tube of Life

As we wait for Spring to be kind to us, it’s easy to forget that she has been kind in moments - which have got lost in the driving rain, the grey clag, the sleet, the dog walks huddled up against the wet wind - the drama of starting a walk in the dry and watching it close in all around you, knowing you are inadequately dressed and will not be able to outrun the next squall.

It’s in front of you…..

And it’s behind you. And it’s moving fast. This squall was 5 minutes away.

Glimpses of promise.

She brought drama even after nightfall.

And then she was benevolent in the morning.

My daughter gave me long lasting flowers for my birthday and I caught their last rays…

30 years ago, Spook and I sealed the deal on the 4th of April. We’d been together for 5 years and didn’t want any fuss so didn’t tell anyone except the parents. But we forgot it was Easter and the whole family descended upon Inveroy. I was reduced to whispering in Spooks ear “we’re getting married in the morning. Ding dong.” Meg was 9 months old and came with us. Finn was not yet born. This led to later arguments around the tea table where she would tell Finn he wasn’t really part of the family because he wasn’t there. And he’d remind her of her illegitimacy. He did suggest that we might need to renew our vows in order to get him fully installed - just in case. We didn’t. But rather than a string of pearls, Spook gave me a night out at the Railway Club. Where we had excellent company and soaked up the youthful atmosphere from the followers of Heron Valley. https://www.heronvalleyband.com/the-band

Back in the day circa mid 90’s, I used to watch the old-time dancers float around the room to Tony MacCuish, as if they weren’t old at all, light on their feet and dancing in a way we no longer know how to.

Now WE are the old-timers. And we didn’t dance. Shame on us.

Storm Dave was not quite reaching us despite the threat, but icy rain was battering the streets of The Fort. It’s good we managed to get off the sofa and get out!!!! Wonder if we can squeeze another 30 years out the tube. It’s all curled up, wrinkled and twisted, and there’s those wee leaky bits at the side, but it’s amazing how much you can still get if you squeeze hard enough.

Dyb Dyb Dyb, Scouts Honour and the Power of a Pineapple

A late March birthday is a gift in itself. You never know what you’re going to get and therefore expectations are open for taking what you find on the day. A summer birthday brings a little more pressure - I feel. Maybe I’m biased.

On my 10th birthday I remember my big sister, Coila, walking me down to the Priest Pond on a beautiful sunny, warm day. Daffodils and frog spawn everywhere.

On my 16th I remember walking through a damp, snowy field on a very driech day with my pal, Sarah - talking about boys.

On my 50th, my best pal since we were 19, treated me to a night at the newly renovated Corrour Station and restaurant. Because she’s a believer in being spoilt on your birthday.

It was deep snow, blue skies, warm, and so exciting, as we felt we were on the top of the world.

We could even see Ben Nevis!

And while we ate and then rested before the train home, Mel did a drawing of the restaurateurs dog.

Which looks like MY dog!

When I was 60 I made Running Girl walk 15 miles of the east highland way with me, where we were chased by flurries of snow and hit by hailstones. Where we crossed a ‘braided’ river which had 6 parts to it all of which had deep channels.

Me and the dawg spent 3 hours slumped in the Newtonmore Grill before we could lift our heads, while Running Girl recc’d the area for a suitable tent spot, erected the tent, and then had to coax me out of the Grill. It was closing time so unless I wanted to hide in the toilets, I didn’t have much choice.

We spent a cramped night next to a huge muddy puddle with the high speed night trains whizzing over us, and a farmer in his tractor woke us early as he redistributed the contents of the puddle over our tent. We were still there when the diverted Caledonian Sleeper passed above our heads. Running Girls daughter was working on the train and said she’d have thrown a breakfast sandwich at us if she’d known. Shame, but we went back to the grill for breakfast

Last year I decided on 2 nights on my own in Glasgow. I loved it and wasn’t always on my own due to chatty Glaswegians, sharing a drink with them and then meeting a friend for coffee on my way home. I love incidental, unplanned situations.

This year I made Running Girl come up with a plan that would challenge my lazy arse into action. It’s my 62nd birthday and I haven’t run since I was 54. I’d casually mentioned that I might try running again…… So it was the 11.30am train to Corrour which is an hour up the tracks, and 3 hours to make it round the 10 mile Loch Ossian loop and be back in the station waiting room in time to brew tea and eat a picnic. It had to be a jog/run or we might not make the 3.30pm train. And we wanted our picnic. It’s a long wait until the next one around 9pm. There’s no bus coming through in this wonderful wilderness. It had to be a Scout run, her mother called it. This is a way to cover longer distances quickly without exhaustion. (Turns out I’m no Scout!!!! )

But we did cover the distance quicker and even had time for a hot chocolate in the restaurant. I didn’t take a photo as I was too busy, hunched over my mug, sooking the lumps of molten marshmallow slowly through the cream, savouring every moment of it.

1st train ride for Courr and he was quite happy. Apart from sitting like this until I came back from the loo - just in case I abandoned him. It was a long train and he was trying to keep me in sight.

The forecast had predicted a dry start with rain coming in from the west after 2.30pm. When it came, it hit straight into our faces in a strong stinging wind on the last lap which gave me a facial strip that promised I’d look 5 years younger once the redness abated. This has turned out to be an empty promise.

But that’s ok. Sara made me a cake. The other week I’d given her some pineapple chunks for lunch, telling her they were good for her because they were full of Bromide. She was a little offended I felt she needed that until I remembered it is Bromelain. And SHE had remembered that bromelain is good for muscle soreness and recovery.

Unfortunately I forgot to eat my pineapple that day or the next and muscle soreness ruled my every movement - and non movement.

Sheltering from the wind, she brewed up a cuppa and we ate our sandwiches. We met Jo and her pals who were on the deluxe version of our trip. They’d taken the early train, stopped in the restaurant for black pudding rolls allowing time for the pudding to settle, before jogging round the loch and getting back in time for lunch and before the rain. That’s far too much luxury for Running Girl. Nothing she likes more than a bit of wild weather and a home brewed cuppa for after. I’m kinda surprised she let me in the restaurant at all.

Whilst Running Girl was delighted with the hardship of the challenge, the dog was gubbed.

No amount of pineapple or cups of tea was going to ease the shock of the sudden change of plan for anything more than a 40 minute sniff-around. He doesn’t need to worry though. It’s unlikely to be a regular occurrence. It’s a year until my next birthday.

Lionesses and Creaky Bones.

March came in like a lamb. The Lion arrived around 10 days later, with wind and heavy rain but also with what we experienced in Glasgow where 2 Munro women showed themselves to be lionesses.

The lack of wind did bring a little atmospheric mist and drama.

A morning walk along the Caol Riviera rarely disappoints.

At the other end of the day a moonrise and the dusk chorus was magical.

When your daughter’s as strong as an ox, it’s prudent to utilise that strength when required. The quad broke down on the far side of the burn and we Oldies couldn’t push it out. So when she was home in January we asked for her support.

Then, a couple of days ago we went to watch her and her cousin Dara compete at the Hy-Rox event in Glasgow. It was a pleasure to see them work together as a team and to watch the dynamics between the competing women. We feel pleased that we were able to offer some training on the Croft and are confident that we made a difference. She certainly made a difference to where the quad is now parked.

We witnessed Munro true grit in action. Meanwhile my sisters 2 pals were the oldest female competitors in their first ever competition, (aged 66&67 - maybe even the eldest altogether) won their category and a place in the Stockholm event. It’s an amazingly inclusive sport but as brutal for each age group as the next.

I feel I’m doing well if I get up in the morning and flex my shoulders, my neck and touch my toes. There is a LOT of creaking. Maybe I’m going to have to try a bit harder…..

Wolf in Woman’s Clothing (Well Blue Crocs and a Sou’wester)

A small contingent of Northern Munro’s and attendants (me), travelled to Northampton to say farewell to Billy’s young brother - Toey (John). 11 years his junior. Balancing the devastatingly sad loss of these two Munro brothers, was the gaining of a friend (for me, at least) and 3 next generation Munros and their other halves. When you get a funeral right, you come away with stronger connections than before you arrived. Precious moments.

I’m not entirely sure that the Hotelier would have considered all moments shared with the Northern Munros to be precious, however.

I’d been very careful to make sure the hotel keys were in Spooks sporran and the car keys in my coat pocket, as we were leaving the car at the venue. Alison declared not to have seen her keys since approximately 3pm. This was now 1.40am the next morning. I have a reputation of coming across a little supercilious at times (not sure where that comes from)and I was a little snooty at the prospect of sharing a double bed with Spook, his sister and his dad’s cousin. Honestly - just look after the keys. Please.

Spook handed me the keys from his sporran - the ones I had so carefully entrusted to his care. They were for the auction mart in Fort William which I keep in my car for convenience if I have to respond to a fire alarm.

Suddenly no one was sharing the double bed. We were all sleeping in the park. Until Alison jabbed her finger on the doorbell which was loud enough to wake the entire street, and the Hotelier appeared within seconds. With very little comment, he went and got master keys and we followed him to our rooms with our heads hanging in shame.

He was dutifully waiting to cook our breakfast at 7am when Spook and I got up early to retrieve our car. He seemed to be everywhere. He checked us in, made the beds, let us in at dead of night and served the breakfast. He even cooked it and then whipped off his apron to serve it, performing some kind of wizardry - until Spook realised they were twins.

This was not our first bout of shameful behaviour in a hotel. Many years ago we checked into a deserted hotel just ahead of a friend’s wedding in Aberdeenshire. It was all tartan carpets and faded grandeur. We had keys to let ourselves in at the end of the night and took it upon ourselves to make sure the place was fully secure. We made our way to our room in Starsky and Hutch style - throwing ourselves into doorways with our pretend guns held high, shouting “cover me” as the other dramatically commando rolled down the corridors and pretendy kicked our door down before commando rolling over the bed to land on the other side and check for baddies that might be hiding underneath. How we giggled.

We slept late and strolled down to breakfast to find a dining room full of guests staring at us accusingly. They were clearly waiting to see who the perpetrators might be.

Supercilious? No, not possible

I met the West Witch at Cammusdarrach in early February - one of the few places to have sunshine in the entire country.

Then we got snow in the hills, at last.

We celebrated the lengthening days, our continued dry spell (which ended,) the arrival of some flowers…

The catkins are bright against the blackened trees at the distillery.

My dog thought he’d genuflect to a swan. I’m a fan of the Blindboy podcast and he’s always recommending genuflecting and kissing swans and worms - to promote kindness in general, but the swan WASNT in the mood and it’s probably the last time the dog will try it.

I’ve been spending some time glueing and sticking. It’s quite addictive and when I find something I like Ì stick it in my book. I went to pour Spook and I a dram the other night and he wondered where I’d got to. I’d found a bit of napkin and couldn’t resist sticking it down. And he guessed this because there was a sticky residue on his whisky glass.

It’s an endless project because there’s always something else Ì can stick down.

I’m always thinking about it when I’m out and about. Although there are distractions that take my mind off this important project. Across in Speyside near Aviemore they have the historical Wolfman of Badenoch - he was a bit of a Bad Lad. In Lochaber we have The Wolf Woman. She’s way more friendly. In fact I was able to squeeze a wee photo opportunity with her to brighten an otherwise very dull day. When she wasn’t looking Ì checked the car bonnet to see if I could peel a bit off to stick in my book. But no - it’s permanent. And she might not be so friendly if she caught me trying…..

Approach with caution.

The Light, and the Likes and Dislikes of a Little Brown Dog

Jane’s trying to get to grips with the loss of her favourite lap. Not only that, but the other lap has gone for R&R and she’s been sent to Boot Camp. She is not happy about it. Life is a little scary.

Nooks and cranny’s are her thing. Not wide open spaces. Getting her nose tucked into a snuggly space is more her forte. Yes, she’s a Daschund. Yes they were made for badger hunting, but how many humans do you know that run around in a furry loin cloth, eating berries for the most part and a big hunk of meat now and then. Some? Really?

No. She’s more evolved than that.

Things have changed since the olden days.

So much so that when crossing this piece of ground, which is just a band of ground between two ravines carved over the years by two burns, in to which many many badgers have dug themselves a city. Burrows on both ravines and a rake of badgers living right beneath her paws. Did she hesitate for a sniff? Nope. Just wanting home to the sofa.

The walks are held up with long, lingering looks back to where she came from - the place with the sofa.

Roads that are too long make her blood boil.

She hates assault courses…..

Waves or slippy stones….

Seaweed - yuk.

She doesn’t like tunnels any more than she likes badger burrows. Why does no one understand this?

For the love of the wee dog!! Just a quiet, non moving lap. Please!!! And absolutely NOT one that makes more noise than HER!!

“Get that scary baby off me!!”

Not having to walk in the rain is the only bonus.

The south easterly winds have brought an amazing dry spell to Lochaber, whilst the normally dry eastern side of the country is floating away under a large puddle.

4pm 24th January. We have light!

8am on the 23rd. The stretching of the days is always worthy of the note.

The lack of rain gave us a clear sky so that we got to see the Northern Lights for a change.

Finn and Izzy had chosen a brilliant night to park up at Loch Arkaig. They didn’t know the lights were going to appear.

After a stormy night we got a sunny day and a moonlit night.

The longest month hath past. It has taken a very sad toll. We move forward. But never forgetting.

The Last Wolf

The Wolf Moon lit up Inveroy on the 3rd of January. Local legend has it that the last wolf of Lochaber was killed on the Croft here.

There was no darkness that night. Nowhere to hide…..

Before dawn, the Wolf Moon had circumnavigated the Croft and was sinking in the west.

The domestic dogs have no idea how hard life could actually be.

And indeed, the simple request of “can you take Jane for a walk?” became a test of the strongest will……

2 mins of pondering a walk, followed by the Long Carry.

Paths and roads turned icy and treacherous and anyone walking ANYWHERE became an issue.

Paths that looked innocuous turned out to be a hands and knees job at times!!

But then the rain came and we had to admit it was good to let the cold go, in favour of the rain. Not often we think that.

There have been protests since my daughter told my dog he wasn’t allowed to leave home with a croc. He figured he’d rather stay home.

But it was sad to let the twinkles go.

So I’ve kept mine, for a while.

Just to help brighten a sad sad time.

I can’t put into words how much I’ll miss this very quiet, dignified man.

December Delights

Sometimes they’re obvious and sometimes you’ve to look for them. Because it’s getting darker and darker.

8am on the 2nd of December. Sipping coffee and eating toast, Ì was enjoying the drama of it. By 9.15am it was low tide on Caol Shore and perfect timing for the dog walk.

4pm evening walks are pushing it a bit with the day light, but I like the dying light and the contrast with artificial light.

Corpach Basin.

Sometimes there’s drama in other places. I got a text demanding a Full Team Call Out. This is not the first time. Last time it was because Ken Bruce had announced he was retiring from Radio 2 and Running Girl was distraught that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy his daily Pop quiz which she loved as a good distraction while removing the stinky boot smells from the mountain Rescue Team Building. I didn’t know what this one was about but clearly it was serious.

Thankfully Ì was able to help. Stinky boots she can deal with, but this she could not.

This week brought the usual flurry of issues wrought by my poor choice making which often result in feelings of disappointment in myself. They stem from the condition of ADD which my husband diagnosed me with 25 years ago. (I am otherwise fully undiagnosed and mostly missing any signs of the H which seems to be the more useful letter of the condition.)

I had swept the floor and gone to get the brush pan to collect the sweepings when I remembered Ì hadn’t opened my advent calendar to remove the small bottle of white wine which I put in the fridge for the evening festive drink. Then I scolded myself for being so easily distracted, gathered up the sweepings and forgot the calendar.

I drank warm white wine that night - very disappointing.

On the same day I’d been fairly occupied with life’s household duties (scrolling, mostly,) and realised I needed to pee. As I went out into the hallway Ì remembered Ì hadn’t hung up the washing which had been waiting for hours, so diverted to complete that task as I knew I’d only forget again, whilst my body would surely remind me to pee. Midway through hanging the washing on the pulley, Ì was afflicted with the dreaded double sneeze which caused the 2nd disappointment of the day and a reminder of my poor choices - although at that point the 1st disappointment hadn’t revealed itself.

There have been bright days and bright moments.

Spook and Running Girl volunteered to time the Scottish Winter Swim Champs in Oban.

The organisers needed another volunteer to ‘be’ the Highland cow. It didn’t take long to find one…..

I find this particularly surprising as she is way more scared of cows than she is of mice.

The MOST delighted person so far this December is Jane the Sausage dog. Her favourite lap returned home, ending a very unsettling and distressing 49 days for her. She’s been fairly vocal about it and everyone is looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet. Not least Billy, who sat down in his favourite chair with the salut of a champion.

Stories From the Capital of The Highlands

When you spend a lot of time here it opens your eyes and your heart. The quick turn around of patients, the exhaustion of staff - and little by little their own stories appear. The nurse having a bad day with her own MS condition, getting a hug from the student nurse. The pregnant nurse desperate to get home to sleep. The young nurse struggling with severe migraines and trying to keep focus. The Domestic holding down 2 jobs and working 6 days a week as a result. The warmth and support offered despite a system in chaos.

There have been a surprising lot of English accents over the 5 weeks but this is the first time I’m listening to native Gaelic speakers. One from Stornoway and one from Barra. Phone calls, visitors - all in Gaelic.

The man from Barra came in on a chopper bound for Glasgow but diverted to Raigmore in a storm. 2 days later his daughter came from Glasgow to pick him up in the hope he would be discharged as his flight home to Barra is booked from Glasgow next day. But it’s the weekend, and it’s always dodgy getting out at the weekend. When the Doc called in to discuss the possibility of discharge and that she’d really hoped to review it in the morning, she told him she’d never been to Barra but it was on her list.

“Give me a call when you get there - I’ll put the kettle on.” He said, in his beautiful lilting English

Way to get your discharge!!!!! He was gone within 2hrs.

Billy Munro, you need to get on the charm offensive.

A 92 year old Northumbrian man who’s lived on a croft by the loch since 1961, desperate to get home and each days delay, feels like he’s never getting out.

He’s written a book.

I left Billy to get up and dressed and strolled off with my cuppa. The Domestic (a student nurse who works domestic shifts in between studies and placements) found me lurking between rooms with my tea and asked, laughing, if I was looking for a new patient to hang out with (he didn’t say ‘bother’ but I knew that was what he meant,) told him I was looking for the man who wrote a book - to tell him I’d bought it. The happy news was that he’s finally got home. The Domestic told me I could let him know by writing him a review.

Lurking in the toilets has been more fun than one might think. I didn’t know how to work this contraption but I’m a visual learner and soon picked it up. I’ve helped 3 older ladies get to grips with it. One of them had us both in giggles as she kept trying a different sink but put her hands in too wide - firing up the blowers and not the water. She thought they were broken. I had to follow her with her handbag and then take her hands and guide them under the tap. I think I could join the Women’s Royal Voluntary Service as a Toilet Attendant. There’s definitely a need there.

Been plenty of sunsets.

Sitting in this cafe, Ì met Andy again. He comes in to support his wife each day, with all of her meals. He’s usually reading a book - same as me - and we usually exchange a wave. Establishing some personal details of where we live and who we were visiting, he said he had an old school friend who had served his time in Lochaber Mountain Rescue Team. Jimmy Paterson, he said. No. I don’t know him, I said. They call him Scoobie, he said. I burst out laughing. I was at the same funeral as him a few days ago and showed him a photo I’d taken as I was there on behalf of Billy and had taken photos of all his pals. That’s him, he said.

One night on the other side of the ward brought the first sunrise while we waited for breakfast.

The light in the cafes remind me that November has continued as a good start to winter - weather wise.

The light at home tells the same story.

Though there was a little stormy drama…..

I found my namesake quietly sitting among the chaos knitting a jumper for her honorary grandchild whilst awaiting her new heart valve.

An opportunity arrived for a brief sortie into the sunshine. First in 5 weeks.

Drama is all around us here as the chopper comes and goes at all times.

At the end of the day, I go to Craig Dunain. This was built in 1864 and closed (officially) in 2000. A mental health facility originally called the asylum. My sister lives there with my brother in law Ian, and they have kindly reopened the doors to accommodate myself in a time of need. I’ve got my own room and recently had to take control of the tv remote as she and Ian kept asking questions about the actors in the drama we were watching. When Morag’s watching the tv you have to pause if you want to talk. Or, if you breathe too loudly, crunch your crisps too noisily or sup your wine too slurpily. IS THAT CLEAR????

The only Driving that Counts is Front Seat Driving.

Mither aywis said “if ye get a guid November ahin ye, ye’ll hae a guid winter”. (Something like that.)

November has brought colour, storms, sunshine and frost. And we’re only halfway through. It’s brought lots of journeys up the A82 to Inverness and Raigmore Hospital, and it’s brought lots of unexpected family time. It’s brought lovely Saturdays. The first one being my sloe picking day. The next being the Mallaig Book Festival - A Write Good Hoolie. And this Saturday brought my nephew from Edinburgh, and a fantastic road trip back to Mallaig.

Here’s the pictorial story.

Eden Court Theatre and the talented band Dallahan. A treat from my sister Marion and brother in law Ian.

The east coast haar crept in quickly. And 5 mins after this photo from the cafe at Raigmore, it crept out again…

Ì haunt the corridors of Raigmore and lurk in their dining areas.

The haar reveal.

A Write Highland Hoolie in Mallaig, where I sat still, mesmerised, from 9.30am to 5.30pm - listening, not speaking. I was late and my 2 friends were sitting in the front row. I whispered in a panic “we from Fort William always sit in the back seats!” The East witch said - “Ì draw. I ALWAYS sit in the front seats.”

Mel Shand - Artist. My bestest friend of over 40 years.

With the West witch in the middle.

I maintain it’s at least 18 years since Rory and I spent any significant time together. We had such a great weekend. Road trip to Mallaig - again, and never too much. Followed by a night by the fire with a dram and Local Hero. He was my perfect guest. He took loads of photos -just like his old auntie and we both seem to have a penchant for photies through the windie.

He travelled on the Ember bus. Loch Linnhe.

Glencoe.

Cammusdarrach. (Above 4 are Rory’s photies)

Lunch in Mallaig beside a much needed fire after his run into the Altlantic Ocean.

The dog doesn’t love the Big Red Bus. Billy’s campervan. He refuses to sit where he’s meant to.

I don’t care if you don’t like it Courr. You have to sit in the back seat.

“I don’t like it.” “I’m too far away.”

“I want to sit in Rory’s seat.”

“YES!!!!” Sorted. It took a bit of work but he finally pulled it off.

Rory’s windie photie.

My windie photie. Floor 3, having a breather before floor 6 destination. Raigmore.

My safe place. Sister Marion, and Ian’s house - Craig Dunain.

Fire, Fake Dogs and Fine Whisky.

My sister,Coila, called in to show me some wool she’d bought for a special project. Spook walked past her saying “I’m sorry I’m just in my underpants Coila, but I set my trousers on fire.”

He continued into the kitchen and through the back of the house.

Coila, who was completely unfazed by the underpants, was concerned that this act of self-immolation must be some kind of nervous breakdown. She stared at me in shock.

“It’s ok. He was welding, and set his overalls on fire which burnt a hole in the expensive cycling trousers he was wearing underneath - he’s just a bit pissed off.”

He’s fairly confident these ones are fire proof but failing that, he wants me to stand over him with a bucket of water while he’s welding. Fingers crossed as I have better things to do with my time.

Like gathering sloes for the gin. I got the call from Ronald that they were ripe for the picking.

It’s a very social past time as I exchanged pleasantries with Ronald’s neighbours, and partook in coffee and cake that he brought me as he knows harvest time can be hard work - so much better than standing over Spook with a bucket of water ‘just in case’.

It’s all part of the delights of October. Wild storms and calm days - you never know what you’re going to get.

Courr has found it a challenging month. One minute he’s got Scamp….who’s got a touch of the desert camel about her,

And the next he’s got the bloody sausage dog.

He mostly tries to pretend she doesn’t exist but when he turns the other cheek he’s got THIS to contend with….danger everywhere.

Coila dropped her ‘special’ project off and put Jane all wrong. This is Fake Jane who will be allowed in the hospital, unlike Real Jane who had to be content with peering in the window as her favourite lap is currently awaiting an operation in Inverness.

Having scoured the grounds of the hospital Auntie Al finally found the correct alleyway to get Jane as close to Billy as she could.

Fake Jane has taken up residence on Billy’s bed.

Real Jane is LIVID. After being stuck in the campervan for hours, she somehow managed to sneak into the lift beneath the Porter’s radar (sometimes the ridiculously short length of your legs can be an advantage.) She made it all the way to the 6th floor and showed the big faker how to cause a REAL stir. You can actually see Fake Jane at the foot of the bed in the photo. She’s toast!!!

Courr, despite a delightful life full of love and attention, maintains a permanent huff due to being usurped by other dogs, both fake and real. He needs to get over himself.

I’d like to thank The Antoinettes for their generous Thankyou gift for my efforts with their holiday transport. Some girls get chocolate and flowers. I prefer this….

Epilogue - The Antoinettes (Other Saints are Available - which is just as well as she’s not even a saint)

With the minibus out of the repair shop and able to go at full throttle Ì made my way back to Edinburgh to pick up the Boys from Bulgaria.

First stop Dunkeld - to meet Izzy and her mum for coffee. I parked up and went to get my ticket. 2 men were scratching their heads trying to work out how the machine worked. It’s the same as the one in Fort William which has everyone scratching their heads - even when they nearly know how it works. They spoke with a strong accent that was somehow familiar. I asked where they were from. The Balkans, they said.

“Oh, I’m just going to pick up my husband and friends who’re coming home from Bulgaria!”

They looked at each other and said - in their heavy accents -

“It’s ok - they will be safe there.”

Good to know.

I asked which country they were from.

Ukraine.

They said they had just arrived, were on their way to do the NC500 and were going home on Monday. Presumably they would NOT be safe there. For the want of anything more appropriate to say Ì just reached out and squeezed their arms and said

“Welcome to Scotland”

At least they won’t get a parking ticket.

After coffee at the Corbenic Community Cafe (https://www.corbeniccamphill.co.uk/corbenic-shop) Ì stopped for tea in Auchterarder. Aunt Nannie’s Prayer chair was going for it’s refit at Sui Upholstery (You can find them on Facebook)

https://www.instagram.com/sui.upholstery?igsh=bmVveXNicmwyazZt

I can’t think of a safer place (other than Bulgaria) to leave this old chair that I inherited from Nannie Grey when I was 15. It’s definitely over 100 years old. James looked at the legs and assessed Victorian. I wondered if I could be aged by my legs. Is there an era called Reptilian?

It had extended the seating capacity of the bus to 17.

Although chances are, the 17th passenger would drop through the bottom.

James gave me a wee tour of his workshop. An old machine with dodgy gears but which cuts through 4 layers of leather and a modern delight that makes his life a lot easier.

Tea drunk, bun devoured and by the time I left, James’s ears were bleeding from the strain of listening to me telling him 40 different stories at the same time. He and the prayer chair had morphed into things that had the stuffing knocked out of them. Whereas it had taken the chair 100 years to look like that, I’d managed to achieve it in 40mins. And he thought his old sewing machine was noisy!

I had just enough breath left to call into see my sister in Dunblane (the beauty of the A9 road in Scotland is that it spans a lot of people), before getting to the airport in time to drive round in circles for 45 minutes to avoid paying for parking but likely spending more on fuel.

The boys were looking a wee bit 2nd hand, but they were no longer my business as I was on my way to Ireland so handed over the keys and left them to it.

The high jinks of the night before appeared to have finished them off. They’d had a great last day out and bagged a lift home from the pub on a horse and cart. Great craic all round and very handy for the dude with the limp

They must have got a bit homesick as they were really keen to get a mention on the local radio station in Lochaber that night. They’d tried to get hold of the show host, Linda, but couldn’t make contact so they asked me to do so on their behalf. And they also asked someone’s dad. Linda had been having a very busy week and was getting pest texts just as she was rushing out to do her programme.

The tunes they requested were….

Big Sam’s Carry Out Ran Out.

OR

Jock Couplands Leg’s in Lybia.

OR

failing either of those well known Lochaber tunes (penned by one of the boys himself) -

The Hens March to the Midden.

Bulgaria is 2 hours ahead of Scotland and by the time Linda played a request for them, there were only 2 of the boys still awake. She’d probably dismissed the first 2 options as unreasonable requests and as she’d opened her show with the Hens Midden she played a very apt Duelling Banjos from the film Deliverance……for the Antoinette Hill Mob.

How I giggled at how neatly she’d put them in their place. The Antoinettes!!!! Penelope would be delighted. An all girl race team for the Wacky Races

I can’t quite bear to tell the boys that when I looked back at my message to Linda, just to check the names of the tunes - (let’s face it, they don’t exactly roll off the tongue) - Ì saw that Predictive text had changed Ant Hill to Antoinette!! Linda was just dutifully repeating my message. Oops. I wondered if I needed to relocate to Bulgaria where it’s reputedly safe!

And as if I’d somehow stolen their strength, almost all of the boys ended up spending a few days in bed with Spooks old box of hankies, making all the Molls desperately wish they’d stayed a few days longer in Bulgaria - which had proven to be more dangerous than the Ukrainians had thought.

I was lucky. Instead of being enclosed in the minibus with the diseased ones, I’d legged it to Glasgow and flown into Dublin early Saturday morning to be met by Meg, holding out a muffin and coffee. She was to become a God Mother. A high honour indeed. I’d told her I’d take the bus, but that would get me into Portlaoise 15 minutes before the ceremony and she wasn’t risking me bursting in the side door of the church, panting and sweating and causing her great embarrassment. So she thought it safer to make the 2 hour round trip to pick me up, which was really a bigger risk as she was an important element, whilst I was just a tourist.

We got to her house with 30 minutes to spare and time to iron her suit. Her Man said not to worry, as Mam had phoned to say it was later than Meg thought and we had an hour to spare. By the time Mam realised she’d made a mistake (totally out of character) we had 10 mins to get to church and rush hour appeared to have struck. Mam had sent Da to get her parents from their home in plenty of time for the later start which was now an earlier start and worst of all he had the candle in his car which the God Father had to light for the Baby. The priest had a christening committee of 2 women whose job it was to make sure that things went smoothly. There were 2 family groups going through the ceremony this day and only one group was sitting politely where they were meant to be and it wasn’t the group Ì was in. I have to say, that as the tourist, I was the epitome of dignified composure. It was Da - who may not have burst through the side door panting and sweating - but who miraculously got Nana and Granda into their seats before the priest’s committee banished him from the region for all time and got the candle into the hands of the Godfather in the nick of time. (And if you know who Auld Nick is in Scottish, you’ll know what a close call that was.) Nana glowed with delight at being back in her church, amongst her family. No amount of stern looks from the committee ladies was going to spoil her sheer pleasure.

Truly Ì was honoured to be with the group on the slightly unruly side of church. As the priest’s committee tried hard to keep the family rounded up, the love flowed from them, for baby Luca and his family - and my daughter cemented her role in their lives. If she is even a tiny bit as good a Godmother as her own Fairy Godmother is to her, Luca will be a very lucky boy.

And I get to have an Irish family too…

N.B. Ì only have one outfit - previously for weddings, funerals and ceilidh’s - now also for Christenings.

Of course, it’s a Fairy Godmother’s job to recognise the saintly qualities in their fairy god children. And Mel Shand (https://www.facebook.com/share/1CxV8Yyoqb/?mibextid=wwXIfr) is the very best on the market. She saw this immediately and sent it back to Meg.

N.B There is no saint called Antoinette other than an imaginary one created to help with self doubt and intrusive thoughts.

Who’ll Help Lill OL’ Me?

We’ve had to set up a PR company to manage the flood of sympathy Spook has had since word got out that his condition had deteriorated so much, he’d had his leg amputated. Messages and phone calls and shocked looks on people’s faces when they met him and thought he had a prosthetic leg already. Fast work, since he’d only broken it on 19th July.

Our dear Amy didn’t realise she had such a wide reach when she posted photos from the wedding we were all at recently….

Despite appearances, he was only bending his leg to change the blood flow to his broken leg. Whilst we all thought people would be admiring our outfits…..

The PR department is happy to report that, despite his wife’s pleas that he couldn’t possibly manage a motorcycle holiday in Bulgaria, he has in fact gone on a motorcycle holiday to Bulgaria. Apparently his Trauma nurse said that as long as there was a swimming pool, chances were that he’d come home in better nick than he went out. The retired Superintendent Physio from the Belford also reassured him that a week away from his worries (a definite glance in my direction) would do him the world of good.

To make amends for my negative attitude, I volunteered to drive him and his wee friends to Edinburgh airport in the middle of the night.

As we drove through Glencoe the minibus got slower and slower. The friends (retired members of the mountain rescue team) thought they had chosen the worst possible old lady driver. At one point Spook checked to see if I’d left the handbrake on. As we got close to Jimmy Saville’s old house they began to panic that I was going to break down outside it. A couple of the lads had a wee bit of contact with Jimmy in his later years and still have a touch of PTSD. They thought they might have to ‘do’ an Ant Hill Mob and pick the minibus up and run with it…

When they start talking about the Ant Hill Mob you know you don’t have to check their teeth to age them. I was hoping they’d liken me to Penelope Pitstop, but no one suggested it

They however, were dead ringers for the Gang.

We got past Jimmy’s but dropped to 30mph as we passed the waterfall. The bus picked up a bit and then was fine going downhill where we had to pullover for the boys to have a stress pee after all the jimmy-induced anxiety. After turning the bus off and back on again, it sorted itself out - for a while. We’d gone into Limp Mode which was annoying as I’ve had Spook in Limp Mode since July.

At the airport he was loaded onto a luggage trolley as he couldn’t keep up with his pals. No man left behind!

That’s him in front, in the pic.

Safely in Bulgaria he has established there is a very adequate heated pool.

And there is a motorbike.

What he does with them remains to be seen.

Meanwhile back home and before Spook left, Billy spent a couple of nights in the Belford to review mobility. He complemented them on their amazing care and attention and then told him he’d be pleased if he never saw them to again.

I complained that he’d do anything the nurses suggested and nothing I suggested and told him I was going to buy a uniform. I told his cousin who works on reception and she immediately wheeched off her NHS top, revealing a bonnie cutty-sark and said go and see him with that on now. Between me facing a tasering for impersonating staff in a hospital and her taking phone calls in her underwear, we were in danger of taking all the attention away from Billy. However she had another shirt through the back so it didn’t stay racy for long. Billy smiled indulgently at my uniform and then we broke him out.

Jane has had a traumatic week and just wanted everything back to normal.

So did Courr.

The fact that Spook has made it to Bulgaria is great credit to his trauma nurse and physio. And fantastic staff at Raigmore - all of whom originate from countries that are not Britain

The Hydrotherapy Pool has made a stunning difference and he can’t recommend it highly enough for peoples aches and pains. Get in there.

Lochaber Environmental Group (https://www.lochaberenviro.org.uk/) for their loan (for a donation) of their electric trike which gave him the independence to get to the Hydrotherapy pool.

Shop mobility who leant him a scooter from the very first day, giving him a semblance of independence. They operate out of a shoogly shack in town and desparately need sponsorship to build a better premises. Don’t think for a minute that they might not be for you. They are for anyone who needs them.

Meanwhile here’s a wee bit of October so far.

For a bit of culture, the MOD (http://www.scotland.org/events/the-royal-national-mod) has come to town! I nipped in to the opening night for The Highland Art Prize at McCallum’s Art House on The Parade. It’s open from 11am to 5pm until the 18th of October. It’s a lovely exhibition in a beautiful space. Well worth a visit.

Painting above - one of my favourites is by Lisa Glaze.

https://mccallumarthouse.co.uk/

Sunshine, Rain, Rainbows, and Love.

I love September. You often feel it coming late in August, with crisp light and cool air.

Hearts were heavy in August when 3 local young lads lost their lives in a car accident and Ì couldn’t find it in myself to write a wee story. In September each of those lads was laid to rest one day after the other. So many lives affected and changed forever, it’s hard to get your head around

The season relentlessly continued with its business of changing to autumn, nevertheless.

The first thing that has to happen is The Ben Nevis hill race. The most iconic hill race in the land on the first Saturday in September. It is Running Girls happy place. This year she completed her 23rd Ben Race and came over the finish line where her precious, tiny grandson, Eddie, had a sign saying “Ì love you”.

Lochaber can take on an exotic look.

As long as the sun keeps shining.

We left Lochaber for the more northern reaches of the west coast as Spook and his broken leg needed driven over the Bealach na Ba to help out at an event in Applecross he’d promised to support - as long as he could do so sitting down. For a wee while the sun stopped shining but there’s always drama up there….

I gripped the wheel and kept going.

Feeling a little tension in the van, Courr had taken shelter lower down…

Once over the top, the sunshine came back, the tension eased, and the dog had a lovely wee holiday.

We stayed in a grand house and even met Our Meg’s uni pal, Kirsten.

Back in Lochaber, Aunti Al needed some help catching goats to get their hooves trimmed. They are very friendly until needing caught…...

Crocs are not the best nor grippiest footwear for keeping hold of them once finally ensnared.

Jane the sausage dog is nervous of anything bigger than her, which is most things. She’s found ways to look bigger and knows how to use social media to her advantage.

She can also use it to pull the wool over the eyes of others….

She instinctively knows what colours suit her best. And she understands the benefits of working as a team. She and Courr will often work together to break down Billy Munro’s dogged determination to not like dogs.

By out-staring him at the breakfast table.

Meanwhile Aunti Al is trying to find ways of out-staring preditors with an unhealthy interest in her hens and quails, without having to sit up all night.

We can only hope this continues to work as Spook and Courr have become used to very nice breakfasts. Trump wasn’t the only one being served quails eggs in September.

And our lovely neighbours who work with Spook at Nevis Range were worried he’d fade away and dropped off some of their delicious foccacia bread to build up his strength.

I’m slightly worried about this extended time at home as he seems to be morphing into my sister’s dog, Scamp.

Scamps mother, Billie, lives in Ireland with Meg and Darragh. They may look different but the familial familiarities are in the amount of love they give and receive.

I have been giving out as much love and support to Spook with his injured wing as I can muster. But without question, I am a woman with limitations and he’s wise to remember this…..

I could easily feature on a well-known set of cards.

His old (young) buddies from Nevis Range got married over on the east, south of Edinburgh and we were chuffed to be invited to go and help celebrate. They knew how to have a party and look after their friends at an amazing venue with fantastic food and generous gallons of drink and a brilliant band - The Jacobites - who knew how to get everyone dancing. All I could see on the dance floor were laughing faces.

Thankyou so much, DJ and Abbie, for a fantastic day (or 3 days for those with the stamina).

Getting to party with your children’s friends who are now your friends, is one of life’s sweet developments.

Amy was on her 3rd wedding of the week. The day before she’d been with our Meg at their pal Siobhan’s wedding on the other side of the country.

Well played, Amy.

The bonus of going somewhere so different for a wedding is getting to explore. I abandoned Spook in our accommodation and went scrambling over rocks to find Seacliff harbour. The smallest in the UK. With Tantallon Castle in the background, it had a Game of Thrones kinda feel to it.

The stags have begun roaring at night as we head into October. Each year they get closer.

Which means they get louder!

I love October.

July Stretched to Breaking Point

July must be almost as long as January, which has around 6 weeks (due to being paid early before Christmas and running out of money by the 4th of January when you don’t get paid until the 31st.)

Firstly the 4th of July saw many things happen - and that’s without any Stateside connection. Our lovely daughter celebrated 6 years with her lovely Darragh on the day they had to say goodbye to their beloved young Labrador, Rua.

Our son headed off to Poland for a Stag party and my husband, father-in-law and sister-in-law legged it to Lake Garda, leaving me to try and keep the goats, horses, hens, quails and cats fed, watered and penned in.

I drew the line at Jane and decided she had to go and holiday in the warmer climes of Argylle. It was a 5hr round trip which I deemed worth the effort, though she was less enamoured herself. She hates a vehicle driving off without her - then she discovers she’s in yet another place where she can call the shots and bonds to her new environment…..

But before that it’s all high drama and emotional blackmail.

Courr was beyond delighted and hatched a plan to joy-ride in Billy’s camper.

“You go go go and I’ll keep an eye on the house in case Billy’s still there!” He barked

This gave him an opportunity to get some reading done whilst being chauffeured around the area. It’s so much more dignified than a regular car. He was avidly reading a book on pest control and at this point he was re-reading the well pawed chapter on Total Eradication of the Sausage Dog. He was fairly confident that this had been achieved.

The animal husbandry didn’t go completely without incident - goats didn’t escape but had a party in the food shed when I hadn’t snibbed the door properly, though thankfully I noticed before I drove away. A couple of hens didn’t survive my care and attention and it was a wee worry that there’d be none left by the time Alison got home. Meanwhile, I ate lots of eggs…

Quails eggs made lovely egg mayonnaise and Scotch eggs…

I mixed it up with the scrambling just for fun.

Billy asked me to deliver eggs to a couple of neighbours. This turned out to be the highlight of my week. I’ve signed a Non Disclosure but suffice to say that delivering to one particular neighbour reminded me of why I love living in the Highlands and of how precious and funny life is in my husbands home village………

Meanwhile The Munro’s were having a lovely time on the Italian Lakes.

Our girl turned 30…..

Which meant Billy had been a Papa for 30 years. So while she celebrated in Ireland, we lit the caterpillar cake at home.

Everything was going so well……I’d had my cousin and his family from the Phillipines up to stay. We had friends escaping the heat in Southern Spain to stay and my cousin from California. We went to a fantastic wedding reception which reminded us of how cool and good fun the next generation are and enjoyed a brilliant apres wedding party. Busy busy busy………

Until Spook fell off his bike on the way to work and didn’t unclip his right foot from the peddle. An operation and 8 weeks recovery is all that was required. And a little mobility assistance….

Crochet lessons have been offered and thus far rejected but it’s early days. He’s got the wool.

Spook’s a Lochaber man in life and in battle and the scooter (brilliant service from Shopmobility) enabled Spook to be independent on the sidelines of the game which was Lochaber against Inveraray. Courr will support whoever has the pizza and thankfully he wasn’t disgraced, disappointed,…or hungry.

Until Spook can get safely up and down the stairs he’s confined to the downstairs room. While Alison was away (again,) and Billy headed to Glasgow for a City Break, Courr was disgusted when Jane moved in.

Spook didn’t quite know how to feel when he ended up sleeping with her.

This was just before she shot under the covers and didn’t come out until morning. There seems to have been some bonding going on….

July has displayed all weathers. From threatening storm to sunny 30 degrees.

Who knows what August will bring. Courr will have to think of new ways to get the sausage dog out of his life. He’s tried to generate some sympathy by taking his food bowl down to the canal as if no-one is feeding him and I suppose stowing away on a boat to Scandinavia or Germany isn’t out of the question whilst there’s still lots of through traffic. Probably not Germany due to the Daschund issue.

With the mobility aid I can walk Spook and the dog at the same time. The destination even when kept on a firm lead, is however, different….

Education Bill

Like Ben said in Local Hero “there’s a lot of work left on this beach yet” (something like that,)and similarly there is a lot of history to be learnt yet, about Fort William.

I kept hearing mention of Annat village and I just assumed it was from ‘Roger’s’ road back towards town and included the whole industrial estate - Harbros, Sawmill, Ferguson’s, the Boat Yard etc.

But people who knew, meant the Lost Village of Annat. So then I couldn’t work out where that had been. There’s a tiny but very informative and nostalgic exhibit in the West Highland Museum until mid August. I asked Billy if he fancied a visit.

I didn’t ascertain just who it was that has taken the time to gather stories about this unique village of around 200 homes (or people?) but it’s a wonderful collection of stories and photographs - full of names that I recognise as Caol and Fort William names. Mathers, Shearer,Prosser,Confield etc.

Billy remembered the Naval Base at Corpach and the prefabricated homes that were created on the edge of town to house the military from 1942-1944, which became the village of Annat. There was a cinema where the old sawmill was that he used to go to. I’d thought the British Aluminium factory was a big enough target for bombers, but the large naval base was another worthwhile target.

When the base closed, the houses became available to the homeless who were such, because there had been no house building over the war years. We met a woman who’d been relocated to Kinlochleven when the village was bulldozed in the early 1950’s, and now lives in Glasgow and had come up to see the exhibit. The first thing she saw were 3 photographs that she was in. She said that her family had lived in one room rented in a house at Lundavra - her parents and her siblings. When they got a house at Annat it was amazing. 2 rooms, a toilet separate from the bathroom and a solid fuel cooking stove which only worked when you lit the fire in the living room! The countryside, views, friends - life was brilliant there. There was a school, shop and delivery van - driven by Billy’s great Uncle Peter McMillan.

Most folk moved to the village of Caol once the houses there were completed.

It’s a very small part of the museums treasure and is only there for another 6 weeks.

Billy and I had a quick lunch next door at the cinema before taking a sneaky peak at the site of the old village.

The hard standing terraces that were left made the perfect site for a caravan park - with the best sunsets within the town locale.

In the name of Educating Morag, Billy and I were talking about motorbikes and I remembered the bike Spook had (only just barely working) when we first met. It was an MZ. I knew absolutely nothing about that brand and learnt from Billy, all about Ernst Deger and his defection from East Germany with secrets of the MZ make-up and the drama of smuggling his family out in the false boot of a large car. I’d forgotten all about the Stasi - the secret service of East Germany

Another day I managed to educate Billy about a young woman I’d heard about on a podcast. Mary Manning who went on strike from Dublins Dunnes store in 1984 to protest against Apartheid and ultimately resulted in Ireland banning produce from South Africa, although she and her fellow 10 workers were on strike for 2yrs and 9 months on £21 strike pay a week. Desmond Tutu visited them and an African living in Ireland told them that South Africa was like a pint of Guiness - a small amount of white people on top and a lot of black underneath.

Christy Moore wrote a song about it. Called Dunnes Stores, funnily enough.

In between all the educational stuff, Courr continued on his determined path to remove Jane from his life in an effort to create his own apartheid where she does not get to share the same space as him. He carried her bowl to the river thinking she’d pursue him and maybe get washed away. But she didn’t care, and stayed at home with Billy.

Goats came back to live at Inveroy after many years absence. They had to get on a boat on Loch Nevis and travel the high seas to get to their new abode. Just as Courr had thought that Jane was his only problem…..

After a goats chase dog scenario, immediately followed by horses chase goat scenario and dog runs between all animals in a total panic and wishes Jane was there to help him scenario, things quickly settled. Although head butting dogs is still their favourite thing, there’s good eating to be had.

The truce with Jane over the goats didn’t last. Billy, Alison and Tom - all Jane’s favourite people - went to a music festival at Portsoy and left her behind. She had to come and live in Courrs house at Banavie. She became devoted to Spook and followed him everywhere. He spent the whole weekend welding his car and she spent the time sleeping in the drivers seat.

She got very territorial and told Ted the Collie to feck off, which was a shame cos Ted’s been coming round for years and is quite nice. So I put a muzzle on her and she took the huff. Courr was in a permanent huff the whole weekend so it was no odds to him.

Then I took the huff as I had to leave the marital bed and sleep next door with the disgruntled Courr.

Courr and I were both delighted when we delivered her home to Billy’s lap and we could get our lives back in order.

Over the month I managed time to scribble in my sketchbook and entertain myself - I could do this all day everyday but no one would get fed!

Meanwhile, Finn and Courr get more alike every day.

And a wee love note from us to Rua ‘Scoobiedoo’ in Ireland who isn’t well. Wee love you. X

Happy Birthday Spook….. Love from…. Jane. Xx

Quines, Loons, And Auld Foggies

Keith TMSA time. (Traditional Music and Song Association). Billy and Joy did all the wee niche eastern folk festivals for years. Last year Billy decided to revisit them in memory of his adventures at them with Joy. He managed Portsoy, Stonehaven and Kirriemuir. But Keith TMSA slipped through the net. I said I’d go to Keith with him next year. And suddenly it’s Keith time and the vans not ready!!!

Once the seating arrangements were sorted we tried it out….

Billy had the mail delivered directly to the van to test it for ‘home from home status’.

Everybody agreed that it was very homely indeed. We didn’t know how to tell the dogs that they weren’t invited to the festival. This was a happy moment for them, soon to be torn to shreds by total abandonment.

As the post delivery was Billy’s bank statement he could ascertain how much fish and chips we could afford. Alison’s boyfriend says that Billy has already consumed more than the UK quota of fish this year alone. A couple more can’t do much harm, surely.

Reidhaven Square in Keith. Spotlessly clean and peaceful apart from the fish-eaters.

Billy had told me that we mustn’t be late to the campsite as last in becomes the cabaret entertainment for everyone else so before getting our fish suppers, we’d set up camp.

Billy got his window blackout screens in place while I tackled my tent - having refused a lesson from my husband whom I’d assumed was being a patronising git…..

This was our home for the next 2 nights so, not an official campsite as such but provided all that we needed. Can’t think how everyone had remembered Joy and Billy from 2 years ago when they’d hosted the after party in their camper. How on earth did that happen? Look at the size of the rest of them!!

The site even provided First Responders to the tent erection issues that had developed alarmingly quickly in high winds which I assured my husband (later) were practically a tornado. Camp Commandant Christine and Fiddler Annie were quick to assist when I screamed as the tent almost took off and there was a bit of a ‘snap’ as a tent pole took the hit. Billy had been intent on settling his van into night mode and only heard the scream.

Billy said that this would definitely blow away while we were in the pub so was rattling through his toolbox looking for tape to fix the pole - clearly there was no way I was getting in his van.

But there was someone’s tent in a worse state than mine and he had to sleep in his car all weekend…..

I said to Billy that I wasn’t sure if he was drunk or just……”a bit like me!” Said Billy. But he was worried that if we stepped in the guy would either end up in with me or in with him. Word on the campsite was to leave him to sort it out as he always ended up in his car anyway.

Thankfully he was as much, if not more, the cabaret act as I was.

We celebrated the dropping of the wind with a night in The Ploo. The first bothy ballad we listened to was one of Joys favourites. The Balaena. A Dundee whalers song which Billy said I must know having spent 4 years in Dundee. Nope! Did not listen to whaling songs whilst living the dream as an art student!!

We had a great night - me on the Balvenie dram and Billy on the Virgin Cranberry Vodka, which is served straight, without the vodka.

Next day dawned a bit dreich but I got the morning paper while Billy got the coffee on.

We sat out the rain until Billy got bored and declared he was going to the Railway Club session.

There was no one on the street. They were all in the Railway club. Where I was on Railway Club malt of the month - Glenfiddich (at 2.30pm eek) and Billy was back on the Virgin Cranberry.

Flo, the pub dog, was well loved by everyone. But she had her favourites - especially ones who smelt of sausage dog…..

She launched herself from nowhere straight onto Billy’s lap and I couldn’t save him for laughing - and recording the moment, of course.

We went back to The Ploo for the session there before grabbing some dinner and making our way to the Bowling Club for the big concert. As we wandered past The Royal Hotel, Billy said that he and Joy had eaten there 2 years ago. The food was upstairs and Joy couldnt manage the stairs. So someone gave her a Fireman’s lift. I asked if she squealed and he said “yes - loudly”. And did you laugh? “Yes”. But the assistance she got up those stairs kind of reflects what Keith is about. They call it The Friendly Town and it absolutely is. Full of warmth and friendliness and after one night in The Ploo, we felt we knew everyone. Obviously it’s festival weekend but I’d say you’d get a Fireman’s lift up the stairs any day of the week if you needed it.

The talent was amazing. The celebration of the Scots language - the Doric version - and the love of story telling through music was heartwarming and totally engaging. I felt close to my mum as she would have LOVED it. I remembered how I forgot, that although Joy was very much a Highland girl, she was also a Quine from the east through her father’s side. Her granny was a Berry from a Traveller family north of Montrose and this music and song was part of her DNA.

We walked home at midnight and encountered the local ned in a black Corsa doing fast circuits of the town. I knew the song that was blasting out. One of my ain childhood favourites. Donald Where’s Yer Troosers. How cool was THAT!

The sunshine was back by Sunday morning and Billy was determined to get back to The Ploo and then the outdoor session in Reidhaven square. We parked outside the somewhat dilapidated Commercial Hotel because it was close to The Ploo. We could hear the music emanating from its open door. Outside the Comnercial was Boidie from Peat and Diesel who was having a fly smoke. He’d joined in Jarad Rowan’s session last night and was clearly in recovery.

Billy got out the van and felt dizzy. So he got back in the van and we had to decide if we were being too greedy. The suggestion that, had he collapsed in the street, Boidie was the nearest person to call to arms, and with my penchant for being easily Star struck, and my blog driven obsession, the chances were high that whilst Boidie was saving Billy, I’d be too busy taking selfies of us all…….Well, let’s say it helped Billy to focus on the best option. He’d noted how slow I was to save him from Flo the dog, after all.

We drove off, sad to leave as the Strathisla Pipe Band was tuning up ready to March to the square.

I loved Keith music festival and the amazing community who lives there and travels every year to enjoy and take part. For the last 50 years! I look forward to next year and just need to get a new tent pole. And maybe eat some humble pie and accept a lesson from the husband.

One to watch? Amy Papiransky. Raised in Keith, living in Glasgow. Billy noted that the festival had something for everyone when he, at 90, sat opposite 3 very young woman - old school pals of Amy. She was fantastic.