Having paid work that isn’t cleaning, when you are normally paid to clean is good for the soul. Not that I don’t love my job. It gives me freedom to think my own thoughts and loads of flexibility and as I consider myself to be an improvement service rather than a perfectionist, I get away with the odd spider that slips through the web. An ex colleague, when she heard I had started my own business as a cleaner said “You? A cleaner? I don’t really see it.” I let it pass. And when I was chatting to her on one of my cleaning jobs where I used to be her colleague, I noticed a dead spider at her foot.
“Is that a dead spider?” I said.
“Well - I thought so too,” she said “then I thought no, It can’t possibly be, as Morag has already cleaned this bit.”
I let that pass too, because it was still better than before I started.
When Anne, whose house I make some weekly improvements to, asked me to take on the job of decorating the Lochcarron village hall in Wester Ross for the celebration of her last Munro, I was delighted to say yes. The month of May was crazily busy with the Mountain Bike World Cup event happening at Nevis Range the same weekend as the party, and one of my jobs is to keep the toilets flowing at the Auction Mart where much of the event parking is. A good flow on poorly flushing loo’s requires 3 daily visits over the 3 days of the event, but the village hall wasn’t accessible until 3pm, meaning I could get the midday check done and still have time to drive up the road. The caterers would be in at the same time as me and the band would set up a little before the 6pm kick off. The drive time from Fort William to Lochcarron is 2 hours and an 8.30pm toilet clean was perfectly acceptable.
Anne had done all the creative stuff – acres of beautifully hand sewn bunting incorporating carefully selected photographs of the many family and friends who had walked with her up these mountains over the years. She’d measured the hall and knew how much bunting was needed to make an impact. A few strands would barely be noticed. This is an old Drill Hall, with scarred walls and some peeling paint – a fantastic local facility but needing a colourful face-lift for Anne’s purposes. Tin cans painted white, filled with greenery and flowers from Anne and her husband Ken’s garden and ribbons tied around them were to be placed around the hall. Fairly lights and LED candles would top it all off, as well as tables covered in plain red paper. A friend had laminated posters of Anne on top of some hills and made congratulation banners and it was important that her efforts weren’t wasted so despite Anne’s blushes, they would be displayed.
The Hall keeper was somewhat reserved in her style of communication – no access prior to 3pm and all festivities to be finished before the Sabbath.
The lack of access was what had made Anne realise she needed someone to put all her efforts into place while she was up the hill and it seemed rude to ask her non hill walking guests to do the job. Hence my Improvement Services. This bunting had taken weeks to make and Ken had been drawn into the process, cutting and laminating photographs – even my sister Coila had helped a little at the local sewing group of which she and Anne are both members. Relations were possibly a little tense at times in the household as there was also the tin cans to upcycle. Not to mention the tinned food that had to be consumed in order to free up the cans. Anne’s dread was that a well-meaning friend offering to do the job would look at the boxes of bunting and tins and decide that there was no need to put it all up. To come off the hill and find boxes of spare bunting lying in a corner – well………it could spoil the day.
My sister Marion has recently moved to Inverness from Edinburgh and has been patiently waiting for me to have a day off so that we can have an adventure together. With the day off looking like it wouldn’t happen until June, I asked if she’d like to come on a road trip with me. She could hold the ends of the bunting as I spread it around the hall and we could catch up there, and in the car. She was delighted at this prospect and said she’d bring a picnic. We arranged to meet at Cluanie Dam on the A87 where we could leave her car and travel together. Marion is small. Under 8 stone and likes to eat little and often - so we started with the picnic. This reminded me of when we were young girls and always hungry due to the disciplined approach to food taken by our parents. We always pestered Mum to make us picnics in the summer holidays which she would give into to get rid of us. And then we’d walk round the corner just out of sight - and tear into the food.
We had oatcakes, cheese and pickle and tea from her flask. She said she had sandwiches too and chocolate biscuits, but I said, no - we need to get going to make sure we get started on time.
The weather was cloudy but the view majestic, nevertheless. The A87 is road trip heaven with sweeping open roads, moors with mountains rising up on either side, a narrow glen which passes through the site of an ancient battle, occasional mountain goats and the iconic Eilean Donan Castle. As Marion was unfamiliar with the road, it was an extra bonus. We arrived in the village bang on time and went to Anne and Ken’s holiday cottage where we were to pick up all the decorations. Ken had made long poles with wooden plinths to sit on and carabiner clips to attach the bunting with. This was the emergency plan as Anne had bought low tack sticky tape, Blue Tac and drawing pins, but had no idea if she would beallowed to use them. Asking the Hall keeper this question had felt dangerously controversial and may have been met with some hostility so I was to feel my way with the matter and the poles would be completely free standing and avoid any contention should it arise.
Marion looked at all the items to go in the car. “That’ll never fit in your car! Those poles are too long!”
This was not the attitude I was expecting so early in the proceedings. She’s a very positive person. I noted that recently, when I found my primary 6 report card where the teacher wrote that my following on behind the very positive, outgoing, extrovert (and extremely smart) Marion, must be hard for my very quiet and shy self.
I fitted it all in the car over 2 short trips and made Marion angle her head a little to avoid getting pranged by the poles. Or my elbow.
We met the Catering team who run Rock Villa Guest house just along the road and they got straight to work in the kitchen. Marion and I had 3.5 hours to pull this off and as she was only really there for moral support and the craic, I wasn’t too concerned about time. We found the stash of tables under the stage, chairs in a back room and pulled most of them out to see how best to accommodate the 41 guests.
I cut the red paper to size and Marion was to stick it to the tables while I laid out the bunting. However, the low tack tape was effectively no tack and I had to lie under every table like an engineer while Marion folded it over and I used heavier stuff that was blue and not for show. It involved me shouting “FOLD” at her so that she would know which corner of the table I was at without having to bend down and look underneath. This would be followed by my barking “NEXT” at her as I slid underneath another table. When I emerged from my prone state I was worried to note how long this had taken. There wasn’t time to imaginatively lay out the bunting and ponder the decorative options. I told Marion just to grab a pile and start sticking it around the room. She stuck. And it came immediately unstuck behind her. She used the Blue tack (which was white for lower visual impact,) and it came unstuck behind her. I searched for the drawing pins having noted the peeling paint and small pin holes in the walls, thus assuring me that this was not going to make the hall collapse in on itself, nor ruin the aging décor. And the Hall Keeper was nowhere to be seen. Box loads of bunting, candles, tins of shrubbery - but no pins. I said I’d run along to the shop and see if I could buy pins. Marion said she’d pour herself a cup of tea and eat a marmalade sandwich, whilst quietly wondering what had happened to the ‘craic’ aspect of the day.
I was wondering how on earth I’d managed to bring along Paddington Bear. (She said she’d brought them especially for me as my favourite old Farmer - Bobby Brewster had favoured the marmalade sandwich over all sandwiches. And I loved Bobby Brewster. She looked a little wounded as she explained this to my scowling face.)
By the time I got back with an emotional purchase of a ridiculous amount of drawing pins, Marion had had time to look at the boxes of bunting. There’s too much bunting, she declared. We’ll never get all this up. I shot her a warning look that said I needed solutions, not problems. Marion was a Chartered Accountant for 35 years, solving people’ problems - creating solutions on a daily basis – but non-stick tape and acres of bunting to put up without it, was not in her professional bag of tools.
I could see her eyeing up her sandwiches again.
She went off to assemble Ken’s poles. I need a hammer, she said. Is there a hammer? NO. They’re all wobbly, she said. At this point, Ken’s brother and sister-in-law arrived to set up the bar. They were immediately dispatched to de-wobble Marion’s poles - which they did without a hammer.
Whilst I pinned and pinned and strung out bunting, I askedMarion to place the floral decorations on the tables.
How many tins are there, she asked.
80.
80???????? I could hear her muttering under her breath.
Oh my god, Marion. Don’t tell me I brought the wrong sister? (I have 3 to choose from.) Do we need to step outside to have a word?
We collapsed into giggles. 5 of us siblings grew up together and there was much fighting and clyping. The most dreaded phrase was “Dad wants to see you in the lounge.” Then we knew we were in big trouble. This was the tone I had been aiming for and she’d recognised it.
The white tins of foliage and flowers went up around the window ledges, onto the tables, along the stage, interspersed with the little candles – of which there were ALSO many, though I heard no muttering this time. The bunting was strewn across walls and over poles. Amazing smells emanated from the kitchen, boxes were almost empty of banners, Marion had eaten all her marmalade sandwiches and was calm.
And then the Band arrived. I had known from Anne that the man she had booked – Dougie Pincock - was ex Battlefield Band and currently the director of the Traditional School of Music in Plockton. He was bringing a few of his mates to form the band.
He introduced himself to me as being The Band.
Dougie? I asked.
Yes.
In an unplanned and unexpected outburst which took me by surprise as much as Dougie and might have been muted by a marmalade sandwich had I taken the time, I breathlesslydeclared that I had gone to China in 1987 clutching the Battlefield Bands cassette tape of their album On The Rise. Coila had given it to me as a going away present and I listened to it almost every day for a year as I was homesick. I cycled everywhere, often in the dark – no street lights or bike lights – headphones on, singing to it at the top of my voice so that other road users knew I was coming.
Dougie looked taken aback and a little alarmed with clearly no idea what to do with this information. He asked me if there was a spare table anywhere to set up the sound system. I went up on the stage for a look, where the curtains were closed. With a burst of confidence from behind the curtains I sang the chorus from On The Rise at the top of my lungs. “Montrose Montrose – you are the Rose. You give your life for loyalty. But it’s no the hour for the Rose tae flower, between the Kirk and Royalty. Montrooooosssssseeeee.
Marion said that Dougie looked mildly amused.
There was serious danger that I would continue my circa 1985 full on groupie behaviour as I emerged off the stage, table in hand, and with the threat of more singing to come Marion caught my eye, pointed to the clock, and said “Morag! There’s 15 minutes until folk start arriving - get on with it.” Sobered but with my wee heart uplifted in glorious nostalgia, we pinned the last bunting and laid out the last of the candles and cans. Marion had secured the fairy lights whilst I auditioned for the Band, the bar was set up, and the Caterers had laid out all the food – fresh langoustines off his father’s boat; award winning tablet made by her mother; piles of colourful salads, smoked mackerel fillets and filleted venison. People were pouring in the door. The place looked and smelled magnificent.
Marion couldn’t take her eyes off the buffet. We filled the empty sandwich boxes with takeaway food and said our goodbyes to a grateful and exhilarated Anne who had completed her 282nd Munro in wind and rain and was ready to dance the night away. We stopped at Eilean Donan Castle to eat our fresh picnic. Then with the clock still ticking away before I had toilets to attend to we made it back to Marion’s car - where she declared she needed another cup of tea and the remainder of her oat cakes and cheese.
How the hell are you so wee???? I demanded.
