Friends

I woke up this morning. This is something I've been doing for over eight decades and something I hope that I will be doing for some years to come providing that my mental faculties remain reasonably able to steer me through the day without too much trouble. 

Someone asked me recently if I had any male friends. I thought it was a very strange question and said so and asked why such an assumption should be made. Apparently it was very simple. I have coffee in The Woodlands several times a week at least. All the people with whom I have coffee are friends I have known for many many years (at least two I have known for over half a century). However all my 'coffee mates' are female. Why? Because their husbands are no longer with us.  I do have one male friend and former colleague I've known for 51 years with whom I have lunch in The Woodlands every Friday. His wife died a couple of years ago after many years of illness. 

On a Saturday morning I used to meet my son, Gaz, for coffee in An Lanntair (the local arts centre) whilst my grandson went to his drama class.  About half way through a friend (whom I've met for coffee on a Saturday morning for many years) would come and join us and then Gaz would take Brodie swimming.  Some say that routine is boring. I find it quite comforting.

However that routine came to a sudden end a few weeks ago when Gaz very suddenly decided to go back to sea. He received a phone call on a Thursday offering him a Chief Engineer's job on a superyacht. A job he has done for many years before he 'retired' several years ago. So one Saturday we were coffeeing and a few days later he was afloat at the other end of the Mediterranean. Now he is 'languishing' in Monaco.  It can be a hard life!

Almost Midnight, Almost Midsummer.

One of the advantages of living in the Outer Hebrides is the very light nights at midsummer. It's 2315 and this is my garden looking out over The Minch to the mainland of Scotland.

I'm taking the opportunity to do this tonight because, knowing Scottish weather it could be pouring with rin in 24 hours time.

Ring O' Bells

Back in my previous incarnation in England and when I was in my early 20s I occasionally pulled ropes and rang church bells. In fact I nearly ended my life as a result when a bellrope came off the bellwheel  and snaked around my neck. Fortunately someone behind me (not ringing a bell) saw it and got the rope away from my neck before it was pulled up again by the weight of the bell. Such occurrences are infrequent but can have dire consequences. "Hung by the Church Bell" does not look good on a church gravestone.   

My wife to be was a proper campanologist.

Next to the church which we attended (and in which we were married) was a hostelry aptly known as The Ring'O Bells.  There in 'Ernie's Snug' we gathered after ringing for a pint or two of best bitter. 

That was over half a century ago. 

The last time I went into the hostelry was a good few years ago and I felt like a complete stranger. The inside of the hotel had been completely gutted and was a beautiful, modern hostelry with plenty of food being served. If I had still lived there I wondered if it was still a 'local' for some old codgers who would pop in for a pint. 

Mind you I can't remember when I last had a 'pint' or any draught beer for that matter. My alcoholic drink of choice for the last 40 + years has been wine.

I must get back to blogging more regularly and try and ressurect some of my old memories too.