Portrait of a Place

Andrea, a fellow Islander and blogger with a thousand old film cameras, a penchant for black and white (and various photographic techniques I'd not heard of until I started reading her blog), and a wonderfully eccentric style doesn't 'do' landscapes.  So when she produced one a few days ago she called it a 'Portrait of a Place'.  I'm never ashamed publicly to admit it when ideas are not my own so strictly speaking I never plagiarise I simply use other peoples' ideas.  Of course having now given Andrea credit for the words I will continue to use them and at some time in the future someone will read them and not realise they are not mine.  Honour and morality are satisfied and I will still get some residual credit in the future.  

This doesn't just apply to today's heading.  There will be many more which, over the years, even I have come to believe are my own original thoughts.  Of course people who know me well know that, competent though I may be in writing up an adversarial case for, for example, a ministerial meeting or  a planning inquiry, any original thoughts contained therein will always have been gleaned from others who have the required talents.

This is a rather different portrait of a place that my readers see all the time but from a very different perspective.  This was taken from across the valley by Dave (Spesh's hubby) on his mobile phone.  My house is indicated by the arrow.

Thankful Thursday

Virginia in a post on her leaving Barbados for a holiday remarked that the Gate Control Officer was the best Gate Control Officer that she'd ever met.  It reminded me of a person I think of very frequently and have done ever since I was a small boy at prep school.  

Some years ago I posted the following about him on my A Hebridean in New Zealand blog:

When I was a small child in Liverpool we had a neighbourhood street sweeper. He happened to be called Alfred but that's not relevant except to demonstrate the weird tricks of memory whereby I can recall a name from 60 years ago and not remember momentarily the name of a friend's daughter whom I've known all 40+ years of her life during a conversation when I was speaking on the phone today. 

When I was walking down the road I often chatted to Alfred. One day he imparted some wisdom to me that I've never forgotten. 

CJ and I went to a small private Prep School in the area. You need to know that because of what Alfred said. 

Alfred said that whilst he was only a street sweeper with little education and I went to a smart school what mattered was who you were and that you strove to do what you did as well as you could. He said that he was satisfied that he was the best street sweeper in Liverpool. And he may well have been. 

What struck me later though was his use of the word 'only'. I have never got used to people who say that. I once rang an office and when I asked who was speaking was told that it was 'only' the office junior. I pointed out that most offices can function satisfactorily for a while without senior staff but that most offices seem to collapse if the office junior is not there to find things. Well that's how it used to be anyway. There is no such thing, if one thinks about it, as an only in life. There are just different roles to be played.

It's odd what we recall and what shapes our thinking. 

As Andy used to say "It's a funny old world, Dad."

I am very thankful for Alfred's lesson.  It's made me appreciate people and the jobs that they do and to realise that there are many people 'above' me in the educational, social, socio-economic and employment arenas who could look at me and say "he was only..."

A Mixed Day

I arrived home at 9.30 pm yesterday (Thursday) after a day's driving up the west coast of Scotland in the rain.  During the journey I learned that a person who is very special to me is expecting a baby and that another person, who is younger than I and whom I have known for nigh on 40 years, has died.  

Today has been a day of mixed feelings.

Anna came up to Lewis with me for a long weekend and we had a relaxing and enjoyable day and evening visiting and being visited.

I have one of those head colds that makes concentrating between the bouts of sneezing and nose-blowing difficult.  I have probably spread it far and wide.  I apologise to anyone who gets it.

It's also been a day of minor frustrations outwith my control.

So I've not read any blogs, nor caught up with Words With Friends, nor replied to emails.  Now, if I can stop sneezing and blowing my nose, I'm going to get some sleep.

Earlier in the year I planted these prize geraniums, Roxanne, which were a present from Anna.  They are beautiful and doing well:

They make me happy.

Away For A Few Days

I left the Island yesterday at the crack of dawn for a few days on the Mainland: principally to attend the funeral of the mother of a friend of many years standing.

As the ferry was preparing to leave Stornoway I managed these photos (I'm afraid that the last one is very 'noisy'):

As we were entering Loch Broom I couldn't resist the inevitable photo of the ship's wake:

The hills had a very watercolour look about them:

and some of the very remote crofts were emphasised