Nothing To Say

Last night Pat surprised me.  And then threatened me if I told anyone.  So as this is just a diary no one's going to know are they?

Actually how she surprised me was by saying that as CJ managed to write a blog posting every day how come I couldn't.  What was she doing, she wondered, going to my blog each day only to find that the cupboard had no more in it than when she was last opened it.  That anyone should actually be waiting for the ramblings of a vieux pet ennuyeux astounded me.

As it happens I had been trying to think of a posting for the Notes but I've had nothing to say. Then some lyrics kept buzzing round inside my head (plenty of room for them in there you see) but I couldn't actually remember the words or the song although I could remember that it was Meat Loaf who sang it. So I've just spent 30 seconds finding out ie I pulled out the Meat Loaf CDs. The words weren't as I remembered them of course so the whole exercise was a bit of a waste of time. However as I have nothing else to post about I thought I just tell you the story anyway. The song, by the way, was I couldn't have said it better myself. The words I was trying to remember turned out to be "And you said nothing at all, Well I couldn't have said it better myself".

One thing no one has ever said of me is "He can't ramble on.".  'Cos I can.

A Rough Morning At Sea

This morning broke after two days of gales from the North with the wind still from the North and still very strong. When those conditions prevail and, depending on the tide, the MV Isle of Lewis sets out from Stornoway for Ullapool and sails North parallel to the coast of Lewis past my house. I can't see her from my house when she sails on her usual route. This morning the setting was very dramatic. The shots of the vessel as she negotiates the swell appear, in my experience, more dramatic than they are on board and at least are simply in one plane ie unlike the MV Suilven before her she does not corkscrew - that singularly unpleasant motion which tests even the hardest stomach.

A Visit To Gisla

On Tuesday (is it really that long ago?) Pat and Dave and I went over to see Carol and Jenny in Gisla. Apart from the excellent company I always enjoy the fact that there is a wonderful garden surrounded by high trees which provides an excellent home for lots of birds - despite the explosion in the semi-feral cat population. They also provide wonderful still air for the midges but that didn't affect us at this time of year. I had hoped to get some photos of the Dunnocks on the bird table but they left soon after we arrived and I didn't see them again.

The most amusing part of the visit was finding squeezy Marmite. As a lover of Marmite I had reservations about such a potential travesty but I'm assured that it's perfectly good. I do love the Marmite manufacturer's sense of humour though:

Not Too Far

Every day when I wake up I remember that I must never take my good fortune for granted.  Few people are blessed with having so many good friends and a lifestyle which is, for me, as good as it could be.  I was reminded of this particularly this morning when I realised that I only have 28 more sleeps before I leave for my other home in New Zealand.  I can no longer say, as I used to, my other life in New Zealand because the two lives have now melded into one and I simply live one life in two places.  To some extent that is because the world is not a large place from the point of view of communications with cheap telecommunication, mobile phones which link us wherever we are and broadband (at The Cottage, I wish!) which enables us to communicate daily as we please without regard for the time of day or night. 

I suppose I first realised the smallness of the world about 10 years ago when I was in the Australian outback and was able to speak to Mum every day just to find out how she was and reassure her that I was still in the land of the living.  And I was reminded again yesterday when my God-daughter, Lou, who was at the Grand Prix in Singapore, sent me a photo from her phone of the very race that we were both watching on different sides of the globe.

So when I leave Lewis for Napier on Monday 27 October I shall be happy and sad at the same time.  But I shall not be going far, just, unfortunately, too far to go to the Woodlands Centre for coffee.  

So in the next day or so, in addition to Eagleton Notes, I shall start to post on my blog A Hebridean in New Zealand.  I hope that you will join me there.