Run for the hills

Poppies

2011-11-13T12:20:00.002Z

I went to the shop today and was asked if I was going to the service at the war memorial. I said "no". It was clearly the wrong answer and no further conversation ensued.

But Jeesh you should have heard the conversation going on in my head as I walked home. So I thought I'd share you a wee rant.

I have no problem with those who want to honour the 'fallen'*, and I have no problem with people who choose to do it by wearing poppies and attending ceremonies. But all too often such services use words like glory and honour and valour and I don't agree with these notions.

Invite me to a ceremony that invites us to learn from past mistakes and I'm more likely to attend.

Invite me to something that remembers the others that were killed, the murdered civilians who were bombed or starved from their homes, or merchant seaman who froze running the north atlantic convoys.

Invite me to something that cries for the fathers and mothers, sisters, brothers and lovers, sons and daughters that were left bereaved by the killings.

Invite me to something that cries out for true freedom of press and information so we can make honest choices about whether a war is just and so that we will never be lied to again - whether it's 'weapons of mass destruction' in Iraq or soldiers eating babies in occupied Belgium in 1914**, whether it's the flow of information controlled by the state, or controlled by a few powerful people like Rupert Murdoch***.

Invite me to something that spits on the memory of egotists and morons, from the 1st world war generals who sent wave after wave of terrified men over the trenches to certain death or pompous twats like Tony Blair shaking hands with 'the hand of history'.

This rant is not meant to dishonour the dead in any way, it's merely a plea that we learn and try to avoid such wastefulness again. It's a long standing campaign symbolised by the white poppy. Whatever we do we should break the link between honouring those killed and the sort of jingo-ism that it is so often polluted by.

There - time for a cuppa methinks.

* I think fallen means killed. It means killed in appalling circumstances, usually hundreds if not thousands of miles from home, family and loved ones. It usually means killed by having a lump of metal tear through your flesh leaving great holes in your body that you can stare in amazement at as your life ebbs away.

** If ever you are in Edinburgh make a trip to Pitt Street and find the relief over one of the industrial units entitled "The Glory of the German people 1914" It is a superb piece of bullshit propoganda and features German soldiers eating babies amongst other atrocities. How much more sophisticated are we now at spotting when we are being lied to, and how much more sophisticated are the liars?

*** Or perhaps Google?

RBS sponsors low carbon conference

2011-09-27T16:12:00.003+01:00

Those lovely people at Friends of the Earth Scotland weren't too impressed, so they came up with this little ditty - well impressive!

Still living

2011-09-05T18:28:00.001+01:00

Some of you may be worried that our last reported food experimentation has terminated our existence. Fret not. The Violino di Capri is bloody wonderful. Even the Girl loves it.

Recriminations

2011-06-11T07:32:00.002+01:00

Hang it! That is the call this weekend. Hang the violino di capri.

Meanwhile I was regaled by an anecdote this week. A lady, a well respected member of the community was having work done on her house. She couldn't be there at the time and had to leave the house open so that the workman could let himself in. A common enough occurrence and nothing to worry about. Until she discovered the workman was a McPhee!!!

Violino di Capri

2011-05-21T11:45:00.002+01:00

No relation.

The freezer is full. Need some other way of preserving the meat. Violino di Capri is our answer.

It's a cured goat leg - called a violin because you're supposed to hold it like a violin while you cut it. Hopefully not like a concert violinist, more like a folk violinist, if you are tempted to hold it like a classical player I whole-heartedly recommend cutting away from you.

The recipe came from here - and for once I followed the recipe. Except that we dont have sodiium nitrite, so I substituted more salt. And I couldn't be bothered to grind 10 grms of black pepper but we had some pre-ground white pepper instead. And we didn't have any powdered garlic so I just used 4 cloves of fresh garlic instead. And we dont have scales sensitive enough for anything less than 10 grams. So I guessed. 10 Juniper berries will be roughly 3 grams innit? (the recipe links used a rather small goat leg - ours was nigh on 3.5 kg)

And then of course will come the hanging in a chiller cabinet. We don't have one but we'll worry about that in the weeks to come.

The lack of sodium nitrite is a bit of a worry. It's a good idea to use it because it inhibits many nasty things like botulism. It also helps the meat keep a pink colour which is generally considered more attractive. My substitute for Sodium Nitrite was extra salt and a darn good anti-bacterial clean down of everything used in the prep. Here's hoping. Death by botulism is pretty unpleasant.

The lack of piccies is due to Jussi having the camera to photograph more goat kids.

I wanted to take piccies

Frozen goat meat for sale

2011-05-19T19:00:00.003+01:00

Collection only.

One hotel has taken one of the kids we've had to slaughter this year. That leaves three for us to eat or sell. Given market conditions, we've drastically reduced the price - I mean there is no way we are making any money or even covering our costs at £5 per kilo, but it's market forces innit guv.

We've just eaten some for tea - and jolly goatdamn scrumptious it was too.

Proper Crofters

2011-05-18T10:01:00.002+01:00

There are various tiers of crofting achievement. One of the most difficult to achieve is getting recognised by the Crofters Commission of having rights to the land you are farming - and then getting the rights to the common grazings which go along with the croft. We've succeeded in these things (although there is still some uncertainty over one of the three common grazings we are entitled to).

But up there with the impossible things is getting EU subsidies to help your enterprise. We've dutifully completed the necessary forms every year. Every year we get a letter saying we are not getting anything. Every year Jussi has phoned to ask why not and generally deposited as many fleas into the ears of the proverbial faceless pen pushers as possible.

This year we are to get a subsidy. £500 by way of thanks for trying to squeeze some life from the rocks and bogs that is our croft land. Not too shabby!

Goat curry recipes, Star Wars, improbability and fresh air

2011-05-14T17:29:00.004+01:00

When I blogged a lot I noticed that if you put 'recipe' in the title of a post you got a lot more hits. So just to save the fury of recipe hunters I should admit now that there are no recipes in this post - but there is important news about a key ingredient.

Kidding has started. Rather late but it has begun. And we've had our first kids born in a field - which is slightly exciting. Although it was a funny sight to see twenty goats surrounding something in the grass - peering quizzically.

Goats give birth to slightly more females than males, unlike humans who give birth to slightly more males than females (because boys are weaker and less obstinate). We've had seven kids so far - and 7 males. Apart from being a lot of curry the chances of this are less than 0.78 % or 1 in 128. Who wants to bet on the sex of the next kid?

This years letter is T. You'll remember that we name goats according to their parentage (Anglo-Nubian have names related to Africa, British Alpine to myths and legends, and British Saanen to flora). The names aren't settled yet but the front runners thus far are: Taureg, Turtur, Tariq, Tablet, Troy, Titan, Triton, Thor, Tintin and Troll. Personally I can see a Star Wars character but that would be the wrong letter.

Timetables

2011-05-03T09:25:00.001+01:00

I'll try that one again

Timetables

2011-05-03T09:12:00.002+01:00

Ah-ha! The first cuckoo was heard this morning - and the swallows are back nesting in the goat house and boy oh boy what a spring.

And I've been working like working work work. Preparing a tender for our local community transport group - and gee whiz is it complicated. I've done tenders before, and I've experienced far more complicated tender processes, but the complication here is trying to vary timetables to suit what we perceive as local need, which adjusts driver hours and mileage (which has to be split into live miles and dead miles). It probably sounds straight forward enough - but there are a myriad of variations and the tendency is for me to be tied in knots most of the time. And to be honest the way Highland Council have written the timetables hasn't helped. Here is a typical example.

Meanwhile I return to blog cos I'm sick of staring at timetables. And here is the view from my home-office window. But I'm trying to keep the fact that I work for the Home Office a secret.

It's all fine

2011-04-07T14:07:00.003+01:00

Jussi has taken the girl to Hamburg. I'm left with the goats the guinea pigs the chickens the cats the dog and a part-time job.

Took the dog to work on Tuesday - he doesn't like travelling in the van - squeaks a lot. Crapped himself. Smelly meeting.

BT have now disconnected the phone in the cottage. No contact with the outside world from the house WHATSOEVER. Managed to walk the dog to the phone exchange as BT Openreach sat there having breakfast and pleaded with the guy to do something about it.....he made no promises

Took the dog to another meeting today (and between times did this blog). I managed to rescue the tax disc but he's eating most everything else.

It's all fine though.

Three years today

2011-04-01T16:31:00.002+01:00

Just a quick post while Jussi sits on the phone listening to Mozart courtesy of BT 'customer service'.

Three years eh? Where are we at? Well - not as far as we hoped but moving into the house has lifted spirits no end - despite the best efforts of BT. Jussi and the goats are thriving, The Girl is excelling at school, and I've got myself a job with ambitions.

Some of these ambitions, some of the good things noted above, some of the happy spirits are being tested by BT. Shall I tell you the story?

Their website promises people they can have their account moved in 5 days. Jussi phoned and we were promised connection in 3 weeks. Jussi phoned to complain and she was told about the telegraph poles being unsafe.

There are lots of stories about bad (not even poor, its BAD) customer service from BT around here. From other peoples experiences we know that nothing gets done unless you complain and complain again.

Jussi called again. No the telegraph poles are fine they told her. She demanded a superviser. Eventually, and man do they make you wait, average call times to BT exceed 30 minutes, if you are lucky about 10 of these are spent talking to someone. She got to speak to someone who told how hard it was to organise things where we live and on and on he went. He promised someone would call in a couple of days.

After the couple of days had passed Jussi called again. This time they promised someone from BT Openreach would call in a couple of days.

Yesterday the BT Openreach van appeared. The mannie looked around, said he needed to do some pole work but would be right back and he needed to get into the house. So we waited around for the day but he never returned.

Today we have a computer generated message (on the phone in the cottage which we have to use) saying that our appointment for connection has been put back by a further 6 days.

Jussi is still on the phone now, listening to Mozart, telling someone every 2 minutes that she is still there are she wants to speak to a superviser. But getting nowhere - except very very angry.

Now I know things are tough up here, and the sparse population makes service expensive to deliver. But compare with Scottish Hydro - a much less profitable company (but still profitable enough!) - who can fix all kinds of disasters in all kind of weathers. BT make an absolute bloody fortune and their customer service is seemingly deliberately obstinately useless.

Now she is speaking to someone - who are explaining that there is a problem which BT openreach has to sort. The superviser she is talking to now is being equally useless. She is now demanding to speak to the supervisers superviser. Oooh its getting louder. Superviser one is doing his best to get rid of her, but Jussi has learnt - keep trying - keep pushing....... The superviser is telling us that the work is being done as we speak. He doesn't realise that the exchange and the line to it is fully visible to us as she speaks. No one is working on this problem.

Of course BT wont let me talk about it to anyone, they will only speak to the account holder.

..... dot dot dot....

And then there were boxes

2011-03-21T20:59:00.005Z

OK - so I'm a bit out of the habit of this - but people are screaming at me for piccies - so here's a few to shut them up.

Not very good piccies naturally. But I've not really got much time just now - if you really want to get a sense of what things look like : COME AND VISIT.

Look no radiators (downstairs) - underfloor heating R us - driven by an air source heat pump. Listen up people. This house is warm. Dry. AND Warm. capital wuh.

Probably the best room in the house is the upstairs landing. Not sure how we managed that. Almost all painted in Magnolia cos it's cheap and we're not proud.

We've almost emptied the sea container and most of our precious goods have survived. Now we are emptying the cottage and realising we have just way too much stuff. So we're gearing up for a car boot sale spring with the promise of losing a finger every time we buy anything. Sell sell sell.

Visit.

(But J&A are away from April 5th - 18th - sort of)

Happy New Year!

2011-01-18T09:26:00.004Z

A bit late perhaps!

The winter onslaught continues - we've survived the snow, the minus 10C, and latterly splodgey splodgey rain. We feel thoroughly onslaughted - but somehow this winter has felt a bit easier - much of this is due to snow tyres on the van. That extra ability to get out when we needed to has made a big big difference.

Meanwhile the house build rolls on. The builders have been heroic - driving through from Caithness nearly every day when the snow was here - we only lost about a week. But the date of our moving in seems to be sliding inexorably away - almost within each and yet...

Here's some progress shots of the house - and it's really difficult to get decent piccies - especially on a dullish day with a camera low on batteries and still covered in dust from the chimney fire - oh the excitement you miss cos I've gotten out of the habit of blogging. Maybe I'll return soon.

New weather!

2010-12-16T17:24:00.004Z

Wind - aye - I've told you about wind before.

Snow - yep - that one's covered.

Freeeeeezin cold - ditto.

So what could possibly be new on the weather front. Erm - have you guessed yet?

Hows about gale force winds, driving, and man I mean driving, snow and sub-zero temperatures made all the more grim by the gales.

Armour plated thermals for christmas please.

But I'm the lucky one! Most times I hide from it. Jussi goes out in it. Morning noon and evening feeding watering and shuffling the goats.

Grim up north. Aye.

We have over a weeks supply of hay. Gin and Whiskey. Pasta. Job done - heavenly so it is.

Gritless and grinless and ginless

2010-12-07T10:49:00.003Z

I keep trying to blog - so I've a number of draft blogs not yet posted - but truth is things is tough just now, and it's quite hard to blog tough, blogging funny or plain observational is easy enough, but when things is tough, and nothing much is funny, or what you are looking at is grim blogging threatens to breach the walls of the rural idyll we are psychologically encamped in. And we don't like to do that.

In summary - we are nervous. Nervous because we have to get hay once a week, and we keep getting snowed in. Gritters do appear from time to time but they have a phenomenal habit of being the harbingers of heavy snow - so you have about ten minutes to try to get out, once that's gone the snow is too think again. Even with our new snow tyres.

We are nervous because we need to get a male to service the goats, and we need to get him quickly. But that's double trouble, somehow we have to plan a time when we an get out, and whoever we get the male from has access too. We've a choice of males to get - one is in Grampian - weather is v bad there, one is in Caithness - the owner seems to be impossible to contact, one is on Orkney and ice bound. The idea of arranging for them to put a goat on the ferry and then us not being able to get to it is more than daunting.

We are nervous because the builders have disappeared. Not through neglect - but they can't get through from Caithness, our heating engineers cant get up from Tain and progress on the house has halted. So close and yet so far. We really would like to be warm for a few days this winter...please.

We are nervous because we are running out of wood. The open fire is more a psychological fillip than any source of warmth - but there's something comforting about the red and yellow glow of it, and the house full of smoke.

We are nervous because the scaffy van hasn't got to us for three weeks. We are nervous because the post hasn't got to us for two weeks. We are nervous because we seem to have a sick puppy. We are nervous because we are lacking any Christmas spirit.

And we are nervous because we have no gin.

Snow

2010-11-29T09:22:00.003Z

I thought long and hard for an original topical title. This was the best I could do.

Yes it's been snowing. A lot. And it's been freezing. Heavy frosts.

In the last couple of years we've got used to water freezing up at the croft - where there's a sort of standpipe arrangement for getting water for the goats. But most times when that's happened we've able to get water from the house. This year though - with the house under renovation - when water freezes up at the croft we have to carry the water up from the cottage. And 24 goats need a surprising amount of water. So every few hours we have to load a sledge up with water and drag it up for the goats.

Last week we managed to get to Caithness for hay - so at least that's sorted for a week or so - we had to ask a friendly neighbour to get a tractor to take the hay from the van, which was parked by the cottage, up to the croft though - cos the track up to the croft is too snowy and icy for the van.

The chickens seem to think we should be letting them into the cottage when it's cold - so there's a bit of a fight to get outside sometimes - though usually the puppy scares em off. But really, we are so cruel to not let the chickens in.

Driving to and from work has been a bit, erm, hairy. But let's face it, FUN! Going up hills is best cos when you lose control you sort of feel that gravity will stop you flying too far off the road. But what goes up must come down and that's a bit more scary. BUT FUN! On saturday the car got stuck coming up Paddy's Brae - but with the help of another neighbour we managed to push and skid our way up to the top, Hard work but FUN. We've spent the last couple of months saying we should ge

t winter tyres, but now the snow is here we cant get to the garage to get em. Oh the irony.

Just for Mike

2010-11-03T14:30:00.005Z

Oooops - halloween!

Of course this is weeks ago now. Much more happening. I mean now, wellll, the stairs are in, the kitchen floor is going down, walls is plasterboarded - eeeh lad it's all go.

Mike wanted us to build a steel frame over the north of the house to extend it upward - it would have been a good idea but too expensive. We also used a cheap architect to cut costs. Pants. Pay the money people. But the builders are doing their best. Latest estimate is early December.....

Conflct

2010-11-03T09:43:00.003Z

Deer kill.

Deer are an increasing problem on the roads around here. And they are dangerous. Sheep are more or less predictable when they are on the roads - and at least they do their best to get out of the way. Whereas sheep run for their lives - deer have a predilection for attempting to confuse predators by jumping across their path - and this is what makes them so dangerous.

So deer jump in front of cars rather than away from them. If you survive that impact the danger is that the deer has come in through the windscreen and the occupants are then kicked to death as said injured deer, somewhat understandably, panics.

Over the last couple of years the number of deer around the roads has increased dramatically. At the same time the big shooting estates are reporting sudden falls in deer numbers - partly because of last years severe winter - and this is affecting their income streams. But around here people fear for their lives driving at night.

I was at a community council meeting last night and a conversation has been had with a Head Honcho in the Deer Management Group who are responsible for looking after the deer in this area. I'll not name the woman concerned, but she seems to be responsible for running quite a large shootin' estate in the area as well - so there may be some conflict of interest there? Maybe?

The concerns of residents were put to her.

She said - well people shouldn't be driving fast along those roads anyway

The meeting said - aw fae fucks sake

She said - People could always put up electric fences, or deer fences

The meeting said - And aye - who's paying for that?

She said - Hanging unwanted CDs from trees can act as a deterrent

The meeting said nothing. Mouths were agape however.

The meeting gathered itself into a lather. Uproar - this is what we are up against - here we are with a life threatening issue, quite apart from the destruction of crofts and gardens and here is this arrogant woman (the language has been tempered to spare your delicate disposition dear readers) spouting utter ****** ***** ** ** ****** *** ** ****. The anger was very real, as is the threat, and the incompetence... and the arrogance.

Four nights, fifteen knights and a funeral

2010-10-27T07:22:00.013+01:00

Prologue

So the plan was to drive down to Edinburgh - then to Whitby - home of the award winning but no more Little Beck cheeses, pick up some of their unwanted cheese making kit, swing round and stay at Durham for a couple of nights for The Girl to get some serious auntie time, and then hoof it home.

The plan was scuppered by the realisation that the van brakes were seriously dodgy. Off to the garage for a £400 'investment' in new master brake cylinder and front brake discs.

Night one

Having had to mess everyone around the first night was now Dunbar. We left Reay (the garage) about 2:30 and headed south. It was raining. The windscreen wiper wasn't working properly.

At the Country Store (On the A9 just north of Inverness) we stopped for refreshment and I decided to get a temporary fix on the wipers by switching the blades - not the wipers - you cant switch the wipers cos they are different lengths. It was a botch - but it worked. Top up the water in the van. Head south to Perth, add diesel, top up water. Arrive Dunbar about 9 ish - to a superb and I mean superb home cooked chicken Korma from Tadg. Superb.

Night Two

The day began for me in the Shoestring cafe (as was, it's been renamed but it'll always be the shoestring to me) - for a bacon roll and a coffee. Oooh that commuter vibe - tee hee. Then on to the Crunchy Carrot for a cuppa, lending a hand to set up shop and a reet old goss.

We left Dunbar about ten and headed south. Stopped in Durham for food and to top up the van with water. Employed 'Sat Nav' aka The Girl to read off the print out from the aa routeplanner to negotiate our way across to Little Beck and pick up the gear.

Return to Durham, stopping along the way to top up the van with water. Arrive Durham about 5pm to a wholesome leek and potato soup.

Night Three

Quality sister time with lots of shopping and museuming. The Girl bought an I Ching fortune telling kit and immediately wished for a Chinese takeaway for tea. I Ching said it would come true - and behold it did. Invested in new windscreen wipers for the van.

Night Four and fifteen knights

Left Durham about 10am and headed for home. Stopped for diesel in Dunbar and never started again. Kapput.

Knight one was a young chap with patient wife who helped me push the van away from the petrol pumps and with a swish swosh swush swaggered over with jump leads. No amount of me telling him the battery was fine would dissuade him from trying. Failed. He gave me the number of the RAC, they would welcome my membership if I (I mean the van) was less so many metres long and so kgs heavy. Doubt - indecision - I'll think about it. I tried to phone a couple of Dunbar friends and went straight to voice mail. I seemed to be losing battery power in my phone. I phoned Jussi.

The Girl rooted round and found her I Ching and wished to be back to school on Tuesday, I Ching said "Your wish could come true but you will have to work very hard for it". My turn, I wished for the van to be fixed - I Ching said "Your wish is unreasonable."

Minutes later Jussi phoned back with promise of knights 2 3 and 4. Shaun and Claire had Matty the Mechanic staying with them and they'd be over as soon as they'd finished their sandwiches. They arrived all grins and groans and grimaces and Matty set about his magic. The electrics seemed fine. Hitting the started motor as the ignition was turned looked and sounded impressive but did nothing. Taking various covers off and sucking teeth had little effect. Trying to turn the engine by hand, involving crawling under the engine in designer shirt with wrench and contorted face did nothing. "So", said Claire, "what should he do?"

"Scrap it." Matty had many strengths - empathy not being one of them.

Knight 5 appeared, in the shape of a Green flag breakdown man. He repeated Matty's tests and added a couple of his own. He told me how old Mercedes Sprinters often lost the top of their pistons and these fell in the engine and jammed it. Not terminal - but it'll cost more than the worth of the van to fix. If it's not that - it's something seized which for a van this age is as near as terminal as you'll ever get. He kindly gave me a quote for towing the van home. £956 + VAT.

We deserted the van and headed for Shaun and Claires abode. Knight 6, Rachel, was patiently waiting. She qualifies as a knight because it was her and Matty's wedding anniversary and she had tolerated Matty speeding off to help me. Now they were back it was time to put those romantic plans into effect. Matty went climbing with Shaun, Rachel and Claire went to Ocean Terminal. Brings a tear of warmth to yer eye so it does. Rachel and Claire took the girl - so I was free for the rest of the afternoon.

After one of the best pints of my life in the Masons Arms and finding the place devoid of potential knights I headed for Knights 7 and 8 - Lennie and Simon and copious tea and sympathy. All this despite being up to their necks in the final preparations for the teenage daughters halloween bash.

Knight 9 was Tadg, who'd driven by and thought there was something remiss with my posture and set out to find me on foot, despite only suspecting it was me and not really having much to go by that I needed assistance. More tea, more sympathy and a knighthood for Margaret (Knight 10). Knight 11 phoned knight 9 and arranged for us all to go for a pint. Chris (for it was he) bought beer and jollity and the offer of borrowing his car the next day for all the running about I was destined for. He also loaded my phone with useful numbers - local garages and the like - while I extolled the virtues of a board game I played as a kid (Nile - great game).

Back to knight 2 and 3's for a romantic Indian Takeaway - knight 6 alarming us all with her accompaniment of chips and garlic rice, followed by a game of Cranium. Bed was floor - but none the worse for that - though I cant pretend I slept all that well.

In the morning knight 2 gave me a lift to knight 9s where I dropped off the girl, and then drove me on to Knight 12. The oily fumes of reputation envelope Ford Ferguson - a mechanic of almost mythical standing. If it's possible to get back on the road, Ford Ferguson is your man. But not on this occasion. He listened to my story - threw in a good few stories of his own, and gently told me that it was extremely unlikely that I could be helped - and the best he could offer was a business card for knight 13.

Knight 2 drove me back to the van, and I phoned knight 13. Within minutes he appeared with his breakdown truck to carry my faithful little (bloody enormous) van to Haddington, the final journey before white van heaven where they can hassle innocent car drivers with impunity on fluffy clouds amidst blue skies. Knight 13 was being paid - does he really count? Well he gets my swish of the sword for his humour. To pick up the van he had to block a side road off the A1. And his gentle cussing of all the enraged motorists this was inconveniencing was almost the highlight of my day. Perhaps the highlight was when he scared the daylights out of a rather wanky looking white Audi driver when he reversed the truck, at some speed, straight at the rather impatient looking pillock. Knight 13 - Scott of Randy's Garage Haddington.

Knight 13 dropped me off in Dunbar and I grabbed breakfast from the butcher in the High Street. A quick call to knight 11 confirmed that the insurances were in place. I found where he'd hidden the keys and headed to Haddington to hear what they thought of the prospects for the van. To be honest they were a little too quick to try to sell me a new one for me to really believe that they'd looked at it at all - but I'd heard enough from knights 4, 5, 12 and 13 to be pretty convinced it's time had come. So I looked at one van and made an offer on it.

My offer was too low - I'd have to wait until the boss came in - he was due about 1pm. It was now about 11, and I returned to knight 9 for extra strong coffee and to reassure The Girl that all was well.

Then I went to knight 2 and 3s to pack our bags and leave them the key they'd lent me, and head on to Haddington. I got there about 1:30. Boss was on his way. He arrived too long after 2.

There's things to do when bargaining. Shake his hand at the beginning. That physical contact makes you more human to the seller. Establish his name and call him by it - again reinforcing that human touch. Don't be afraid of silences. Let them hang. Open your bidding low, but don't be insulting. Gently point out the limitations of the vehicle on offer. Squeeze the sympathy - jovially telling of the fix your in.

I did all this - but felt totally out of my depth - this guy "Ronnie" to all but his business card ("Roddy") - or am I going deaf? - had dealt with more suckers like me than I'd had bacon rolls. Still I got the van for £500 less than I'd originally been asked so we were both happy. Never before had I parted with £2700 so easily. It was the first and only van I'd looked at in the first and only van vendor I'd visited. Just like that.

Paperwork and chit chat. Ronnie knew my home village - had played golf on the beach before he was married - before all the bridges made the journey north so much quicker...

Payment. Cash only. Sh*t. More rushing around - withdrawing three grand in cash at the bank prompted more security questions that I'd ever have imagined. Meanwhile Jussi, (who deserves a knighthood too yeah? Arise Knight 14 (actually she should be knight 2, but that would mean going back over this whole post and renumbering everybody)) was back at home trying to sort out the insurance. For some reason it was all rather complicated and, it seems, the old sprinter had never been properly insured - I mean we'd paid the insurance premiums and all that but the insurance had been in the wrong name to merit the no claims bonus they were giving us and so had it come to it, they would have refused any insurance payments. How the hell did that happen?

The upshot of that was that at the last minute Ronnie had to phone his secretary who by this time was standing by the post box and tell her NOT to post the letter to DVLA, so that the vehicle could be registered in Jussi's name rather than mine.

Ronnie gets a knighthood. Not only was he very nice as he counted at the £50 notes totalling £2700, he also got one of his guys to pump out the 90 quids worth of diesel from the sprinter into the 'new' van, had other people help me load one van into the other, and offered me copious help with other bits and bobs that needed sorting out. This guy made money out of me - make no mistake, but arise Knight 15, Ronnie (Roddy) of Car and Van Hire Haddington.

So fully equipped with a 2003 long wheel base transit, I drove to knight 11's car and removed our bags and then on to knight 9's where I dropped off the keys to knight 11's car, drank gallons of tea and picked up the girl. And set off for home, leaving Dunbar about 4:30 - timed nicely to hit the rush hour on the Edinburgh By-pass and Forth Road Bridge.

We got home about half past midnight. Slower than you might expect - even accounting for the long break we took in Inverness - but the road between Lairg and Tongue was overrun with stags - 'unnerds of 'em - leaping about all over the place. But traffic was light - I was on full beam all the way from Lairg.

Rarely have I ever been so grateful to crawl into my own oh so comfy bed.

Epilogue

You knights you knights you saved us. Thank you so very much.

It was an incredibly lucky series of events. Most astonishing of all is that the van should pack up in Dunbar. It was a nine hundred mile round trip - if we'd broken down anywhere else that whole thing would have been a heck of a lot harder to deal with. How lucky is that?

It was incredibly lucky that the van died in Dunbar. It is a whole lot easier and cheaper to get a 2nd hand van in the central belt than it is in the north highlands.

I Ching is scary. I've used it a few times and it has never been wrong. Not only does it seem to be able to predict, but it can also offer advice on how to overcome, and it can seem amazingly perceptive and accurate. But I don't believe in that sort of thing so that's alright then.

In dull moments, waiting by roadsides, in sleepless moments on floors and wonky beds, this has been my refuge - it's brilliant - go buy it - here.

The new van has the best sound system in the house (apart from iPod and Sony cans) - and I've wished for a sound system in the van ever since we got the old sprinter.

The girl never made it to school - we gave her the day off- no need to work so hard just for a day at school.

The art of no where

2010-10-10T08:49:00.004+01:00

Moine House is a derelict shell of a building in the middle of, erm, nothing really. It was built as a half way house, high up on the moors between Tongue and Hope. A superb spot for a wee summer cafe perhaps, or an art gallery....

Saturday

2010-10-09T09:03:00.002+01:00

Hey! It's a Saturday and all things exciting gonna happen cos that's what Saturdays are for. And for those of you who are persevering with this blog - here is a real treat - as far as I'm aware the pinnacle of German pop...

And if you are going out tonight - crank this up REALLY - and man I mean LOUD and immerse yourself in this fabulous ditty.

Walkies

2010-10-02T11:55:00.003+01:00

It's a beautiful day and The Girl wanted to take Rupert for a walk. Walking Rupert is more like standing and waiting while he devours all the lush exotic vegetation .... like pine trees.

But we have have to get him in training - he's due to have a starring role in the school nativity play....

Coffee cake - DONATE!

2010-09-30T13:34:00.002+01:00

Here are the heroes - support team and all. Go give.

And they managed to come for our first day of summer. Superb!

The last

2010-09-14T16:37:00.003+01:00

and they sat and they stared at the floor, and where many sheep had gone before, now there were few, and fewer, and as they stared at the floor they saw their graves opening before them, for they are the last and they are old. Where once in youthfulness they could gad over hills and shepherd many sheep, now in their twilight they keep the sheep close. And the young turn away and look to quick reward and warm homes and long idle evenings, not for them the unending duties of animal husbandry.

I was there to offer them help, hope, to offer them eternity. Let us find some young buck and teach them all you know of sheep. Let's find a community shepherd, a crofters apprentice, an orra loon. But their long teeth couldn't be drawn from the habitual scratching of the earth, preparing.

But I will not give up. Just yet.

The builders are here - who's counting the days?

2010-09-12T08:26:00.006+01:00

Prologue

OK - so read this with care and then make sure you read the footnote and above all come away with the impression that the builder is good and that The Geezer What Drew The Plans isn't.

A few quick snaps to keep you abreast of the exciting developments - there's more too - but on grimey days its hard to get out with the camera - so you'll have to wait until (a few days after) its been sunny.

The build is going well. The build is going well. The build is going well.

Convinced?

I'll try again.

The build is going well. The build is going well. The build is going well.

The build is going well, despite the architectural drawings. We had a lot of problems with the drawings when we were trying to get quotes for the work - a lot of trades complained that the drawings were too complicated, and crowded. But we've found a builder who is happy to work with them, or in spite of them perhaps. And he's doing a fantastic job. We like our builder! He thinks about the plans, he sees inside the plans, anticipates issues and discusses them with us. He is a good builder.

"See that wall there" says Big Chief Builder as he spreads his plans over our morning coffee. "Well it's not there. Don't know what the architect was doing putting it there. Anyway because that wall isn't there and we've put this wall there there is no wall there where it should be really, but not according to the plans. That means that this wall doesn't support the roof so we've had to re-inforce a couple of floor joists."

"ah" we say.

A few days later, having looked at this and that wall on our own we wonder if holding roofs up on floor joists is a good plan, and we remember that building control insisted on an engineers report and that the engineer insisted on a new wall - at precisely the place that the architect (and the man really deserves inverted commas) hadn't drawn it and the builders, naturally enough, hadn't built it. So we worry. We call the builder.

"Are you sure its ok?"

"Oech Aye!"

"Will we get the building warrant signed off? Should we get another engineers report?"

"Good idea".

So there you have it. Another best part of £1000 to go to an engineer who has to drive up from Inverness and, god willing oh allah be praised hey Buddh!, write out a piece of paper that says that even though there's a wall there that was meant its not doing the job it was meant cos it was never really meant to be there. It's safe. Sleep well. Tis fine.

...and all because we used a cheap non-architect because really it's not a difficult build is it?

The build is going well. The build is going well. The build is going well.

Footnote - the saga of the wall

With great gusto and much aplomb the builders tore into the job. They turned up, they cleared out the downstairs, they dug out the floor, relaid it with insulation and then put in the internal walls, two of which were, according to the plans, supporting walls. They put the wall which is the subject of this post where the plans said it should be.

Then they set about upstairs, they got the frames for the roof made according to the specs on the plans, they took delivery and they fitted them. But the Geezer What Drew The Plans hadn't measured upstairs properly. What appears in the plans upstairs is a good metre out of synch with what appears on the plans downstairs, so the wall in question is no longer a supporting wall cos it's no where near under the load of the roof. So the builders have had to try to make this work - and they have kept us informed about their attempts, and they are fully supportive of the need to bring in an engineer for advice, and hopefully sign off the builders attempts to make good a mess made by the Geezer What Drew The Plans.

The worst commute ever?

2010-09-10T18:11:00.003+01:00

Takes me about an hour to drive to work - and it is stunningly glorious. I wanted to share it. But If I stopped and took a piccy every time I thought - OOOOOH - I would never get to work. So I only took a piccy when the ipod changed track, or when I had to stop for on-coming traffic, or cows. The road is quite bendy and its tricky handling the camera whilst driving so some piccies are a bit squint. Maybe that adds to the charm?

Living beyond our means

2010-09-07T10:36:00.003+01:00

A couple of snippets here from new economics foundation (nef). The question that isn't addressed is: what can we do about it? The answer of course is very simple - consume less and perhaps more particularly in our society - stop consuming things you don't need. Things will eventually crash - and suddenly there'll be a backlash against scientist - "Why didn't they tell us?" they will yell over the clamour of the food riots. Well, we are being told, repeatedly, but no-one is listening. How do we make people listen? The day that marks when humanity starts living beyond its ecologically means fell earlier than ever this year, on 21 August 2010. The fact that we're blowing our annual ecological budget in less than nine months is not based on need, but on overconsumption. As in previous years, *nef* has found examples of ecologically wasteful 'boomerang' trade: the UK currently exports 131,000 tonnes of chewing gum to Spain, only to import 125,000 tonnes back again. We send 3,300 tonnes of cuddly toys to New Zealand, only to bring another 2,400 tonnes back again.

	An increasingly worrisome aspect of ecological debt is the depletion of the world's fisheries. Now, new research from *nef* and OCEAN2012 allows us to mark the day when the UK blows its budget for fish consumption: 4 August 2010. The UK does fare better its European neighbours, however. France entered fish debt on 20 June, Spain on 10 May and Germany on 5 May. The EU as a whole would only be able to supply itself with fish from its own waters until 8 July.

Revenge of the coffee gods

2010-09-04T08:11:00.003+01:00

So there I was driving to Lairg for the launch of the Sutherland Partnership Action Plan and I was perturbed by a rather unpleasant rumbling in the car. Now the car has only just been serviced - new suspension and all sorts of wongles and stuff - so I was rather upset.

But the best thing to do in such situations is to keep driving cos it's bound to be nothing and it'll go away and if you turn up the music REALLY loud you can hardly hear it, and anyway - what can you do? Look at it? What the f*** good will that do?

But eventually - I mean that noise is getting worse. So I found an unusually large passing place and pulled in determined to stare the noise down into submission.

From some dark recess I decided that I should grab one of the wheels and shake it. Obviously you can't move wheels - they're like bolted on. But for some reason I thought it was a good idea.

And do you know what? It moved. A lot. It rattled. Aaargh. It was almost falling off!

So I found the jack. Took the wheel off. Put the wheel back on again and all was fine and dandy.

The man at the garage apologised in a really not very apologetic way "We all make mistakes" he said. That doesn't convince me too much.

Anyway I got to Lairg. Lord Thurso, my MP, gave the keynote address. He was very impressed by the Sutherland Partnership Action Plan because, he said, it included the word 'action' in the title. He made much of this word action and what a pleasing development it was to see it.

I do wonder sometimes.

Caffeine

2010-09-02T16:22:00.002+01:00

So up here in my little office in Durness I have a kettle, instant coffee, but no water. (It's in another part of the building and I don't have keys).

And I'm thirsty.

At lunch time I bought a bottle of fizzy water - thirst quenching stuff.

But now, I have a long drive in front of me and I feel the need for a pick-me-up. ( I just know you're ahead of me on this one).

The solution?

Boil fizzy water for fizzy black instant coffee.

The outcome?

Wholly not recommended - kinda half fizzy acid tasting coffee is a most unpleasant thing. Still it should get me to Lairg.

The builders are here - working away

2010-08-28T10:52:00.000+01:00

The builders have been here faithfully working away come rain or shine. Simon doesn't seem to be keeping you up-to-date (he's got a job now, you know!), so I've put together a wee summary of what's been happening to the different parts of the house.

The builders are here - Kitchen/Dairy

2010-08-28T10:48:00.003+01:00

These pictures are all taken from the back door towards the dairy. Except for one, which is from the dairy to the back door. They'd left a bit of a mess when they took their 2 weeks off, but now we have frames for all the walls and they've gone back to tidying every day!

The builders are here - Sitting Room

2010-08-28T10:41:00.002+01:00

These pictures are all taken from the office towards the sitting room. In the final picture, Ailsa is standing in the dining room.

The builders are here - Office

2010-08-28T10:36:00.003+01:00

These pictures are all taken from the sitting room area towards the office/spare bedroom.

The builders are here - Back

2010-08-28T10:28:00.002+01:00

The roof of the extension at the back (dairy, kitchen, and bathroom) is all shiny and new, and we have a gaping hole in the main roof

The builders are here - Front

2010-08-28T10:25:00.002+01:00

The porch has shot up and the roof disappeared

The builders are here - outside

2010-08-28T10:17:00.004+01:00

Here's some shots of trusses, new and old

Random Plugs 2

2010-08-27T08:28:00.002+01:00

Here's a wee missive from Dave - who once gave me a birthday present of the promise of a full bike service which I never cashed in. Fortunately, on his way north, he'll be dropping in for a coffee and general refuelling - maybe a good time to get him to look at my crankshaft? (ooh err). Probably not. So if you know him follow the link and give 'im a fiver, and if you don't, a tenner.

You probably didn’t know that my daughter Rosa, now aged 6, was seriously ill last year. She was diagnosed with a brain tumour last October and had a major operation a week later. The immediate response and exemplary care that she got from the Sick Kids Hospital in Edinburgh undoubtedly saved her life. It has been a long road, but Rosa has made a remarkable recovery and is now a happy wee girl starting back at school in Primary 2.

The Sick Kids Friends Foundation has launched a campaign to raise funds for new brain surgery equipment to give children in Rosa's situation an even better chance of recovery. So I have decided to do a sponsored bike ride to raise funds and try and give a little something back. I’ll be attempting to cycle the length of Scotland, from Gretna Green to John O'Groats the scenic way, at the end of September. 450 miles in 5 days through the rain, against the wind, up hills and, errr, up more hills.

Anyway – would you consider sponsoring me? Every little helps.

Please visit

www.justgiving.com/gretna2groats

You can also read my ramblings about my preparations and follow my progress during the ride itself at:

twitter.com/gretna2groats

Random Plugs

2010-08-27T08:13:00.002+01:00

Here you go - look. It's in Edinburgh, at the Art School in case you were wondering.

And the poster has the name of the band covered up - how punk is that!?! Fresh from their Brazilian tour about - ooh 15 years ago, they're dusting down the zimmers and hitting the stage once more - and the band is called Bloco Vomit incidentally. Be there or keep a clear head.

That glamour in full

2010-08-21T11:30:00.002+01:00

Bligging blogspot is giving me jip. Here is the true glory of gala day.

Goat + clamour = amour amidst the glamour

2010-08-21T10:55:00.008+01:00

I think that traditionally village fetes and galas were generally a time to get off your face. But things are changing, albeit very very slowly. Very slowly.

But the goats didn't need beer goggles - they were in love. As soon as the bags puffed up and they scqulurched into action the goats knew that they and bag pipes were just meant to be.

It was a pleasant enough way to spend an afternoon - especially as Jussi and I had remembered to bring some beer and cider with us.

The goats were popular and we only had to run in front of the archery range to capture an escaped goat 4 or 5 times.

It seems lots of crofting wives would like to keep goats, but not crofting husbands. (I mean crofting husbands don't want to keep goats, not that crofting wives don't want to keep crofting husbands, though I guess that's possibly true too).

Chicken wire, Dr Peppers and recycling bins

2010-08-21T10:12:00.007+01:00

This time last year the house and grounds were packed with visitors and we won the sandcastle building competition. This year we had no visitors and I was working so it was up to Jussi and the girl to keep up the record. The girl designed a magnificent picture of dolphins leaping from the sand. (Sorry no piccies!)but the judges awarded all prizes to sandcastles that looked like castles. Pah!

Saturday is the Gala Day itself and I think that's another post

Sunday is all about racing - rafts, ducks and sheep. We skipped the sheep racing but here are a couple of piccies from the others.

The chicken wire and

Dr Peppers bottles was the coolest but hopeless when it came to the actual race, though most hopeless was the REUSE of the blue RECYCLING* wheelie bin. But see next year? Me and The Girl? We're going for it.

The photo journalism is a bit thin on the duck race cos I had to throw myself into the river to help rescue the ducks - the north wind had kept all the ducks clustered together and when they eventually arrived the official race stewards were

overwhelmed. Jussi was too busy laughing to record my heroism.

*Crofters instinctively understand the waste hierarchy and correctly judged re-use to be more important than recycling

Three tales of Stirling

2010-08-21T09:36:00.002+01:00

My consultancy work took me to Stirling this week. The most notable event was that I had a curry. A huge curry. So excited was I at the prospect of a curry that I ordered everything on the menu (well ok not quite) and found myself unable to finish it all. Shame on me.

The journey to Stirling was eventless. The car is poorly so I took the van to Lairg, taking the precaution on Saturday of removing all the baling twine which was holding the exhaust on and wiring it up good and proper. It was - ooooh - nearly half a mile before CLANG SCRRRRRRRRAPE and I had to stop and crawl under the van and take the exhaust off completely and chuck it in the back.

The train journey to Inverness was enlivened by an increasingly drunken oilman who used to work at Dounreay telling me about his experiences of the official secrets act and men in suits coming to his house reminding him that he'd signed it after he attended a consultation event about the future of Dounreay and said a little too much. What it is to live in a free society eh?

Anyway - three tales of Stirling

1 The keys

I was tired by the time I dragged myself into the Golden Lion hotel in Stirling. My head was still somewhere around Aviemore and I was still hearing the percussion of the rail tracks as I checked in and was handed the keys to room 357, on a clearly marked orange fob: '357'. The lift up to the third floor was, erm, somewhat 'quaint' but it got me there and I dragged myself and heavy bag (full of lots and lots of paper) to the room. The key didn't fit the lock. In my fuzzy state I was convinced it was just me being stupid, so I tried and tried. I knelt on the floor before the door and tried to ram the key home. No chance.

So I dragged me and my bags back down to reception again, again marvelling at the 'quaint' lift. The receptionist clearly thought I was a moron but found someone to go back and open the door for me. He took a spare key in the highly unlikely event that it was the key and not me. The lift even managed to lift me and bag and hotel boy.

The spare key worked. He checked the original key - "Nah - this is the wrong key. I tell you it what it is mate - we had a really busy weekend and quite of few keys came of their fobs so we just put 'em all back on as we found 'em, random like."

Great!

2. Golden Lion showers

On Tuesday morning I was sitting in reception and a be-suited woman came to reception to check out. As the receptionist was tapping his keyboard she said in a helpful non-complaining voice: "You know the shower in my room didn't work at all, I really think you should get someone to look at it."

The receptionist looked up:

"Is this stay being billed straight to the company?"

3 Cafe Culture

The weather in Stirling was fantastic. Having spent most of my time there (when not eating curries) couped up in an office the hour or so I had to wait for the train home was very welcome. I found myself a nice cafe with seats on the pavement and settled myself to a pot of tea and a good big piece of people watching. When it was time to leave I went inside to the counter. There was a woman in front of me clearly in need of refreshment. "Please could I have a large black coffee with milk."

It's good to be back home amongst the civilised where black is black and white is white.

Leave of absence

2010-08-02T11:41:00.005+01:00

I mean what the hell does 'leave of absence' mean anyway? 'Absence' has to mean absence innit, but 'leave'? Does it mean permission? 'Permission of absence'? 'Permission to absent' surely. Does it mean holiday? 'Holiday of absence'? Can you have a holiday of presence? Ach!

Leave of absence 1 - weather

The sun. The sun has deserted us. Gone. Instead it's been rain, mist, fog, mizzle, drizzle. Not so much grim as just mildly crap.

Leave of absence 2 - truth

Weather forecasters keep harping on about how sunny and warm it is, and sticky, and oh good it'll be cooler tonight so 'you should all find it easier to sleep'. Aye pal, I've put an extra blanket on the bed. I often tell people that the weather forecasters get it wrong up here - they are often forecasting rain and it stays clear and bright - but not the last week or so. Pah!

Leave of absence 3 & 4 - family and erm overall cleanliness

Jussi and the girl return tomorrow night - so obviously I've got a lot of tidying to do. Left to my own devices I gradually disappear under a pile of pots 'n' pans 'n' cans 'n' bottles 'n' papers 'n' socks 'n' undies 'n' stuff. The big clean up has started - should be just about done by tomorrow. But Leave of absence 1 has made washing clothes very difficult (well OK - its drying them what's hard) so there's a bit of a backlog there. Though it does seem quite dry* today so maybe...

Leave of absence 5 & 6 - builders and blogs

The builders went off last week for a two week break. Leave of absence 1 has made it none too pleasant to step outside with the camera - but as they're away for at least another week I'll still be able to update 'the builders are here' - once the sun shines and I can take the piccies to reinforce your perceptions of rural idyll.

Leave of absence 7 & 8 - chickens and a sense of proportion

Chickens put themselves to bed at dusk. It's then a good idea to then lock them in, or more accurately - lock predators out. About a month ago they were staying out till around midnight - and often you'd find me out weeding at that witching hour waiting for the chucks to come home to roost. These days they're often in bed by 10 o clock - but if the news headlines look interesting I'll not go up until 10:30 to lock them in, by which time if it's cloudy and moonless, things is getting pretty dark. Thursday was one such night. I popped my head into the chicken coup and behold - two chickens short. Eeeek.

Chickens like to wander. Ours seem to be good at getting into fields via the gate, and then finding themselves unable to get through the fence, or relocate the gate in order to make their way home again. This is why it is a good idea to go check on the chickens before it gets dark. Many a time I've wandered our boundary fences to find chickens (usually two of them) sitting stock still in a clump of grass. They're always pleased to see me and make little cooing noises as I guide them to fences, pick them up and throw them over, and then guide them back home. But if it's dark you can't do that.

I went to bed on Thursday night a worried man - hoping they'd be back with us in the morning.

Alas not.

Fridays are important days for the village - for the bank comes to visit. It set ups in the local library-cum-doctors surgery (Thursdays)-cum-council service point-cum-community computer-printer-photocopier resource-cum-lets cover the windows with posters advertising events/anti-drug smuggling advice/agricultural pest notices/ fishing diseases/marriage banns-cum-soddit-that's-enough-hyphens-for-one-sentence, and I had a cheque to bank. So off I set eyes-a-peeled, ears erm whatever you do to ears to make them sharp - searching for the missing hens.

On my way up the hill about a furlong from our cottage I passed a field that's had some coos and calvies in for the last few days. They're cute looking beasts with that lovely rich brown that you see in Jerseys - and I suspect these are some sort of Jersey cross. The field is on a slope and is roughly undulated so that from the road you can sometimes see an entire coo and calf, and at other times you can just see a head, or a swish of a tail, or the flash of a comb or, no hang on, coos dunnae hae combs.

When it saw me it came racing over to the fence clucking its little chooking head off. It looked bedraggled though clearly well. I picked it up and carried it home. It didn't respond to any of my questions about were it's pal was but later in the afternoon I was able to find it in the same field and all chooks were happily re-united.

Leave of absence 22 - peas

The garden is harvesting fairly well - but nothing like the riches we had last year. There have been multiple rows of lovely prepared soil delicately planted with seeds that simply didn't bother to even try to give me something to look forward to. Mostly, the peas germinated - or at least the first planting did - and they grew handsomely. Unfortunately that's about all they did cos now they be more or less roting in the vine without maturing enough to be worth eating. We had a few meals with sugar snap peas and in the last week I've had a few meals with at least a token presence of peas, but what promised to be a bumper harvest is rapidly turning to a black slime.

Leave of absence 48 & 49 & 50 & 51 & 52 - Security, stamina and time, and exhaustion and an eco-value set.

Left here alone with only a white van to get me to an emergency shop should the need arise makes me slightly nervous that despite the solar battery charger that Chris sent us, the vans' batteries are going to be flat precisely when I need to travel. So on a few occasions I've rather naughtily, or is that irresponsibly, jumped in the van to pop to the village to buy something, anything, just so I'll at least get to speak to someone, anyone, while the van sits outside the shop pumping out exhaust fumes. As I drove away I noticed a rather disturbing sound, and came of the opinion that some of those exhaust fumes were rather close for comfort. I stopped on a bit of flat land at the bottom of the hill and noticed that half of the exhaust had taken leave of the other half and was scraping quite spectacularly along the ground. Ever the resourceful I tied it up with baler twine and returned home. But this can only be a temporary measure - I need to do a proper repair using fencing wire.

There were to be a number of more entries under 'leave of absence' but I've run out of enthusiasm for it, and anyway, I'm supposed to be working.

* I just know I'm going to regret writing that.

The builders are here - day 20 & 21

2010-07-29T09:37:00.003+01:00

Monday and Tuesday. The view up the drive is changing - that new high bit is to accommodate the stairs, and having stripped off the kitchen roof, and added new joists to strengthen it, it has now been re-roofed. The main thing to note is the sunshine - we aint had none since. And I wonder if any of you can tell me why builders have to eat 13 amp fuses - I mean loads of 'em.

While they are doing this I'm working from home.

Cramming 18 odd hours of work into a week at home is something I'm finding incredibly difficult. Maybe I'm too honest with my timekeeping(!) or something - but there are just so many distractions - and perhaps the overhead of running the goats is more tiring than I'd ever admit to Jussi? NEVER!

But I got a pay cheque yesterday. Over £600! I mean the luxury - getting this every month - riches. Hopefully the bank will come to the village tomorrow and I'll get it put away. Excitement!

Home alone...

2010-07-26T10:29:00.002+01:00

...give or take twenty odd goats, four hens, two cats and two guinea pigs.....and three or more builders - they all need looking after you know. Jussi has taken the girl to Hamburg - how will I survive?

But hey - let's gossip. There's a family out west who are not universally respected for their entrepreneurism - though thrusting and successful business people they are. They're not universally respected cos it's the done thing to be down on people who make the effort and succeed. People who try and fail are far more admirable. Amongst their many enterprises they are nearing the completion of a couple of new holiday homes - built on land even less suitable for farming than even your average croft, and built, I think, sympathetically but not traditionally - you know, the sort of thing HRH would have kittens about.

An excellent use of land - and a great way of investing in bringing people and their gold to this backwater eh? Well - maybe -. The only problem is, so it is rumoured, allegedly etc... the problem is they don't own the land they've built on. I mean obviously no one else was using it so who cares eh?

Not uncommon this. In fact there's a bit of a scandal going down Assynt way. One of the local movers and shakers over there, a crofter, applied for planning permission to decroft some land and build a couple of houses and everyone was supportive - permissions granted no problems. Until, that is, someone noticed that the land she decrofted wasn't hers in the first place, its common grazing land - so - aaah - pistols at dawn, toys out of the pram. The crofter has now accused the crofters who share the common grazing she was trying to build on as 'fickle and vindictive'. Fun and games.

All these problems arise because the crofters commission doesn't use maps. So when it comes to deciding what land belongs to where it tends to come down to what Angus remembers his grandad telling him when he was a lad. Not altogether legally watertight. The Scottish Government wants to introduce map based records, but they want crofters to pay for it. Turkeys and Christmas perhaps.

One of our neighbours 'accidentally' put up a building on some common land. All the shareholders scratched their scalps, pursed their lips and agreed - "ach it's fine". We're far more civilised over here - barbarians out west so they are.

The builders are here - day 15 to 19

2010-07-24T11:14:00.008+01:00

lots of work being done

drains in, roof off, waterproofing walls, ...

And the joiner joined them too

but this editor won't keep pictures in sequence, so you'll have to work that out yourself

New arrivals

2010-07-17T10:24:00.003+01:00

Meanwhile, I found the Swallows' nest that we couldn't believe wasn't there with all the tweetering, swooping activity in the byre. They're growing fast!

The builders are here - day 12 to 14

2010-07-17T10:06:00.005+01:00

Well - not on day 12, but they told us they wouldn't be here well in advance and apologised. How good is that?!
Day 13 was St. Swithun's day and they were back in force. As you can see - one of the more miserable days we've had lately.

But day 13 and 14 were concrete-pouring days and now we have floors!

The builders are here - day 10 and 11

2010-07-17T09:51:00.005+01:00

On day 10 and 11 they put down the damp-proof membrane, drains, insulation and a wee scattering of hardcore, leaving gaps for the walls.

Most of the office is now outside.

The builders are here - day 9

2010-07-10T16:15:00.003+01:00

packed floors with funny bits where the walls are going to be! And they did take out more stuff (off the walls!) but the wee office stayed where it was.

The builders are here - day 8

2010-07-08T21:10:00.003+01:00

That's the last floor out
(the wooden one) and more stuff going in. I like the way they have a wee office thing that moves around. It's in the dairy now. Where will it be tomorrow?

The builders are here - day 7

2010-07-08T21:03:00.003+01:00

They're putting stuff in! (that's the whole kitchen side)
And still taking stuff out (in the porch)

Prick

2010-07-08T19:43:00.001+01:00

[posted from 'Ull - three cheers for Lord Prescott]

Took me mam to Asda and parked the car next to a solver Porche - registration number

P14NSS

Mmmmm.

The builders are here - day 6

2010-07-07T10:18:00.004+01:00

Look! no stairs!

And no walls or floors either!

See? I'm not alone! (spot one of the 34)

The builders are here - day 5

2010-07-07T10:11:00.003+01:00

Floors still getting dug and walls are coming out!

Holding the Fort

2010-07-07T10:04:00.002+01:00

Simon and Ailsa have made it to Hull, so now it's just me and the beasts. I can't really say I'm alone, as there's 34 of them, all wanting food, attention, ...

Bookings

2010-07-02T23:44:00.002+01:00

Oh just how may of you are planning to visit but haven't quite told us yet? Well here's news for ya - July is booked, partly by visitors or promises of visits not actually confirmed, partly by our holidays and partly cos I've got lots of WORK - I mean a job + consultancy work - I'm gonna be busy.

But we're short of bookings for August. Jussi and The Girl are away for the first week. The Gala weekend is 7/8 August (they'll be back and we'll be showing the goats).

Gityerassessuperetheresasandcastlecompetitiontobewon!

The builders are here - day 4

2010-07-02T14:38:00.002+01:00

Removed sinks and old oil burning aga (free to collect dear readers). Dug out more floor and drainage bits. I've offered to help but they wont let me!

The builders are here - day 3

2010-07-02T14:34:00.002+01:00

Removed the partitions surrounding the kitchen - breaking into what will be the dairy and the new shower room.

The builders are here - day 2

2010-07-02T14:32:00.002+01:00

Taken up the concrete floor and dug down for new damp course and insulation. There was a better piccy than this but it's rubbish - well I know what I mean.

The builders are here - day 1

2010-07-02T14:18:00.001+01:00

Sparky came and stripped out the electrics - put in a new temporary board with sockets for tools and extension to byre for milking machine.

It has begun.

Synchronicity

2010-07-02T14:01:00.002+01:00

I've been off-line for ages. It happened one day as I was settled at the laptop and The Girl was going up to the goats. Crash!

We both got electrocuted. Lightening somewhere nearby found earth through the laptop (AAAARGH!) and the metal gate the girl was opening at the time.

AAAAAAAAAAARHG!

And it blew up the modem. It's taken BT ages to replace it - but they have - and we are back on line. If you've emailed me of late it might take a while to plough through the millions of Bob54's offering colour TVs and Bitrokid looking for wetroom floor off-cuts. But I'll get there.

Cleggertwats

2010-06-24T08:56:00.002+01:00

Surely it is wrong. Surely it is utterly wrong to try to strip the economy bare so rapidly just to pay off a debt. Last night Newsnight broadcast an analysis of the small print of the budget red book that showed that the Cammertwat alliance is attempting a huge, massive, massive massive massive shift in the balance of our economy in a very short time. Surely anyone with any sense can see that such ambition just simply cannot be realised within such a short time. It is bound to fail.

And in the process millions will lose jobs, public services will crumble and we'll all be left denuded.

Rain dance

2010-06-24T08:47:00.002+01:00

It's been dry. Even warm and sunny. Time to get the hose out and water the veggies under blue skies.

Of course most of the time the air is loaded with moisture. When some of this moisture spots a hose pipe it rapidly texts, tweets, FBs and all the rest to tell all its mates that there's a water party going on in Simmys veg patch. They probably have a pirate radio station too - announcing the latest info on where the next rain dance will be.

So within minutes of starting to water the garden, grey - nay black - clouds gather and rumble their ways towards you. So menacing are these portents that the only wise course of action is to pack up the hose and retreat to the cottage for a cuppa.

"False alarm" "Party's cancelled" - texts and tweets across the cloudosphere. And the clouds dissipate. And still the garden needs watering.

Today we expect to sign a contract with a builder to get work started on the house. This is so jaw-dropping that I need a dentist.

Other lives

2010-06-22T09:20:00.002+01:00

Each read pin is packed full of gloomy looking people going about their daily business. Sweaty and gasping for air in this summer heat. Oh my god - the lives of others eh?

Danger

2010-06-22T09:02:00.002+01:00

We were warned, before we'd moved up here even, not to go charging in - as incomers do so often - and telling other people how to live their lives. Struck me as wise words - so I've held back from joining the community council and the like. I think maybe we've over-done this - I mean there are lots of committees and things that need help without them being involved in effecting change, so I guess on top of heeding warnings you need to add a good dose of laziness.

But now I've almost got a job (the funding for the post isn't quite confirmed). And that job is designed to bring about change - but at least it's over an hours drive away and maybe no-one here will notice.

I was through there yesterday - getting a sort of induction. Already I am encountering colourful characters, not all of whom strike me as particularly pleasant, and some of whom have most definitely decided to ignore any warnings about being meddlesome. As a blogger I feel in a very difficult position - my instinct is to rant and rave about some of my findings to date, to tear into some of the personalities I've already encountered - but I also know that such would be incredibly unwise - far more people read this blog locally than I hoped and this makes spouting personal opinions very dangerous.

What am I to do?

Liaisons

2010-06-12T10:02:00.002+01:00

Lino floors, dark wooden furniture, fluorescent lighting; a typical Scottish bar. It was empty apart from the three of us. The man sitting opposite to me was spluttering with glee as he picked at his scampi and chips in a basket.

"Of course there's going to be some confusion..." he was saying.

Yesterday this man had been conducting job interviews. Today he was lunching with the two favoured candidates to assess if a proposed job share arrangement would be workable. He was conducting the assessment by talking non-stop leaving the only communication option for the two candidates to be nods and embarrassed glances. At least it allowed uninterrupted consumption of our basket meals.

Basket meals eh? Beige plastic 'baskets' stamped from moulds with fake weave. Always lined with paper napkins so that the last few chips pick up that extra chewy experience.

He was telling us some of the history of Loch Croispol bookshop and the Balnakeil Press (where is he going with this?).

Ah the punch line. Durness has a famous gay couple - Kevin and Simon - they run the book shop, they celebrated one of the first gay civil marriages in Scotland.

And where's the humour in that? Well, meet Kevin (no, not that Kevin), my job share partner for the post of Local Development Officer for the Durness Development Group.

"At least people will remember you."

All of which is to say that I have a job for 2.5 days a week, starting soon, with the overall aim of making Durness the centre of the universe. It is about consulting with the community, identifying opportunities, pursuing funding, creating jobs. My cup of Cocoa Mountain hot chocolate. Yee ha.

Culinary milestones

2010-06-09T08:52:00.002+01:00

The last of the goats to kid this year has kidded. Margo is now the proud mum of two prancing curries which have been named, to keep the botanical theme of the offspring of British Saanens, Spud (standing) and Snowdrop. Finding male botanical names was a bit tricky. I thought of many excellent candidates, but Jussi didn't like them. Pah! Still, with Spud we keep up the link to Trainspotting (last year Rupert was nick-named Sick Boy on account of him being peely-wally). Today, Sick Boy thrives - his favourite pass-time is sticking his head through rylock fencing and getting stuck there - sometimes for hours.

Some of you will notice that this is the second consecutive year that Margo has kidded. She was put in kid this year because she hasn't been milking well and goat keeping wisdom suggests that a second kidding ups the milk yields. Her udders look fit to burst - so much so that she's been milking herself - and the strategy seems to have worked.

Anyway, meet the new arrivals - curries in the making.

Boasts

2010-06-08T07:23:00.003+01:00

We enjoy telling folk that we don't get midges, it's too windy - and usually it is true. Sometimes, just sometimes, on a cloudy day, the wind drops and .... muuurrrrrrrrder. We are entering the third consecutive day of such weather and it's grim.

I got away from it yesterday though, I had a job interview in Durness and in that North West corner it managed to stay windy, and the sun shone. Lovely. Didn't get the job.

But on Saturday.... on Saturday the sun shone hot hot hot which was a good time to dust off the camera and bring you some goat piccies.

The other astonishing thing about Saturday is that we discovered that the google car has been and we now feature on google earth street view. They were round sometime late last winter. Oh the thrill of it.

Visiting Neighbours

2010-06-04T16:37:00.003+01:00

...or the cat food is always greener on the other side of the fence.

One cow, 3 calves. Little beauties they are too. They came clambering through the fence and tucked in to my lush scythed lawn ... and the cat food. While we were waiting for the girl to come home I made an effort at fixing the fence, then the three of us shooed 'em out and back into the field.

We've thought about getting cows - we could put them on the common grazing and we might get some grants on the back of them - I've always been a bit reluctant cos I always think of cows as being a bit big and scary - like horses [eeeeek!]. But these are such gentle souls. Mmm.

I've not ben blogging cos I've been focussing on job applications. I had an interview on Wednesday in Inverness which I thought went reasonably OK - (but you can never tell), and I've got interviews on Monday and Thursday of next week. Three applications, three interviews - not bad eh? And then in the middle of all that I've been sent a tender for some consultancy work. Good work too. Busses come to mind.

The house deserves a post unto itself.

In between eating copious rhubarb we've been out visiting neighbours - very keen birdy neighbours. Noting remarkable there, but what is remarkable is that they tell us that there are loads of golden eagles around here - four nest sites within ten miles - and that I am utterly wrong to assume that every big bird of prey I see is a buzzard.

Must look more closely for those fingered wings.

And we have summer......

Hale new neighbours - Hail!

2010-05-26T09:09:00.003+01:00

Last night we had a crashing hail storm - turned the garden white for a while, so it did.

And as I sit here thinking that it's time that I stopped idly dropping in on other people's blogs and do something useful I am being hailed by the hale new neighbours - six calves*. I haven't seen them yet but they're noisy enough. I know there's six because their owner dropped by to warn us they were coming, and by-the-way have you seen the ghost?

Eh!?! We've been here two years and only now does someone bother to tell us that this cottage is supposedly haunted. If I'd known we had a ghost I'd have seen it of course, and blogged it extensively. Opportunities missed eh? The ghost seems to relate to the fact that many years ago a man lived and built coffins here. The woman who came to see us had fond memories of getting into trouble for playing with the brass fittings when she was a kid. I suppose there's a link there somewhere - maybe there's a poor soul with a splinter up its wotsit or missing a brass handle.

I'm just haunted by the need to do some work.

*I'm not sure a calf can be hale really, but I liked the play

Writer's block

2010-05-25T09:20:00.004+01:00

When I write 'applying for jobs' this often means watching daytime TV. Cos what happens is you get stuck on how exactly to convey how totally wonderful you are - blank - and then go seek the answer in Doctors.

So there I was yesterday, grappling with my magnificence while Cherie was showing off her cocktail dresses*, when the phone rings. Yet another recruitment professional offering me a job interview. Cor bleeders. Now my head is split in three.

Back at the ranch we've been sent a farm census form with a covering letter politely asking us to take the time (we know you're very busy (watching Bargain Hunt)) please please - oh and by-the-way "I do not need to tell you that the Act states that you could be fined if you do not...".

The form asks about tenure - and there are a variety of options presented - but none of them seem to apply to us because, as we were reminded by a communique from the Crofters Commission : " In law an owner of a croft that does not have a tenant is classed as 'the landlord of a vacant croft'. The Commission's current policy is not to seek letting proposals from an active, resident landlord. Once purchased the croft is considered to be vacant. In law an owner is classed as 'the landlord of a vacant croft' as the croft does not have a tenant.)" [sic]

It's-nothing-to-do-with-being-German-of-course -but- Jussi takes these forms seriously and phoned Rural and Environment Analytical Services at Rural and Environment Research and Analysis Directorate (RERAD) to seek advice on how to complete the form. The answer they gave was to treat the owner occupied crofting land as neither owned nor rented and the owner occupied decrofted land as owned.

Phew.

* ?

Milestones

2010-05-25T09:06:00.003+01:00

The Girl's first proper bike.

WenIweralad you were lucky if you had gears, and 5 gears represented the pinnacle. We'd talk excitedly of the possibility of maybe one day having 10 gears, but we knew in our heart of hearts that such dreams would never come true. And here she is, aged 10, with 21 friggin gears! Mama Mia. Grip shift too. And SUSPENSION forks. Lordy lordy.

I've got a bashed up old Cannondale M500 c.1992. It was a darn near top of the range bike when I bought it - aluminium frame, two wheels - the lot. Suspension forks were just coming onto the market - but only as very high end stuff - for loonies who went precipice biking rather than common-or-garden mountain biking - so no suspension forks for me. I don't think The Girl realises just what a good bike this is. Fifty quid. Bargain. Should last her for years.

Hello flower

2010-05-24T08:47:00.003+01:00

Mighty greenish white plumes of slightly fluffy looking stuff. I should have been quicker to realise what was happening to my rhubarb and when I checked on the sagacious nettyweb I was told in no uncertain terms that rhubarb flowers must be expurgated forthwith as they exhaust the root stock and diminish stalk production. So, not quite forthwith, more like eighthwith, me and The Girl set off armed with Jussi's brutal stable knife to do the deed. We removed several flower heads like the ones pictured from one of the rhubarb patches. The pictures look dark and grainy cos that's the sort of day we had yesterday - dark and drizzly and dreich - and we have the same today. But it's heading South readers so you'd better be rid of those smug grins.

We had some sun last week. I was out planting and this bird seems to use the dog rose in the corner of the veg patch as a territorial marker and was singing its wee head off all the while (its tweeting would put Unite union negotiators to shame I'm telling ya). I mean don't get me wrong - spring, birds tweeting - lovely - but this little bugga did somewhat try my patience after a while. No idea what sort of bird it is - only that it is a bloody noisy one and its still there.

Meanwhile our chucks have settled in nicely and are gradually increasing the size of the four-eggs-a-day they are giving us. They also like to help in the other veg patch (they're not allowed in the main patch). Last week I was planting beans, 2 inches deep, and one of the chickens was following carefully picking up each planted bean and throwing it to one side. But it was all done in a very friendly way so I didn't mind. Anyway, we need more visitors to help us eat all these eggs - quite apart from the fact that the grass is growing and therefore need helpful scythewomen and men to play the jolly reaper. And the beer's ready. Good beer too. Even more beer than we have eggs.

And in the middle of applying for another job some idiotic recruitment professional has decided to invite me for an interview so that in my head, on the one hand I've always wanted to build tables, and on the other my life's ambition is to break tables into matchsticks, so to speak. Obviously the jobs aren't so diametrically opposed but I'm still finding the schizophrenia surprisingly troublesome.

Rumours

2010-05-22T08:02:00.002+01:00

Lots of people seem to be having hot sunny weather. We've got very wet, very warm weather. Which is nice - and as I keep telling Jussi, good for the veg. But this is day 3 of warm and wet. Please could we have some hot and dry now? Before next weeks forecast cold snap (which will kill off all the seedlings of course).

Fight!

2010-05-19T11:43:00.003+01:00

Grazings

Do we have rights to the common grazings? Yes and no. The Crofters Commission assure us that by their records we do - but the Clerk of one of the grazings insists that we don't for reasons that really are too complicated to explain. But it's a pain in the proverbial.

Grant schemes.

Do we have rights to get support from any of the many government and eu funding schemes designed to support marginal farmers? Wellllllll, yes. And no. And the no relates to goats. Goats, who are supremely adapted to marginal land are exempt from support from Less Favoured Areas Support Scheme - in fact the only thing eligible for support under LFASS are (oooh now can you guess?) sheep and cattle - and only if they're raised for meat. So on the one hand Govt is promoting rural diversification and local food strategies and on the other supporting farmers who diversify - as long as it is into sheep and cattle - or out of agriculture into tourism...Pah! Anyway Jussi is drafting letters to MPs MEPs MSPs and any and every other kind of pee she can think of.

Jobs.

The great problem with applying for jobs is that you get offers of job interviews in the middle of applying for other, quite different jobs. So your head ends up being split between thinking about how absolutely perfect you are for two opposing sets of tasks. Too much for my liddle ol brain I can tell ya!

...and the winner is...

2010-05-18T19:35:00.004+01:00

OK - so it wasn't blight. Merely frost damage. Thank you everyone who commented, fb'd and emailed. As reward for all your efforts here are some goat piccies - and look - it is sunny. And Warm. I was going to bore you all with piccies of seedlings but we had a visitor with a camera and she was far more interested in the goats for some reason - these are her snaps.

It's starting to feel like summer. Phew.

Distraught

2010-05-14T11:43:00.002+01:00

This! Look! Look at this! Soddit! For all the world this looks like blight. I mean how the F?!? It's only just stopped snowing. Soddit!

These are earlies, grown in pots by the side of the cottage - clearly I've created a superb little micro-climate. Soddit.

But where has the infection come from? The most likely source (if it wasn't the tubers - and it shouldn't have been really) is dot dot dot ... the compost they are in. And guess what? That compost is now all over the garden. Buggarit. Soddit.

Soddit. Soddit.Soddit. Soddit.Soddit. Soddit.Soddit. Soddit.Soddit. Soddit.

I've cut the infected bits off and burnt them under the light of the moon dancing naked and squealing nibbling on funny looking mushrooms with antlers on my head and with my navel full of the still beating hearts of earthworms.

BuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggarit

Our first egg

2010-05-13T09:00:00.002+01:00

Wow! Look! Them there chickens are starting to do their stuff.

This excellent egg was fed to the delighted Girl for breakfast - we are looking forward to more.

Apart from eggs - chickens are a joy. Ours run up to you making their little cooing sounds and follow you around, for all the world looking as though they are interested in what you are doing - so interested in fact that they get in the way. If you are sawing wood you have to keep checking yourself so as not to inadvertently take the head off a chicken that's come to see what you're doing. I love to just stand and watch and listen to them as they do their little scratching dance.

A delight!

Twattle and Twottle

2010-05-12T15:01:00.003+01:00

For some of us there's something deeply irritating about the self-assured strut of the public schoolboy. They ooze a confidence that seems to be beyond their exposure to and understanding of Real Life. And now we have two Chums standing in the garden of 10 Downing Street full of smug self-confidence in their newly created jolly what-ho vision of the future. Deeply irritating. And yet for me, unwelcomely welcome. And I almost allow myself to hope.

The trouble is - I cannot imagine that they'll be able to survive when they find themselves wiping the brown stuff from their faces when it hits the fan. They are ideologists, and their ideology and vision will serve them well in the face of adversity. But somehow I doubt their life-experiences will have them anything like prepared for the battering they'll inevitably encounter. Even so - I wish them well - I'd far rather have naive idealism than cynical manipulation.

My impression so far is that Cameron towers Clegg in intellectual ability. On the Downing Street lawn Clegg was want to wave his arms about in over-excited wetting-himselfness whereas Cameron actually looked like there was something going on behind that silver-spooned tongue. Clegg couldn't believe he was there whilst Cameron clearly knew it was absolutely right that he was there - The Prime Minister, the realisation of his Etonian dreams.

Apart from the testing times they have ahead, at some point they are going to have to face up to the fact that they don't have anything like the power they imagine they do. Do they really think that in this day and age any Government has the power, or wherewithal of any sort to deliver the sort of changes in society they glibly pronounce they intend to deliver? Pah! Ideologists! And even worse - Public School Boy Ideologists!

Still - as a self-confessed ideologist myself - I can't resist a sneaking respect for Cameron and I'm considerably more content with the prospect of him as a prime minister than I ever thought I would be. But will those utopian goggles survive the big brown fan? I doubt it.

Colours

2010-05-11T09:33:00.004+01:00

On Sunday I rejoiced at the warmth and the fact that I'd managed to spend Saturday au jardin planting seeds in anticipation of more fresh summer veg.

Yesterday I drove to Thurso in a snow storm.

This morning I drove the girl to school in a snow storm.

Humph.

Those poor goats! We had two new arrivals yesterday afternoon, both female and both doing fine. The mother remains nameless for reasons regular (and very patient) readers will understand. One of the kids is an attention grabber whilst the other is camera shy.

I am hugely enjoying the election mayhem. What will the outcome be? Oooooooooh.

Ahhemm

2010-05-05T19:22:00.000+01:00

...because someone asked me to...

Fog

2010-05-05T09:10:00.002+01:00

Today it is foggy. Fog is such a rare thing up here I felt I must run to the hills to tell you all about it.

Yesterday there were swallows swooping around the cottage. Today there are sky larks tweeting madly out on the common. Two sure signs of summer. If only spring had arrived.

And then there's this election thing tomorrow. I mean really, what am I to do. Jussi, who is not allowed to vote in this election - cos we don't want foreigners telling us how to run the country eh? - keeps asking me how I'm going to vote - and do you know? - I haven't got a clue.

Once upon a time I'd have voted labour - virtually without second thought. But a gradual disillusionment with their loss of values and purpose culminating in the invasion of Iraq has ruled them out. I may vote labour again one day, but those responsible for the war will need to be long gone before I do.

My default position for many years has been Green. I don't agree with all their policies but they place the number one issue as the key driver for all policies. But in this mega safe lib dem seat they aren't putting up a candidate. Doubtless to save themselves some money.

I couldn't vote Conservative. I mean just couldn't. I was in the industrial north of England in the early '80s. They can't be forgiven for what they did - and I was in Scotland in the late '80s - and they can't be forgiven for what they did then either. There are still people kicking around in the party hierarchy who were part of all that stuff and despite all the gloss and focus-group blandness they (and all the main parties) project - I just don't believe they've changed.

Lib Dems are OK in a sort of supermarket muzak sort of way. Harmless enough, gently progressive-ish in places but I can't help feeling that they lack substance. Nick Clegg doesn't at all strike me as any kind of leader and hasn't managed to say anything substantial for weeks. But I do enjoy their slogan "Change that works" . He's fond of standing in front of banners with his head obscuring 'that'. Changeworks. There's a good name. I mean I'm reasonably content that Lib Dems will win this seat whatever I do - but I can't really bring myself to vote for them.

The SNP message that a strong Scottish voice in Westminster will protect Scottish interests is a convincing one - albeit a little selfish perhaps. But I couldn't vote for them. I distrust nationalism of any kind and I deeply distrust Alex Salmond who is a smarmy egotist who seems to be willing to say anything as long as he thinks it will be popular. Such populism smacks of false clothing - who knows what he is really wearing underneath?

We have an independent standing. But he is just plain mad.

So what sort of choice is that? I think maybe a spoilt paper is in order. Spoiling the paper is far better than not voting at all - which is just lazy - and spoiling the paper makes some kind of statement about lack of choice and discontent with the system. It can be interpreted in other ways of course. Which is a bit of a problem.

Fog.

Bedoign

2010-05-03T09:10:00.002+01:00

You know it's Spring when the garden becomes littered with various bits of half eaten baby rabbit.

Or when you start eating things out of the veg patch - like last night we had a plateful of delicious purple sprouting broccoli, with a the-jury's-definitely-out-on-this-one accompaniment of ground elder fried with onions and garlic followed by the most wondrous rhubarb crumble. Splendid.

"I may be sometime"

2010-05-03T08:39:00.003+01:00

Just as Match of the Day was starting on Saturday night, Jussi uttered these immortal words. Around about 3 am - with me tucked up securely in bed, Jussi returned with the news that two new kids had joined our throng. Proud mother is Gwendolyn. There's one male, one female kid. The colourful photo-friendly one is the male, and being of British Alpine stock will need a myths and legends name beginning with "S". The reticent female with the enigmatic smile looks like she'll be called Selkie.

And then on Sunday morning after a long hard session of ooooing and aaaaing The Girl took a rest - proving that if you're well wrapped, and the wind has dropped, and the sun is out, it gets warm up here, sort of.

Nematodal belief systems and biological knowledge deficits

2010-05-01T17:45:00.002+01:00

Biology has been unable to explain something that gardeners have long understood. That is, that in the dark worms travel at the speed of light. So ashamed are biologists of this lack of understanding that they remain absolutely silent on the issue and will even deny the truth of it. And yet astronomers know something is going on - which is why they named worm holes worm holes. Worm holes provide a short cut across space and time and are named in recognition of the amazing speed a worm can travel.

Their enthusiasm boils down to their religion in which worms who die by the spade are guaranteed eternal life zooping about with gay abandon from worm hole to worm hole. So when they hear a spade strike the soil they all rush madly to get under it. This is why you can't dig a hole without splicing worms.

Tonight there will be a huge celebration in my veg garden. Worms from all over the world (after all they can travel at the speed of light) will congregate to celebrate the uncountable number of ex worms now in wormvana following my tattie planting. To celebrate they will have ritualistic duels with mice, which they will round up from miles around. These duels take a form similar to bull fighting, only instead of a red cloth they use green pea shoots. The devastation to my newly germinated darlings will be evident in the morning.

Planting mnemonic (2)

2010-05-01T17:43:00.002+01:00

Cara always had a Desiree to sail up the Blue Danube.

And planted into the worst prepared bed ever seen. I mean the walls of the trenches are thick matted masses of ground elder. So much for no dig gardening.

Democracy

2010-05-01T17:39:00.002+01:00

Ah - you see I cannae keep quiet about the election all the time. Interesting pantomime it's turning out to be though. I'll be voting - I feel it's a duty - though in my case, according to this, my vote is only actually worth 6/100ths of a vote. Encouraging eh? What's your vote worth?

Doing fine

2010-04-28T09:17:00.003+01:00

Flavia, Sahara and Sauda are doing fine, although Flavia seems to be a bit of a neglectful mum, seemingly preferring to be milked by machine than by kid - but Jussi reckons the kids are getting some milk cos they seem to be thriving.

Building a chicken house

2010-04-28T09:03:00.002+01:00

A long long time ago, Malcolm and Helen built us a frame for a chicken house. Now we have chickens we are pulling out most of the stops** to complete the house. The task is urgent - several neighbours have reported losing hens to polecats recently and the hens' temporary accommodation is by no means polecat-proof. Here are the latest piccies of progress - including a very wet and bedraggled me - but work cannae stop for a bit of rain you know. We are not quite building it to the design Malcolm planned but I'm sure he wont mind.

Interestingly, comparing these piccies and the one in the link above, seems to confirm my feeling that the chicken house is subsiding; the back is sinking. Ach - it'll be fine.

**I mean there's other things to do as well you know.

New arrivals - 2

2010-04-28T08:39:00.004+01:00

Buying chickens the Highland way

"I'll meet you at the Indian carry-out in Bonar Bridge. I'll be there with a white van from 1:30 to 2:15 and I'll be surrounded by hundreds of other chicken buyers." explained Donald MacDonald of Skye when I phoned him on Friday to order some chooks. There's something ... erm ... poignant? about picking up your chickens from the Indian take-away don't you think?

So I set off in the van with neighbour** for the 90 minute or so drive to pick up the four browns I'd ordered. I chose browns after much deliberation and after learning that browns were all that Donald MacDonald had left. Neighbour had been more organised and was going down to pick up six black rocks she'd ordered months ago.

Donald MacDonald was indeed by the Indian take-away and was indeed surrounded by a motley collection of fellow customers who arrived in vans, and cars and with or without trailers, announced their name, handed Donald a box and a wadge of cash. Donald put the cash in his pocket, rifled through the heap of pre-written receipts and gave one to the customer and then withdrew the ordered birds from the van - which was absolutely packed with poultry boxes - and gently but firmly put them into the customers box and happy customer loaded up vehicle and drove off. For us, after the long drive, the operation took about 2 minutes - so incredibly well organised was Donald MacDonald of Skye. So quick it was all a bit anti-climatic so neighbour and I had to seek out a cafe and linger for a bit to make the drive feel worthwhile.

But here they are - four splendid browns. All we have to do now is build the chicken house.

**She lives about 7 miles away - so that'll be a near neighbour then.

New arrivals - 1

2010-04-28T08:19:00.003+01:00

Trixie is now the proud mother of a bruising looking mega-male-kid who has been named Samson. There was some discussion as to whether Samson was an African name - eventually it was decided that it was as so much of the bible is set in Africa.

So meet Samson. His entrance into the world was very difficult - and this was Jussi's first serious shot at assisting birth. He's very big - which made the birth difficult - but more significantly his legs were all pointing in the wrong direction so Jussi had to get in and get everything aligned proper. Difficult, scary, and unpleasant. Samson's legs haven't quite recovered from the trauma - but we're hoping they'll sort themselves out.

But she succeeded and very well done all. Samson was born on Saturday afternoon. I was elsewhere at the time and so was of absolutely no help whatsoever.

Planting mnemonic

2010-04-21T17:08:00.002+01:00

Lady Christl sent a rocket into the Pentlands (like a javelin) but accidentally hit a kestrel.

Rocket has three pentland javelin nearest the raised bed and then pentland javelin has two kestrels nearest the gate.

Some of you will be screaming by now. Wracked with tears, pulling hair out by the fistful. I know. And I apologise. But really the weather has been awful - too bad even for the warming work of preparing the beds. But they are in. Hopefully the maincrops will go in next week.

The somewhat late first earlies should be ready around June 30th, and the moderately delayed second earlies about July 21st (not allowing for the extra weeks to be added cos it wont stop bl**********y snowing).

More piccies

2010-04-20T12:32:00.002+01:00

It would be highly convenient if, in some obscure African language, 'fingerprint' began with an S. Very strange finger-printy pattern. Meanwhile, I've been trying to plant veg. In between hail storms that is.

Summer! Gityerassoverere!

Kids!

2010-04-20T09:15:00.003+01:00

Flavia has given birth to two teeny little baby girls. She chose 3am on a night of thunderstorms, hail and snow.

So here they are: one is a spitting image of Flavia really - only a bit more bruiser like - taking after her dad perhaps. (The link takes you to a picture of Hugo - but you'll have to scroll down a bit). The other, currently considering whether life might be better as a mouse or a mole, has a bit more of her fathers colouring.

They are both pure Anglo-Nubians so their names will

reflect their African heritage, and will start with the letter S. Suggestions on a postcard please...

More are due tomorrow night - but there's little sign of them so we expect them to be late. Which might mean Jussi gets to sleep in a bed tonight.

A little bit of Icelandic cloudburst

2010-04-16T09:01:00.004+01:00

While the news broadcasts are full of forlorn shots of desolate almost-holiday makers bemoaning volcanic eruptions in Iceland - I can only think of one thing - all that volcanic ash will be really good for the soil. Eagerly I rushed out this morning hoping to find a world dusted with veg-boosting nutrients, but alas, there was none. It's another clear blue sky this morning, and as I gaze upwards I think I can see streaks of off-white cloud. Is this Viking dust? Why is it so high up? My veggies need it down here!

Disappointed my thoughts turn elsewhere - like to people who live near flight paths around airports. How strange it must be for them to have such peace.

Back at the ranch we are preparing for kidding. Matilda, a milker who wasn't supposed to be pregnant, has been getting very fat. She's always been a greedy goat and Jussi has responded to her growth by cutting rations. But this morning the truth was revealed in the form of lots of discharge and suddenly she's looking thin. Goats have a peculiar habit of having phantom pregnancies and when they come to term they 'cloudburst' - a white discharge. So now she needs feeding up.

The clouds have also been discharging over Durness of late. There's a NATO exercise and work outside has been accompanied by the percussion of what must be pretty bloody big bombs scaring the shit out of residents, tourists and expectant livestock. They do this every year at lambing time. Outrage. This military exercise is a biggy - and extents as far south as Peebles - but for now, around here our military might seems to have been extinguished by a bit of Northern dust.

Let's hear it for the Vikings! Yippeeee!

I'm off to help a man move some wood this afternoon. Labour which will be paid for in full with extra fire wood and a couple of sea trout. Yum yum.

Goat stew

2010-04-05T09:24:00.003+01:00

We picked Rambutan up this week. He'd been hanging around the abattoir for 2o days so it was time to bring him home. For an extra £15 the abattoir butchered him for us. Jussi had made a list of all the bits she wanted whole, diced and minced - but they ignored that because, they said, there wasn't enough meat to mince. Given the huge machines they have I can understand what they meant, although it doesn't explain the lack of dicing. Everything was still on the bone.

If you have a pet, say a cat, dog or guinea pig, try imagining him or her coming home in a cool box and then spreading the contents of the cool box on the dining table trying to work out if that bit is shin, and if that bit is scrag end and poking bits - "no that must be shoulder I mean I can feel the scapula". And moving bits around trying to recreate the shape of said bouncing pet.

Still reading? I'm impressed.

Everything was double wrapped in plastic (mentioned in case there's any hygienists reading). We labeled the bits and packed him off to the freezer keeping some back for tea. I thought I kept back loin but Jussi phoned the abattoir to question the butchery and found out it was flank which had been rolled and strung and then sliced. A very fatty, very cheap cut. (and quite different from loin!).

So I stewed him. Jussi was sooooooooo impressed with the result she insisted that I write the recipe down. So here is what I did:

Simon's warming Good Friday stewed goat

Five slices of rolled flank cut about 1 inch thick. Season with lots of salt and white pepper and thoroughly brown in a little oil (cos the meat is fatty) - I used the orange enameled casserole dish but I doubt you have anything the like of which.

Put the meat to one side and lightly brown two finely sliced onions and a head (bulb) of garlic. - the cloves peeled but whole. Add about 5 sliced good-sized mushrooms.

De-glaze the pan with a good big splodge of red wine. Probably about a bottles worth - but I just squirted it out from the supermarket wine box.

Return the meat to the pan and add two sliced dessert apples a glug of dry sherry (I meant to add port but forgot to read the label!!) - a splash of red wine vinegar, two beef stock cubes and about 1/2 a teaspoon (2.5ml) dried rosemary. The liquid should just cover the meat, if it doesn't, add more wine.

Put the lid on the casserole and cook in the oven about about 150C for 3 hours. After 3 hours turn the oven off, take the lid off the casserole and leave in the oven to cool/rest for about 45 minutes.

Serve with un-fussed veg (plain boiled spuds and steamed cauliflower and carrot in our case - a spring green would have been good - but unbuttered - the meat needs un-fussed veg to counter-act the fatty meat).

And that's it. Jussi raved about the delicious meat and the complex depth of flavour of the stew - but as you can see it is a very simple recipe.

The flank of 12 month old castrated kid goat hung for 21 days and slow cooked is deliciously and meltingly tender with a sort of mild beefy flavour. Stunningly good eating.

Egg painting

2010-04-02T15:32:00.003+01:00

Those who know us know of the annual egg painting event. We continue the tradition - though with nothing like the quantities of alcohol that used to grace the event. Here are the best of the kids eggs this year - but let's be honest here - we miss all the Dunbar folk and MTBs delicate touches all the more at times like this.

But here are The Hospital Patient, Humpty Dumpty and Bride, and Pikachu.

Harvest

2010-04-02T15:24:00.002+01:00

The prolonged winter has made planting things a bit late - I've still done nothing more than plant some onion sets and sow some leeks in doors, but at least we are still harvesting from last year. These parsnips are huge madam - and the last of the spring onions have just been harvested - we've still got more parsnips, leeks - and some purple broccoli soon. Also surviving the winter and reviving themselves are some spinach chard and even fennel.

It's a glorious day today - more of the same please.