Category: lockdown

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The Screen Machine

Our first trip out after lockdown and it was to a mobile cinema in a lorry called the Screen Machine.

The Screen Machine

This amazing creation houses extention “wings” that spread out on either side of the truck to house a small cinema. It travels throughout the rural communities of the Highlands and Islands bringing films to the masses.

Taped off seats for social distancing

Social distancing restricted its capacity to about 20 people, with lots of space between the rows. There was a lot of attention to cleaning and we had to keep our masks on, so despite my initial concerns that it might feel unsafe, it felt fine.

We saw Nomadland, which we loved. Such a powerful film. Such a commentary on modern life and those that can’t or don’t want to fit into our construct of “normal” living. It seemed especially appropriate to be watching it in a lorry..

The bridge to the mainland

As we left the cinema the last shreds of sunset were visible over the sea at Kyleakin, and we returned home, tired but happy.

Loving life on this island.

Us

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Small steps back to normality

Our lives here on the croft are by nature pretty quiet. We spend our days mostly working on the house build or the land, only going out to do food shopping or to collect building or garden supplies.

As things start to open up here in Scotland again after a year of lockdown, however, we are seeing a slow return towards normality.

We managed a lovely lunch at a local restaurant with friends last Sunday. Although the venue wasn’t able to serve wine with the meal as we were eating indoors (which regulations don’t permit) it was still lovely to have food cooked for us and to have good company whilst we ate.

This weekend we also attended a market in Armadale Castle’s grounds. The locals were out in force to support it, and it was fun to browse the stalls and to sit down and have a coffee and catchup blether with friends.

We didn’t need, or buy, much. A loaf of artisan corn bread and some delicious pear frangipane tarts from the Isle of Skye Baking Co. and a few chive plants from Hamish’s plant stall, but really it was all about the meeting up with friends and neighbours after months of isolating in our cottages and crofts.

Small steps back to normality. There are further easing of restrictions over the coming month. We’re so looking forward to seeing the kids once we’re able to. They still haven’t seen the croft due to lockdown, and we haven’t been with them since last summer. Soon now.

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The barter economy

There’s something very nourishing about an exchange that doesn’t involve money and something very warming about the generosity of a local community.

Here on the island, our neighbours are generous and giving. We’ve received gifts of home made oatcakes, snowdrops, daffodil bulbs, chocolate, locally made candles, wine and other small gifts since we arrived. It’s touching and heartwarming whenever this happens.

Lockdown here can be difficult for people, especially when shopping involves icy roads and long distances, so I often text a few neighbours before we set out for the supermarket to check whether we can pick anything up for them.

On the last occasion we picked up a few low value items for a neighbour and were given a bottle of wine in exchange! Such a lovely gesture.

Today, friends from a few villages away have dropped off (socially distanced) a homemade curry in a huge le crueset pot, a delicious looking Murghi, and as I couldn’t have them leave empty handed, I baked them a lemon drizzle cake.

The ties of community are strong here. Even whist we are all apart, generosity thrives. I love that.

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Slow days

Everything has dipped this week. I’ve noticed both husband and I gradually losing energy and becoming slower and more reluctant to do things.

I don’t know if it’s the short, cold days, the effect of this prolonged lockdown, or a combination of both, but we are drooping a bit.

Problems with the build and trying to find ways to correct the problems (thank you builders), the prospect of further supply delays and scarcity of materials, and costs going up steeply with new import taxes (thank you Brexit) have probably contributed to our general malaise and lack of energy.

We will get through this. It’s just a few slow days.

All I can do is keep morale up as much as I can for both of us.

I know that pear pancakes and lemon drizzle cake with tea later in the day won’t solve anything, but they’re sweet and comforting and do make us feel a little better.

So that’s what we’ve been doing this week. In between jobs we wrap up in blankets, drink tea and eat cake.

My way of getting through the dark days.

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The teapot of desire

I love tea.

Husband not so much… We generally stagger into the mornings fortified with coffee, but I could drink tea at any point during the day. When I was working it was only the consumption of several cups of tea between meetings that kept me going.

After reading about the amount of microplastics that leach into your cup from most brands of teabag, including Yorkshire Tea – my go-to brew of choice for many years – I decided that enough was enough. I would go back to using proper leaf tea and make a bit of a celebration of it.

And so, I bought a teapot. Made by a potter from a local village, I loved it as soon as I spotted it.

I loved the shape, and the subtle markings on the clay body. I loved that it holds 1.3 litres of tea! That’s a goodly few mugfuls, with the capacity for seconds if needed.

My afternoon routine now revolves around time for a proper cup of tea in the caravan, as I browse the seed catalogues, look out at the rain/sleet/snow of a Skye winter, and prepare dinner.

I’d quite forgotten how delightful that was.

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House build progress

It’s been a while since I shared anything on the housebuild itself, so I thought with the onset of the new year that it was time.

There’s been only slow progress on the house over the last few months, due to a number of factors like the move, setting up the caravan, problems with the caravan, supply delays, and to be honest, things that we have discovered need remedying before we can go further with the build.

Whilst we’re in dialogue with the builders to check a number of things, husband has been able to work on improving the air tightness of the construction by sealing every gap and then foil taping all the wall seams to ensure that we can be as draught-free as possible.

That work is slow and painstaking, especially in the 6m high gable end of the house, necessitating internal scaffolding, and has taken a number of weeks. It’s only now that we’re nearly ready to start applying insulating foil to the walls.

We had originally hoped to be ready for underfloor heating and screed by now, so we’re running about a month behind our original estimates, but to be honest with the new Covid lockdown restrictions and Brexit, I’m just happy to be able to be able to make any progress at all.

I’m sure that there will be many more delays to hit us yet. Never was there such a bad time to work on a house build from a building supplies perspective! 🤔

We’re not despondent, though. It can’t be helped and we will do as much as we can within the constraints that we face.

In the meantime, we continue to be awed by the sheer beauty of the landscape around us, and are serenaded by our raven from the old Scots pine as dawn breaks every morning, complaining that it’s time our sorry asses were out of bed.

It really couldn’t be much better.

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Gaelic singers, fires and venison

Our first island Christmas.

Last night we attended an outdoor meal with friends around a fire, with local musicians and Gaelic singers. They sang traditional carols but also songs that we didn’t know, hauntingly beautiful in the open air and the darkness of the night.

It was a cold night but we honestly didn’t feel it. Such a lovely introduction to Christmas here.

We returned home smelling of woodsmoke and with heads full of new melodies and happy memories.

This morning, Christmas Day, and it was a day alone for us. The wind howled around the caravan and we sat in front of the fire with big socks on and shared a zoom call with the boys in Manchester.

We ate venison and drank red wine and enjoyed the feeling of peacefulness and nothing that we absolutely had to do.

It’s been a very unusal and quiet Christmas, but a good one for all that. It’s made us remember what’s important and has made us look forward to next year’s celebration with family (and a proper kitchen!) all the more.

Merry Christmas to you all. From the fireside of the caravan on the windswept hillside of the croft I’m sending you all good wishes for health and happiness, wherever you are.

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Storm Aiden

We woke to 60 mph South Westerly winds whipping up the waves and crashing them onto the rocks at Ardvasar Bay. The forecast was grim. Storm Aiden was in control and would fury unabated for the next two days.

We had originally planned to level and stabalise the static as our first job, necessary before we could connect up the electricity, water and gas bottles. But there was no way that we could safely work under or around the caravan in this wind.

We’d purchased railway sleepers to create a stable platform for the static, and they needed to be cut to size, a job that we managed to do inside the shell of the house so that we could avoid the driving rain and wind.

For now, we need to wait for the weather to abate. And make sure that we’ve always got a Plan B and C in our back pockets so that everything doesn’t stop when we get a storm.

Just heard that England is going back into full lockdown from Thursday. Even though we’re not set up properly yet, I’m glad that we’re here rather than London for this one…

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The bone-weariness of 5am

It is 5.02 in the morning and I am writing this from our hotel bedroom. The room is overheated and stuffy and our dog lies curled up and slightly confused on his blanket in the corner of an unfamiliar room. I should be asleep. But infuriatingly I can’t sleep, even though I am weary.

Moving house is exhausting. I have done it so many times that although it’s lent a certain proficiency to the process, it’s increasingly a bone-wearying, energy sapping experience. This time especially so with my recent second knee replacement restricting my ability to do much physical work, meaning leaning on husband more than ever.

The house empties so slowly, exposing cobwebs, dust and the ghosts of lost slippers behind furniture.

After a day and a half of loading the removals van we hit a wall at around 4pm. We looked at each other as we stood in our empty kitchen and agreed that we had to stop.

The removals guys were still working through the garage (how do they keep going?) but were happy to complete without us and lock up the house so that we could start the long drive northwards. London rush hour was about to start and we were keen to avoid the worst of it.

As it was, we still hit the rush hour traffic, but every mile towards our first nights destination felt good. We tumbled into an empty bar at our scarily Covid-empty hotel and ate a quick supper before bed.

Today is another day. We’re both relieved to have that behind us and to focus on the drive up-country to our new home.

We’re taking each day at a time.

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A sea of boxes

We are surrounded by a sea of boxes, bags, mattresses and guitars.

This weekend we’ve been moving the two boys into their flat in Manchester. They’ve been with us throughout lockdown, and although they’ve eaten us out of house and home, it’s been really good to have them with us.

The time has come for university to start again, jobs to be found and a new life to be started for them both. The London bolt-hole will be no more in a few months time, as we will have de-camped to the static on the Isle of Skye.

At the last minute the big van that husband had hired from Europcar got changed to a much smaller one because of a health and safety issue, and all the ranting in the world couldn’t change that as they had no alternative vans available.

This has meant TWO days of loading and trips from London to Manchester and back again. My poor husband. Most of this has fallen on his shoulders. All that lifting and driving 😢.

I’ve made up an emergency start box with some pantry basics, like teabags, sugar, pasta and tinned goods and we’ve managed to get rid of tables, bedside units, two beds, bookcases, bedding, lights, towels, and bedding to get them started.

It’s been a good start to our house clear-out in preparation for our move in October.

We may have been left with all their rubbish to dispose of, but we can see the floor again in their two rooms now! We can use that space to sort, pack and organise for our main move. And we have two van loads less of stuff than we had last week.

Small steps. But progress.