Category: new beginnings

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Living more simply

As each box slowly gets unpacked I feel more weighed down by the stuff that we’ve accumulated over our lifetimes.

To be fair, it’s the accumulation of two lives and two households that couldn’t be sifted and streamlined before we left London because we were in lockdown, with no tips or charity shops taking anything.

And it’s also the result of lives lived fully, of travel, and children, and passions. Things just attach themselves to you as you move through these life experiences.

But oh lord, so much stuff. It feels quite overwhelming, and we’ve only just started.

Sensible me says just sort a box at a time. Keep, throw or donate. Do it gradually and you’ll get there. Don’t panic.

Overwhelmed me says why oh why do we have four thousand sheets all in different and unspecified sizes? I know that they’d come in useful as dust sheets for the studio or several other uses, but I am determined not to cram this house to the rafters. Determined.

We will streamline. We will simplify. We do not need all of this stuff. Someone would welcome it, I’m sure.

Deep breaths. I can see several trips to the local charity shops and a massive shed sale on the horizon very soon..

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The last few weeks

Despite not having a joiner to finish the skirting boards, which are unceremoniously piled up in the living room, or the door linings and architraves, or a plasterer to finish the stairwell, we’re still making progress.

Chaos, building supplies, painted walls!

Good friends have helped with coats of paint in the bedroom, the upstairs bathroom, landing, dining room and kitchen. Andy is so much better at painting than I am, and so much more efficient, that a weeks work has resulted in a huge difference. It’s all starting to look dangerously white..

I’m hoping against hope that there will be enough rooms ready for us to move in over the next month. We’ve had surprisingly mild weather for the time of year, but it can’t last. We had snow on the hills at this point two years ago when we first moved here, so it may be delayed, but it’s surely coming.

Kitchen being painted

Husband has been fitting lights and sockets in the house and will move onto the bathrooms next. If we can get basic facilities up and running we can move in and enjoy the warmth. It’s already a comfortable and constant temperature compared to the caravan.

First wall light in

As we continue the build and start making plans for our first family Christmas for the last few years, I’m aware of how much we still have to do to finish it, but moving in feels very close now.

Whilst all this happens, life also goes on. The deer fencing for the vegetable and orchard area of the croft has arrived. I’m not quite sure when it will get installed, but it will at some point. We have a friends birthday coming up and I’ve baked her a pear, brandy and orange pie.

Because why not.

Pear pie

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Festive thoughts from the croft

Like many people in these troubled times, Christmas for us this year will not be as it usually is.

Apart from the fact that we’ll be spending it in an ancient caravan perched on the side of a rain-swept hill, we will also not have the kids with us. It will just be husband and myself on the day.

We’re conscious that they are many others who don’t have a roof over their heads, good health, or enough to eat this Christmas. We’re very blessed that we don’t fall into any of these categories.

We will be together. We’ll be warm and dry with enough to eat. Our loved ones are safe, and we’ll be able to share calls with them on the day.

The house build is progressing, albeit slowly, and stands there, a promise to come and the culmination of many years of planning and hard work. We awake to this promise, along with some incredible sunrises, every day.

During the bizarre awfulness which 2020 has been, I count this all as success.

Wishing you all a peaceful, happy Christmas.

See you on the other side.

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Launderette Tales

I haven’t used a launderette for decades, so it was with some trepidation and a bag full of coins that we sallied forth to the Community Facilities at Kyle of Lochalsh to do our washing like the ex hippy teenagers that we are.

With no water in the caravan and having been on the road for ten days we’d both completely run out of clean clothes.

I’m amazed we lasted this long, to be honest. We used to do a clothes washing almost every day in London.

But that was in our old life. We’ve learned to embrace the muddier and scruffier side of being now.

The side benefit of this was a trip to the hot showers at the same place, designed for visiting yachtspeople, with plenty of space to hang wet outer clothes whilst getting clean.

And it would have been rude not to make a wee visit across the harbour carpark to Hector’s Bothy for lunch whilst the clothes were tumble drying.

We sat in a booth overlooking the sound, blinking in bright November sunshine and enjoying the sensation of being clean again, and ate our butties.

Today was a good day.

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Deciding what’s essential

Moving into this caravan has taught me again how privileged I am and how I had no real idea about the minimum level of basics needed to be comfortable.

As I unpack each box and the tiny kitchen fills up I hold my head in my hands and ask myself why I thought I really needed that item over and over again.

For example, I packed four wooden chopping boards. Four. What on earth did I think I was going to be preparing? There isn’t enough worktop space to lay them out for use let alone enough space to stack them.

I have one drawer in the caravan kitchen which I’ve filled with all our knives, cutlery and utensils. It’s over full. I seem to have thought that several wooden spoons were essential. The list goes on.

Now, of course I can get more creative with ways of storing things, I know. I’d bought some macrami hanging baskets which I’ve hung to hold apples, vegetables that don’t need refrigeration and other bits. They don’t hold much weight so it’s light things only.

I’ve got hooks up for mugs and hanging storage for other things to keep them off the work surface. Walls, however flimsy, I’ve discovered, are my friend.

But the key thing here is less stuff rather than more ways to cram extra in. I will pare this back over the coming weeks to what I really use so that it’s more comfortable.

We’ve discovered that the oven doesn’t work, so my old slow cooker has already proved its weight in gold whilst my ever resourceful husband gets time to work out what’s wrong. I made a lamb and vegetable stew with dumplings in it a few days ago, and a rice pudding. It’s so comforting after a cold day of hard work to come into a caravan warm and fragrant with the smell of dinner cooking.

We still have no water. The pipes in the caravan had been cut when they were removed previously for transportation which we didn’t notice until we came to install them.

This meant that new pipes and connectors had to be ordered, which won’t arrive until next week. So no running water or usable toilet… We are filling containers from the one tap in the house. I won’t go into the mechanics of the toilet arrangements for my more delicate readers, but it’s led to many moments of hilarity and a more intimate knowledge of the croft than we had been expecting..

A camping portaloo should arrive any day now… 😊

PS. we do have a comfortable bed that we managed to crowbar into the tiny bedroom. It’s my bliss at the moment.

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The First Snows

The weather changes every fifteen minutes here on the island. Squally hail showers is what we’re getting now, although they do blow themselves out and we are left with bright, clear air that makes everything seem scrubbed and very intense.

Work on connecting water and power to the caravan has meant husband has had to dash out between the showers and work as best he can until the next flurry of rain or hail hits.

We noticed the first snow on the high mountains of Knoydart today. Winter is with us.

Heating the caravan to try and dry out the dampness is starting to work. We managed to get the inside temperature to 19 degrees centigrade from a standing start of 4 degrees this morning, and the dampness/humidity levels reduced from 80% to a much more comfortable 50%.

The caravan is single glazed and has no real insulation, which is going to make a Highland winter interesting. I think a couple of thermal lined door curtains, thick socks and our super warm quilt are going to be necessities as snowy days approach..

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Everything aches..

The first job we’ve had to do is to make the caravan habitable. For those of you that have been reading for a while, you’ll know that we were given a free static caravan in September, which was a hugely generous gesture.

However, it was very basic and hadn’t been lived in for a while. We had it transported to the croft and had to leave it empty for a further two months until we were able to move to the island, which didn’t help in the habitability stakes..(if that’s not a word, it should be).

When we opened the door for the first time on Saturday it was quite clear that it was damp and needed drying out before we could move in.

Storm Aiden made the process of working on the caravan too dangerous for the first few days that we were here. It needed levelling properly before we could do anything inside, but the 60 mph winds were rocking it like a boat. We had to wait until the storm passed.

The morning dawned calm and bright and the wind had at last dropped considerably. Husband had managed to secure the caravan so that it was safe to work in, and hooked up the propane supply to the gas fire so that we could start to dry it out. Whilst he worked on preparing the electrical supply I started the seat repairs and the painting.

As we suspected, everything ached by the end of the day. We are more unfit than we thought!

We got back to our B&B room weary in body but happy in spirit. We’re here at last and making progress, however slow that may seem.

We will get fitter as time passes, and despite the aching limbs and backs it’s still all worth it to be here.

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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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Autumn in the Highlands

We drove the last part of our journey today up to the Isle of Skye. Our trip today took us from the borders of Scotland up through the Trossocks, Glencoe and Fort William across to Kyle of Localsh and over the bridge onto the island.

It was a blustery autumn day in the Highlands, but the wind kept the rain clouds moving, and each outbreak of rain was interspersed with the most amazing light and colour.

The leaves, bracken and heathers were a carpet of russet and golds.

My phone camera couldn’t do them justice at all, especially through the glass of a smeary car window, but I hope these snaps will give you a pale glimpse of the glory that is the Highlands at this time of the year.

We were exhausted when we eventually reached the island, but as there was still a bit of light before the sun set, we couldn’t resist dropping in on the croft to let Bertie stretch his legs and take his first introductory sniffs of the land.

He seemed to like it 😊.

Next a quick supper, a hot bath and a good night’s sleep ready for the work to start tomorrow.

We’re weary but happy. It still feels a bit unreal.

We made it.

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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.