Category: scotland

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Rain, sewing, recovery

The wet non-summer continues with rain and chilly temperatures closer to autumn.

A gap between the rain showers

We’ve had rain just about every day for months now, and I can’t help watching the blazing summer and terrible droughts and water shortages across the rest of the UK and Europe in despair. Whilst we’re drowning. There has to be a better way to share this. Somehow.

Incoming

Whilst I recover from my operation I’ve been reading books, pottering in the polycrub (which at least provides shelter from the rain) and sewing.

Rainy days

I had a sashiko panel and some threads tucked away in my sewing bag from when we first moved here, so I’ve spent many happy, peaceful hours sewing away.

Sashiko panel

Sashiko is just a running stitch, so it’s repetitive and soothing to do. I’ve finished the main panel now, but need to sew a border and frame to complete it, and to do that I’ll need until we’re in the house and the boxes are unpacked. I’ve got material and a sewing machine in storage that will finish this nicely. This was a progress photo from last week. For now I’ll just pack it away.

Nearly done

The floorboard laying will finish upstairs in the house today, and husband is installing the back-boxes for the sockets in the kitchen this week, so although there’s not much to see, progress still continues. We’re getting there!

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Extreme heat

The rest of the country is living through a Met Office severe weather warning with temperatures hovering around 40C, but Skye today is a cool 22C with balmy sea breezes.

Blue skies and sea breezes

I don’t think that we would have survived that heat if we’d still been living in London.

The house we were renting there was badly insulated :- a town house with three floors, our bedroom being at the top of the house. There was no airflow or air conditioning, and the heat would rise to the top of the house and make sleep simply impossible.

Even with fans we found it too hot to do anything, and whole months could be lost to weariness and bad temper through lack of sleep. There was also a continual sense of grubby stickiness from the proximity of the crowds and the air pollution, which was palpable.

London does not do summer well, like most cities.

I know that people think it’s bizarre but we genuinely like the cooler temperatures up here. There’s nearly always a wind blowing, and it rarely exceeds the mid 20s. That’s comfortable, as far as I’m concerned!

We’re so glad that we got out. The air is clean and cool here, and we enjoy the wide open spaces of the croft. Today was a good washing day and husband hung sheets and a duvet cover out to line dry in the warm breeze.

Washing day

I’ll take the cooler temperatures and the rain over the pressure cooker of the city any day.

Feeling so lucky to be here.

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Summer days and endless light

Sometimes the Scottish Highlands simply take your breath away.

Blue skies and an old hawthorn tree

After months of cold and rain, all of a sudden summer is here. Warm days, blue skies and intense sunsets. Memories of cold, wet winter days dissolve in the brilliant light.

We are only three weeks away from the midsummer solstice, and the light is incredible. It doesn’t really get dark at all. Sunset is around 10.30pm but the skies retain a half light until the dawn breaks again at about 4.30am with the return of pink skies.

The sunset just starting

The sunsets have been spectacular over the last few nights.

Sun dipping behind the back of the croft

These dry days also mean that daily life is easier. Drying clothes on racks in the house is difficult at the moment as there is plaster and building dust everywhere. The caravan often resembles a Chinese laundry.

But we’ve been able to line dry our clothes again now that the air temperatures are sitting at a very nice 18-22C. There’s something nostalgic for me about pegging out washing, and the scent of clean, wind-dried clothes is one that takes me right back to my childhood, and is a smell that I love.

Drying washing on the croft

We sat over lunch today out on the croft, listening to the birds squabbling in the hedgerows and watching the swallows swoop over the roof of the house, and laughed with the pleasure of it all.

View over Knoydart from the front of the house

We feel very lucky to be here.

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Polycrub on the croft

The day has come. The polycrub is being installed.

With luck, the day dawned clear and dry on the island, with no wind. The joiners arrived first thing and after confirming door and window preferences, immediately set to work.

The hoops installed

The ground holes have been drilled, the wooden posts have been concreted in and the plastic pipes have been manoeuvred into place. It looked like the carcass of a whale with the hoops sticking out of the ground like ribs for a while until it was covered with polycarbonate.

The wooden struts that hold the hoops rigid have been installed, and the wooden skirt has been built. The first three sheets of polycarbonate have been laid onto the hoops and secured.

Wooden struts going on

A good days work.

Polycarbonate sheeting being affixed

There is still much to be done with the construction of the door and the windows for the gables as well as the rest of the polycarbonate sheeting to be laid. But I can already get a feel for it’s size and robustness.

End of day one

I’m very excited. Tomatoes, chillies, cucumbers, squashes, strawberries and courgettes here we come!

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Frankenfold the Manifold

When I see internal walls start to go up, albeit without plaster, I dare to imagine that the end is in sight. It’s definitely starting to look more like a house.

We continue to move slowly towards completion with plaster boarding, wiring and ducting all now happening simultaneously.

Husband has been fitting the ducting to take the mechanical ventilation pipes (the MVHR system) around the house. These pipes all come together in an interim pit stop over the appliance wall in the kitchen before snaking their way across to the plant room to be connected to their master.

To say that our architects were optimists and highly impractical would be an understatement. Watching husband try to adapt the manifold to fit the pipes into the area allocated to it on the plans was painful.

Speaking to other Hebhome builders it seems that others give up or don’t even try, and instead site the manifold in a cupboard upstairs, but husband was not easily deterred, and some days later Frankenfold was born…

A child born of ingenuity and galvanised steel drainpipe to cap off the unused bits, the manifold was adapted to fit the space. Not pretty, but perfectly functional. Our very own Frankenstein creation.

It’s now all in position and connected, looking purposeful.

I’m very proud.

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Deer damage and alien life

In a short burst of mild, sunny weather this morning I rammed on my wellies and headed out on to the croft. It’s well overdue time to prepare the raised beds for the seasons growing, and I’ve been waiting for a break in the storms for weeks.

The deer have been terrible this winter. They’ve eaten everything that was left in the beds, which I stupidly didn’t net for protection. Actually, the nets wouldn’t have survived the storms anyway.

Roll on next year when we will have time to deer fence the croft. I think it’s the only way.

These are the remains of a couple of my perennial Taunton Deane kale plants. There’s basically nothing left of them, and I think that the damage is so severe that they won’t re-grow. The deer have even eaten rhubarb, spiky artichoke leaves and garlic, all things that they’re not supposed to like! It’s soul destroying after such a productive year of cropping from them.

However, despite the deer damage there are tentative, wonderful signs of spring.

The mint has started to re-grow.

The berry cuttings are starting to break into bud.

We have the first signs of rhubarb leaves pushing up through the soil like wrinkled red aliens.

I managed to weed a couple of the raised beds and get some red onion sets in before my back started to complain and I decided to beat a tactical retreat. I must remember to take it slowly at the beginning of the season, otherwise I’ll seize up after a whole winter of inactivity. And cake.

Gardening is a marathon, not a sprint. but it felt so good to be out there again.

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Stormy days

Rain is lashing down in torrents from a leaden grey sky as I write. There’s ice in it too, and a stiff north westerly wind to drive it home.

From the caravan

The badly fitting, single glazed windows of the caravan don’t seem to provide much protection against this weather as I peer out into the gloom. I’m well wrapped up with three layers, including thermals, and I’m still chilly.

We’ve had an incredible run of storms so far this year, one right upon the coat tails of the previous one. Storms Corrie, Dudley, Eunice and Franklin have rolled over the island in the last six weeks in rapid succession, bringing 80 mph winds, hail and snow with little respite in between.

We’ve had very disturbed sleep this past month as the worst of the winds seem to come after dark. When they start, the caravan rocks and shudders as if it’s alive, straining against the lorry straps that lash it down like a wounded animal.

The noise of the hailstorms is deafening. It’s impossible to sleep through. It’s as if someone is emptying buckets of marbles into a tin bath on your head. Even burrowing further under the warmth of the duvet doesn’t dull the noise.

Image Francis Yeats

I bake. I make bread and cakes to warm and sustain us. I make soups and stews and sweet, eggy puddings and crumbles.

Brioche buns. Just because.

I venture out in the small, quiet pockets of calm between the storms and wonder at the crofts capacity to hold water. Everything is sodden, soaked.

I wear many layers. Recently I’ve taken to wearing my fingerless gloves in the caravan during the day to keep my hands warm. Tea has become an important, warming ritual in the afternoons, hands wrapped around the comforting heat of the mug.

Spring is coming, I tell myself. It’s coming.

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Storm Malik

Whilst storm Malik rages, whipping the tarpaulined piles of material stored at the front of the house into a frenzy, progress inside the house continues slowly.

The wind was huge last night. It was apparently gusting to about eighty miles per hour, and it was so loud that it was almost impossible to sleep. The caravan was dancing in the wind, walls flexing and straining hard against the webbing straps that hold it down.

Piles of building material on a calmer day

Morning brought a damage assessment between the storm flurries. Nothing too serious thankfully – a few pipes blown out of place, the bin and bits of wood and building material blown across the croft, and the cover on the rotary clothes dryer totally disappeared . I suspect it’s flown all the way to Norway by now.

We have a few more days of this predicted so we will be battening down the hatches and riding it out as best we can.

On the house front, we have an almost plasterboarded corridor and hall now. Progress.

Corridor

It makes such a difference to see walls inside rather than just spaces. I’ve been struggling with the kitchen design and colours, unable to tell how much light the room will have, but over the next few weeks I should be in a position to see exactly what it will look like. Then I will need to get my skates on and get finalising selections..

It’s true that these days we almost have too much choice. Although having said that, I can never find quite what I have in my minds eye. I seem to have a remarkable ability to love what is not trending at the moment, making it difficult to source. I will slap myself into decisions soon.

Kitchen still awaiting plasterboard and the light well

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Plasterboard progress

The two Dereks are plasterboarding for all they’re worth, and we are starting to have rooms emerge from the chaos.

The boot room

Husband has been working long hours to keep pace with the wiring and plumbing. The house is full of strange ducts and metalwork, like something from an industrial post-apocalyptic novel. It’s all slowly taking shape.

It’s strange how a bit of plasterboard changes the aspect of rooms. When we had open studs for walls and you could see through them to the next room, it was difficult to get a real sense of the solidity and space. Now the rooms have opaque, solid boundaries, giving them a feeling of volume. Makes it much easier to visualise fittings and furniture.

The plant room

As I write I’m sitting in the caravan in a burst of unexpected sunshine. It’s streaming through the windows infusing a bunch of gifted, slightly overblown tulips with an warm orange glow.

Spring is coming. Each morning it’s lighter a little earlier.

It’s coming.

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Fuelled by Tunnocks

Watching a film recently, cosied up in the caravan on a cold winters evening, I couldn’t help but notice that there were over 15 minutes of film credits at the end of the footage.

It got me thinking how complex things have become in life (as well as how every single person involved in the film in any capacity now gets a mention).

It also made me smile when I thought of what the credits reel would look like if our house build and croft regeneration were a film. I’m saving up most of the honourable mentions for my long suffering husband, but there is one outlier that I think also deserves a shout-out.

Tunnocks wafer biscuits.

There is a caramel wafer biscuit made in Glasgow, Scotland, a part of daily life here and every bit as Scottish as porridge, haggis and single malt. It’s just called Tunnocks locally.

Tunnocks is an institution. I always have a packet of them in to fuel the day with a strong cup of tea.

The plasterers shun the dark chocolate variety as too sophisticated for their tastes, and go for the milk chocolate ones with their tea and two sugars every time.

Husband likes the dark chocolate ones best.

I think he’d smile at being thought dangerously sophisticated…😊😘.