Limbo

June passed in a frenetic blur of activity. Somehow we hit peak gardening, peak attic emptying and peak builder organising all at the same time. Something had to give and it proved to be the keyboard…. Our open garden day at the end of June was swiftly followed with a rather frenetic trip to London and then a spate of appliance purchasing/removal organising/hedge trimming as soon as we got back (so Mum could move back to Selkirk pending the new house getting fettled and the old one sold). A frantic panic then set in about the dog’s eye on the morning of a planned week’s holiday. We took in an emergency vet appointment before setting off (provisional diagnosis possible owner neurosis – follow up consultation with dog occulist tomorrow..). Neuroses tamped down somewhat, bags overpacked, erudite reading material, ambitious knitting pattern and hiking boots thrown in the car just in case we began the 250 mile drive to Glenelg in under leaden skies.

Somehow, though, Mam Ratagan worked its magic and as we wearily (and hungrily as the Laggan coffee shop was maliciously closed) wound our way up the rain began to clear. Emerging over the summit we drove down into a positively Disney world happy valley, sun, blue sky, the odd cavorting sheep. Had a party of curtain clad, Austrian children led by an annoying nun skipped over the cattle grid I would not have batted an eye. Dinner at the Glenelg Inn put everything to rights and the great Glenelg unwinding commenced.

Walks on the beach, trips on the ferry and the revisiting of old haunts (Frenchman’s Point, Corran and the brewery tap at the Brochs) were interspersed with serious loafing, desultory knitting and much cake and coffee consumption at the ferry shore station. If we didn’t eat at the Inn (which we shamelessly did several times), we made sure to stop by for a drink (for the sake of the walk there and back of course). Whilst we chatted to old friends, Lyra renewed her acquaintance with the beach sheep, this year sporting some seriously edgy haircuts. The fluffy hussy also made a point of flouncing seductively at the sleek young collie every time we passed the Barracks (to no avail) whilst vociferously rebuffing the skinny pup with big ears and rather lovely eyes at the Brewery Tap (who was very keen to be friends). An age old story……..

There’s an ever-changing tapestry of tiny flowers around Glenelg, nothing big or showy, but a hundred thousand tiny stars, dots and dashes weaving through the grass or tucked into rock crevices. Every time we go we manage, blissfully, to find a slightly different picture, though almost always tied together with tiny tormentil. This time we were in peak spotted orchid and bog asphodel season and I managed to add marsh skullcap to my list. Usually my mania for the wild flora sails over the lads’ heads as they focus on many important things like passing land rovers and what beer the tap has on but even Keith and Lachlan found themselves orchid spotting on the path up the glen from Corran and Himself has even been looking up wood sage seed options (he is hoping this might prove less overenthusiastic in his highland scree garden than the marjoram, which has seeded everywhere).

We drove back yesterday (on the second attempt – the first was cut short by a puncture for poor Lachlan after an Asda delivery van ran him off the road. Whilst the bold boy effected repairs we took Lyra for a last sunny walk on the beach and an ice cream before trying again. Perhaps it was fate and we needed a bit more sun. The clouds reconvened as we crossed down towards Sheil Bridge and rain recommenced and has barely stopped since.

I now have that slightly somnambulist feeling which comes on when you are moving between polar realities, for a seemingly endless moment floating betwixt and between. Leaning into the sensation I am tucked into my garret, rain dripping companionably down the windows, easing myself gently back to the here and now with a view to some future “getting things done” enjoying a mellow soundtrack courtesy of Beluga Lagoon (a fine gift from the Glenelg Inn bar playlist. The sound of the last but one album (The Kilfraggan Forest Choir) being what you might imagine if the creature from Fraggle Rock went on an absolute whisky fuelled bender with a rogue benedictine choir. I cannot commend it highly enough.

Anyway – holiday snaps time