Greetings, gentle readers. I apologise for my long absence from Blogland. Thank you to everyone who was kind enough to notice/complain. I have been able to see a fair few you in the flesh during my e-silence, so you know pretty much what I've been up to. The main problem for me with blogging is the photograph business. I'm sure this is not the correct way to do it, but every time I want to shove a few piccies on the blog, I have to download all 350+ that are on my camera. This takes forever and I usually end up going to bed because I have to get up so early. (The other thing is, of course, that I am now spending so much time with Bill the Broadbandless Boyfriend that I am not at home to make use of my over-priced internet access. Still, I'm not complaining, obviously.)
Rather than plod through everything of the past few months, here are a few random details. We've had a lot of weather. One day that particularly springs to mind was my final trip back from Stronsay before we broke up for the Easter hols. The flight out was rather like a fairground ride, the sort that leaves you with a sprained coccyx. The pilot appeared to be unconcernedly writing in his log, which comforted me, until I started wondering whether it was actually a farewell note to his wife. The weather worsened during the day and we were amazed to see the plane at all, only half an hour late. It looked like a badly constructed paper aeroplane, now at a 45 degree angle to left, then ditto to the right. The flight home was ghastly: Lorraine next to me was doing impressions of a cat scrabbling to be let out of its box, while I was clinging to her arm and praying. The pilot (the one who does the full safety check every time) was chatting away to the bloke sitting next him as if this 'bandits at 2 o'clock' routine was nothing out of the ordinary. (He has now left us again to return to flying in the Antarctic, so I guess he was just cheered by the excitement of all that lurching and swooping.) On the dashboard of the plane, a notice reads 'Aerobatics are forbidden.'
We were still at school when it was Easter. Had to work Good Friday. Boo! Not only that but we had the dress rehearsal for 'Joseph' and I had to stay overnight on Hoy because the local Gable End Theatre had asked us to repeat the one-act play. The weather was dire - the wind was so strong you could scarcely stand up. By the time I had spent a day and an evening on that godforsaken island I was so chilled I couldn't think. Luckily the cast were used to having a less-than-dynamic director and essentially did everything themselves. The theatre was sold out - it was lovely. I spent the night with my colleague, Jill, in her beautiful house, a converted mill down by the water's edge, i.e. the shore of Scapa Flow. What a place to live! Even in that snow-storm I managed to be envious.
The Easter break was lovely: the schools were closed because of snow, so we got the Tuesday off in addition to the scheduled Easter Monday. I spent Saturday on Flotta, trying to regain body temperature and then Easter Day Bill and I got the 6am launch to the mainland and went to church. This entailed a hair-raising drive into Kirkwall on a completely untreated road, the only main road in the island, in fact. Arriving in Kirkwall, every single little lane had been scraped and gritted. Orkney Islands Council gets their priorities right again. Easter Monday saw a succession of blizzards on Flotta, which was exciting from the right side of the double-glazing, and then the bonus Tuesday was bright and glorious and we went for a lovely walk and saw the first spring lambs. They call this 'lambing winter': you had to pity the poor shivery little things.
The Tuesday off meant the cancellation of one performance of 'Joseph' (shame) but they did it Wednesday when I was in Stronsay. Then they decided that I mustn't miss it, seeing as I'd directed it, so they did it on the Thursday night and I had to spend another night on bloody Hoy. Actually, I'm pleased I saw it: it went really well and the kids were just lovely. The icing on the bannock was that after the show I saw the Northern Lights for the first time - not the incredible psychedelic spectacle, admittedly, but an impressive weird green light, like the first gleams of dawn only at 11pm.
Two days later I was flying down to London, a subject for another time, seeing as it's already very late.
But before I go, why the title? Just to let yo'll know that I was interviewed for my (currently temporary) post last week and and I got the job. So I now have a permanent job up here. As Lorraine said, 'You're now DOOMED!'
Photos: farewell to Ian, the safety-obsessed Loganair pilot, who's off to Anarctica; a partly-built igloo on Flotta (presumably built by Inuits blown in on the gale); 'lambing winter'; some of the shortest and most enthusiastic cast members of 'Joseph.'
