Above: seals in Flotta harbour
A quiet month. Settling down in domestic bliss on Flotta is wonderful from a personal point of view, but lacks the drama and conflict necessary for literature, even at this bottom-of-the-pond level. However, turning Bill's bachelor tip into a 'cosy wee home' - with the emphasis on the 'wee': it's minute -has been a joy for both of us. We now have a lovely new livingroom carpet, a freshly painted kitchen,bathroom and livingroom and new flooring in the hall, porch and bathroom. That's our own work and expense. But it's a council house and the council, in its wisdom, has decided that all their houses on Flotta need renovating. I'd have done this during a period when the days were longer and the weather less inclement. But the Council clearly thought that November was just dandy for re-roofing, so the house has been covered in scaffolding for the past fortnight and occasionally the weather permits the workmen to hang a few more tiles before they have to retreat to their hut or else are blown into the sea by another storm. We are also to get a new front door - the present flimsy plywood effort blows open in the night when the weather is really bad - as well as a French door into the garden. This will not only enable us to see the glorious view when we are sitting down instead of the present sheet of plywood (maybe someone on the council had shares in the company) but will also mean that, in the event of fire, we would have a chance to escape. These one-door houses would be illegal in England. Just thought I'd add that patriotic health-and-safety point.
My new working arrangements are not ideal. My timetable on Hoy has been changed so I can no longer take advantage of leaving early on Tuesdays. I leave the house at 6.40am and catch the launch provided by Talisman for their oil terminal workers to the mainland. Mondays and Wednesdays I then drive to the airport for my day on Stronsay. The plane gets back about 3.30pm, so I then have to fill in a couple of hours before driving back to to catch the launch at 6.15, arriving home at 6.40. If the flight's been particularly awful, I fall asleep somewhere. The Hoy trip is less tedious, but more frustrating, because I can actually see Flotta but can't get there until - you guessed it - 6.40. 12-hour days consisting largely of travelling and hanging around are taking it out of me. Still, beats working in Dartford hands down.
The journey to work last Wednesday week was awful. The sea was so rough that I was actually thrown out of my seat on the launch. I couldn't believe the plane was going to go, but, sadly, it did. We flew higher than usual, presumably to allow room for the sudden vertical drops we kept experiencing. Apparently it got worse after I got off at Stronsay. At the next stop, Eday, the plane dropped like a stone and bounced off the tarmac. (Maybe he should have done what he did on Stronsay and landed in a field.) The wind was worse coming back and we were all a little green as we staggered off the plane.
I don't know if there's a pattern to this, but the plane flight this last Wednesday was just as frightening. I sat at the back and I confess I took a slightly sadistic pleasure in watching my new colleague's head bashing against the roof of the plane, as he had been somewhar smug about the ease of the job and how very simple being an itinerant was compared with whatever it was he did before embarking on a teaching career.
I only got as far as the mainland last Friday. Radio Orkney announced that the only school closing would be the one on Hoy, so I got back on the launch and straight back to bed. Bliss! It snowed in the night and Saturday we had sort of blizzardettes. I've put a couple of photos up - it reminds me of a trip I made once to northern Norway. Yes, dear reader: I have actually chosen to live here. I remember thinking, as the train whizzed through various isolated settlements on that Arctic trip, 'how could anyone live here?' Well, now I know.
