Puffin Central

When and where the dark eclipses be

2011-01-31T13:44:00.000-08:00

Physics has never been my strong point. In fact, I only ever took one exam in the subject. I wrote my name at the top of the paper, 'Physics Examination' and the number 1 in the margin. You know how they always give you a really easy question for number 1 so that everyone gets at least one mark? I couldn't even manage that one. So I fall back on this as a pathetic excuse for why I got up at 6 am in order to watch the partial solar eclipse on 4th January 2011. As it doesn't get light up here till after 8.30, this was a little premature. Nonetheless, I stationed myself by the window, camera in hand, and watched the sky slowly lighten. I noted the length of time it took, contrasting this with sunrise in the tropics, where at 6.27 am it's pitch dark and by 6.32 am brilliant sunlight. So far north, you see, I said to myself, pleased with my startling astronomical insight. But by 9.30 it was pretty sunny, and the moon hadn't put in her anticipated appearance. It was at this point I realised that, in order to observe the eclipse, I needed to be on the other side of the hill I was looking at. So I rushed out, jeans over jammies, drove towards the sun... and got it full in the face as it rose over the headland. Quite painful, really. If I'd got up later, had a leisurely breakfast and driven to the farther side of Stanger Head in the pre-dawn, I'd have had a perfect view. Two eclipses in as many weeks and I've failed to see either of them properly. Heigh ho. Hope you like the pictures.

It is the yeare's midnight...

2011-01-04T15:14:00.000-08:00

An official end to puffinsilence. I have been ill for a long time, but just as St. Lucy's Day is now past and the days grow longer, I am past the worst and hoping to return to all the fun of seasickness and getting soaked and the other aspects of working life here that make it such a unique experience. Since June, I have worked for exactly one hour and forty minutes. (It was hell, let me tell you. ) I have missed all kinds of excitement. The 'Autumnwatch' team turned up on Stronsay and talked to the kids about careers in media. (I hope they impressed on them the importance of passing their English exams, as I have so far failed to make such an impression.) The main impetus for change on Hoy actually occured just before the end of the summer term, so I was there, when the headteacher simply quit with virtually no notice. She was followed by another member of staff (I was going to write 'of the team', but 'teamplayer' is the last thing he was) who outdid her by resigning on the last day of the school year. So two down; then I fell ill at the start of the hols; then the Upper Primary teacher had a burst appendix and is still off. Still, with the entire roll down to 19, I guess the school can cope better than, say, an establishment with 1500 students that loses a sizeable portion of its staff. There are now three kids in the secondary school.

We have had snow, not enough to be inconvenient, just enough to make every day joyous. It has been very cold and very still, with the sea like glass and the air so clear you could see the distant coast of Scotland with its own snow-cover. The lunar eclipse on the winter solstice was very clearly visible - most impressive. Sadly, although Flotta only has three lamposts, one of them was right next to the moon, as seen from our house. On any other day, I would have gone up the West Hill to take a view with less light-pollution, but I was due for my second day of 'phased return to work' so I was employed in attempting to drive to the ferry at the time when the eclipse was at its most impressive. Although the island's roads have been kept ice-free throughout both recent spells of heavy snow, those responsible for this (note my careful use of non-specific pronoun) never, ever clear the area in front of our house, which faces north and is low-lying and consequently, once frozen, remains friz. It is a public highway, thirteen households park their cars there and most need to get to work, but a species of island apartheid operates when it comes to the allocation of grit. So I failed in my attempt to shift the car, while my exertions brought about a massive asthma attack and subsequent collapse and (yet another) day in bed. All this is an excuse for why there is no photo of such a spectacular celestial event.

Finally, back to warmer days. We are inordinately proud of our vegetable patches (created by digging up areas of the lawn.) Eagle-eyed readers may have spotted the lack of trees and thus of shelter. Despite this, we kept ourselves in veg this year and...wait for it...by placing an old window over the lettuces we have kept them going right up till now. Our own salad in December! I preen.

The play what I wrote

2010-05-09T09:42:00.000-07:00

At last something has happened that I can write about (other matters being things that it would be unprofessional to relate.) We splashed out on a night in Kirkwall in order to attend the BBC recording of 'Mark Steel's in Town', a Radio 4 show in which the comedian goes to a town and takes the mickey out of it. He did Dartford proud (hard not to mock Dartford) but seemed on shakier ground wi' Kirkwall, possibly because he'd read the Orkneyinga Saga and discovered that these people's ancestors were seriously violent, a trait that still emerges in the annual contest of The Ba', one of those ruleless games in which the entire male population participates. The broadcast is on Wed. 12th May at 6.30.

Had Mr Steel hung around for a few more days, Flotta would have given him some additional material, because on Saturday it was the site of the WORLD PREMIERE of Ghosts in the Machine, a comedy written by your truly. I formed Flotta's first-ever Drama group last October and wrote a play for them to perform. Rehearsals had to be fitted round the pecularities of island life: all secondary-age kids are weekly boarders in Kirkwall; shopping and music lessons occupy Saturdays and Youth Club takes up Sat. nights; Sunday includes Sunday School and Kirk and adults who work at the oil terminal do 12-hour shifts. This left one hour per week to rehearse, so it was a miracle that we got it together on time. The plot concerned a group of ghosts who are doomed to spend all eternity on the Orkney island of Flirtay, a place where nothing happens, and the machinations of the Orkney Council, who are determined to spend even less on Flirtay than they do already so that they can go on all-expenses-paid trips to Norway. (Any resemblance between this bunch of incompetents and my employers is purely coincidental.)

Half the population of the island turned up; they all laughed in the right places; the cast of adults, teenagers and kids really did me proud. I only wish we could do the play again, seeing as they all worked so hard. We've been invited to do the play again at the Gable End Theatre on Hoy, but although the two islands are only 15 minutes apart, transport links are so useless that I fear it may be impossible. (On Fridays, I teach for 1hr 40 min. and spend nearly 4 hr. travelling, out of the house for 9hr in total.)

Meanwhile, Spring keeps attempting to spring, only to be driven back by winds straight from the Arctic. But the lambs are thriving, nonetheless!

The 0.01 of a mile high club

2010-01-24T09:38:00.001-08:00

April may have been the cruellest month to an ex-patriate American who could enjoy the pleasures of London in January, but here on Flotta, January is the pits. Once England thawed, our glorious weather turned dreich (an untranslateable Scots word that encompasses sideways rain, squally wind, poor light and an accompanying sense of misery) and, apart from going to work, I've scarcely left the house. The weather was so bad on Thursday that our Burns Night supper on the following evening was a washout. The wind had calmed, but I imagine that most people thought the island would be inacessible and so failed to turn up. Thus the anticipated 130 punters became 51, leaving us with a dozen uneaten haggises and about a quarter-ton of clapshot. The leftover mince has been frozen: I wonder how long it'll be before the 'Old Folks' who are provided with a free lunch every month will notice that they've been served the same meal every time?

The sole event of note over the past few days was that I was given a chance to experience the world's shortest flight, solo. The new pilot, John, couldn't believe that I'd been here two and a half years and had never flown from Westray to Papa Westray, so I got a free ride! I also got my certificate and a free bottle of Highland Park whisky. Hooray!

Snow? What snow?

2010-01-07T10:50:00.000-08:00

The temperature in the UK may be only 2 degrees warmer than Antarctica (well, it IS summer down there, after all) but here in Flotta, it's almost balmy. Cynics might say that the infamous Flotta Flare (Flotta's own contribution to global warming) is keeping us snow-free, but whatever the reason, it's really been lovely here, with crisp sunny days and beautiful views of the snow-covered hills of mainland Orkney and of Hoy, which looks like Spitzbergen got towed down here for a refit.

What with being ill for the last week of term, and the school on Hoy failing so far to reopen, owing to an invasion of polar bears, I have done one days work since 16 December. If things carry on like this, I'll soon be unemployable. Coming back from my one day's toil last Wednesday, I was just dozing off nicely in the plane, when suddenly the pilot put it into a near-vertical climb, rather alarming to say the least. (I did the unforgivable and shrieked: we itinerants are supposed to display sang froid at all times.) Turns out the manoeuvre was to avoid a flock of geese, so it could be he'd saved our lives. One of the notorious near-misses of itinerant flying folklore is the time a flock of geese was NOT avoided and an engine went out because a goose got sucked into it. (When they dismantled the engine to assess the damage, they found the poor goose was still alive, despite being completely featherless.)

Christmas was lovely: Bill and I took turns to be ill this vacation, but both managed to be well for Christmas Day and New Years Eve. Bill cooked a fantastic meal on each occasion - duck, wild boar - I had the East Midlands traditional pork pie-for-breakfast on Boxing Day (yes, even the East Midlands has traditions) - and New Year we were first-footed and then went first-footing ourselves. It was fun - I'm more used to rising than coming home at 5.45 am these days.

Photo is of seabirds I startled as I walked past Kirk Bay (on my daily walk in the sunshine. Just thought I'd mention that again.)

Merry Christmas, Snorri!

2009-12-06T01:48:00.000-08:00

When I was little, I had a book called 'Snorri the Seal' about a baby seal called - you guessed it - Snorri and how he coped with murderous attempts on his little furry person by Orca, the killer whale, and how he met the elves who create the Northern Lights. Well, up here the Northern Lights are called the Merry Dancers, but we do have pods of orca in the Flow and we certainly have thousands of little snorris. Twice a week, I fly over the island of Lingaholm, which is just off the coast of Stronsay and apparently is where one-quarter of the world's population of grey seals goes to give birth. You can see them packed like - and, from a distance, resembling - sardines, all round the entire coast, with the overspill ensconced on the grass.

When I first started flying, I was lucky enough to see two seals swimming agilely under the glassy surface of the water, chasing fish, and I'd always hoped to see that again. Down in the harbour, we have our own (much smaller) seal colony here on Flotta and it's a real treat to be able to wish them good morning as I stroll down the pier to my 7a.m. boat. But I've got their number: these chubby whitish babies heave themselves into the water, giving Mama and aunties the illusion that they're off to swimming practice, but on a still day you can see them, sitting on the bottom, on a nice cushion of seaweed. Do you remember doing that when you were supposed to be clocking up your compulsory 10 lengths?

Most of our seals have gone now. You can occasionally see a head poking above the surface in the harbour, and Lingaholm still has a few half-moon shapes curled up on her shores, but I had assumed that most of the colony had left for the open sea. However, two weeks ago, I was flying back from Stronsay and spotted a seal swimming through the kelp. Excited, I tried to see some more. There were, dozens, no, hundreds, then - to my amazement - I realised that I was looking at thousands of seals, all swimming in the same direction. I can only assume that I had witnessed the winter dispersal of the colony, as they only congregate in order to give birth and mate again.

We haven't had the severe weather that has hit England. Bill went into Kirkwall to do the Christmas shopping (I've been bed-ridden since last Wednesday with a 'viral respiratory infection') on Monday and said both Mainland and Hoy were covered in snow. But Flotta remains snow-free and all of half a degree above freezing. Positively balmy! To recall sunnier days, I've done my best to upload a video of Snorri and co. plus a few photos, including one of the harbour as it appears on those days I manage to get home on an earlier boat and catch a little daylight. MERRY CHRISTMAS one and - if there's more of you - all!

Of Mice and Meerkats

2009-11-24T07:26:00.000-08:00

The previous owner of our caravan lives on Stronsay. Despite the van being kept at the back of his L-shaped house and sheltered by an earthen bank and a fence, he had a huge iron staple driven into said bank and kept the caravan tied down, with the mooring rope going through a similar staple embedded into an oildrum full of concrete. Here on Flotta, we have to park it in a windswept area on the shores of Scapa Flow. We also have no means of tying it down. So, rather than wake up one morning to see our beloved caravan joining the German Navy (i.e. the one that was scuttled at the end of the First World War) we drove it down to a farm in England, just off the M6, where it's going to spend the winter courtesy of a Mr Skidmore. We thought this would be safer than leaving it somewhere in Scotland. I discovered today that we had both had a more or less identical nightmare about the van being swept away in the Cumbrian floods. Still, better with Mr Skidmore than here, as the weather is grim! Gales, driving rain, very cold...

We had a lot of things to do at the house, such dealing with the usual Autumn influx of mice (ugh!) and having a new carpet fitted (gorgeous!) so little time to catch up with pals, unfortunately, but we did manage to see 'Turandot' at the Coliseum, which was fantastic, as well as a day at London Zoo, to feed our meerkat obsession. We'd just walked in when a child spoke to me: to my great embarrassment, I'd no idea who she was. As she was a kid I teach on Stronsay, who I'd seen only a week previously, I felt a bit of a fool. Autumn was especially beautiful this year - the first Indian summer since I first moved to London in 2002 - and it wasn't until we got back to Aberdeen that the weather broke. The ferry journey home, normally a tedious six hours, took nearly eleven. A life on the rolling wave etc. We'd had to come back early because I was supposed to do a day of in-service training: I woke up in the B&B at the time it was due to start, so I went home instead, which almost cost me three days pay (a Friday and a weekend) but I'll say this for Orkney Islands Council, they are quite understanding when it comes to seasickness.

The problem with living on Flotta is that you can't get off the island in the evening (not unless you want to pay for a restaurant meal and a night in a B&B) so no pantomime for me this year, or any other social activity, so I have started a Drama Group, a Flotta first as far as I can make out. I have written a play for them to perform, so with any luck news of its World Premiere will soon be on its way. Rather ambitiously, it has a cast of 14: so far, I haven't had that many people turn up to audition, but I have already had complaints that my chosen time coincides with 'folk needing to go the byre' (that's mucking out the cowshed to you and me) and couldn't I hold the rehearsals on an evening during the week? I pointed out that all but four of the island's children and teenagers are away as weekly boarders at the Kirkwall school during the week and it was mainly to keep them occupied at the weekends that I'd set up the group in the first place. However, I'd forgotten a key fact of rural life, i.e. that if you do anything or nothing, people will find something to bellyache about.

Photos: Caravan prepares for hibernation; an iguana (?); otters; aardvaarks underground; Meerkat Rex; view from our house north; and ditto south.

Travels with a ginger beer plant

2009-08-16T13:33:00.000-07:00

[I wrote this in August, at the end of the holiday, but have been having photo download problems (caused by incompetence rather than a technical fault.]

The ancient English tradition of 'beating the bounds' consisted of an annual trip by the villagers around the parish boundary. In order to ensure the key landmarks were remembered, the youth of the village were given a good thump at each relevant tree, rock or ruin. This - I assume - ensured that everyone had a strong sense of belonging (as well as a sore bum.) I'm not sure of Bill had this in mind when he planned our honeymoon: as I am now a member of a clan, by marriage, we spent an awful lot of time doing Highland things. No violence, obviously, but an awful lot of driving! Over the past 7 weeks, I have done nearly 3,000 miles, the result being not dissimilar to the effects of beating the bounds. But we had a fabulous time and I'm not complaining.

We bought a caravan, which, despite my total lack of self-confidence, I actually enjoyed driving very much. I have to admit that so far I can only drive it forward and was forced to look tearful and helpless in order to attract the attention of any kind, experienced caravanner who wished to do his good deed for the day and either help Bill push or reverse the car himself.

We love caravanning!! Every site was different; all -bar one (see below) - were fantastic; all the other campers were just lovely, with happy, friendly kids and well-behaved dogs. (This blog's title, by the way, refers to the fact that I attempted to kepp a ginger beer plant alive all summer. The things that happened to that poor plant! We'd park the caravan. only to find that it had somehow tipped over and the bathroom floor was awash with ferment. It survived for a while, but sadly died, apparently of sucrose poisoning.)

We drove from the Aberdeen ferry down to London, anticipating a jungle of weeds, but in fact the garden was not too bad at all. It required a lot of hard work, but not machetes and flame-throwers as I'd anticipated. It was nice to be able to pop in to my former place of work and catch up with a few kids and colleagues. (Nicer still, to be able to assure said kids that, no, I would not be coming back.) Star moment: getting a congratulatory kiss from the new Head, a former colleague. (The previous one would probably have had me marched off the premises under armed escort.)

After a few days, it was all the way back up to Invernesshire for the Gathering of the Frasers of Lovat. This wonderful event, the first for 10 years, was not marred, fortunately, by our accommodation. There wasn't a 'recommended site' nearby, so we chose one at random, which turned out to be owned by some extremely dodgy geezers from Essex. Apparently the site was where Lord Lovat exercised his troops before the D-Day landings and the semi-derelict shower block was left over from his tenure. Bill was reunited with his laird, a merchant banker who lives in Geneva (they're not daft, these highland chiefs.) This charming young man was exceptionally tall: this seems to be a prerequisite for being a highland chief. We met several during our travels and all looked like ex-Guardsmen.

We went to the Gathering in Edinburgh, an amazing event, the first Gathering of the Clans for a hundred years. There were Scots from all over the world, including Native Canadian Scots, Maori Scots and Caribbean Scots. A bunch of German barbarians calling themselves the Lechfeld Highlanders fell in love with Bill and kept dragging him into their photo shoots: we never worked out what they were for, as they didn't speak a word of English, but they were frightfully jolly. After the Gathering, we returned to the North-East for the Aboyne Games: lots of caber-tossing, sword-dancing and so on. By this time, Bill seemed to have palled up with half the aristocracy of Scotland. Suddenly, his dyed-in-the-wool republicanism went out the window, to be replaced with remarks like "As I was saying to Lord So-and-So..."

Photos this time are of one of the new sculptures at the Camden Market Stables; Bill argues politics with aristocratic chum; Bill meets Robert the Bruce; a march-past by the Atholl Highlanders, who are, I believe, the last private army in Europe; and, for those who remember my years in Finchley, Bill with Mari.

No sich a bad day

2009-06-07T06:18:00.000-07:00

Apologies for lengthy silence, dear reader (I suspect the singular is now apt.) I have been suffering from an excess of weather. After our cold and soggy wedding, Easter weekend was glorious, which gave practically every inhabitant of Flotta the chance to point out what a shame it was we hadn't got married a week later, but since then the weather has been appalling. It has been largely sunny but with a glacial wind that has driven me to near-insanity. (The title of this posting is the oft-repeated Orkney phrase that could possibly just tip me over the edge.) It soared to 12 degrees the other day and the tar on the slip road to the ferry started to melt. (I am not making this up.)The temperature, apart from a few pleasant days last week, has rarely gone into double figures.

Normally I would have a few entertaining pieces to relate from the world of work (seeing as venturing past the front door hasn't been an option during my days off for the past 8 weeks) but work has been a bit grim, well at one of my two schools anyway. For obvious reasons, I can't go into that, though it's certainly been a hot topic for discussion as my fellow itinerants and I have voyaged on the ferry. Just to make our joy complete, the school was inspected last week, which seemed a bit thick, seeing as there's only two weeks to go till the end of term.

Over on Stronsay, things are going well, at least. Last week we took them round Stromness (see photos) and this week we went to a talk by a real live astronaut. A kid asked the question I confess I was hoping someone would ask i.e. how do you go the toilet? It requires potty-training before going into space, plus careful positioning once in orbit apparently.

Photos: lambs; baby seals, Flotta; lonely teddy, Stromness; grass verge poppies, Orphir

Our Wedding

2009-04-26T14:38:00.000-07:00

What none of you married women out there tell us about-to-be-married types is that the whole carefully-planned day will whizz past in a blur of plastered-on smiles and terror and, just as you're starting to relax and enjoy yourself, all the guests start to leave.

Why I got into such a state I can't imagine. I have been onstage enough times and have even appeared 'Live at the Hilton Hotel Colombo! For one night only! The worst singer-saxophonist in the world!' all without a care, but my wedding floored me. Bill did practically all the work; all I had to do was get my hair done and turn up; but somehow that fairytale elation never put in an appearance.

The weather was not kind - I could blame it on that. The hairdresser had managed to coax curls out of my straight-as-a-yard-of-pumpwater hair and it really looked nice. I'd spent the past year growing it for the occasion and the first thing she did was chop 6" off it, so that was rather pointless, but Bill was pleased to find his hair is now longer than mine. The Big Surprise he'd set up for me was that I was to ride to the church in a carriage drawn by two beautiful horses, Finn and Heidi. I'd picked the hotel for my night alone in Kirkwall because it had a courtyard-style carpark on the lee side of the building, away from the perpetual gale that sweeps the harbour front. What they failed to tell me was that they are turning their carpark into a building site, so I had to exit into the teeth of said gale. It began to rain at exactly the time the horses turned up. We trotted through Kirkwall in the rain. The photographer ensured that neither the curls nor my 'waterproof'' mascara would survive the trip by spending 15minutes taking photos before we set off. It was raining so hard that not even the hardy souls normally out on the streets of Kirkwall were out to see my ceremonial entrance.

However, the service was lovely. St Olaf's was packed, which was very touching, and the service - a modern Scottish Episcopalian liturgy - was just perfect. There was a piper outside and my cousin David and I proceeded up the aisle to something unpronounceable by Handel. Lorraine, my friend from work, read my surprise for Bill, 'To my husband' by Anne Bradstreet, something that was very important to me (a) because it said everything I wanted to say to Bill (b) because I wanted Lorraine to be part of our special day, particularly as she'd organised her visit to her son, who's doing his Gap year at the Bah'ai centre in Israel, round the date for our wedding and (c) because that beautiful poem made me think of Viva, who couldn't be with us, but it was a link to New England. Jane (Ainsworth) did the other reading, from the Song of Solomon, and performed beautifully. (I hope to hear such clarity at her wedding next year!) David, our wonderful vicar, did the gospel reading, of course, and gave a lovely homily. Cath, my oldest friend, and Bill's brother Roddy witnessed our marriage and then it was off down the aisle to the strains of 'Highland Wedding' played by the piper.

By the time we got outside, it was not only raining harder, but also cold and windy. The photographer insisted on more photos, in all of which I have hair plastered across my face like a moustache. By the time we made it to the Town Hall, we were both soaked. Apparently the buffet was lovely: I never saw it, as once the call for food was given, the guests descended like a flock of vultures. But I'm glad that people had a chance to see Bill's culinary skill. He did all the food, assisted by his nephew and brother. We employed caterers to do the serving of the hot food and run the bar. The idea was to serve two sides of belly pork, marinated in dry cider. Tesco, who charged us an arm and a leg for stuff that, in retrospect, we should have bought from Lidl's, managed to supply cider vinegar instead, so that was ruined.

What else went wrong? I guess top of the list would have to be the music. The two bands BOTH failed to turn up. Luckily, we'd made several c.d.s of danceable music. The idea was that Bill and I did our comic turn (Bill can dance, I can't) to a song by Leanne Rymes (my original choice was 'At Last' by Etta James, but I thought it made me sound desperate) then 'Chantilly Lace' would lure folk of all ages out onto the dance floor to jitterbug the night away. As soon as we'd finished 'waltzing', the caterer, like a person from Porlock, called me away for something or other and, whatever it was, I couldn't escape, so could do nothing about the fact that what was playing was not our planned c.d. but some ghastly heavy metal thing that went on for what seemed like 20 minutes. The net result was that nobody over the age of 16 did any dancing, which is a pity, as they do love their dancing up here.

But it was great that so many people managed to come. I was bitterly disappointed that most of my pals from England couldn't make it, ditto people from overseas, but it was hardly surprising. The logistics of getting up here, not to mention the cost, make it more expensive than if we'd held the wedding in a foreign country. So, for all you people who would like to have come but couldn't, we'll be having a do down in London next year. And we're really grateful to everyone who did come, especially Rachel and co from Cornwall (the longest journey); my cousin David and his wife Cherie, from Hampshire; Ian, Sue and Simon from London; Cath and Adrian from Hastings and Jane and Rich from Warwickshire. You all spent a fortune on this jaunt and we do appreciate it. I can't leave out my fellow-blogger, Mr Trainee Pig Farmer and his wife, brilliant people we'd never met but who actually came all the way from Westray to join in the celebrations. (Check out his The Edge of Nowhere blog: much funnier, not to mention more frequent, than mine.)

The logistics of living on one island (with no Sunday ferry service) and packing up the debris of a wedding in time for the Town Hall's Monday booking are too horrible to go into. We were exhausted and it was not until about Wednesday that we started to open our prezzies. We liked that!! I'd happily go through the whole experience again just for the fun of Christmas-in-April.

(After about of week of trying, I've managed to upload some photos, taken by a couple of the guests, but haven't got them in a logical order. You've been to weddings! Work it out for yourself! The 'official' pix are just good old-fashioned snaps, so at present have no means of conveying them electronically.)

Stranded!

2009-03-01T02:00:00.000-08:00

(I wrote this on 1st March but then weddingy stuff took over my life. However, in the interests of continuity - and because this is a personal diary as well as a way of keeping in touch with yo'all, my much-missed chums - I'm posting it anyway. Besides, it's the last thing I wrote (apart from such enlightening works of literature as "Where's your homework?") as a single woman.)

While I remain a happy bunny, February had several lows. A Virulent Virus has been doing the rounds of Orkney and so it was inevitable that, with the majority of the kids on Stronsay dying by inches, that I'd get it too. We picked the NEW CAR, I drove it to the ferry carpark and didn't see it again for the best part of a fortnight, as I was home ill.

The day I returned to work, I got stuck on Stronsay - no planes owing to fog. I had always feared I'd get stuck on that bleak, godforsaken island, though the school had always assured me that, should such a thing occur, I'd be well taken care of. Ha! If it hadn't been for the kindness of Julie, the taxi driver, I'd have frozen to death. There was nowhere to stay: the hotel and the B&B were both full (of workmen, not masochistic holidaymakers.) Julie persuaded a lady to put me up for the night so, after a meal in the dismal hotel, I had a warm bed. I got to work the next day by early afternoon, wearing the clothes I'd slept in and having been in transit for five and a half hours.

The following Monday, lo! the same thing happened again. It was foggy at the airport in the morning, so why on earth they flew everyone out to the isles in the first place I can't imagine. This time I stayed with the new Headteacher, a lady whose idea of comfort is clearly different from mine. She'd moved into the schoolhouse a few days previously and was living out of boxes. The vast old house, situated nearly on the beach, was cold and damp and smelt strongly of a previous owner who was clearly a heavy smoker. I woke at 3am with an asthma attack and never got back to sleep. This time I came back on the 7am ferry, so I didn't even get any breakfast and again went straight to work. The Head on Hoy was effusive in her gratitude for my dedication and commitment, she lied. Actually, she was eager to tell me what a marvellous job she'd made of teaching the classes I'd been forced to miss. (I beg to differ.) The next day, my line manager at the Council was on Stronsay and I took up the issue of the amount of time I'd wasted. His response was 'you knew what you were taking on when you accepted the job.' My response has been to start looking for another job.

But there's been high points too: Bill and I drove (in the NEW CAR, henceforth known as Persephone) down to Dundee and got most of the rest of the stuff for the wedding. We stayed in a nice little hotel with its own Italian restaurant in the basement, and had really fantastic food for two days. We were very lucky with the weather, as Northern Scotland was covered in snow the previous week, but it had all gone, except for the mountain tops of the Cairngorms, so we had the beauty without the driving problems. The journey through the dawn as we belted up to Scrabster for the midday ferry was so beautiful - I've travelled a lot, but this was among the best mornings I've ever seen. Sadly, no photos of the clear pale turquoise sky with a few lines of smudgy white cloud as if drawn by a minimalist artist, as we were in danger of missing the ferry and arrived with only 9 minutes to spare. In fact, as soon as we arrived, they loaded the boat and left early, as the weather was expected to worsen...

(That's as far as I got. I came very close to applying for a new job, but with the wedding on the way, it all seemed too much. Have spent SIX HOURS of today trying to upload some wedding photos, hence still no Nuptial blog, but in the meantime, here's a few shots of my journey home on Valentine's Day plus our new pals on Flotta and their wee cousin on Hoy.)

Poop poop!

2009-02-01T15:14:00.000-08:00

This post is solely for the purpose of showing off. No more Mole! Now I am MRS TOAD!! We have a new car. Yes, new, as in 8 delivery miles on the clock. It's metallic blue. It has gizmos hitherto unknown to (this wo)man. And it's a CONVERTIBLE!!!

(Oh yes, and we had a lovely dawn the other day.)

Here comes the sun

2009-01-28T14:07:00.000-08:00

I finally feel moved to put fingers to keyboard to celebrate the fact that today I drove to work with dipped headlights because...drumroll...it was almost light as I drove to the airport. My two-month vestigial hibernation is over - expect blogposts with more regularity from now on as I emerge, blinking, into the daylight. My two classrooms both have very poor natural light, and, as previously moaned about, I do 12-hour days, so for the past two months I have seen little daylight. Years ago, I played Mole in Toad of Toad Hall - I see it now as a rehearsal for life here. (But more of this in the next post, she added mysteriously.)

Last October, I was packed off on the first part of a training course that has enabled me to teach with considerably less effort than hitherto. Basically, I wind 'em up and let them go. It's brilliant. If anyone gives you the chance to do 'Critical Skills' training, take it. As a result, I now do even less work than I did before (hard to imagine, I know...) I have, however, written another play. Rehearsing this with the kids on Hoy is a strain but it is slowly coming together. Meanwhile, Stronsay is currently without a Head: there was a perfectly good Acting Head, but the council in their ineffable wisdom, decided to get rid of her and replace her with someone who couldn't start for several weeks. To steal a line from a pal who was working in a dysfunctional school, 'I just get my head down and pretend I'm self-employed.'

I will draw a veil over Christmas - Bill and I enjoyed each other's company but his brilliant idea of inviting his sister to spend Christmas with us was a disaster. I haven't actually spoken to her since. We did, however, manage to see The Nutcracker at the Colisseum, which was the highlight of our trip. If you live in London and have been wondering why we failed to so much as phone you, it was due to circumstances beyond my control.

Both Hogmanay and Burns Night were blighted by The Bug that has afflicted practically every inhabitant of Flotta. Dedicated readers may recall last January's Burns Night as one of the social events of my year: this year even young Graeme wasn't well enough to turn up. I repeated my error of last year and had three helpings of haggis, but there was no question of dancing anyway, as about 5 minutes after they cleared away the tables Bill announced that we needed to leave NOW and thus managed to make it home just in time before he was violently sick. It was nothing to do with the food: not only was I fine, but I also had haggis for school lunch that same day as well as for Sunday dinner. That's it for this year - haggissed out.

Thanks to those of you who posted comments - cheered me up no end. Pictorial offerings this time are of the oil terminal, the little settlement where we live and my Christmas present to myself. Those of you who admired 'The Snow Queen' as a child will understand how pleased I am to finally own a coat like the little Robber Girl. A lifetime's ambition realised! Excuse the apparent vanity of sticking two pics of myself on the blog, but as I couldn't see any of you over Christmas, I wanted to share my joy with you.

A nocturnall upon St Lucie's Day (well, more or less)

2008-12-07T12:29:00.000-08:00

Lots of excitement chez nous. The roof is finished. We have a beautiful new front door, one that closes without slamming and, better still, lets in light. And we have a floor-to-ceiling window with a glazed back door filling the south-facing livingroom wall, giving us a superb view of the island and the Scottish coast away in the distance. The house is - finally - warm. They have also replaced the manky strand of wire that marked the garden boundaries with a proper wooden fence that makes the garden look like the little house on the prairie and hopefully will enable us to grow something next year. (Whatever thrives on the Siberian tundra.)

My first civic appointment this past week! I was asked to coach the little girls who were St Lucy and her attendants as part of the tree-lighting ceremony, a major production number with visitors from the Norwegian town that donates the Kirkwall tree, numerous musicians, a choir of tinies and assorted civic dignitories. All went well. St Lucy looked suitably angelic and spoke up as instructed, the fainter failed to pass out (my main concern) and the rain held off till after it was all over. Bill and I decided to stay the night in Kirkwall so we could go to church the next morning, me because I wanted to and Bill because he wanted to liaise with the vicar re: the wedding, but even he was impressed by the sight of The Bishop in full fig standing outside the church to greet the congregation. He looked most impressive and gave a good sermon, although Bishop Bob is a less than dignified name, I feel.

The problem with staying overnight, apart from the vast expense (we could have had a weekend in Paris for less) is that you can't get home till Sunday night, but the weather wasn't too grim, so after a nostalgic tour of Woolies, we drove to Skara Brae, where Historic Scotland was holding a free drink+end of season sale in the visitor centre and we were able to tour the oldest settlement in Europe on our own.

Only a few more days to go till we break up - can't come soon enough. I'm shattered. Christmas in Londinium - hooray! If I don't get back to the computer before then, hope you all (although I fear my readership is now down to 2) have a great Christmas. Finally, Lorraine's joke:

Did you hear about the dyslexic devil-worshipper? He sold his soul to Santa.

Puff C. v. OIC

2008-11-16T12:26:00.000-08:00

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.

How I lost my hat

2008-10-28T13:43:00.000-07:00

No photos this week. I am trying to avoid carrying anything superfluous. The weather has been somewhat inclement. Coming off the ferry Saturday, the wind was so strong I felt myself being lifted off my feet and had to hook my arm over the jetty rail, so it was my woolly hat that got blown into the sea and not me. I dunno - I bought that hat in Kathmandu 19 years ago and it's survived the Himalayas but it didn't survive Flotta.
Yesterday's plane ride back to Kirkwall was frightening - horizon 20 degrees off vertical. Looked like one of those Second World War films (you know, the point just before our hero is gunned down by the Luftwaffe.) The boat home was, by comparison, a piece of cake, so I read a short story as we bounced over Scapa Flow. However, I abandoned Jack London halfway through, as it turned out to be a tale of man freezing to death in the icy wastes of Northern Canada and the subject-matter seemed a little too close to home for comfort. The Hudson Bay Company used to recruit in Orkney right up to the 1950s. They preferred Orcadians, presumably because they found the bracing climate of the Arctic just like home.
Today, a blizzard came on just as I was setting off down the jetty to the ferry, so I arrived in the passenger lounge completely covered in snow. A man said 'I see Christmas has come early.' One of my colleagues suggested taking my photo and using it as part of the Council's recruitment drive for itinerant teachers. We arrived at school just in time to see the kids being sent home. I was back home by 11.30am. Hooray!

The Scottish Midge, a horror story

2008-09-29T22:41:00.000-07:00

So, back again. Weather lovely, Great Outdoors out of bounds, due to The Midge, a miniscule insect that abounds in vast clouds and sinks its microscopic jaws into any available part of one's anatomy, though preference is given to eyelids and bits normally covered by underwear.

We had a wonderful summer and were on our way back up the east coast of Scotland, healthy and relaxed, when flood warnings on our intended route sent us over to the west coast. Now the west coast of Scotland is deservedly famous - hauntingly beautiful, steeped in history - but a night's camping in Glencoe resulted in Bill being bitten so badly that I thought I'd have to take him to A&E. Face almost unrecognisable, eyelids swollen nearly shut, high temperature. The journey home was a bit of a nightmare and he's not really been well since.

Anyway, to happier memories. We were away for about 5 weeks, commencing with a journey through the Highlands, the highlight of which was our visit to Culloden. It was very moving, particularly for Bill, who had ancestors killed there. We also went to Edinburgh Castle, Bill in his kilt. He now features on the snapshots of dozens of Japanese tourists. We spent much of the holiday in England - a few days in Hastings and a few days in Cornwall, both courtesy of dear friends, bookending a long stay in a very sunny London. Great to see lots of old friends and a privilege to be at baby Annabels' welcome to the world. Clothes were purchased at Petticoat Lane and Bluewater (of course!), theatre was Kneehigh's brilliant production of Brief Encounter at the Haymarket Cinema and we went to the first Folk Prom, wonderful, apart from the Bartok, which bored me senseless and sent Bill for an early trip to the bar. Perhaps our best night out was Deep Purple at the Motor Show on a gorgeous warm evening with a beautiful sunset to drive home in.

We also took a day trip to France. We got to Folkestone and I drove into a carpark and asked if it was the right place for the ferry to Boulogne. 'You're too late,' the attendant told me. 'About 8 years too late.' Apparently there no longer ferries from Folkestone, so we went to Calais instead. I got very confused at the terminal in Dover. Looking for a place to park, I accidentally started driving onto the ferry, without a ticket, so they sent me through a tunnel where I was stopped by customs. 'Stop!' I threw my hands in the air. 'They're not armed,' Bill said gently. I think I've been watching too many American films. It was hard to convey what I'd done wrong - they thought we were returning from a booze cruise. Calais has really changed from the last time I was there, nearly 30 years ago. Then, it looked like the war had only just ended; it's all smart now.

The first few weeks back were difficult for me: I was homesick and found it hard to get back into life here. But am now happily settled into my new home with Bill on Flotta and my new timetable and classes. The teaching is going well; I feel better organised, for one thing. The nice little Drama job one day a week has been axed because of funding cuts, so money is tighter, but working 4 days a week is very pleasant! A new timetable on Hoy has meant that I am now timetabled for one afternoon's Drama a week and I'm pleased to say they're rising to the challenge. (Pause for quick preen.) I did a whole day of Drama on Stronsay last week, when several classes were off on trips, so I had the whole of Primary 7 and Secondary 1 (sounds impressive, but there were only 17 of them) together for a day of acting out Scottish folk tales, which was great fun. Not so many funny things to report this year, perhaps because the kids and I are more used to each other, but I struggled, as usual, to teach iambic pentameter. 'It's called iambic pentameter because each line has 5 ti-tums, called 5 feet. What do you think each individual ti-tum is called?' 'A toe?' How much more sensible than a foot, eh?

Bill took the better photos, but I haven't yet sorted out how to get them on this blog. Above are: Bill, a redcoat and a Jacobite at Edinburgh Castle, a scene from the War and Peace Show in Kent (I also have a video clip of a Spitfire that suddenly appeared overhead and rather stole the thunder from the parade of tanks), a roadside scene in the Highlands of Glen something-in-Gaelic-I-can't-spell, and a random Italian tourist with a stag that turned up at a tea van near Inverness .

Midsummer

2008-06-19T14:09:00.000-07:00

Apologies to all of you who are kind enough to urge me on - sorry it's bin another lengthy gap between blogs. Problem is, my year of underwork has caught up with me and I've been discovering all sorts of things I should have been doing and didn't know about. I'm not trained in the Scottish education system and there's an assumption that I can intuit various things that are required of a Scottish English teacher. I do sometimes miss being part of a department (not often admittedly, but just occasionally.) Apart from apologising, I'd just like to send out a couple of messages: Simon - your French email address doesn't work. I tried and tried! Kushal: how lovely to hear from you. How's it going? Now back to the blog...

The big event of the past few weeks, workwise, was the trip to Shetland with the Hoy kids. The entire secondary school, bar one who had to attend a funeral, spent 4 days on a trip organised by Alaric, another itinerant teacher and all-round Outdoor Man. I was the obligatory female teacher. I had mixed feelings about this trip, not least because the Head rang me to say that she wasn't happy about Alaric's cavalier attitude to health and safety, and I was having visions of fishing kids out of the sea. As it turned out, though, he was a brilliant leader, just allergic to filling in all those quadruplicate forms.

We took the overnight ferry. I had the cabin between that of the boys and the girls, while Alaric had to sleep in a chair, having only booked one staff cabin - WHAT?! - but the Head informed him that that arrangement was unacceptable, so I didn't have the embarrassment of telling him so myself. The girls, who were absolutely brilliant all week, went straight off to sleep and the boys didn't. I eventually fell asleep and woke in the morning to find 4 of the little sods had kept the others up all night, so the first day was marred by the fact that those who needed their kip were really quite unwell. This meant that my trip to the fantastic brand-new museum in Lerwick was curtailed by having to look after vomiting children and I missed some of the best stuff.

Shetland is wonderful. It's much more like Norway than Orkney, despite the Orcadians insistence that they're not really British. The weather was fantastic , which meant that we were able to wear the kids out with lots of outdoor activities, so we didn't have any repetitions of the night on the boat. Selected highlights: Mousa Broch, the most complete of all the weird milk churn-shaped dry stone towers unique to the North of Scotland. The Norway Bus Museum, dedicated to the Shetlanders who risked their lives sailing to Norway during the war to rescue Resistance workers in tiny fishing boats while the Luftwaffe rained bombs on them. North Atlantic Fisheries College, where mariners are trained and scientific research is carried out into all aspects of marine life. (One thing I was particularly pleased about was that Graeme announced after we'd been there about an hour that this was where he wants to study: that boy has grown up so much over the past year - brilliant.) They've got a sort of zoo where you can see - and handle - some of the weird creatures that live in the seas round here. Visiting another Junior High School, where Sam blew their kids out of the water with his accordion playing. Dressing up as Vikings to tour a reconstructed settlement. Touring Jarlshof and seeing how fascinated kids can be by archaelogy if it's presented in an imaginative way. Donald on the phone to his mum every night for an hour - " We had mince and tatties tonight. Aye, it was aal reet" - and proudly showing me the little gifts he'd bought for his brand-new baby brother at every gift shop. Going round the Aith lifeboat and, when the coxswain asked them if they'd lost any relatives in the Longhope lifeboat disaster, the sensible way they conversed with him about it. (I was astonished how many relatives of the kids had died. A grandfather, several uncles...)

All in all, they were brilliant. Even on the boat going home, we found an Estonian young woman who was to play in the Orkney Folk Festival - which I missed, as it coincided with the trip and I was too tired after to catch the last couple of gigs - and she and Iona sat for an hour and played fiddle together.

We had chartered a boat to take them from Stromness to a jetty at the top of Hoy, which the skipper agreed to do as long as we could dump the kids and go, so we got back at 11.50pm only to find no parents, as the letter had been sent out with the wrong time, so there was a hairy half-hour in which Alaric and I feared we'd be abandoned in the most desolate place you could imagine. Eventually parents started arriving and, of course, no one, apart from Iona's mum, bothered to thank us or even say 'good evening' - par for the course I've always found on school trips.

Other events of the past weeks have included a weekend in Dundee, home of the Beano and the Dandy, which included two beautiful drives through the Highlands - the Cairngorms still had a lot of snow on them - and me driving at 90 mph along the John o' Groats road to try to catch the ferry, only to find that they'd given us the wrong time and we were 2 hours early. Clearly the good folk at Northlink Ferries haven't quite grasped the 24-hour clock. 7 o' clock is NOT 1700 hours, ducky.

I've enjoyed 2 terms of teaching Drama on Thursdays, but the Council has axed the funding for that post, so next term I look forward to a 4-day week and incipient poverty. However, we break up for the summer hols next week and we're enjoying White Nights at present, so there are plenty of Reasons to be Cheerful.

Gainful employment

2008-04-30T15:08:00.000-07:00

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.'

'Break a leg'

2008-02-28T13:15:00.001-08:00

An eventful few days. In brief, the play I have been directing opened the one-act play festival - and failed to win. I do not care about this: the adjudicator was, in my opinion, fair and his ideas were good. He praised my direction, which was most encouraging, seeing as it's the first play I've directed (apart from a group of teachers in the SATs scenes from 'Romeo and Juliet' a few years ago in Wembley, something that had the happy outcome of introducing Andrew (Romeo) to Charmaine (Juliet) and bringing about a romance that has, for all I know, ended in marriage.) Unfortunately, one of my cast of two is, in her own words 'highly competitive' and I doubt whether she will ever speak to me again. It was good, but the other plays were better. We did, however, receive high praise for the 'Ecuadorian fertility figure' - our best prop - and I hope to embarrass yo'all with a photo of it very soon.

The morning of the play I slipped on the highly polished lino of Kirkwall airport and have sprained my ankle. I was in shock, methinks, which led me to attempt to get to work notwithstanding (literally - I had to be pushed down to the plane in a wheelchair) I had to get off at Sanday to let off another teacher, so I told the airstrip chap - imagine elderly Orcadian Viking-type - that I needed his arm because I had fallen over. He glared at my shoes (as chosen by Mrs Martin, stylish yet sensible) and said "This wouldna have happened if ye'd been wearing rrrubber boots!"

I got to Stronsay, whereupon Mae, the Head, packed me off to the doctor, who decided he'd like to put acupuncture needles in my foot. "Can you feel that?" I could feel nothing, as between the sub-zero of the plane and equal chill of his surgery, my feet were numb with cold. I then went home on the ferry, took a cab to get my car from the airport and went to bed for the rest of the day. Thus not going to work took 5 hours and cost me 14 quid.

Today I hirpled to Hoy (yes, they actually say 'hirple' here - I thought it only existed in the novels of Sir Walter Scott) to endure several hours of Andrew Lloyd Webber. The kids were great - I explained that I had hurt my ankle and was therefore in pain and in a foul temper and they ran round fetching me chairs for my foot and fresh ice-packs and being good, bless 'em.

I have taken no photos since last week, but the photo above is for Doctor Mom. (It's just the alternative route to Stronsay, Viva.)

Stranded in Sanday, Afloat in Flotta

2008-02-18T09:17:00.000-08:00

Bloggable - my new word. I have had a lovely fortnight, but unless this turns into the online equivalent of a newspaper's 'Nature Notes', not a great deal that is bloggable, as a lot of the pleasure has been in seeing amazing skies and being aware of rapidly lengthening days, so that a trip to Hoy was in the dark on a Tuesday and in the dawn by the Friday.

There is no half-term holiday for teachers this term: the kids had two days off while staff had to attend in-service training, but as I am only contracted to teach 0.8 of a timetable, I had to go to only the first day and thus was able to spend three blissful days on Flotta.

Last week brought the only fly in the proverbial ointment, when the short flight home turned into five hours of frozen misery, as Kirkwall airport was fog-bound and we flew, first to Sanday, where we hung around for over an hour while my body temperature plummetted, and next to Westray, where we waited for a ferry for even longer and I was approaching hyperthermia by the time the ferry arrived. It is, however, a large ferry, and served hot food. I'm not fond of bacon butties, but mine tasted like manna from heaven.

On Thursday I did my first day of my new job teaching Drama here there and everywhere. I was sent to Dounby and earned a day's pay for two hours work. I stayed in the afternoon to see the little ones enact an Orkney wedding as part of their work on 'festivals.' It was very sweet: the bride and groom, only three feet tall, took their vows very seriously in the 'kirk' and then there was a reception in the hall, with traditional food and Scottish dancing and even a real wedding cake. The 'brither o' the bride' made a speech, in which he declared he'd be 'glad tae see the back of her cos she used to break ma peedie tractors. No, but seriously, she's no sae bad and bakes the best floory bannocks in Orkney.'

Fridays I now teach two gifted primary school children for an hour before my own class. It was a stunningly beautiful, very still and frosty day, so I took them outside with notebooks and they just listened and wrote down everything they experienced, then went back in and wrote poems. Mary, in particular, is very creative with language. I pointed out that the sheep were silent but that in a few weeks the fields would be full of baaing and bleating, once the lambs wwre born, as all the ewes were pregnant. 'It's field hospital,' said Mary thoughtfully. A flock of starlings descended on the roof of the school and started showing off: 'The starlings are seeking stardom, ' she wrote.

It has taken me several days to get this to publish, as the broadband connexion keeps failing, so refs. to 'a fortnight' have stretched into two and a half weeks. Photographic offerings are of dawn over Scapa Flow, the first from the road in a gale and the second from the ferry to Flotta on a beautiful morning, while the other two feature the penguins of Flotta and the spectacular aerobatics of the Coast Guard helicopter. (He bought me a box of Milk Tray.)

The North wind doth blow and we shall have...

2008-02-02T14:31:00.000-08:00

a day off school. Thank you, Orkney Islands Council.

The O.I.C.

is turning me

into a lounge lizard

as on Friday

they decided

there'd be a blizzard.

There wasn't, I'm pleased to say

but I had a duvet day

and Saturday brought snow

to make Kirkwall almost pretty,

which sadly has all melted

as down the rain has pelted

so I must return to work, which is a pity.

(Blame Mrs Martin for this nonsense. She requested poems.)

Yes, it's been a week of serious laziness. I worked Monday, the usual half-day Tuesday and that afternoon flew to Inverness. I cannot comment on the beauties or otherwise of Inverness as it was dark when I arrived and was raining so hard throughout my stay that I formed no opinion of it. It does have a lovely river running through it, though. I stayed in a B&B run by a very camp elderly Hebridean (quite a bizarre combination) and attended a course at a posh hotel the next day. The course turned out to be completely inappropriate for me, as they informed me when I arrived (a bit late for that) but I dutifully took notes and enjoyed a fantastic lunch (which more than made up for the curling sandwiches offered by OIC on my two previous lots of in-service training.) I just had time to hit the shops, stock up on Marks and Sparks knickers and a fresh supply of thick tights and bought a £320 suit in Debenhams sale for 80 quid. Result!

On Thursday, I was meant to be in Hoy, but my new boss, the performing arts co-ordinator - had forgotten to make the necessary arrangements. I offered to go anyway, but he said that the weather was too risky and I might not get back (a night on Hoy - horrors!) so we went together to a primary school to discuss the drama I'll do there, as I will be covering his work every Thursday. I got paid a day's wage for this brief jaunt. Afterwards, I drove him to Stromness to pick up his car from the mechanic: now, that was hairy. There was a hailstorm on the way, with jagged hailstones like shards of glass, and a wind so strong I was quite concerned the car might be blown off the road and I'd be viewing Harray Loch from under the surface.

The promised worse weather never arrived, but Saturday morning it snowed a bit, then it snowed a lot. Very pretty. Emma and her mates went tobogganing. They didn't want to fork out for sledges, so she nicked some aerobic steps from the gym at Kirkwall Grammar School. She later went out to watch England lose the rugby (by that I mean they lost, not that she hoped they would, quite the reverse) which was great as (a) she shouts at the telly and (b) it meant I could watch 3 hours of David Attenborough's The Blue Planet uninterrupted. One of the things I failed to do failed to do when young enough, along with dyeing my hair green, was drop acid (other than in the more conventional sense of ruining my science overall) but an hour of the strange luminous creatures in the deep ocean made me feel as if I'd the experience without any unpleasant side-effects.

Photos are of our front garden, the Earl's Palace in Kirkwall, St Magnus Cathedral and A Cat ( for cat-lovers out there - you know who you are.)

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face...

2008-01-27T13:53:00.000-08:00

This past week has been devoted to Scotland's national poet, Robert Burns, one of Literature's finest poets, though sadly incomprehensible, even to his fellow-countrymen. Certainly to his Orcadian fellow-countrymen, if last Friday's lesson was anything to go by.

"What do we know about Robert Burns?" "He was a womanising nymphomaniac," announced Graeme.

Burns wrote hundreds of excellent poems, collected thousands of songs, farmed, worked as an Exciseman, toured Scotland, drank a lot and fathered a remarkable number of illegitimate children. Put in this context, his early death seems more inevitable than tragic.

I can't say that Burns' love-songs were a great hit with the kids on Hoy (they're a little young) and poor Iona, bless her, was struggling with 'To a haggis' -

Is there that owre his French ragout

Or olio that wad staw a sow,

Or fricasee wad mak her spew

Wi' perfect sconner,

Looks down wi' sneering, scorfu' view

On sic a dinner?

But anyone that makes fun of the French snobbery about food is a pal o' mine, so Burns get ma vote!

Tam o'Shanter was a great success though and we spent a happy day deconstructing it, illustrating it and planning a film of it. I gave Donald a drawing of Burns' byre to colour in: "What breed of kye is that? What's that wee beastie on the stall?" It was a stoat, which I was foolish enough to tell him was the same colour as my hair, so the beastie is now labelled 'Ms Hainsworth.'

The weather had turned truly dreadful. Housemate Emma had a friend from Hartlepool staying for a couple of days who was due to leave Friday as he had to go to a wedding on Saturday. Every ferry was cancelled and he finally left at midday today. He should have docked by one but the last I heard he was still at sea at half past two. So it was with some trepidation that 10 of us set off for Flotta for their Burns Night Supper. I organised this little jolly, and I was terrified it was going to be awful, as, once we set off at 7.20p.m., there was no possibility of leaving till 2a.m. And, given the weather, there was a serious risk of being stuck there for many hours more. I don't have a vast circle of friends here and I thought it was about to be reduced by 9! But it was a real laugh. Flotta is a small island halfway between Mainland and Hoy. It has a population of 100 and a school with 6 kids in it. Its main claim to fame is that it is a major employer, as is it an oil terminal. It was the workers' boat, a brand-new catamaran called the Flotta Lass that took us across. It went to Hoy first, where Mabel (Scottish dancing teacher extraordinaire and now an accomplished performer of Tam o' Shanter thanks to me: it was because of Mabel that the lesson went so well) Graeme and his grandpa got on. Granpa abandoned Graeme as soon as he arrived, so he sat with us all evening and led us clueless idiots in the dancing. What a star! I feel this auspicious event deserves a little poem:

We set off for Flotta

To celebrate the poet

I was invited by a bloke on the ferry who failed to turn up

(Wouldn't you know it)

So I never got to see him

In his kilt and his sporran

But I ate three helpings of haggis

And got severe indigestion.

After enough haggis and clapshot

To make a girl sink,

They powdered the floor till it was like an ice-rink.

Like Burns' witches and warlocks

We lapped and we flang

And we slipped in the powder

And got the moves wrong.

We dashed the White Sergeant

Wi' Graeme, aged 13 and a quarter

(Ma date fer the neet

On the island of Flotta.)

When we were not dancing (or, in my case, groaning, as I ate far too much - but it was worth it) Graeme entertained us with scurrilous gossip about just about everyone in the room. He also told us that the guys who were running the bar (cheap beer! another first for Orkney!) had made a 'tourist' video about Flotta and put it on YouTube. It's quite funny - just type 'Flotta' into the YouTube search thingy. Anyway, a good time was had by all and the whole thing cost six quid. You might also like the following website:
http://www.wallydug.demon.co.uk/haggis/leaflet.html

Health & Safety

2008-01-12T10:18:00.000-08:00

I remember, back in Dartford days, when everyone would be saying around this time "I've been back a week and I don't feel as if I'd had a holiday at all." (Actually, one hadn't really HAD a holiday, seeing as the run-up to Christmas consisted of marking A-level coursework and one started the 2 inch thick pile of GCSE marking on Boxing Day.) Thus I can gloat: I've been back a week and scarcely feel as if I've done any work. I do, however, feel pretty ropey and, as 'news' is generally 'bad news' this at least gives me something to write about, seeing as it's dark here mainly, and days are grey and cold.

A most pleasant holiday in the company of those I care for, nearly all of whom managed to be ill, or have been ill, or were about to be ill. But not me! she shouted, Lennie-like, something I put down to being under-worked.

I flew down and back, just as well, as the ferries were cancelled and roads very dangerous. You only realise what that means when you come back several days after New Year and find the supermarkets devoid of fresh food. Somerfields had one Savoy cabbage that appeared to have crawled in there to die. That was it. I wouldn't fly if I could help it, though. You don't get fed, even though it's BA, and the security is tedious. I had 2 pots of homemade jam with me and they made me throw them away. You can no longer wheel your case from car to check-in at Kirkwall's tiny airport, as huge concrete blocks now block the access (presumably because they are expecting attacks from terrorists no taller than 9 inches and who lack climbing skills.)

I have put in a full week this week, as I am now the stand-in for the County Drama Advisor (note use of capitals to make this seem impressive) every Thursday. Wednesday's trip back from Stronsay was less than pleasant: it took the best part of two hours to get home. It was a surprise to see the plane, which appeared from an entirely different direction than usual, as it was so windy. Once airborne, it was so buffetted by the gale that we were at an angle of 45degrees, first one way, then the other. It was like being in one of those war films starring Kenneth More. I was so cold when I got home I had to go to bed to warm up. I had a rehearsal that evening for this one-act play I'm directing and walked out into the sort of rain that soaks you instantaneously to the skin. Even cuddling my little hottie, HW Bear, failed to warm me through by morning. But a trip to Hoy always cheers me up, especially as I was being paid a day's supply to do nothing.

The idea is that the entire school will put on 'Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat' at the end of March. Somehow, this ghastly Lloyd-Webber farrago has passed me by and I knew nothing about it, so I spent part of the day watching a dvd featuring Donny Osmond as Joseph and Joan Collins as Potiphar's wife. You don't know the meaning the term 'cheesy' until you have seen this film. It was truly dreadful. Then we had a staff meeting to decide on a modus operandi. I had assumed that I was expected to direct the show, until it was pointed out that I wouldn't be there for much of the rehearsal time. So who IS going to direct it? We're too busy announced the acting Head. (There are only 2 fulltime teachers at the school and the non-teaching Head is off on long-term sick leave.) So a proper show, in a theatre, with lights, sound and costumes is going to be directed by - er - nobody? Hmm...

The week ended on a high note, as Friday's lessons on Hoy went really well - a first - and I let them spend the last lesson attempting to teach me Scottish dancing. Me dancing - always good for a laugh. As for why I want to learn to dance, that'll have to wait till a future post. There was a beautiful sunset as I was leaving - photos above. It was just as frosty clear on the last day of term, when we had a fun day. I let the boys out to let off steam and they put me on the zip-line: they were laughing too much at me screaming to take a photo, so I include one of Ryan on it instead. The calm one was from the ferry that same morning: you can supply, in your imagination, the Viking longships that once sailed these same waters, gazed at the beautiful mountains of Hoy and, with that innate sense of the poetic with which those soulful Scandinavians were blessed, decided to call it 'High Island.'

So I was in a good mood and had jolly plans for a nice long frosty walk today, but walked out the front door and slipped on black ice on the concrete path, so I now feel achey and bruised and generally wretched. Curses be upon Orkney Islands Council and their bloody penny-pinching council house design: massive long sloping path with no safety rail and facing north so ice, once formed, never melts. I've hurt my back, my neck, an elbow and a wrist, so once I've finished this, HW Bear and I are crawling back into bed with a hot whisky and a nice book.

Happy New Year, one and all. May 2008 bring you health and happiness and, for those among you in the teaching profession, less marking.

Snow Queen has melted

2007-12-21T14:28:00.000-08:00

Well, it's all over: the panto, the term, 2007 (well, almost.) Panto was exhausting, with 10 performances, including two Saturday matinees, but great fun. No hiccups at all, which was good, although less interesting from the point-of-view of writing about it. Everyone who spoke to me or whose comments were relayed to me seemed to enjoy it - one of the girls on Stronsay even went twice (which probably says more about being a teenager on Stronsay than the quality of the entertainment.) I appeared on Radio Orkney - not that I remembered to tune in - that's the second time I've been interviewed and I've missed it both times - and got a good writeup in the two local papers. One commented on my 'powerful voice', possibly a reference to my appalling one-octave-below-natural-register rendition of 'Killer Queen.' See above for me with my attendant penguins, bless 'em. (Also a photo of George, the resplendent Dame.) When it was at last over, I went for a long walk to clear my aching head. Thus photo of swans on a freezing winter afternoon. There is about 7 hours of daylight at present, if you're lucky.

The mummers play went well - the kids actually managed to learn all their lines and the audience of parents and children laughed in the right places. The kids succeeding in putting on their own Christmas Fayre successfully and raised £333, which will go towards the cost of their trip to Shetland. (I can't help thinking that a trip to a part of the United Kingdom that isn't another remote, sparsely populated island might be more educational, but perhaps I'm just feeling the effects of end-of-term collapse.) I would just like to point out that Father Christmas had a floor cushion stuffed down her trousers, in case you thought I'd been overeating to compensate for the extreme cold.

I am absolutely shattered. Even packing to come home has been difficult, seeing as BA lost my luggage the last twice flew with them, and so I have had to plan carefully in case they make it a hat-trick. I am dreading crossing London on the busiest Saturday of the year with both a rucksack and an overnight bag, but I am not risking being knickerless and toothbrushless yet again.

Thank you to all of you who have read my literary (bloggertary?) efforts: it has made such a difference to me to know that I haven't sunk without trace from your memories. I hope every one of you has a wonderful Christmas and all the best for 2008, when I shall be in touch once more. MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Dramatic events

2007-12-04T08:32:00.000-08:00

That's 'dramatic events' in the same way a book review reading 'far less thrilling than his previous efforts' will reappear on the jacket as 'thrilling.' However, reason for lengthy silence from the land where 'four seasons in one day' seems an inadequate way to describe the mutability of the weather is that I have been tied up with pantomime rehearsals to the exclusion of all else, apart from work, which has also involved drama.

When I was told that they take pantomime very seriously here, I wasn't paying sufficient attention. The last two Sundays have involved rehearsals of inordinate length (ten hours and eleven hours respectively) plus rehearsals most other nights and I am shattered. The dress rehearsal is on Wednesday and we have the first of ten performances Friday. On both Saturdays, there are two performances and we are not allowed to go home in between. I have enjoyed it in the sense that I have a great part - non-stop ham acting - but the responsibility is telling on me. I have somehow allowed myself to be talked into directing a one-act play for February's one-act play competition, which apparently is also taken very seriously, as all the islands compete against one another and the winning production goes on to compete in a national event. If I screw this up, I'm assuming no one will ever speak to me again.

Meanwhile, I have also allowed myself to be talked into (do you sense a pattern here?) taking on another job one day a week, when I will be covering for the county Drama advisor, who has been promoted to Arts co-ordinator. This involves working with Primary school as well as secondary-age children. Help! Short people! Ones young enough to believe that what we are doing is for real. I'm terrified.

Finally, my 11 nutters on Hoy have decided that they will run a Christmas Fayre all on their own (I'll believe that when I see it) and that I will be Father Christmas. Last Friday I was very pointedly informed that they had Santa outfits in Lidls for 1.99, so I am now the proud owner of red suit, beard etc. I have written a mummers play for them to perform. I am quite proud of this, although its (very basic) humour is lost on most of them.

The doctor, doing the customary list of cures ("I can cure the itch, the stitch, the palsy and the gout/ If there's 99 diseases in, I'll fetch a hundred out...") has the lines "Rabies and scabies and foot-and-mouth/I've cured in the north and in the south".

Donald: That's shtupit. A human being can't get foot-and-mooth.

Me: It's a joke, Donald.

Donald: No it isn't.

Me: It's a funny play. It has jokes in it.

Donald: Well, it's a shtupit choke.

Rehearsals are progressing slowly.

I haven't taken many photos recently - in fact, with all this rehearsing, I've barely seen daylight. I did dutifully go to see the annual Orkney bird show, as Donald was competing. The other pic is of my housemate, Emma, whose mum has sent up a costume she found in the attic of their house. She's got a fancy-dress event coming up at her school. I think she looks rather amazing, even in the dismal light of an energy-efficient lightbulb. I hope to have some panto photos for you next time. It's taken me hours to post these pictures and they're still in the wrong order. I never had this problem with a packet of kodak from Boots.

O westron wind, when wilt thou blow...?

2007-11-11T10:49:00.000-08:00

When I told people up here that , no I wasn't on holiday but had in fact taken a job up here, the usual response was "have you spent a winter up here yet?" Not, "welcome to Orkney" or "Oh how fascinating!" or "bugger off back to England ye peely-wally Sassenach." Now Winter has, not exactly arrived, but sort of waved at us from a distance, I'm beginning to see why. With the clocks back, I now spend my working week in the dark. Weekends it rains. I tried to rid myself of a long-standing headache by going for a walk this morning. Blue skies were smiling on the front and back windows, but each time I opened the door, it wazzed down. I'm beginning to think that there is a little black cloud attached to the Sky dish, probably placed there by Orkney Islands Council in retaliation for us having installed it without their consent.

So it's just been work and kip in the main. Pantomime rehearsals occupy three nights and Sunday afternoons now. In addition to my previously mentioned Queen item, I am singing a duet of a Blondie song so obscure I can't remember the title. Or the words. Or the tune. He's axed my solo number. Can't imagine why.

Fans of the shipping forecast ("and this one's for all you insomniacs out there: yes, it's 'Sailing By', top of the sleeplessness chart since 1937") may have noticed that severe - or extreme - or appalling - I forget what they call it these days - weather was forecast for last Thursday. All schools in Orkney were closed. Hurray! It was my day off and so I lost a day's pay as my supply teaching was cancelled. Boo! It was merely windy here, but was apparently pretty dire on the west side of the island and over on Hoy. Staffroom tales were of flying byre roofs and barn doors.

So, in lieu of actual news or hot-from-the-press photos, I append some of 'oor day oot' in Stromness, just before theholiday. Arty, eh?

A trip to Fairyland

2007-11-05T10:48:00.000-08:00

The plane on theStronsay airfield. The livery is that of Highland Park whisky, which is possibly also what it is fuelled by.

I had to babysit two of the Hoy boys on Friday cos they'd 'forgotten' their swimming togs, so they helped me tidy the room, then I let them draw on the board. This is Kieran's drawing of me teaching.

I wish I could pretend I took this stunning picture, but in fact my housemate Emma took it on her mobile phone! This was taken the first weekend we were here, in mid-August.

This is a Green Man in Kirkwall's St Magnus Cathedral. It could, however, be a local fisherman who has caught a squid in his teeth, possibly during tonight's Force 9 gale.

A quiet week, mainly because the flights to Stronsay were so rough I had to crawl into bed when I got home. Thank God (and Lisa and Stewart) for HW Bear, who is, along with lemon & ginger tea, my resident stomach-settler. The new plane schedules started after the holiday: I now have to get to the airport two hours earlier than before. Loganair runs a flight especially for teachers in the winter. They and the Council seemed to be experiencing teething problems last Monday: they'd booked a colleague on the flight who always travels by ferry, while Lorraine, who'd been doing this run for 4 years, was left off the list and so left off the plane. She coped bravely with the fact that she was thus prevented from a day's toil and forced to head off home to her duvet.

The new schedule involved some bizarre routing. We flew over Stronsay, landed at Sanday, headed back south to drop me off at Stronsay and finally the little plane headed off to Westray. On the afternoon trip, the same thing happened, which meant that the Westray teachers spent almost as much time in the air as they did at school and were not very happy. It gave me a chance to see the seals on Stronsay four times though. I've seen them before, maybe a dozen or so, but this time there were hundreds. Last back end they had them on AutumnWatch on some Hebridean island, covered in sand and going blind in a howling sand-storm. Clearly these are the dimwits among the seal population. The Stronsay seals had it sussed. What I had initially thought were sheep in a field proved to be a seal maternity ward. "Catch me lying-in on a beach? Not bloody likely! Give me a nice lawn-birth anytime dear."

The pilots on these inter-island flights are fantastic. They each have their own style. There's an English one who insists on giving us a full safety run-through every single time, even though the passengers are the same teachers who take the flight each time and, in the afternoons, the same ones he took out in the morning. "The emergency exit is the same door you came in by" - just in case, I assume, you fancied using the other one while you plummet. He also gives us a report on what we'll see as we fly to work and the weather conditions. Wouldn't it be great if bus drivers did that? "If you look out of the window to your right, you may glimpse Sainsbury's and, if you're lucky, you might just catch B&Q beyond it." I'm longing for him to say "We'll be cruising at an altitude of 525 feet."

The other one is more laconic. His safety measures consist of "All strapped in?" He clearly enjoys a bit of field taxiing. Why go down the airstrip when you can bump over the grass?

More experienced staff have taken great pleasure in regaling me with things that have gone wrong on previous flights. The time the door flew open at 100 feet and Moira's handbag fell out onto the airfield. "All strapped in?" The time the fog was so dense that the pilot handed the passengers the chart and asked them to shout if they were able to spot anything they recognised.

The highlight of a fairly quiet week and the reason for the title of this week's offering was Sunday night at Woodwick House, a country house hotel down a lane, down a track, down a drive and brake before you fall in the sea. A storyteller called Marita was telling tales of the Green Man, or, to be precise, Green Men, Green Maidens and Green Children. (Had this taken place on Friday, when I had a fairly rough crossing from Hoy, I could have added one of my own about Green Teachers.) It was a wild night and only 7 people turned up, so instead of it taking place in their little theatre, we repaired to the Doocot (dovecot) in the garden, a ruinous stone building covered - inside as well as out - in ivy. Light was provided by an elaborate candelabrum and tealights in each of the little pigeonholes. The ivy was cut away behind her to make space for an old carved court cupboard, so the ivy became a kind of tapestry behind a green altar. She told the story of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight...those of you who know this wonderful mediaeval story should be able to imagine how appropriate the setting was: it WAS the green chapel!

Hit had a hole on the ende and the ayther syde
and overgrowen with gresse in glodes aywhere,
and al watz hol inwith, nobut an olde cave
or a crevisse of an olde cragge he couth hit not deme
with spelle.
"We lorde," quoth the gentyl knyt,
"whether this be the grene chapelle?
He myt about mydnyt
the deil his matynnes telle."

Fortunately for my health, however, she insisted we move to the house after that, so I enjoyed the tale of the Rain Maiden while sitting by a real fire while cuddling a mug of tea.

Saturday night and Sunday morning

2007-10-29T15:21:00.001-07:00

Off to tea with the neighbours

The neighbours (Kirkwall coven, Education Chapter)

Double rainbow at the Broch of Gurness

The Broch of Gurness (or what remains of it)

Sunday morning felt a need for fresh air and exercise. I got soaked. Wuthering Archaeologists on tour.

It's vile today - so rough on the plane coming back from Stronsay, I had to go to bed when I got in. Hope today wasn't too traumatic for all those of you returning to the chalkface.

Hey! I got a comment from a stranger. I have a readership! (in addition to you kind and supportive friends.)

Hope you appreciate the new minimalism - last one a bit lengthy, methinks.

A visit to a lost civilisation

2007-10-25T08:48:00.000-07:00

R.I.P. GNER, Britain's best railway co. No more shall I luxuriate in your comfortable first class seats and enjoy your delicious lunches cooked by your on-board chef. Farewell, real coffee in real china cups and endless free cake. Alas, from the end of the year, a different co. will transport us up the East Coast and, although the views will be the same, nothing else will.
***********************************

It may surprise some of my readers to learn that south of here is an ancient and decaying city, called London, and that, without even a visa, I was able to visit it. Such an eye-opener. There is sunshine. There is the possibility of bed sans hotwater bottle. There are hostile natives with shaven heads and ugly dogs. There is Bluewater, a vast temple complex dedicated to the goddess of shopping. Above all, there are friends. And it was worth every second of my 19-hour trip home to see them. So thank you: Simon, for meeting me at Kings Cross; Ian and Sue for arranging great meal in brilliant pub (quick plug for Doom Bar, Cornwall's award-winning ale) (I'd give the pub a plug if I could remember its name); to the England rugby team for beating the French while I was in said pub; to Isabel and Maria-Elena for a lovely day together; to Lucy for a great day's shopping and excellent style advice; to Cheryl for coffee, cake and nice long natter and to Cath and Adrian for a great weekend in Hastings with great home-cooked food and a memorable long walk. I feel blessed.

I have decided that it is time to reclaim the word 'culture' for them as enjoys a trip to the theatre, as opposed to the post-modern meaning of 'lifestyle choice' as in 'chav culture', 'culture of violence' etc. So this paragraph is dedicated to culture - and if you're allergic to it, skip now... When I wasn't seeing friends, getting my hair done, going to the dentist, giving up my allotment (sad one, that) I was in London, enjoying the sort of stuff I should have enjoyed when actually living and working there. I saw the terracotta warriors exhibition at the British Museum. This was fab - quite small, but thus you were able to concentrate on what was there instead of feeling overwhelmed. They are big! About 6 foot, and all different - different armour, different faces revealing various ethnicities. They stand, or drive chariots, or kneel, bow and arrow in hand. As well as warriors, the first emperor had other armies: an army of civil servants, for instance. They've just found an artificial river, with beautifully detailed life-size bronze birds, and musicians serenading them. They haven't even started excavating the main burial mound, where the actual tomb is. There was a big projected message: 'none of this will be excavated in our lifetime' which made me feel rather sad. I want to know! Actually, they will probably never excavate it, as that megalomaniac tyrant is regarded as the sacred founder of China.

I went to see 'Macbeth' at the Gielgud, with Patrick Stewart in the title role. He was awfully good. It was done in 20th c. dress - sort of Great War trench-coats crossed with Nazi uniforms. It opened in a field hospital, the 'bloody man' being wheeled in on a stretcher, tended by 3 nurses who turned into witches once the royal party had left and promptly murdered the poor sod. The banquet where Macbeth can't sit down because Banquo's ghost keeps getting in the way was done as a sort of social-climbers' dinner-party, the witches in attendance as catering crew. I'm not sure how they did the end because I fell asleep - always my problem in an overheated theatre.

Highlight was 'Carmen' at the Coliseum, directed by Sally Potter, who directed 'Orlando.' I'm not an opera fan, but I love 'Carmen.' It was really interesting to see how film director tackles a stage work. She used a gauze screen a lot of the time, so you had filmed images of people in the streets or of prostitutes in doorways and behind that you could see the chorus. I'm not sure why she turned the girls who work in the cigarette factory into prostitutes, tho' from what I used to hear about some of the factory hands in Nottingham, it was a thin line... Potter was criticised for making the opera 'not Spanish enough' but I loved some of the things she did e.g. to fit the toreador business in with the modern setting, she had all the chorus 'off to sunny Spain' (now you'll have 'E Viva Espana' on the brain for the next week - quick! replace it with 'the Toreador's song.' Hmm, maybe not...) and buying pot donkeys with flower vase panniers and sombreros. So it was great, except for Carmen herself who looked like Nigella Lawson in a slip and who was just not sexy. You couldn't believe any man would sacrifice his seat on the bus for her, let alone his life. To symbolise her freedom (Potter sees her as representing a free life v/v a conventional one) she was barefoot. And pen-toed. Outsize feet, too. But everything else was wonderful.

My house is fine. The tenant is looking after it ok. A couple of things disturbed me: returning from London early evening, I found he's gone out leaving open big windows at front and back (and a sign saying 'burglars welcome') and the hot tap on full. Less disturbing, if rather weird, was the discovery that he's taken my invitation to treat the house as his own by wearing my dressing gown.

I managed to miss the train coming back and dear GNER (see obituary above) gave me a free first class travel voucher all the way to Aberdeen. Setting off an hour later than planned meant I nearly missed the ferry. They let me on just as they were pulling up the gangplank. I'll try not to do that again. Being glared at by half-a-dozen ferrymen was an unnerving experience. To quote PG Wodehouse, "it's not difficult to differentiate between a Scotsman with a grievance and a ray of sunshine."

It's a hard life

2007-10-07T08:20:00.001-07:00

HW Bear and friend

The secondary school on Hoy, with Mabel, lovely classroom assistant and famed Scottish dancing teacher extraordinaire, hiding in background

Over the seas to Hoy

The ferry to Hoy (jes' kidding) Actually the wreck at the side of the jetty leading to the ferry.

Greetings from the land of the under-employed. I have had a great week of doing not a lot. Feel guilty ("all my friends are toiling away") and elated ("Yes! semi-retirement and being paid for it.")

Lots of students away on leadership training, early holidays, flying (literally) visits to opticians etc, so Tuesday saw me on Hoy with 5 students. I only teach 2 periods on a Tuesday and leave on the 2 o'clock ferry. It was a glorious day and for the first time I was able to sit out on deck and read my book and imagine what it was like to be a Viking sailing into harbour on a glassy sea. (Actually, I guess that should read 'rowing' then.) I didn't have my camera so have attached a photo of a more typical ferry trip.

Wednesday I taught one and a half lessons then the RAF turned up to do activities with the Stronsay kids and I finished my Of Mice and Men display, an artistic arrangement of '30s pinups of Jean Harlow, Claudette Colbert etc juxtaposed with grainy images of breadlines and the Dustbowl.

Thursday - Drama supply at local comp. - was the first there that left me feeling mildly adequate. All went well, possible because B., Chav-in-Chief, was on holiday, which left her posse (I really wish I could tell you these 3 girls' names, but it's not blog etiquette, I believe) strangely subdued. I have not found B. easy to teach (read: I have taught her nothing whatever) but last week was, if anything, even worse than before, as she had had her bellybutton pierced, something she wished to share with me. "Miss, it's infected. Am I going to die?" I gave her some motherly advice on the necessity of hygiene and the efficacy of saltwater, while quelling the desire to throw up in her navel.

Friday - the best yet. Didn't have to go to Hoy; met the class in Stromness and we had a lovely day of taking photos and visiting the new Pier Arts Centre. This is amazing. I was expecting some little village art gallery, instead I found a fantastic place with stuff by Anish Kapoor, Patrick Heron, Barbara Hepworth etc. They provide art materials and we all sat happily on the floor and drew pictures. I get paid for this, bear in mind.

Further joy this week came in the form of a fantastic present from Lisa and Stewart. I had tried to buy a hotwater bottle earlier but the woman in Boots looked at me as if I'd tried to buy Easter eggs in July and said "They've no come in yet." It was the same thing with warm gloves. So last Saturday I'd invested in a sheepskin rug, handknitted woolly gloves and sheepskin slippers ('invested' being the operative word) and then picked up the mystery parcel from the Post Office and there he was. HW Bear. I haven't had a hotty in the shape of a teddy since I was 4. I'm so happy.

Emma, my house-mate, left today. She's off on a volleyball training course for week in Largs, a seaside resort near Glasgow. I took her to the airport at lunchtime and she just rang from the beach. "Gorgeous sunshine, nice buildings, TREES." All the things we don't got here. Happy as I am, I am really looking forward to going home next Friday. And I hope I'll see some of you, so that'll be even better.

Dramatic events

2007-09-30T11:54:00.000-07:00

Iwrite with the soporific radio murmur of middle-class English voices in the background, all of them complaining that Radio4 is "too middle-class and too anglo-centric." Those agonized debates about what defines Englishness could start and stop with the ability to complain endlessly about anything. I promise to try avoid this in my blog (although I have to say that the weather since I arrived here has been dire - until this weekend! Hurrah hooray! Warmth, sunshine!)

My big news is that I've landed the lead in the Kirkwall pantomime. This is a huge honour and I only hope I can deliver what they want. So I write to you as The Snow Queen (well you knew it had to be a wicked witch, didn't you?) That's the good news: the snag is that I have to sing. So far, I know there will be 'Killer Queen' with a backing chorus of penguins.

Continuing the theme of Drama, I will draw a veil over my experiences as a supply teacher for the absent Head of Drama at Kirkwall Grammar School, as it's not my favourite event of the week. However, a more entertaining aspect of Drama was my recent debut as a playwright. The Head at Stronsay sprang on me that the entire secondary school (all 15 of them) and all the secondary teachers would be away apart from the S1 group and that I would therefore have to take them for English all day. I felt that this was a shortcut to them hating English for the rest of their lives, so I decided to write them a play. I'd been to see a man performing Beowulf in Anglo-Saxon at a local venue and only fell asleep twice, so I thought this would go down well, if I wrote them a play version. I was so engrossed in writing this masterpiece that I didn't notice the ferry had docked at Houton. Luckily, a ferryman spotted me: "Ye'd best git oaf if ye dinna wantae go back to Hoy." I bumped into the mother of a Hoy student in the building society the next day and, after she'd berated me for not doing enough Shakespeare, we moved onto Beowulf. She and her husband are, apparently, obsessed with Vikings and have not only changed their names to Viking ones, but also do Viking re-enactments and she insisted on lending me some of their gear.

The following Tuesday she turned up at school with chain-mail, helmets, drinking horns and a very large sword, all of which she said would be no problem to get on the plane the next morning. (The chain-mail alone would have caused its tail to fall off. I nearly cracked a rib trying to get it in the boot of the car.) I decided against attempting to get the sword on the plane, seeing as you aren't even allowed a nail-file these days. But the kids loved the other stuff. We rehearsed all morning and performed the play for the Primary School in the afternoon. They laughed in all the right places and S1 loved it. Sadly they'd taken most of their costume off by the time I took the photo, so you can't appreciate the true horror of the monster Grendel's skyblue furry slippers.

(It has taken me about half an hour to work out how to put photos on this, so if there is only one, it's because it's now bedtime. However, I will try to give you a few more...

15 minutes later: well, I tried. There's now a view from the plane as well. The others will have to wait. Night night.)

At last, online in Orkney!

2007-09-22T23:39:00.000-07:00

I blame technology.

The Grand Plan was to start this blog around March, recording the mixture of emotions as I swung between the fear of the unknown and the desire for change, the cosiness of home and hearth and the longing for the wide skies of the Far North. Instead, the computer blows up; I then spend several months dithering about what to replace it with; when I finally buy my (wonderful Toshiba) laptop, I find I can't get back on the Internet at home; I then move up here, wait for weeks to be connected to Sky broadband and eventually find that it rarely works. Hence this intial posting will be more of an autobiography than a diary entry. I'll keep it brief.

I bade my neighbours a fond farewell on Sunday night, warning them I'd be off around 5am on Monday 13 August, and all they waved me goodbye as I finally left at 5.30 that evening. I got as far as Lancaster the first night and stayed in a lovely 4* hotel that served breakfasts worthy of an Edwardian country house, something that fired me into driving 400 miles the next day. (Pause for quick preen.) The Scottish tourist office en route advised me to book my accommodation for that night as it was the height of the tourist season (well you could have fooled me, given the empty roads) and thus I found myself in a dismal room over a pub that reeked of chips and all for a mere £68. All the other guests came from the Faroe Islands and none of them could speak English. I waited patiently while the lady tried to explain 'neeps and tatties' and 'battered haddock' to the only Faroese who had any English, gave up and went for a walk, only to find that 100 yards down the road was a superb 13th castle converted into an hotel. Rooms were £40 per night and their chef had just won Scotland's 'Chef of the Year' award.

The last leg of the 725 mile journey took me past the seat of the Duke of Sutherland, Dunrobin Castle, its name being, I assume, a reference to the past activities of his ancestors, who successfully depopulated this part of the country by deporting all their tenants to the colonies. Made it to Scrabster (that's a port, not a local delicacy) in good time and fell asleep on the ferry, waking up just in time to see the Old Man of Hoy, which was jolly exciting, especially as this is the 40th anniversary of its first climbing.

Met my housemate, Emma, for the first time - lovely girl and very easy to share with. We spent the first couple of weeks nagging the council for luxury items, e.g. a shower, central heating that works and chests-of-drawers. 'What do you need a chest of drawers for? You have a cupboard.' 'Do you hang YOUR socks on coathangers?' We wore her down in the end.

The first experience of work was two days of in-service training for teachers new to Orkney. It was excruciating. By the second day, doodling and writing out the alphabet in Devanagari (my usual mental yoga) no longer worked, so I took to wrtiting down all the cliches uttered by the worst of the speakers from the council. I was frantic: so hard to keep pace. They fell from his lips with what would have been astonishing rapidity, were it not for the fact that he spoke at a quarter of the pace of a normal human being.

Here are a couple of samples: "If we had health workers here, they'd be jumping up and down saying 'ah but' yet bear with me. For the broad model I will deal with this in terms of longitudinal time." "These are the folk who in terms of yesterday's terminology are the folk who actually go in on the front line."

I finally got to meet my charges the following week. The ferry takes me to Hoy and a taxi to the school. I teach S1 and S2 (Years 8 and 9, except they're actually the age of Years 7 & 8 - it's very confusing) together, all 10 of them. I like them very much, but the timetable is a pain. Most of their English classes are on Fridays. By the end of Friday, they are not amenable to English classes and we are all heartily sick of each other. We start by devising our own coats-of-arms. One child has problems grasping the concept of what symbols to draw on his shield. 'What interests you? What do you like?' 'I like ship. I like kye. I like ducksh. I like tractorsh.' His coat-of-arms is a masterpiece of drawings of Ferguson tractors both in one piece and in bits, surrounded by sheep, cows and ducks. Across the centre are twin spanners, crossed.

To get to Stronsay, I fly. It is an 8-seater plane and attains a height of 525 feet. My friend Wendy calls it The Clockwork Budgie. Stronsay has a bigger secondary school. I teach a total of 22 students. This is because at the end of September, a new family arrived from Yorkshire and their two children increased the size of my S4 class by 25% and S2 by 50%. (That's your maths problem for the day. Tomorrow, one on how many men it takes to overload an 8-seater plane so that it flies to an island different from the one where you actually work.)

There's so much more to tell you but this is already far too long and I doubt whether anyone will actually make it this far. If you have, well done, give yourself a virtual hippo (a merit system I have yet to introduce my students to) and talk to you soon.