A vicar there lived in Argyll
She'd lived there for quite a wee while.
She wore purple and pink
It helped her to think and
she walked her big dog for a mile……..
……Nearly every day
This is not a tale about the island, but about the ferry. It is back from its refit and looks very spruced up. The reclining seats have all been mended and given new leather-look covers. A most enjoyable crossing yesterday from Colonsay to Oban. There must have been all of ten passengers. Not very many cars either – but there was an empty long-loader; even so, the car-deck looked forlorn. Cal-Mac is a west-coast institution. Pity they do not always listen to the problems of the islanders. It might be a good idea to send the executives and planners to live on the islands they serve for a year. A bit like the Taransay experiment, only without the composting toilets. Come to think of it, there would be no Ben Fogle either. Ah well….such are the musings of one who is not quite sure what day it is or what island she is on.
The mystery of the sheep in the garden ground is solved. Four of them have developed the ability to be able to balance across a neighbour's cattle-grid. And for interest's sake, it is a grid with rounded poles. So not much can be done about that.
Hallo sheep……Goodbye sheep…..
It amuses me when I phone people up to talk about parish matters and they are completely surprised to discover I am on another island. Mind you, most people who know me preface any conversation with “And where are you?”
I suppose I am used to travelling.
Sheep in the garden again. The dog ignores them and they ignore her. What I want to know is this. How do the sheep get into a fenced off area. And more to the point – how do they get out again?
No refuse collection this week. The lorry only comes once a fortnight in the winter. It used to be that rubbish was collected by tractor and dumped up at an open site on the hill. Some was then burned, some scavenged by the gulls and vermin, and the rest got battered into submission by wind and rain. Then the rules kicked in and so there are regular collections by scaffy-wagon. The vehicle is sent over on its own and an islander does the uplift the next day, the full cart being sent back on the next boat.
I wonder what the islanders of long ago would have thought?
There is no TV in the Manse here, and papers only arrive on boat days, thus I rely on radio and internet for news. Not seeing the moving pictures is quite restful. But if I lived on Colonsay all the time I guess I would be like the rest of the islanders and have a satellite dish fitted. Makes me wonder what all the media input is doing to our brains in this 21st century. I read somewhere that we receive more information in a day than our ancestors 500 years ago received in a lifetime. Now I know that we only use a small proportion of our brain cells…..but there has to be a lesson in that somewhere. Perhaps it is enough to recognise we need rest.
My electronic diary reminder has let me down again – perhaps I should read it or program it more carefully. It turns out I am supposed to be recording a slot for Oban FM on Friday. In Oban, whereas I am here in Colonsay. Thus – it is to be done over the telephone. I shall do it whilst looking out of the study window…..an expanse of sea and islands, the colours ever-changing.
Interesting to do that whilst meditating on the festival of Christmas, which at one level never changes, and at another is new for every generation.
Eight cars and under twenty passengers on the star of Caledonian MacBrayne's fleet. There was the touch of the luxury liner about it today. Colonsay is as beautiful as ever and has the bonus of being quiet and peaceful at this time of year. Mind you, that is easy for me to say as a peripatetic. Lots of other people are gearing up for the Christmas and New Year influx of visitors, and the school is in the throes of end of term preparation. Makes me realise that life is as life is, and we can either work within it or fight against it.
Think I shall join in.
Sorry Cliff, your Santa Christmas song is rubbish. Don't think much of the singing either.
