Son+Heir and I had decided to subscribe to two very different projects this month. Suffice to say, one of us was to be growing a moustache and the other was to be taking part in National Novel Writing Month. I shall leave it to my astute readers to work out which of us was planning to do which (and for those of you who guessed incorrectly, enough of your cheek!). However, I can report that by day four Son+Heir had annihilated his nascent whiskers, presumably because they risked interfering with his aerodynamics on the hockey pitch.
And so to the official warning which is the purpose of this blog post: In view of this gobbling up of my precious “personal” writing time – as opposed to the paid ‘day job’ writing time – it is highly likely that blog posts this month may be few and far between, so I felt that an advance apology might be in order.
|“You’ve got a jacket on so you’ve no business in here!”|
|We Shetland folk like to stick together…|
Meanwhile, things have got a lot tidier outside lately, thanks to several highly productive visits from Farmpa last week. He may be “nearly 80 you know”, but that didn’t stop him getting just about everywhere – up ladders removing moss from the roof, cocooned in the polytunnel cutting back Vinnie the Vine, outside in the rain pruning the plum and apple trees and giving the lawn a final mow of the year during a rare period of glorious autumn sunshine. The Sparrowholding doesn’t know what’s hit it!
|The roof moss marauder in precarious mode|
Whilst the flora in the garden may be finished for the year, my own private potted primula plant is sitting resplendent on the kitchen window sill, bringing a vivid splash of violet vitality to the otherwise dull job of washing up.
|Pretty in purple – my pot of primulas (or polyanthas?)!|
Of course, one ideal way of dodging the domestic drudgery is to escape outside, and recently I was invited by a good friend to accompany her on a hike up nearby Dunning Glen. It was an idyllic autumn afternoon, and the views during the ascent and from the top of the hill were sublime – a reminder, if one were ever needed, about how lucky we are to live in this unique and special part of the cosmos. So even though my pathetically unfit legs (not to mention the rest of me) were screaming out at the unaccustomed assault on their normal sedentary existence, I returned feeling thoroughly inspired and invigorated by all that good, clear, fresh Scottish air. Here’s hoping it blew away sufficient cobwebs to allow the creative muse to move in for November – nine thousand words so far and counting!
|Modern vista – the wind turbines looked like weird metal flowers|