The Brits 2010

Flew down to London and got a taxi to the Tower Bridge Hotel. After a multimedia presentation, I sauntered over the bridge and explored. There was a champagne reception in the hotel before we set off on a river boat to the Brit Awards. More Champs and piano music, we sailed past Westminster and on to the venue. It was very strange to meeting people like Lindsay Lohan and various soap stars etc. George Best's son, Calum, was a delight. The event itself was well run and the food exceptionally good. Mingled until a the small hours and then returned to the hotel by taxi to sleep for a few hours before getting up at 6am to participate in 'The Apprentice'. Sold flowers in Portobello Rd and negotiated prices in Selfridges and Harrods etc. Returned to then get kitted out again and go out in stretch limo to a secret location for another dinner. Now typing this, having slipped away to bed and the much more normal prospect of spreadsheets, emails and doing a few edits. Back home to Glasgow tomorrow, thank God.

A Sign of the Times

Uist is an idyllic place but I found out that it is, sadly, no different from the rest of the world in many respects. It has wonderful beaches, a thriving community but, alas, some problems with the odd drug user and there has certainly been the occasional barney between neighbours and even kin. Houses lie empty, 'in dispute'. No one knows for certain who owns them. Surely this is all normal. Where there is human activity there is sure to be human failings. I guess that's where religion and telly come into play. Moral doctrine and escapism seem to go hand in hand here. Anyway... The Western Isles are still a million times more peaceful and beautiful than most places I've been to in my life. It's so nice that I even consider becoming an 'incomer' and look more closely at a few of the empty houses. Everyone I've met: at the libraries, schools and hotels have, without exception, been interesting and extremely friendly.

On a walk along the beach I see a man spreading heaps of seaweed over the grass behind the dunes. I ask him what he is doing. He explains that the seaweed, shoveled out in 20ft x 80ft patches, melts into the soil. After 2 months, or so, they rotovate the area and plant potatoes. A very old practice, I'm told. I am also given the 'ins and outs' of cutting peat. Nowadays, they tend to cut it on a slope, up a hill etc to avoid flooding. They store it, stacked in a breezy spot, so that it can dry into black, brittle blocks; the best for burning.

After my 5th walk along the beach and back, I settle down to an excellent anti-pasta salad, followed by a plate of humongous scallops and Stornoway back pudding. I give in to the cook, Ian's, pudding list and submit to his homemade cheese cake and lemon ice-cream. Gosh, I really need to get back to more edits and more writing. On Uist, it's too easy to relax. Bad news, however, spoils my coffee. There's no space on the Uist to Oban ferry. An M.P. has passed away and the funeral takes precedence. Fair enough. There are more important things... This means that I will have to go back home the long way, via Skye. Oh, well, never mind. It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it.

Stornoway to Benbecula

Caught up on the laptop until about 9.30am. Why is it that a single nudge or bump can fire whatever you’ve been working on, for half the morning, into oblivion? I struggle downstairs with my gubbins and get off to work. On my lunch break, I meet a lovely lady called Kathleen at the Stornoway Library. She makes me coffee and we chat about the book I’m working on just now (wind farms, Harris and adventures etc) and then the Denthan series. We’re both keen to work with the schools in and around Lewis and Harris in the spring. Kathleen even suggests a book launch here in Stornoway Library for the new book that I'm researching on this trip. The Library has been newly renovated and is looking great. I move over the road to the bookshop and have a quick chat before trudging on. With ferry times front of mind, I drive down towards Tarbert sadly missing out the ring of stones at Callanish. Nine of these stones feature on the cover of the Magic Scales and have been a big part of my life for the last 2 years. I pass Ardvourlie Castle, where I spent many a happy day in the nineties. The place was bought for a pittance back in the late eighties by a Maths teacher from London and renovated with great care and love to its present state. Mr Martin, the owner when I knew the place, was a tremendous cook. The guy was a genius. He used to make old-fashioned dishes like rose petal crème brûlée and duck basted in orange and brandy. He even got up a 4 am to make the bread for breakfast. The linen was so well starched on the beds that, while attempting to pull the covers up round my neck one night, I lost my grip and whacked myself full force in the eye. With hazy memories of eagles, black eyes and otters, I push on for Tarbet. There's a bit of time before the ferry so I do some work and then pop into Library and meet Fiona. Again she is very welcoming and we hatch a few ideas. I leave a couple of Asthma UK posters and race down south to Leverburgh. On the way, in between unspoiled beaches and rugged headlands, I do and interview with a reporter,by phone, about book 3 of the Denthan series. I also chat with Gordon Brown; no, not that one, the one that’s in charge of PR for the Scottish branch of Asthma UK. We talk about possible festival appearances and a national newspaper interview. I reach Leverburgh and, quite famished, wander across to the Butty Bus that's parked up on the harbour. What a clean, well run outfit. I eat a marvellous beef burger and look out over the Sound of Harris. I talk to the owner, who is originally from Nottingham, about abandoned whaling stations and current house prices. Find out that the property prices are higher in Harris than they are in Lewis. The wee ferry arrives and I climb up into the crow’s nest to view the scene. Excitedly, I rush out into the elements to view a school of whales, which actually turn out to be a couple of rocks with a few fin-like cormorants in place. They seem to be playing a big practical joke on naive twitchers like me. I reach Berneray and then race south again to visit the local vets for more background on local farming practices. In the dark I attempt to find my hotel and have to phone a friend. The hotel sits, I presume, on a lovely beach. It’s pitch black. I can’t see. The food and the welcome at the Polochar Inn are second to none. Spend some time answering emails etc and eventually nod off… I said nod off…

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz…

Still laid up... plus chicken and chilli

Got my blood results back... mmm... Too much bad fat so... I'm going to keep to a more healthy diet. You see, you get good fat and bad fat, and at the moment my bad fat is winning 4:1. Not good. So the good fats like - olive oil, fish oil etc have to replace chocolate, chips and butter. Not that I thought I over indulged too much, but I was reminded that I do have the odd binge on Ferrero Rocher and Thornton's Aplini.

Getting hungry again, so here's another one of my recipes... Quick, easy and healthy.

Chicken and Chilli Soup

1 x cup of chicken bits (cooked)
I x leek (chopped and washed)
1 x pint of water
Chilli seeds (pinch)
teaspoon of tumeric
1 x Chicken stock cube

Put a little olive oil in pan
add leeks, tumeric, chilli and stock cube
mix round with wooden spatula
add chicken bits
add water and bring to boil.
reduce heat and let simmer for ten minutes.

Serve in nice wee white bowls with chinese spoons

Job Done!

Feeling better already.