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.

The Uist Wolf

After a day of more calls and more typing I stride out across the busy Uist road and stumble onto the beach. It stretches, unbroken, for 22 miles. But I plump for 2 of those miles, deciding that I don't want to overdo it. I am now free on a deserted beach with my binoculars swinging beneath my chins. Scanning for otters, I see instead a vast array of seabirds:- Redshanks, Turnstones, Knots, Oyster catchers, the yellow-billed Whooper Swan, the scatty Ringed Plover. They dart this way and that, scattering before me only to alight a few yards further on. A highpoint is spotting a snipe, which zigzags away across a boggy field, it's flight pattern designed to evade any troublesome bullet with ease. I disturb the same heron at least four times and get a very disgruntled 'Squaack!" Wigeon and Tufted Duck patter across a frozen lochen and Rock Pipits flutter up into the air for a second only to disappear again, instantly resuming invisibility a few feet from my position. Then I hear it... A far-off bark. The sound makes my blood freeze and I hesitate. Should I carry on or divert back to the beach? The barking intensifies and I catch a glimpse of the beast. Is it truly of this Earth? It thunders towards me and then stops dead, its jaws dripping long strands of drool. It begins to circle me as I back away and head for the beach. I can always dive into the waves as a last resort, swim, madly, for Barra. It follows me, a deep growl emanating from its bulky frame. I fumble for some trinket, some scrap of chocolate or steak in my pockets. All I find is a chewit wrapper, but this is better than nothing. Carefully, I lay it at my feet and back away. The great wolf of a beast runs at me but then stops... It sniffs my offering giving me the chance I need to bolt. I hear its thundering paws hammering into the headland behind me... The Uist Wolf is upon me! MUMMY!

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…

Loch Lomond to Stornoway

500 miles, it said. The Tom Tom that is. And the Tom Tom never lies, much. Every time I use the thing I flip back to Paris 2004 and remember the point where it took me onto an eight-laned roundabout of death. I switched it off and had to admit that Mum Mum had been right.
Anyway, after my attempt at exercise, 47 zig-zag lengths of a granny infested pool, I get into the car and set off. A snow-capped Ben Lomond shines like beacon against the dishcloth sky, reminding me of Kilimanjaro. I know ‘the Ben, as we locals call it, is only 3000 feet or so, not 19,000, but it looks so volcanic and threatening. After passing six dead Roe Deer it's eventually a relief to see three does grazing in the birches a few miles later. I have grizzly thoughts of a programme like ‘Bear Grills’ or whatever it’s called, and wonder if I could actually cook up a decent bit of venison from the unwanted carcasses that lay at the side of the road. Mmm… Maybe not. Onward I drive until I re-diesel (I like new words) at the Green Welly, where I discovered the Best Loo of 2010. It had a wee certificate and everything. I thought there was probably quite a bit of 2010 to go but was impressed none-the-less. Off again, until I reach the towering mountains of Glen Coe, my wife’s favourite spot. She always tells us that she wants her ashes scattered on the peeks. We nod, of course, but wonder how we might do this legally and without getting killed in the process. On through Fort William and past the red and white fish restaurant that serves succulent Skate wings in garlic butter, then over the Great Glen towards Loch Ness. It’s not funny, but I can only imagine that glancing every three seconds at the grey ripples on the loch for a give-away hump or two has been the cause of many an accident on this stretch. Through ‘Inversnecky’ as the locals call it and over the Beauly Firth via the Kessock bridge. Over the bridge, I dangerously scan the skies for Red Kites, always a good spot to see them. I reach the Glascarnoch Dam where the waters are frozen over and wonder if this is where they filmed 'The Dam Busters'. I give a full volume rendition of the theme tune - 'Da da ra da da...' etc and speed on to Ullapool. In the ten minutes I have before the ferry, I visit the Ullapool Bookshop, a beautiful shop with an excellent Children’s dept. I speak with the owner who and gives me some details on the Ullapool book festival, contacts etc. Then I see it… The Clansman. The CalMac ferry is on its last run before a re-fit in Liverpool. Halfway over I eat some lentil soup to calm the tummy and manage a conference call. First off the boat at Stornoway, I immediately get lost and end up in a housing estate. After a few adjustments, I reach the hotel only to realise that I played here in a rock band called Neetah Cheetah 20 years earlier. Those were good days…
In my compact room I decide that you could only swing a cat if it were a very small one, say a kitten or one of those bald ones from Egypt. Ah well, some edits on book 3 of the Denthan series are done around 1am and I settle down for the night.

Ps – Do not swing cats, it is very, very naughty!

Lamb and Lawn Mowers...

Shopping for kitchens, more re-writes and my overgrown garden have all come back to haunt me this weeekend. Kitchens at £15,000 - com'on, some one's having a laugh... The re-writes to Return to Denthan are becoming fun, thank goodness; and my garden... Well, lets just say I need to chop trees, cut ivy and strim like there's no tomorrow. Going to settle down to a nice lamb curry and glass of Pinot Noir for now...

Time to cook - it calms me down.

Lamb Curry - (cheat-style)

half pound of diced leg of lamb (£4 or so...)
tea spoon of olive oil
rock salt
black pepper
ref onions x 2
yellow peppers x 2
Youngs authenic curry powder (in mmost butchers) x half pack
fresh corriander

heat pan add oil and onions
after 5 mins add lamb
after 3 mins add curry powder 0 stir all the lumps out of the powder
add half pint of milk
stir until thickens - simmer for ten mins

serve with long grain rice and pitta bread

plus large glass of Pinot Noir (Argentinian)

ahh... thats better.

serve

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.

Part 2... Gosh, I promise to write more often

After a while I got into trailing the web for contacts etc. Soon I sent offerings off by email and, after weeding out publishers who wanted money, found one who wanted to give me some. Yippee, I thought. So signed contract, assigned an editor and got to work. Oh, it took a long time. Eventually the book was published in May 2008. A small one man, publisher, but it was out there. Would it show up on radar? Mmmm...