No I’m still here, enjoying the glorious weather on the Hebridean riviera, cosseting our holiday cottage visitors, planting bulbs and seeds, harvesting and preserving enough for a winter of apocalyptic proportions, and masquerading as a domestic goddess. Oh and in my spare time I’m general factotum, galley slave and supplier of tea and cakes.
Nothing new, but the absence of bulletins from the croft garden and pithy, erudite, learned comments usually means that my muse is either sulking or AWOL. The flibbertigibbet was just a bit miffed by the minor disarray caused by the arrival of the builders, the swathing of the house in green plastic sheets, the nuclear winter of plaster dust, the hammering, sawing and smell of paint. However, the final straw was the eviction from the home office and the disconnection of the faithful “all singing all dancing” desktop PC. The temporary replacement with the “etch-a-sketch touch screen thing” was too much for her sensitive artistic constitution, and having to listen to me curse such new fangled machines as the “spawn of the devil” was so traumatic that she decamped to the nearest spa (aka pub) to “take the waters”.
Unless there are any other unpleasant surprises to be revealed by the builders, work should be finished in another two weeks. So I’m shaking the moths out of my Harris tweed jacket, taking the cashmere out of mothballs, polishing the brogues, taming my hair and deserting the croft and mayhem for a few days to visit my family on the big island.
Normal service will be resumed at some point, so “hasta la vista baby “.