Day Two (and other thoughts)

Day Two began quite well actually. Got up, dressed straight into running gear, packed son off to nursery, threw ipod about for being a git and deleting all my tracks for no reason at all, reloaded ipod and set off in a gale force south westerly on my usual 5k route.

27 minutes, 28 seconds and 64 hundredths of a second later I was back!

This slashed 90 seconds off my previous time. Happy? I literally danced round the kitchen. Ok so its not exactly record breaking, in fact its pretty bad but it means that I have finally cracked sub 9 minute miles once again and am now fired up to return to previous (previous previous) times. I'm actually trying to find certificate from last 10k I did to find my times - just as a useful guide. I also have two grazed knees and one cut elbow from going arse over tit on the ice twice. No pain, no gain dude.

Anyway, so buoyed by my early morning goody-two-shoes-ness, the afternoon was actually not too bad on the No Smoking front. Didn't miss them at work at all! Trouble started in earnest the minute I got home. Its been a routine for so long to arrive back, switch kettle on, switch laptop on, light up and reeeeeeeeeelax. Today I was lost. Couldn't have a cuppa without a fag. Switched on laptop and sat staring blankly at it, unable to focus on anything productive whilst my brain screamed for nicotine.

I did announce to fellow house dwellers that I wasn't feeling particularily social and when asked if I wanted anything from shops, replied 'willing victim and a sharp pointy stick'.

I really did think that all this stuff about getting very mad when stopping smoking was a load of roobish.

Its not.

Yours

Slightly Smug ex-smoker.



*Disclaimer 1: I am retaining sense of humour so please read this with your tongue firmly planted in cheek to achieve full effect.

*Disclaimer 2: For all readers in foreign parts [waves] , above moaning is in no way typical of Neurosis or any other Female Complaint.

Overactive imagination

Apologising to my daughter this evening about her having inherited my over-active imagination reminded me of something that happened a couple of years ago whilst on a trip into the Fannaichs. I wrote about it on UKC and just found it. So here, for memory's sake...

"Has your imagination ever got the better of you?

I mean, you are a normally quite practical minded sort of person, the odd daydream here and there but feet planted firmly on the ground - then bam - out of nowhere something creeps into your head and within nano seconds you are in the middle of a full blown crisis?

I had such an experience on Saturday night. Blah blah blah up in the hills about 2000ft in the wind and rain. A bottle of whisky has been shared with freinds in the tent and the laughter is dying to sleepy yawns. You settle down in the sleeping bag and lay there listening to your tentmates breathing and the howling gale trying to rip you from the mountainside. Gradually your thoughts turn to more pleasant affairs and within mintes you are slumbering, dreaming the dreams of the just. And pished.

Slowly, around 5am while it is still pitch black outside you are plucked from sleep by a strange and unusual noise. Your weary brain tries to analyse the sound, running automatically through the usual lists of suspects - wind tugging at the guy ropes, a biscuit wrapper being thrown around in the draught, wee beasties scurrying about looking for a long forgotten peice of your bedtime rowie..of course you will soon hit upon the fitting explanation and drift off once again..

But no, it sounds like none of these and a little more awake now you methodically begin to make sense of the disturbance....place the sounds first..is it inside or outside? Is it rubbing against the outer or inner? To the left of your head or the right? Is it moving or staying quite, quite still? How large does it sound? Could it be the pair of sodden trousers you left hanging up inside rusting against the front 'door'? Oh its maybe the map left out with route clearly marked being ruffled by the wind blowing in under the outer.

No its none of these.

The noise gets louder. A deep moaning, almost grunt. A definite sound of snuffling. A rising panic begins. Your throat tightens and your arse clenches. Stop being so f*cking stupid. Its Scotland. Its 2006. You are a grown adult. Its most likely the deer you saw high up on the crags last night come down for a nosey. Or one fell and is injured.

Or chased over the edge.

By?

Oh JESUS F*CKING CHRIST ALMIGHTY its Dog Soldiers all over again!!!!! WEREWOLVES!

In the time it takes you to kiss your ass goodbye and draw up the sleeping bag around your head (because thats gonna protect you right?)the seemingly innocent rustlings of a timorous wee beastie have turned into the bare toothed, snarling, mad eyed attempt on your life by some evil creature from the pits of hell. You frantically punch your tentmates back and wake him from his peaceful sleep

"What the f is it now?"

"Theres something trying to get into the tent" you whisper

He turns onto his back and you know he is listening. The noise stops and for one glorious second you are assured safety. He has obviously frightened them off with his mere alertness.

Rustle

"What the f*ck is THAT?" he says fumbling for the headtorch and once again you are plunged into near suicidal fear. You begin to run a mental risk assessment. Would it be safer to lie here and hope they go away or eat your mates in the tent next door? Or make a run for it down the mountain and back to the car. Would you make it? How fast can a werewolf run? Where are the keys? How fast can I do 4 miles in - over boggy ground? The tent is suddenly illuminated by your tentmates torch and you lie there looking at each other and listening very, very carefuly. The rain and wind even calm their incessant attacks just so you can listen to your last, final terrorfilled moments on this planet.

ziiiiiiiiiiiiiip

Oh here we go. Its like that poor couple that got eaten alive at the start. I'm going to die being tugged in half and have my head squashed between the jaws of a monster. I'll still be alive. Oh I pray for a quick death. Please. Why why WHY didn't I take the rifle! it might have frightened them off.

Then it is gone. Absolutely still. Nothing. You lay frozen in your tent, too afraid to move. The slightest breath could start off the vicious and deadly attack you fear. But still nothing. Silence. After a few minutes you being to rationalise. Ah they have been frightened off. Maybe the sun is rising. It does look a little lighter out there. Do werewolves hate the light or is that vampires? Hey, it can't have been Werewolves! Its not even a full bloody moon!.. You chuckle at your own stupidity and drift off to sleep.

In the morning you sheepishly stick your head out the tent and before the midgies can eat your face you have recounted the 'funny tale' with a fair pinch of self depreciation mixed with bravado to your mates in the next tent. The pisstaking and laughter you expect and crave for that sense of calm it instills never appears as their faces drop and they point to the decidedly canine footprints in the mud.

Day One and Other Stuff

This is Day One of No Smoking.

GAHHHHHHHH!

Oh ok - its not been that bad. Despite wanting to rip heads off and generally just being a moody COW (that may also be PMT), I think I've done quite well today. Nicotine patch on arm causing a splitting headache but the general feeling of smugness associated with [counts on fingers] um.....21 hours of no smoking is making up for that. Oh and I don't stink. Which is nice. I haven't even wanted a cig which is also nice though I think the 'cutting down' thats been going on for the past month stopped it being such a major blow. Anyway its all good.

Please poke me in the eye if you see me even thinking about buying any fags.

Other stuff.

Running - despite a bit of a intermittent start, it is coming along. Can now run 5k without dying. Times have also come down. This is in part due to increased level of activity (yup, am hyper again) and subsequent increase in fitness levels, finding out my usual course is in fact 3/4 of a mile longer than I thought it was and also because my friend keeps jibbing me in the virtual ribs if I don't go out. I also have a copy of his patented running log in Excel format which a) means I can track improvements b) beat myself up if I don't go out. it also means I'm turning into a Proper Geek but as I already have a log of Munro's and Ships, thats not really a surprise.

Hills - Carn a Mhaim was the first time I've been out in 2008 proper style. Was up Broad Cairn again in January but as explained to friend, it doesn't count as its just a walk along Glen Muick path then one short sharp hoof uphill and another wander along the tops really. CaM was a proper walk, with like 23km of scenic, if mind numbingly painful (big beets) wandering followed by 920m up the way. Anyway, it all went well, stonking day out (see poem in last post) and rekindled the old erm...single minded obsession with all things vertical. Plans are now being made for a Big Trip (or a series of Smaller Trips) west in July. High camps and west coast sunsets. Perfick. There is also the seed of a thought being casually tossed about amongst us about a possible long distance meander through some foreign lands. The Pyrenees have been mentioned . Anyway, much to be done before then. Went up a local hill on saturday with a friend. Was er.....bracing. Driving sleet/hail with intermittent spirks of sunshine. And despite the fact we got so cold our faces froze to the point where talking was becoming difficult, it was a superb day. Character Building were the words used :) This weekend I plan to do another but it largely depends on the weather. We've had pretty much non stop snow here for the past two or three days and its set to continue until Friday. I shall keep an eye on MWIS/SAIS and decide nearer the time.

Ships - I was down amongst my fellow Spotters the other night on Pocra Quay. Nothing much happening except for a couple coming in for Shell though now am on first names basis or at least waving terms with almost everyone there. Theres Blue Micra man who has a notebook and *everything*, theres also Blue Yaris man who just sits and stares and occasionally lets his Jack Russell out for a wee, theres the Old Couple who sit at even odder times of the night than I do and both get visibly excited when anything passes and well, theres a whole load of them. And me. Clapped out Clio Girl. I wonder if people coming down there for a snog (or more...erk...) or to eat their fish'n'chips think we're odd? When you actually think about it, its no odder than trains or planes or cars or birds or anything really. No its NOT!!

By the way - Should I ever get mistakenly arrested for being a weirdo or something, I now have a collection of over 200 colour photos in my defence.


Theres other stuff I want to talk about but its a secret and I'm not telling on here.

Right, off to smash my head off the floor to see if it'll take my mind of my headache.

To Doug and Morbh

I'd forgotten the crunch of my boots in the snow
And the beads of sweat on my sunburnt brow
The Ptarmigans haunting the grey, sombre rocks
and two bleeding heels despite two pairs of socks

I'd forgotten the feel of a forty pound sack
The buckles and straps digging deep in my back
And reaching the snow fields and thinking 'who's first'?
Of kicking in steps and dying of thirst

I'd forgotten also though, how perfect it feels
(despite the sack and my two bleeding heels)
To sit at the top and share a wee dram
With like minded friends as mad as I am


Jo Horne, Carn a'Mhaim, 15th March 2008

Sunday 24th February 2001

I sat by the fireside as the snow fell through the inky darkness outside. Tired eyes watching shadowy figures cast by the dying flames leap and dance against the walls as though to some invisible pipers tune. My feet were warming, as was my belly, and I slowly swirled the last of my dram round the glass before feeling its luxurious heat trickle down my throat. Idly fingering the numbers on my phone, I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. 10pm. I’ll try his number again I thought.

As I listened to the ringing on the other end my thoughts turned to the days events. My best mate Davie had phoned the night before. Did I want to do something on Lochnagar? he’d asked. He’d been thinking about Parallel A but I wasn’t sure. The conditions weren’t great despite it being mid february, powdery rubbish, and I’d not been out on anything harder than a snowplod in a while. There was also a storm forecast for the next day and I just wasn't happy about it having been caught out a few weeks previously on another route when a storm, forecast for the day after, had blown in much, much quicker than expected. It had been a complete whiteout. We hadn't been able to discern sky from ground in the blizzard and with no visible landmarks, had to leapfrog nav all the way back from the summit. Perhaps something easier Davie? Theres plenty there we haven't done yet.




He was not to be persuaded. Parallel A it was to be so I made my apologetic excuses and suggested he take our mutual friend Andy with him. Andy had started winter climbing the year before and had a string of II’s and the odd III under his belt as well as many a years winter walking. We all knew each other well working as foresters on the local estate. Davie agreed to give him a call but said if I changed my mind there was space enough in the car.


I’d not long put the phone down when it rang again.

Aye?

Aye its me again. Andy’s up for it. I reckon it ga’n tae be a belter o’ a day the morn. Are ye sure ye dinna fancy comin oot?

Nah Davie. Yer ok. I’ve things to be doing about the place. I might go for a wander up Bennachie. If yer passin early though, I wouldn't mind a lift intae Alford? Ah’ve some stuff te get.

And so it was agreed they would pick me up first thing in the morning on the way through.

7am came and went. 8am came and went. 9am came and went and by 9.30am I was convinced I’d been forgotten in the early morning rush. Not that it bothered me; it was a fine walk over the hill. Davie had been right with his forecast, a bonny blue sky stretched overhead as I began the four mile walk to the village. As I topped the first wee brae though, I heard a familiar noise and turned to see Davies car. At first I thought he’d maybe decided not to go after all but as he drew alongside I could see Andy and all their gear.

Christsakes! Are you not away yet?

Nah, this eejit (gesturing towards Andy) forgot tae set his alarm. Onyway, are ye still needin a lift?

In I jumped. I made some comment about the lateness of the hour and asked if they were still intending to do the route. If one of us was out, it was a silent agreement that one of the others would act as a ‘responsible person’ and take a note of the intended route, equipment carried and all the usual information. They told me they still intended to try and would give me a phone when they were back at the car. I waved them off.

The time was now 10.30am.

I’d calculated that it was going to be lunchtime before they even got to the bottom of the route and as I walked back from the village and set about the days chores, my mind kept wandering and worrying. Ach but perhaps I’m just being stupid I thought. They’ll likely not bother with the route. The afternoon passed quickly and as I was coming back down the Black Hill from a wander round the tops of Bennachie all thoughts of Davie and Andy had disappeared. It had been gorgeous. Knee deep powder and brilliant blue skies.

The ringing continued.

I’ll try his mobile I thought. I usually didn’t bother as this was the time before hands free kits were generally available and Davie just wouldn’t answer if he was driving but I presumed Andy would at least pick it up.

Ring ring, ring ring

No answer

Ring ring, ring ring

Hello?

It was Davie

Aye! Its me! Hows it goin? How was your day?

Well, it could be better….

Aye?

Aye, em….the thing is we’re still on the climb. At least we think we are. We micht hae gone a wee bit aff route. Dinna worry though, we’ve hammered a few nuts in and we’re on both a wee ledge...

Oh for fuck sake.

I quickly got the story from them as best I could with the wind howling down the line. Davies batteries were low, the cold would limit any battery life even further. They were half way up the corrie wall as far as they could make out but darkness had fallen and they were fairly sure they’d gone off route. The climbing had got harder and harder and eventually they’d had to stop on a nine inch ledge and secure themselves and their rucksacks to the rock as best they could. They could go no further. Andy had also hurt his hand and couldn’t use it. It was pitch black, howlin’a gale, minus god-knows-what and my two best mates were stuck somewhere on Lochnagar.

I’m calling mountain rescue Davie.

No dinna, we’ll be fine. We jist need a minty tae figure oot far aboots wi are.

Davie... I’ll call ye back in a minute.

Its an odd feeling calling an emergency service. As much as you’ve imagined what it would be like, as many times as you’ve seen them attend a road accident or a fire or seen the landrovers hurtling down a glen towards some other poor sods. As many times as you may have called them before – its still a heart stopping moment when you hear ‘which service do you require?’.…what do you say? How do you say it? Do you ask for the police or mountain rescue? My words came falteringly and my heart was in my mouth when the police called me back 5 minutes after my initial report.

I’m sorry to bother you but er… my mates are stuck somewhere on Lochnagar and one of them has hurt his hand and they’re on a wee ledge somewhere near Parallel A.

Let me take some more details

And so within another five minutes the police had every detail I could muster – from their names and addresses, experience and ability, mobile numbers, equipment carried, last known location…

Ok that’s great thanks. We’ll try giving them a call ourselves and see what the situation is. It might be an idea if you could alert Andy's partner as to the situation.

The time was now 1045pm

Elise answered the phone. Elise, I've got something to tell you...

The rest of the conversation is a hazy memory of tears and question and answers as best I could give. Within five minutes she was at the door - better to wait together for news...

The next couple of hours were the longest in my life. I'd phoned my father, who had often accompanied Davie and I to the hills, to let him know too and he rang intermittently to see what was happening. We called the rescue team. They were inordinately patient with us, assuring us that both local teams were gearing up, RAF Lossiemouth had also been alerted and an initial party from Braemar had already left to see if they could see any sign of Davies or Andys torchlight on the headwall. We sat and smoked and stared into the fire. Too tired and too lost in our own thoughts to speak.

An hour later we called Davie. He sounded so cold, so tired. I told him what was happening. He'd seen some lights but they had dissappeared.

The time was now 2.30am

At 3.30am Davie rang.

Theres a fookin great big helicopter overhead!! It keeps going round. I dinna think they can get tae us, its fookin mental up here!!

Just hang on ok? You've half the rescue teams in Scotland oot for ye. It won't be long.

Aye I suppose.... Its really, really cold Jo.

I tried not to let Elise see the tears welling up in my eyes.

More smoking, more coffee. We switched on the tv to distract from the silence. Word was already out.

"Rescue teams are battling a severe storm in the Scottish mountains to rescue two men missing on Lochnagar. High winds and blizzard conditions are hampering the rescue attempts involving Aberdeen and Braemar rescue teams and marines from RM Condor in Arbroath. A helicopter from RAF Lossiemouth is also involved in the search but as yet has been unable to locate the climbers."

Tired and struggling with all sorts of emotion, my brain turned, despite my best attempts to the worst possible scenario. What if they didn't get to them in time? How long can someone survive in that weather? What if their gear failed? What would I tell Davies kids? Oh god, Davies kids, they don't even know!


The phone rang.

Hello Jo. Just to let you know we've located Davie and Andy. We've been unable to get to them with the helicopter due to the weather but we're hoping to get guys down to them on ropes once it gets lighter. They're on Eagle Buttress.

Leaping off the sofa, I danced round the room. Oh christ thank fuck for that! Elise and I hugged each other and started phoning friends who had already called after seeing the first reports on the TV.

It all happened remarkably quickly after that. Two rescuers were winched down from the top of the headwall to where Davie and Andy were stuck, and hauled them back up. Apart from, as Andy recalls, 'feeling like my bollocks were being squeezed in a vice' during the haul up, and dehydration (their water bottles had frozen during the night), both were none the worse for their experience. They were walked off the mountain then taken in a landrover to Ballater for a debriefing and subsequent interviewing by the papers. They apologised for all the trouble caused and admitted they'd made some pretty bad decisions based on forecast and conditions.

We met two very sheepish looking climbers a few hours later at Davies house...and a week later I presented him with his very own model rescue 'copter, just as a reminder ;)

So anyway...

Been a while so this might be a long post.

What news.... er.....

I was on TV! North Tonight to be precise. Our shop is behind the Banchory Bags campaign which is striving to make Banchory a plastic bag free zone my mid summer this year. So STV called in the morning about a week or so ago to see if anyone was available to do a short piece on what we're doing and why. My boss decided I was the person. I am notoriously camera shy so this was a traumatic event and I have never been so sodding scared in my entire life. The camera man and interviewing lady were very nice though so I gave them free sandwiches lol (If you read this boss....it was 'advertising' ;). I haven't seen it (it was on last tuesday night and I was thankfully still working) and I don't want to but allegedly I was 'good'. Not that any of my friends who watched it would say otherwise of course, which leads me to believe I was 'crap' but bless them for trying to ease my panic and impending agorophobia-bought-about-by-making-a-tit-out-of-myself-on-national-telly.

Other news:

Car. Hmmmm. Timing belt went. Not a 'safe' engine. Nuff said. So its buses to and from pretty much everywhere for me until I can afford a new one. Which isn't that bad. Its the 'greener' option isn't it. Though why Miss [raises hand classroom style] is it The Greener Option when I am the only one on the bus other than the driver most of the time? Doesn't that mean that I am essentially the passenger in a vehicle that eats more fuel and pumps out more crap in a month than my car ever did in a year (facts and figures not entirely accurate but you get my drift). Thanks to the nice man who towed me out of harms way with his landie by the way!

Cloverfeild. Took my kids (the elder 3) to see this on saturday night in Aberdeen. Oh My God. I screamed, the kids screamed, the people in front and behind us screamed.....If you haven't seen it I won't spoil it for you but I defy you to leave the cinema and not look towards the skyline even if you hate the film.

Chickens. Ok so our sexing abilities are rubbish. Out of the 9, I have actually now, 3 odd months later, identified 4 as cockerels (not 2 as originally thought). Thats fine. Thats 2 more sunday lunches than previously planned. They are all fine though and the ones supposed to be producing eggs are still pumping them out faster than I can use them.

Photography. Not a huge amount being done right now. Weather is lovely when I am at work but the minute I am off, its either dark or raining. Did manage one day of glorious weather, perhaps two thinking about it, but not happy with any of the shots so they remain in My Pictures. I bought some filters for the D80. Polarizing one helps hugely and you can get some odd effects but lots of practice still needed in general. Due to a (hopefully temporary) technical hitch I have reverted to the SJ6500 anyway. Ooooh and I got a new bag for all my kit. A Tamrac Expedition 7 Its really very good and I am doing a review for UKC shortly (in conjunction with one of the Ortlieb range of waterproof gear sacks hopefully). Will post a link in case anyones looking for a new camera bag.

Think thats about it really for now. Just finished reading a really interesting book on the travelling folk of Scotland in the early part of the 1900's and its so interesting I'm going to blog about it once I've finished the first of the two books which I'm reading second..(yes, I read them out of sequence).

Right. Off to round up the chooks and see if my bike is repairable...


Photo by Shirley http://www.flickr/com/photos/neeps .

Number One Son

My son (Gordon)
Originally uploaded by J_C_H

This is my eldest son. He's in a band don't ya know! (Reset the Sky) Actually so's his younger brother.

Enormously proud of both of them.

"Creole Lady Marmalade..."

".....Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya dada...
"

Been singing this since the annual Making of the Marmalade began last night. Having secured 8lbs of Seville Oranges (which are rarer than hens teeth in these parts) I set off following Delias jolly good recipe.

All was going well too until had to nip out after work today to get some chook food from local country store and came back to find my carefully scooped orange peels (set aside for cutting into bits later) had been tidied up by the OH and Jnr H. Tidied into the bin to be exact. "I'll get them out and give them a wash" says he after I pointed out his potentially fatal mistake. YUK! OK, they were the only thing in there but still. This highlights yet another fundemental difference in the sexes. Men, as far as I am aware, will eat anything from anywhere if left to cope on their own. Leave a woman on her own and she will likely knock up a nice little starter and main course for one. Or maybe its just me?

Anyway so now we're going to have to have orange jelly instead of proper marmalade. This is going to upset my mornings. I need thick cut marmalade on wholemeal toast with proper butter and proper tea, alone, whilst listening to Radio One and checking my emails in the morning otherwise I am a complete nightmare.. I realise its slightly childish and completely antisocial of me and I also realise that having a morning routine which cannot be interfered with, for fear of unleashing my inner demon, is the first sign of impending old-agedness but well hey, I'm having to embrace my senior years anyway. My kids now look at me funny if I dance to the radio or laugh at Chris Moyles. They tsk when I roar with laughter at Top Gear. My daughter scolds me for wearing unsuitable clothing (jeans, fleece and t shirt?!?)and the OH makes constant reference to the 5 year age gap between us. He's younger. Even my boss told me that he liked to hire the more mature person as they get on better with customers.

Mature? MATURE? I'm thirty-bloody-seven!! Everyone and everything around me seems to be conspiring to make me feel twice as old as I am at the moment. Even my skin is ganging up against me. I'm fairly er....sallow skinned. In a healthy way. I prefer to think of it as 'exotic' however this past 6 months I've noticed a distinct drying of the skin on my hands despite copious amounts of *gunk* from a bottle proclaiming to contain the elixir of youth itself. When I look in the mirror I still see me. In fact I think I look a bit bloody better than I did ten years ago when I had a god awful bleach blonde hairdo and weighed in at 7 stone BUT there is a discernable feeling of 'getting on a bit' in the air. I keep checking that my tits aren't round my knees and that my arse hasn't sagged completely. Is this perhaps something I am loading myself with or is it a forewarning of things to come?

Anyway. Something did cheer me up this week. I entered a writing competition on UKClimbing.com about 8 weeks ago. The subject was 'My First Lead'. I didn't write about my actual first lead but my first multipitch. Anyway, I came second! Hoorah! My prize is to have my essay read out at Llanberis Mountain Film Festival and a hundred quids worth of climbing gear from DMM. I'm passing on the gear and donating it to Braemar Mountain Rescue as its just about the 7 year anniversary of my mates rescue off Lochnagar so.... anyway, having it read out at Llanberis is prize enough for me. Obviously now I'm wandering around 'artistically' and musing over possible themes for my next literary adventure whilst adjusting my straw hat and sipping on a sloe gin. Dahlink.

Right enough waffling from me, back to the marmalade....jelly...stuff..

Oh, whatever.

Foxy foxy..

I was out cleaning the chicken run this afternoon after work. Once I'd finished I wandered down towards the foot of the vegetable area to round up the wee blighters and down near the bottom, stumbled across a hole.

Now my 'hole' identification isn't great. Ask me to identify a tree from a thousand paces or a bird feather and I'm yer gal but holes...hmmmm. Anyway what initially struck me was the size. Far bigger than a rabbit hole - I would guess this is about a foot and a half across (though I am a fisherman...). Came back inside and googled ' wildlife hole identification' and it came up with this. Now according to that - sans the bones, we have a fox den in our garden. Which would explain a) the fox thats currently annoying the chooks b) why it can disappear so goddamn quickly when we're stood there looking at it!

The chooks are in no danger (we hope) at night or early morning as they are in a large pen with concrete flooring underneath the straw and 7ft high steel fences topped with a bird proof wire mesh. So do we leave it? Is it indeed a fox or are we looking at some kind of mutant rabbit here? I think I have found a use for the cctv camera.....

Other things that happened today: It snowed. Both fields are now ploughed. I missed probably the most ethereal light for photography this side of Neopia by about 3 minutes because I had my head stuck down a hole.

Oh my word..

com·pli·cat·ed

Pronunciation[kom-pli-key-tid]

Pronunciation
–adjective
1.
composed of elaborately interconnected parts; complex:

Accurately describes the new love of my life. My gorgeous Nikon D80 - Oh my word I had enough problems finding the ONE right button to push onthe Fuji S6500, let alone [counts] 13 obvious and three times as many hidden plus a master and sub-master switching thing going on too!

But, she is lovely. Intelligent. Solid. Multifunctional. Smooth. Incredibly sensitive yet built to last. A lovely firm and definite 'click'. I would imagine that if she could speak, it would be with a yorkshire accent and when my back is turned she'll be out yoking up the ponies whilst simultaneously running her own PR company from the end of a mobile phone and baking scones.

I'll not get into all the technical stuff - mainly because I haven't a clue about 75% of it though have been poring over every magazine and book I can find and discussing with photographically minded friends in my ever increasing thirst for knowledge, tipsand tricks - and because its now 2pm and the light starts to get good now so I'm off outside.

The cow at the top is the first photo ever taken with it. I know the sky is awful, the highlights could be better, the midtones are middle aged and the composition could have been the work of a two year old but I'm euphorically happy to have stepped off the 'auto' ledge I was stuck on and now be freefalling into the endless possibilities of 'manual' so you'll just have to put up with it.

What to do with surplus eggs?

Apart from freeze them . [shudders]

Make tarts! I call them tarts anyway though you may well know them as quiches or flans.

For the pastry cases:

300g plain flour
150g butter
Ice cold water

Rub butter into flour (or use food processor) until mix resembles fine breadcrumbs. Add water a tiny bit at a time, cutting and stirring with a metal knife all the while until a clean dough i.e is one solid lump in your bowl).

Line tart case/flan case with pastry and bake blind for about 20 minutes. Remove from oven and fill immediately.

For the fillings:
Here you can go mad and just use whatever you have in the fridge. e.g today I made

Mozzarella, Andouille and sunblush tomato
Mushroom, black olive, manchego and sunblush tomato
Blueberry
Blackcurrant

Just make sure you stuff the case full of filling. Not so it over flows but to at least 2/3 the depth of the case.

The egg mix is simple and the same for both sweet and savoury - though adding salt and pepper for savoury and about 3 tablespoons of organic golden granulated sugar for the sweet.

4 eggs
7 fl oz of double cream
3 fl oz of milk
salt and pepper OR
3 tbsp sugar

Beat together and pour over fillings of choice. If you are using cheese in your filling, sprinkle/lay it on the base before anything else as I find this helps the bottom remain crispy. Bake at around 160 deg C (fan oven) for 30 to 40 minutes until golden brown on top and centre of tart bounces back when lightly pressed.

They'll keep for a couple of days in the fridge but you can freeze them too - just slip the cooled ones into a ziplock freezer bag, press all the air out and thats it. They'll still be fine a month later. Don't defrost them when you need them, just put in a low oven straight from freezer until heated through.

Evening water

Took this during the afternoon. Fiddled with exposure etc, used a tripod and liked the effect.

Well it happened....

After much deliberation, navel grazing and discussion, I said a fond farewell to my old life in Oil and said hello to the new, hopefully less mind numbingly stressful one. Taken a small part time job in a local delicatessen - which is incidentally heaven for a foodie like me - and have interview at Uni on 15th Feb to assess my application for degree course in Forest Management. I am going back to my trees (for those who didn't know, I was a forester until the end of 2004). I suspect I may need to do a year of some kind of refresher course but thats fine.

I keep typing 'old life' activities that will be replaced by new life ones and am coming to the conclusion that words alone are not going to be able to convey the difference. I don't expect it to be easy - working, running this ever expanding place and studying. It maybe even harder work but I am looking forward to it.

Anyway, now there is some positive structure and progress - and to continue... the greenhouse.

This coming week will see the construction of raised beds. We're going to be using brick and wood as thats what we have handy basically. I've sourced some lovely local well rotted manure too which will be added. Also to do this week, prune back raspberry canes and I'll be checking out the rhubarb.

Chickens are doing well - 3 out of 7 hens laying daily and no re-ocurrence of the mystery diahorrea. I've replaced the lid on the nest box(es) as they were fiddly and encouraged them to roost (and crap) on it. White formica at an angle. Quite entertaining to watch...

Other news: Rangerover (old G reg one before anyone thinks we're high falutin' folks)is causing N some major headaches. Keeps cutting out and he suspected the ECU. However now suspects its something to do with something else. As he started explaining I felt my brain crumble so unfortunately thats all I registered. I do know it makeshim swear a lot. Modern electronic stuff y'see. Didn't get these problems with Series landies! Engines built to last [coughs]

The Clio is worse than ever. Rangie probs have meant that operation replacement fanbelt has slipped to 'whenever I can manage' so I am still screeching about the place and causing old ladies to stop and stare as I drive though the village. AND the roof quite literally pours with water. The drivers seat is like sitting on a sponge. Just what you need at 8am and freezing. I am considering limpet mines.

I'm not moaning though. Really.

A comment on the weather

It has at last stopped raining and or/ snowing. However this part of Deeside wasn't dumped on quite as much as some of the inland areas. I can, in fact, testify from experience that on Thursday, the Lecht had it considerably worse than anywhere down here. What with them being at 2090ft n'all. It was Jnr's first experience of snow too - we climbed the flanks of Carn a Bhacain and Mona Gowan towards our goal (bacon and egg softie in the ski centre) and all he could say was 'oh NO!' as some invisible and unknown hand lay a thick white blanket over his still new world. Even more so when he felt the hurricane force winds lash tiny particles of frozen ice at his yet unweathered face as we raced a blizzard the final 20ft to our destination.

On Friday we were intending to hunt down more of the white stuff but got waylayed in a nationwide hunt for spice racks (please, don't ask). As the afternoon wore on however, we unwittingly found ourselves part of the Find the Worst Flooded Road in Scotland competition. We won by finding some definitely unclassified roads over moorland during one of our 'shortcuts' and the heaviest rain in years. Rain and floods turned to snow and ice the higher we got. It was very pretty but my mind was elsewhere. Our septic tank, which has been playing up, be precise. And lo, by the time we reached home, the drains were as we suspected, overflowing. Being married to an engineer is very handy especially when they disappear into their shed and reappear with pumps and things to disperse the rapidly overflowing drains. Thirty minutes, some jubilee clips, a few hoses and a compressor later we were free to flush the toilet again!

Meanwhile, Jnr is taking this rain seriously and is taking steps to protect himself against floods and falling trees.

Love thy Neighbour?

Not anymore it seems.

I was reading an article last night (from under the duvet - attempting to fend off the subzero temperatures upstairs) in Decembers edition of Smallholder magazine written by a couple of beekeepers from the Wirral. The article was not about bees but a more human subject - that of helping thy neighbour.

Now when I were a lass (she says - puffing chest out, smoothing down apron and folding arms) every single farmer in our wee corner of Moray used to help one and other - no matter what was going on - from picking stones, to planting, to roguing the barley to harvesting and baling and tattie picking - everyone would come together. All the local kids would help too. Being as young as I was, I wasn't party to the agreements made between the different farms but I do know that when we increased our wee holding to a size where we needed help, we got it, and in return dad or mum or the entire family would (at some point in the future) toodle off to a neighbour and help out. That was the way it was. No financial reward (except during tattie picking time when we kids earned the princely sum of two pounds per day!).

Back to our Beekeepers from the Wirral. Now they are projecting much and such the same image of days gone by albeit in North Wales. "We notice that another neighbour, busy from morning till night, always has time to spare for others, getting in their hay crop, although his own lies waiting to be baled, mucking out a cow byre for a sick friend when his own sheep wait to be sheared, taking a neighbours stock to market when the wall on his own farm has collapsed and needs repair: he always has time for others without any thought of repayment. This is the old and traditional way of doing things, but seemingly not taught nowadays. Mores the pity"

I'm not sure that I agree that its simply a case of 'its not taught now' - I know a lot of good folk that do teach it and pass it on - perhaps I am naieve but I think its down to more than one factor.

The mechanisation of farming for one - a farmer simply does not need a whole host of folk at every occasion nowadays. Remember tattie 'holidays'? Good lord, one farm could employ every single kid for a ten mile radius and a couple of adults to boot! Now its done with a couple of folk and a couple of tractors and the kids now look on and can't see what all the fuss was about. Same with harvesting. This past hearst, I watched the local farmer and his son combine and bale the feild next to us in one morning. One morning. It took us two days and two families to do one 75 acre feild in 1982. Mechanisation has distanced us from our neighbours, if not through physical miles, then certainly through communication.

I'm not denying that a helping and knowledgeable hand isn't essential in smallholding or farming, on the contrary its part and parcel, but there is another element to this shift in attitude that I am positive bears thinking about. And heres my cynical side coming out. Independence. I think, to a fair extent, folk expect too much help now. We're mollycoddled to the point where we just can't do things for ourselves. We just expect help when we get stuck. Alright some just expect help when they have something needing doing and that leads to an equal and opposite reaction - you'll soon piss off all those around you. From making a meal from scratch and not from a supermarket packet to fixing your own *insert broken thing*. I'm not saying you have to become Gordon Ramsay or some mechanical guru overnight but instead of sitting there, get up, learn what it is you have to do to fix the situation and get going. Even if you fail, even if you make a mistake - you'll have tried. In return you might find that more folk will offer help because they see that you're actually giving it a go.

You simply can't do everything though, there are only twenty four hours in a day and having to say No is unfortunately an inevitable part of life. Our Beekeepers farming friend willingly sacrificed his own time to help those around him. He could have said, just for once, "no, sorry, my wall really needs repairing" and as he's a nice bloke anyway folk would have understood and likely offered to help. Is it true that what goes around, comes around? What about those karmic blocks? Those folk that readily accept help but then don't pass it on or even worse, bemoan the fact that the helper didn't meet their standards. Is saying No a general result borne from bad experience? (and oi! Don't sit there all saintly, muttering about how I should just let it flow over me and that after all helping out is all about 'doing' as oppose to 'what it does for you' - as I can almost guarantee you've been pissed off the same one way once or twice too..)

When does saying No become habit rather than a need? Has saying No become second nature rather than concious thought and where do you draw the line?

Happy New Year

Happy New Year to everyone!

We saw out the Old Year at the Stonehaven Fireball Festival. The festival arose from a 19th century fishermen's festival but it is likely that the use of purifying flame to word off evil spirits and to endow the fishing fleet with luck has pre-Christian origins. Before and after the ceremony itself there was an open air band, amusements, pipe band, drummers and fireworks. I've Youtubed some of the videos I took last night. Not best quality but with approx 12000 folk in attendance, it was kinda hard to get a decent spot for video/photo.

The first is the finale. 45 - 60 burgh residents twirl massive fireballs up and down the main street before hurling them into the harbour.

The second, the piper, was just a bloke that appeared from his back door right in front of us and started playing!