Monday 28 July 2014

In which I am thrust outside my comfort zone

We had a wonderful evening last night.  We ate with the doors to the patio open and the table was set so beautifully it was like eating in a silver service restaurant.  The food was great, with ample portions of asparagus, cauliflower and a delicious courgette and chilli salad to go with my salmon.  While Sean worked his way through an enormous portion of sticky toffee pudding and ice cream, I was given white flesh nectarines with blueberries, raspberries and redcurrants from the garden.  I wouldn’t usually eat that much fruit but I was touched by the effort Denise had made, plus – it was just so nice!  After dinner we were invited to retire to the sofa for coffee.  I preferred not to drink tea or coffee?  No worries, they would slice some fresh ginger and make an infusion for me.  The setting, the wonderful hospitality and the beautiful weather made for an idyllic evening.  That night we both slept like babies.

In the morning it felt rather odd that this would be the last full day.  Partly because we had such a lovely stay at Knockbain House, I started to feel a bit nostalgic and didn’t want our adventure to stop.  Although inevitably it would have to, because once we got to John O’Groats we’d run out of road.

After settling up, David and Denise said I could stay as long as I wanted to and use the sitting room and gardens, so since I had enjoyed being there so much, I took them up on their offer.  I went into the garden and ran the first 20 steps of Ershibashi (actually it ended up being the first 18 steps, as I forgot about grasp the sparrow’s tail and twin dragons, but never mind) followed by a run through of the long form before heading inside for some meditation.  Wonderful.  I really didn’t want to leave, but I had to eventually, so off I went.

The journey to Thrumster was slow but easy and I stopped at a delightful cafe called Poppy’s in Golspie.  Yes, there was more scenery.  Yes, I still wasn’t bothered.

In Thrumster I had chosen an old laird’s house which has a room to rent, as I knew Sean would love the whole ancestral home experience.  I, however, was not so keen.  Insects began buzzing around my head as soon as I got out of the car.  The carpets were worn, the paint was peeling and there were spiders’ webs everywhere.  There were free range children and a dog that attempted to smell one’s crotch.  I fought down rising panic as I realised how far I was from John Lewis Oxford Street.

I attempted to make myself feel at home by unpacking, but it didn’t work, and I didn’t want to do any Pilates because I didn’t want to get down on that floor, so there was nothing for it but to find something to do outdoors.  I went downstairs and enquired brightly of my hostess what I could do for fun in the area.  “Fun?!”  She looked at me pityingly.  “Well, perhaps I could walk down to the coast?” I ventured.  She gave me directions – about a 2 mile walk – and I set off enthusiastically.

God, it was awful.  All the houses were grim.  
An air of desolation hung over the place.  Even the sheep regarded me suspiciously.  When I got to the coast, you couldn’t even get down onto the clifftop proper and the views were rubbish.  So, chastened, I turned on my heel to go back the way I came.

Immediately I found that it was uphill all the way.  A pall of heavy grey cloud hung overhead.  Midges buzzed around my face.  I shook my head to get rid of them and hit myself in the face with my ponytail.  I passed a box on fire by the side of the road.  
My thoughts turned again to John Lewis.  I trudged on.  I exchanged pleasantries with a man I passed working on his barn, and on hearing he had a Yorkshire accent, asked how long he’d been living here.  “15 years” he replied “and I love it here, I’d never want to live anywhere else.”  Dear God.

I was almost at the house when Sean pulled up beside me and my spirits were immediately lifted.  We walked back into the house together and d’you know what, the house seemed much nicer with him in it.

Roll on John O’Groats.

No comments:

Post a Comment