This is called procrastination. I should be writing my book, but I am all dressed for Pilates, in jet black, ready to take on the challenges of whatever torture instrument is laid by the mat. Last week it was a rubber hedgehog, which was strategically placed in the small of the back or at the base of the skull. The whole hour is a struggle. I am constantly checking my watch, but the minutes just drag along. The other ladies are not particularly effusive but friendly enough. There is much chat about cruises they are going on, or long haul flights. I am feeling the benefits though, as already my tummy is suggesting that there are muscles in there after all. I shall persevere, though I am nostalgic for my days at Adult Ballet and the gentle ripple of the piano as we all pointed our toes by the bar.

During the kitchen renovation John discovered a secret cavity under the stair; he was quite ecstatic about his find, and this week he took his saw and opened up a doorway into a new cupboard. It is huge! Now it is being shelved, and he is dragging me around B&Q looking for architraves or whatever for the new door.

What a treasure cove, perfect for the mops and hoover and what not. To get away from all this industry I have retreated up to the Crow’s Nest and have been writing like a maniac, lost in the world of Borneo, and somehow the words are flying. Sometimes I look up and focus on the courting couples of eider ducks floating about serenely. Yesterday they were dive bombed, ever so gracefully by some impudent Arctic terns, no doubt taking a well earned break from their travels. Otherwise it has been a losing battle with the windows. I go out and scrub and scrape them, then the wind blows bringing the sleet and rain and dollops of sea water and immediately I am wringing my hands in despair. I am having some friends for lunch tomorrow, and I cannot have them see this actuality. I shall venture forth at dawn and give them a good seeing to.

Last week was too good to be true. Wall to wall sunshine, and the little seedlings were enticed ever upwards, and John and I could not stay in. We immediately donned our walking boots and returned to our mission of completing the never ending Fife Coastal Path. We re-joined the route at Lower Largo and duly admired the statue of Alexander Selkirk, the inspiration for Robinson Crusoe.

Then we headed along the sand dunes careful not to trample any of the sign-posted list of protected species.

I had a smile at the selection of rare creatures – not exactly exotic. We carefully avoided squashing the brown-lipped snail,

and marvelled at the hundreds of bumblebees that were deep in the hearts of the dandelion flowers.

The sea was calm and azure, the day warm, and we enjoyed our picnic in Shell Bay. – sounds like something out of a ‘Noddy’ book (Enid Blyton).

Up and down the rocky coastline we went, then we finally arrived at Elie. A pretty town, but it felt so quiet and deserted. Probably because it has been largely bought up by Edinburgh lawyers and used as their ‘getaway retreats’. I did need to use the facilities and found the Scottish Silver Award Winning Public Toilets. What a joke. They don’t open till May. So we continued over the sand dunes and up hills and came across trees giving away the true secrets of the ill weather that this coastline might endure.

Turning inland we arrived at St Monans, and called it a day after walking 21km. The bus took us back to the car and we checked the guide book. We have two more stretches to do, from St Monans to Crail, and then Crail to St Andrews. If we can complete this next week, I shall feel we have done some preparation for the 96 mile hike that we start on the 9^th May.

The weather this week has been absolutely arctic; I can well understand why those little terns go off on safari to the other side of the world. I just hope that it all calms down before our little traverse up Scotland’s West Coast!

I visited Gerry and Darcey this week, and the sun was hot, and she was quite taken with the sensory feeling of grass between her toes. Otherwise she seems to be enjoying the active life from the comfort of the armchair!

We met up with our Brazilian friends that we met last year on our walking week in Andalucía, and together we went to see the finals of this years Scottish Amateur Dramatics festival of one act plays. We watched just three of the nine finalists, as Leith Theatre (my old club) were performing. It was fun, and the evening was varied. The play from Dingwall was in the style of theatre of the absurd. I remember we did Ionesco’s ‘A bald Prima Donna’ in Hanoi, and it really split the audience, you either like it or hate it. This was a brave attempt, and had some clever touches, but John’s neighbour from Orkney slept through the whole thing. Leith Theatre’s play was called ‘The Audience’ and was funny and had a clever take on characterisation, but for me the last one, a Tennessee Williams play was amazing. I did have qualms, worrying about a Scottish accent taking on the Deep South, but I needn’t have worried. It was as powerful as the playwright intended. Anyway none of these won, though Tennessee Williams did come third over all, for on Saturday the Aberdeen contribution won and will now go down to Cardiff for the British Finals.

Please note me at the back of the photo, in one of my more glamorous poses.

It was nice to get out and about, for we have been hugging the sofa a bit lately, but that is fine. There is a time for everything, and at the moment, we are hooked on all the latest dramas on TV. Roll on Sunday for the continuation of Undercover, and Indian Summers. (So weird seeing my old school in Penang all laid out with gardens and grass and painted and being ‘alive’ with people. Last time I saw it, wild lalang grasses were thick, and I marched about with a stick to scare any snakes that might be lurking.

My new book is underway. I feel involved again, and it is so strange to ‘be’ in Borneo in 1977. Stop all the clocks! – I want to go back! But, I must add, this is not autobiography, thank the good lord.

That makes me think of that lovely poem, ‘Funeral Blues’ by Audin used in ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral’. I shall leave on that note for today:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone.

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,

Put crépe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song,

I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong

The stars are not wanted now, put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.