I sat out this morning at 6.30 a.m. and the sea was like silk and the bumble bees were bumbling and buzzing in a froth of poppy pollen. The garden has flourished and we have won against the elements and the onslaught of the sea storms and evil salty spray. For a few months we are the winners and the  flowers and bees can pretend they are in a country meadow. 

This last month has been a roller coaster of happiness. I visited my mum in her care home and sang the songs of The Sound of Music and at 97 she was word perfect. She chatted about friends of long ago, and together we shared memories that only the two of us remembered. After two hours of stimulation, she was like a different person. It was nice for John and me to drive there again and see the countryside away from our own perimeters. Lock down is over!

To celebrate, we packed the tent and drove north and west to the Ardnamurchan peninsula and pitched on a lovely site in Strontian. The leaves on the tree above us quivered, and I wondered if it was an aspen, and hummed tunes by John Denver as a suitable tribute, and was a little disappointed to find it was actually a type of poplar.  Don’t know any songs to celebrate poplars.

Anyway we took to camping like old hands, and numbed the senses appropriately with a bottle of warm fizz, then slept under canvas and didn’t miss the comforts of home at all. We explored the north and most westerly point of the United Kingdom at Sanna Sands, which sit just outside of the ring of fire, of dramatic volcano fame. It was just too beautiful, and the only thing to mar the day was the hottest mustard in the world that I had lavished on our sandwiches. Hotter than chilli, hotter than wasabi. Our eyes and noses ran, and reading the label I read it was made for the Victorians, “who liked their mustard as hot as the Devil’s pitchfork”. Enough said. We left our crusts for the crabs. Good luck to them, I say.

We lay in the sand dunes and watched threatening clouds that were just full of hot air, and blew away, leaving us to the tableau that might have adorned an artist’s palette.

We walked through corridors of pine trees for about 5 miles to get to the Singing Sands. We saw on the horizon the full range of mountains, from the Rhum hills, to the Sgurr of Eigg, to the the Cuillens of Skye and the distant peaks of An Teallach and Ben Alligin in the Torridon mountain range. All so clear, yet in tones of blues and silvery turquoise. 

It rained later, but not to worry, we were booked into a luxurious ‘restaurant with rooms’ that overlooked a mini loch. The waitress was seen in the morning (before her shift) standing, soaked to the skin beside the water, giving her baby ducks a swim. They were then herded back to their pen, safe from the nasty drake that would have terrorised them. All this animal husbandry is news to me. I was just amazed at her devotion as the midgies that morning were so fierce, they looked like a black cloud on her hands, and the bites I got from just walking out to the car left huge welts on my neck that lasted for days.

So we came home revived from our adventure, and John was invigorated to go brick hunting again. We revisited Bo’ness, where he found 21 bricks that he didn’t already have, so we manfully carried them back to the car. I must say I did moan a bit. They are very heavy. Some of these bricks come from kilns from 1850, and they are like a living architectural testimony to the days of the coal, and pottery industries. John has built a round ‘wildflower meadow’ with the bricks, which is about to flower at any minute. He also gave them a good wash and painted on their names. 

Walking has been good. Woodland walks with Darcey and Dillon, ‘Come on Dillon, let’s go man go!’ I heard him grumbling to Darcey that ‘Granny called me a mango, I’m NOT a mango.’

We also had a fabulous walk around the farmlands behind Aberdour, when the gorse was heavy with blossom and the rich coconut smells made me just want to lie down and forget about climbing the next hill.

Trees took on faces, and I wondered if I was in some enchanted wood.

We drove to St Monans then walked up the Fife coastal path to Crail, the sun  shone and the sea glittered, and we ate fish and chips at the half way point, then regretted it, as we felt we could have just snoozed away the afternoon.

For the first time in ages we got the bikes out and cycled the 23km round loch Leven. I threw my avocado pip behind me into a stream. Imagine my shock when I heard a loud squawk of protest. I thought I had clobbered a duck. But no, the splash had woken up a nest of ravenous baby black birds who thought their mum had returned. I think they were blackbirds, they were scrawny, but did look quite big. My bird spotting is limited… though John did get a good shot of a kestrel eyeing up some mouse. I was quite impressed. My shot looked like a black dot on the lens.

We had Rosy and Pete to visit, they drove all the way up from the South of England and we celebrated being together, first time in ages. I made them a symphony of crab for dinner. Bisque, soufflé and linguine. Courtesy of the local man who chugs past in  his blue boat most days. Delicious! We drove out to Cramond and explored the island at low tide. Pretty place, and we posed on the beach. We look a little like a rock band, ready to party! 

Sadly we witnessed the aftermath of a boating accident. It was a tanker that actually saw the men in the water and called for help. But within half an hour the boat remains had washed up on the shore in front of our house. The current out there is lethal. Doesn’t prevent wild swimmers and canoeists from enjoying the sea close to shore though. Anyway we ‘helped the CID with their inquiries’. I was very impressed with their beautiful suits and shoes and showed one of them round the garden. John just rolled his eyes! 

We later learnt that one man had lost his life. 

Suddenly out of the blue I met a lady from across the sea, courtesy of our modern technology. Her name is Margriet Ruurs and she is from Canada.

She  had read my book, The Moon in the Banyan Tree, and had written to say how much she had enjoyed it. I was flabbergasted as it has been some time since I wrote it. Anyway we exchanged a few emails, and she too has written a book, called Stepping Stones with the artwork by a Syrian man called Nizar Ali Badr.

I promptly sent away for the book and was blown away by the story and the concept and the amazing artwork. It is a refugee family’s story and it is portrayed in stones. Margriet, as a result, has been invited to so many international schools around the world as a visiting author to talk about the book.

The pictures in stones represent love, anguish, sorrow and joy. I cannot believe pebbles from a beach could communicate so much and so poignantly. 

Anyway I have sewn one of the pictures as an applique, and it will be a reminder of the message.

I saw a whale the other morning. He was huge and had a massive black fin. He was slow and majestic and in no hurry. 

The mural continues outside on the decking. We still have to paint on some wisteria, so I will not post any pictures until it is finished. 

I have been making sunglasses cases, and sent some down to my little girls in Wales. They make ideal models!

So, we are past midsummer, and the nights are long. A rainbow appeared at 10 p.m. last night, it would have been too perfect if the whale had returned to complete the picture!

Adieu.