I am sitting here, drinking home-made apple cider which I made in the slow cooker yesterday. I have so many apples this year and have made cakes and crumbles and filled about six bags for the freezer. But I must say, this apple juice is maybe the best. It’s not alcoholic, well not that I have noticed. It’s tart and almost Christmassy with flavours of cinnamon and nutmeg. Outside it is dreich, the sea unsightly with clumps of seaweed and the odd tree and log floating in and out with the tide, obviously washed down the river from somewhere. The garden is neat and tidy, bulbs planted, roses pruned, everything waiting to be beaten and flattened and drowned by the winter storms and spray.

 I have just come back from church where we paid tribute to the day of remembrance, then afterwards I trudged down in the rain along the coastal path, rain falling on the fallen leaves, it was all very therapeutic. Because of the timing, I decided to go and stand for a further fifteen minutes in the pouring rain at the war memorial where we were treated to the full ceremony of remembrance again. The bugle played, the hymn was sung and our paper sheets disintegrated in our hands. But the poppy wreaths were placed at the foot of the memorial. All over the country we were united. And the rain fell.

I am re-reading the Bible and have just finished the book of Ecclesiastes, supposedly written by the great wise King Soloman. I couldn’t help recalling his words in Chapter 1:

‘What has happened will happen again, and what has been done will be done again, and there is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which one can say, ‘Look, this is new?’ No, it has already existed, long ago before our time. The men of old are not remembered, and those who follow will not be remembered, and those who follow will not be remembered by those who follow them… ‘I have seen all the deeds that are done here under the sun; they are all emptiness and chasing the wind.’

But we do think of those that are gone, and in our lifetimes, we do try to remember. Sadly, Leitheatre came together to say farewell Mike Paton, a long-time member and a wonderful actor and friend. It was sad, unexpected and as always, the one we would have loved to see at the funeral was missing.

So much has been happening. We have been walking and revisiting old haunts We watched the summer turn to autumn, and the geese fly away and the eight baby cygnets on the Dundas Estate grow and finally leave their devoted parents. My succulent plant which is a Mexican Rick Rack Cactus suddenly burst into flower with the most awesome blossoms. Obviously happy.

I foraged for brambles and poured brandy and sugar over them and left them in a dark room to turn into a sublime liqueur. We shall sample sparingly over the festive period.  Leo found a William III silver sixpence on a ploughed field down in Wales. A very exciting find, but Natasha couldn’t help feeling just a little peeved considering all the hours she has spent metal detecting and suddenly he sees the glint in the sunshine and the treasure is just lying on the top of the soil.

John and I went for a flying visit up to Glenelg where we spent the night with Catriona. The mists were down and there was a constant drizzle, but it didn’t matter. It was so nice to meet up with her and Mary and Bo, my friends from long ago. It didn’t matter that all our kids were grown up, and neighbours had passed on, many of whom I visited lying side by side in the graveyard, it was just good to hear their voices, share the memories and spend a little time together.

My friend Gerry whom we stayed with in Kenya visited us for a week. I discovered a new style of shopping and followed in her wake as we went from shop to shop in Stockbridge in Edinburgh. Here is the lady who is not keen on walking through oak and beech forests or along the coastline but can walk us all into the ground with unbelievable energy if shopping is the objective. I was impressed, and even more impressed with the exquisite lapis ring and pendant she found in a charity shop. Now, why can’t I find things like that?

John and I walked from Lower Largo to Elie passing Daniel Defoe’s statue of Robinson Crusoe and we climbed up over the hills looking out at the Bass Rock and the perfectly blue seas and sky. It was a good day.

I remember ages ago we were having coffee in the Robinson Crusoe Hotel and I saw a lone lady check out with her little over night bag. I was intrigued. I wondered why she had chosen this small coastal village for a night away. Was she having an affair? Was she a school inspector or a bird watcher? I have often thought about her. I threaten John when the world gets too much for me that I shall take myself off the Robinson Crusoe for a break!

It is just so lovely at this time of year, it’s hard to imagine life where there are wars and hunger and fear and oppression and hate. I haven’t the words to express my thoughts but the poets do. I have a book which is quite dog-eared now and which opens at Donne’s Holy Sonnet:

‘Death be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;’

I had to learn that for a production of ‘Wit’ that we did in Hanoi. I didn’t really understand the words then, but over the years I think I have come to see what the poet was saying:

‘One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And death shall be no more, Death thou shalt die.’

And this week we had a mighty autumnal moon called the Beaver Moon which we didn’t see as we were under thick cloud, but it did look nice in the pictures. And we look up there at the skies at night and imagine all the people that have gone before us looking for signs or directions. I love this poem by Norman MacCaig, well especially the last verse. Who could say it better? Here are the last two verses of Stars and Planets:

‘They seem so twinkle-still, but they never cease

Inventing new spaces and huge explosions

And migrating in mathematical tribes over

The steppes of space at their outrageous ease.

It’s hard to think that the earth is one –

This poor sad bearer of wars and disasters

Rolls-Roycing round the sun with its load of gangsters,

Attended only by the loveless moon.’