spring

Stuff is springing up all over the place: the first lambs in Aird which led to a series of stock-based conversations with Roddie MacDonald; the Calmac summer timetable coming into force (now with added Sunday sailings!); lunches outside (sandwiches on Balivanich beach today); my bicycle lights running out half way to the gaelic class in Griminis and the Benbecula 10k. It sounds quite respectable if I say that I finished 34th but since there were only 41 finishers (gentleman number 52 made a bid for freedom by heading off the island to South Uist) it's not that great however I did manage to overtake two ladies who were deep in conversation. And I got a medal. And I got a personal best time by finishing under one hour. And there was free cake afterwards. And I got to meet the famous Father Ross who was running in full French style (jogging bottoms, woolly hat, gloves, hoodie pulled up) to avoid 'le froid'. Alas my delicate Scottish skins is getting blasted by all the attention and I'm nursing my second set of blisters which I'll have to wrap up before frolicking on Berneray tomorrow.

Drumbuidhe is also doing fine with the potatoes planted (charlotte, romano and harlequin) and two beds cleared, the raspberries cut down and the hedge trimmings cleared away. We also made a start on clearing out the oldest compost heap (I try to remain equable but C's only contributions to the garden in the past 3 years has been pulling up my seedlings thinking they're weeds; pontificating about my errors in potato cultivation and getting his acolytes to 'help' by dumping grass cutting on closed compost heaps ... hey ho).

C has found a new acolyte in his joiner Ravi which is good company for C but is leading to the standard initial problems as Ravi misreads the situation (C encourages people to think that he rules his wee kingdom like Prospero whereas he's actually a visitor to my home) gets a rush of blood to the head and exploits C's frailty to provide ill-advised (and coincidentally pricey) work. The best case scenario is that Ravi's mortar joint between the aluminium roof and the stone wall will crumble by this autumn but unfortunately the worst case scenario is that it will pull out the new pointing as it cracks. C is now banned from doing anything to the fabric of the building (see garden comments above) without explicit approval from me although I have no doubt he will forget this when he meets the next new acolyte.

He's back down in Glasgow at the minutes sounding calm but a bit sulky - the current government funding for wind turbines mean that we must get one installed (and by 'one' I mean a turbine that generates useful amounts of electricity and doesn't fall down which kind of rules out C's twenty variations on a Darrieus). On the positive side C's spending on his turbines (about £20,000 pa for the past 3 years and probably £100,000 plus over the past twenty years ....) mean that the budgets required for a turbine that actually works hold no fear for me. On the negative side, a functioning wind turbine will play havoc with his Prospero act.

But enough pondering over parental sulking - here's a fabulous bit of saffron bread that will make anyone smile:

make a dough with:

250g white bread flour

50g butter (rubbed into the flour)

1 sachet yeast

100ml warm milk infused with a good pinch of saffron

1 tablespoon poppy seeds

1 beaten egg (keep a wee bit over for glazing)

1 tablespoon sugar

1 teaspoon salt

roll out into a rough rectangle and fill the centre with a paste made of

100g softened butter

80g caster sugar

50g ground almonds

150g dried chopped apricots

finely chopped zest from two oranges

wrap the rectangle up into a parcel and turn it over so the rough bits are hidden on the bottom. Slash the top diagonally and leave the bread in a draught-free place (I use the oven) to rise for a couple of hours. When it's risen to your heart's content, brush the top with beaten egg and bake it for 30 minutes at 200C. All very pagan

jolly lumberjacks

a heady mix of a month started out with Emily arriving from London in the teeth of a gale (the schools then the buses then the offices shut down for the day). We spent a jolly weekend bouncing over the island road in search of tea cakes that weren't stale and anything resembling a social life. The walking was superb (sheltering behind gravestones to eat our sandwiches in a hailstorm was a particular highlight) but the nearest we came to a social life was the last 3 minutes of an old firm game on the telly at the Pollachar Inn. Hey ho.

The next weekend was spent with 3 jolly lumberjacks at Drumbuidhe. Jake, Donald and Gordon cut down as many of our conifers as they could (about 50% of the border of the garden) and I spent a painful hour kneeling on the south wood store roof mending the house with (industrial grade) sticky tape. Things got a wee bit emotional and heated over strawberry wine and blueberry vodka but it was a weekend of decent chat, fine fod and sticky resin.

After a weekend spent driving around south Uist and Eriskay looking for a gap in the rain that never came there was a decent spot of tea and dancing at Daliburgh where I made it (just) through every dance apart from the fiendishly complex scottische.

I'm now back from a busy weekend that covered Campbell's Birthday present (wine tasting at the Ubiquitous Chip: nice food and wine but Campbell didn't make it through the main course before he had to be poured into a taxi); 3 days spent doing intensive babysitting in Devon (I'm bruised and tired but, hey, nobody died) and finally a frantic shop in Glasgow (obscure hair dye! tofu and kikkoman! waitrose!) before jumping on the flight back to Benbecula where my cheeky wee late arrival was discovered when I missed a meeting my Stornoway boss had set up for 9am. Hey and indeed ho.