bowing out gracefully

My political career ended with a fabulous bit of weather on the west coast as I toured the picturesque letterboxes of the west coast (there are no letterboxes on the small isles but the situation was equally picturesque).  Alas I was unable to get a listing on the ballot paper as the Labour party candidate (there was nothing sinister about this: it was an error on my part and the returning officer would not allow it to be corrected) and I scored only a tiny number of votes.  hey ho.  The three sitting candidates for Caol & Mallaig were returned and Labour had gained two seats on Highland Council overall so I'm counting it an interesting experience and a further lesson in the importance of correct form-filling.

I'm back in Glasgow at the minute avoiding the painting of my spare room which has to be done before I can rent it out (to cover all those pesky election expenses), revelling in fancy coffee, catching up on gossip and looking for a new job.

Drumbuidhe was a bit of a mess when I left on Friday since C had been alone for three days and he can't really cope with either cooking or washing up.  I'll be back on Wednesday when I'll have to cope with the depressed, unemployed farm labourer from Lockerbie that my sister has arranged to visit to see about possibly working with C.  I could really do without another depressed bloke in Drumbuidhe but my sister ignored all my objections to her employment advertisement (I'm the sole resident and bill-payer at Drumbuidhe but my sister didn't mention me in the advert for a "live-in estate handyman" she also didn't mention that my father is in the care of a psychiatrist, has a serious alcohol problem and has been detained by the police for domestic violence, Drumbuidhe has very limited liability insurance as well as a stack of uninsured dangerous stuff).  Anyone who lives in the Highlands and Islands knows that there are lots of dissatisfied people around who will respond to vague adverts promising a new life.  They also know that a lot of resources are needed to help these people who arrive thinking that mountains will solve their problems (just ask any mental health professional).  I can't contact the depressed Lockerbie man and tell him that the advert was a misrepresentation since my sister is defensive as hell and would see this as my lack of "understanding" and C is being protective of her well-meaning attempts at care.  Also C is still having violent temper tantrums so contradicting him is dangerous.  I'm seeing C's doctor in Glasgow on Wednesday just to talk through the problems and then I'll head up north to pick through the mess.

C's lack of mobility as well as his slow acknowledgement of his limits mean that he hasn't weeded any of this year's crops (he destroyed all last year's carrots and lettuces) although the plum trees are still suffering from his application of pathclear.  The garden looks great after the first grass-cuting of the year; the early charlotte potatoes have come through their protective plastic and we'll finish off the cavolo nero just as the salad can be harvested.  There was a wee bit of sawfly but I'm keeping vigilant.