Oh, the joys of the countryside; the recharging powers of nature. I'm back from 3 days in a cottage on the Isle of Arran, courtesy of kind friends (the same couple who invited me there in Spring). Echoes of my previous island life came back to me - the sense of small community, the philosophical acceptance of weather like this one day, and lightning storms the next day. It was just so relaxing.
I went horse trekking along the beach. I was the only person in the trek (bar the instructor woman) who wasn't 8 years old and wearing pink. (My never being allowed horse lessons as a child may have some bearing on this fact). They all had wee comedy ponys with pot bellies and I had a docile mare, who showed a touching patience to my amateur rein pulls. I rode past a lolloping hare the size of a small kangaroo and several excitable collies.
We went to tea rooms and ate great homebaking in bad Kagoules. There were Motorhead and Iron Maiden T-shirts in the local bar, just like 1982. Alert the Scottish Heritage Trust: wearers might be eligible for funding.
At night the stars were amazing - I'd forgotten about the wonder of stars in the countryside - and the cows would give an occasional low moo, scared of nothing at all in the thick blackness.