Working 9 to 5 what a way to make a living..............

We've been here a little over 3 weeks and it's just starting to feel like maybe we're not on holidays after all.

The reality of needing to really watch how much we're spending has started to happen and I've already started an eBay account to sell some of my finds that I've been collecting for months to sell on and make my fortune. The reality of it is that the little gem you''re convinced is going to make 500% profit is really a heap of junk and you'll be lucky to make your money back after you've paid postage. But never mind, it makes me feel like I'm trying.

I've also got a couple of job applications on the go. I wanted to potter. I wanted to work behind a bar or clean some holiday cottages and make patchwork quilts for tourists. I'm too lazy. I'm better off doing the job I've trained long and hard for so I've applied to the local authority for social work jobs. I've spent 20 odd years denying that I'm a social worker, I'm even reluctant to give it Proper Capital Letters as a job title because I feel such a fraud. I've never been good at restricting what people need. I truly begrudge applying a budget to people's needs and assessing their situation in a way that costs the least. Maybe it's changed since I did my first couple of jobs a thousand years ago and then decided that I really didn't want to be a social worker - with or without capital letters.

I loved working for Shelter. I enjoyed making sure that people had their housing needs met. I enjoyed training people to make sure that they could also give sound advice to people. I worked in a glorious part of the country and traveled extensively throughout Somerset and Dorset meeting with Citizens Advice Bureaux and helping their volunteers to get their heads around housing law. I remember driving around agricultural Dorset and weeping at the pyres of bloated carcasses of the slaughtered cattle at the height of the foot and mouth disease outbreak and designing some specific training around Agricultural Tenancies to pass on my knowledge to all of those unemployed farm and agricultural workers that the government of the day kept telling us would be devastated and lose their livelihoods. It never happened. The tragedy of the day meant that more farmers killed themselves than found themselves homeless.

Moving back to Wales found me working less in the field of housing and more and more with domestic abuse. 

(crikey, this is turning into a cheerful little read!)
Again, it was fighting for people's rights rather than restricting what they needed that kept me motivated. Of course a lot of the work I did meant that I was using my social work skills (still with little letters). I was also working collaboratively with Social Workers (Capital Letters) to make sure that children were safe and protected because of the desperate situation they were being brought up in. A lot of the time, though, I found myself increasingly frustrated with social work departments who would, it seemed, invest a lot of time and effort into families who would 'do as they were told' and make for a positive report to be written. Those families who were deemed to be difficult or non-co-operative or simply too chaotic to engage with on any real level were just left floundering with more and more little boxes left unticked. I do worry that I might become that kind of Social Worker - restricted with budgets and time and innovation so that the only reward comes from telling your manager what you have been able to achieve rather than point out all the families that have been left wanting. Left needing, in fact.

I used to watch the efforts of foodbank workers and collectors and distributors (me, in a lot of cases) and grow increasingly angry that it was accepted in this day and age that families were so poor that not even their benefits stretched far enough to buy tins of spaghetti hoops and baby wipes. Then I would grow more angry that tins of spaghetti hoops were seen as adequate nutrition and money that could have been spent on half a dozen eggs was spent on a packet of baby wipes, something that is now viewed as an essential motherhood spend. I'm sure I used the corner of a dampened tea-towel on my kids.

So, the thought that I might end up being a Social Worker doesn't exactly fill me with enthusiasm.

But job opportunities here are limited. There are lots of part-time jobs advertised as you walk around the town. I could work for 18 hours as a customer adviser in Argos or as a bar maid in The Stornoway Sea Angling Club. I cold even offer my services as a van delivery driver for the Co-op but they're all part-time and low paid. I think I'd probably be better off as a part-time well-paid Social Worker.

I have been doing some networking, though. Urgghh!! N E T W O R K I N G - a horrible word - but maybe it's a necessary evil if I need to get my face and name known.

Apart from sticking my nose in where it's clearly not wanted (I'll elaborate shortly) I've also volunteered to do some stewarding at the Hebridean Celtic Music Festival known affectionately as The HebCeltFest. This is a huge music festival held every year in the grounds of Stornoway Castle. We designed our holiday around the festival a few years ago and watched KT Tunstall and Eddi Reader and some other brilliant musicians belting their heart out in a howling gale. I've been to lots of the major festivals in the UK and I think the setting for The HebCeltFest is one of the most stunning I've been to. But that's probably an age thing. You don't go to music festivals for the view - but I stopped going to music festivals because of my bladder. Another advantage of the HebCeltFest is the toilets. Very short queues and the wind keeps the whiff to a minimum! Volunteering at the festival might help me to meet people who know people who need people to work for them.

I thought I'd done that by inveigling myself onto the guest list for a Violence Against Women event at An Lanntair, our local arts venue. I thought it would be a good way to meet people who were in the same line as work that I'm good at. The head of the Community Partnership introduced me to some other people and I offered to assist with an important funding application with a looming deadline. I'm sitting here very frustrated that the deadline is 48 hours away and despite working very hard at writing pages and pages of proposals for them I've had just one email from one person telling me they were unable to open my attachment.

This is another reason why I'm reluctant to be a Social Worker - any innovation or attempt at doing something a bit different is viewed with suspicion by the powers that be because it might show up their shortcomings or give them a bit more work to do.

I tell you what - making patchwork quilts for tourists is growing more and more attractive.

Our house is a very, very, very fine house..........

We’ve been coming backwards and forwards to The Outer Hebrides since about 2008. The first time we were here we just used the tent and camped on the dunes in Kneep in North Harris and at Seilebost campsite when we were on Harris & Lewis. We drove up and down the road through Borve a couple of times that year and have driven it dozens of times on our visits here.

This end of the island has a number of tourist spots – all of them well worth seeing and talking about but my favourite spot at the moment is our little crofthouse. The more I settle in the more delighted I am with where we have chosen to live for the time being.

We’re just renting and what you need from a rented property is different from what you look for when you are buying a property. First a foremost this property is lovely and clean and well cared for. The landlady has been calling in on at least a weekly basis, she told us, to switch on the heating and keep the place aired. She told us she inherited it from a family member back in the late 1990s and has been renting it out ever since. The garden is separated from the rest of the croft with a very simple fence and their small flock of sheep spend a few weeks at a time on different crofts belonging to the family. When the sheep are lambing they take them to the croft nearest to their house to keep an eye on them. Two sheep had triplets this year which they shared out amongst other ewes who had single lambs.

Even though the garden is much smaller than the main croft, it’s still big enough for 2 five bar gates – one to drive vehicles up to the house and then another for access to the croft itself. We had three vehicles in here at the beginning of last week and there was still plenty of room .

One of the vehicles had a spare passenger seat.  Naturally that seat held a box that contained a hexicopter with a radio controlled camera lashed to it.  I suppose one of the advantages of belonging to slightly bonkers family is that the slightly bonkers things they make can have quite spectacular results.

My brother’s hexicopter is the same kind of thing that is used for aerial reconnaissance of archaeological sites, you may have seen something like it on Time Team or other TV programmes where the archaeologist guides a camera attached to a flying gadget in order to seek out tell-tale signs of walls and buildings from the air that might be ordinarily missed on the ground.

There are not many people who have an aerial video of their house!

I knew the sea was in view of the kitchen when we first came to view this property. When the wind is in the right direction you can hear the waves breaking on the shore a couple of hundred yards away. A little further away you can see waves breaking on the shore from the kitchen window but there is no direct view of the beach. 

The coastline within walking distance is very rocky and high with few access points to the shore but the strip of land between the crofts and the rocks is traditional Hebridean machair. The machair is a strip of very fertile grazing land only found on the  Atlantic coasts of Scotland and it’s western islands and a small part of Northern Ireland. The combination of calcium from the shell sand and seaweed used as a fertiliser is said to balance out the acidic nature of the peaty soil creating an amazing carpet of wildflowers in the summer. Different areas appear to be different colours as different species of wildflower take hold. Right now the flowers are just starting to take hold but having previously been here at a later time in the summer I know the treat we’re in for as the machair blooms and blossoms to its fullest in late June and July through to August. The scent in a few weeks will be incredible and I remember when we came back for the second time suddenly being hit by the aroma of wildflowers on the breeze. 

The start of the machair on 4th June

King cups everywhere

The water lilies are also just starting to bud on the lochs and lochans. I never knew about the water lilies. I used to think they were an exotic, delicate species of flower and to discover that virtually every roadside pool and pond is smothered in a floating carpet of porcelain-like flowers is a sight to behold.

Water lilies on the road to Huisinish

 
Apart from being just yards away from sweet smelling machair another advantage of being on the edge of the Atlantic coastline is watching the sun going down and being in awe of the spectacular sunsets that unfold right outside the kitchen window. Of course, being this far north at this time of the year means that we’re waiting until 11pm to see what colours the setting sun will create across the atmosphere. We were truly spoilt on our first night as the clouds turned coral and pink and purple creating a surreal backdrop to the sparkling sea and the realisation that this is now where we live.

 

Watching 'our' sunset on the first night here.

Monday 3rd June

Tuesday 4th June

Sunday 9th June

It all seems a little bit unreal at the moment and I can’t believe how lucky I am to have the opportunity to experience it all. We've experienced such good weather and been to some beautiful places in the short week that we've been here. I can't wait to experience all the drama that the Hebridean weather will bring us.

Let there be cuckoos a lark and a dove.......

We've had the most amazing few days. There's nothing nicer than showing off something you love only to find that others love it too. I think my family have left this place not only having satisfied their curiosity about the place where their batty relative is going to live but they've fallen a little bit in love with the place too. 

It's hard not to feel amazed by The Outer Hebrides and the few places we went to were pretty amazing. The landscape of South Harris feels very alien in places. Grey rocky terrain stretches for miles and miles and it isn't any wonder that they've been looking at the place as a possible location for the new Star Wars films. But I wanted to take my family to Seilebost and Luskentyre voted as one of the most beautiful beaches in the world and very recently topped a poll of places that are hard to believe are in the UK. I wanted them to see the places that filled me with awe and made me fall in love with the place the first time I was here. I think it's fair to say that they were as blown away by the view as I was.

After the beach we drove back through the Harris hills and northwards to The Isle Of Lewis and to our little crofthouse. Who was I kidding? It's not little at all! The two months I had been away had made the place shrink in my imagination but the place is airy and spacious and light. I love it more now than I did before and it's ideal for us to learn to live here.

It's years since I heard a cuckoo. Since we arrived here there hasn't been a time when I've been outside without hearing one. Just this afternoon I heard a very frantic cuckoo call which was extremely close to the house. Glancing through the window I saw two starlings attacking a much larger fat speckled bird that was shrieking in indignation with its distinctive cuckoo call. I know how rare it is to hear a cuckoo any more so to actually see one was an unexpected pleasure - even if it was being pecked and dive bombed by two protective starling parents. The starlings are nesting in the blackhouse chimney pot and are really pissed off that a crowd of people have suddenly descended upon them and have also brought a dog who climbed upon the roof to investigate the racket!

We took The Dog with us when we went to Port Ness. The harbour there is beautiful with clear turquoise waters. He couldn't resist the idea of swimming in those turquoise waters and leapt about fifteen foot down over the side and onto the rocks. Everyone thought he would be hurt and injured but he just made for the water and swam around the pierhead and back to shore. He's a plucky little thing. Mad, but plucky.

The Dog used to be really anxious about the sound of traffic. Outside the house in Cardiff was a disintegrating road and a manhole cover that made every lorry and bus rattle really loudly. He hated that noise and would come padding through the house with his blanket in his mouth looking for comfort. Here there is rarely a sound. Standing in the garden is wonderfully serene and at first appears to be silent. But then you hear the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore a few hundred yards away. The cuckoo is never far away and the larks....so many larks. Their high pitched chirupping drawing your eyes skywards to see if you can spot them ascending almost vertically towards the clouds. There's also the sound of the nest of starlings and countless seagulls. There's the high whistling call of the terns that fly past and the honking of the greylag geese that congregate in this croft and the other adjacent ones. There are a couple of collared doves as well that always seem to have trouble balancing on the low slung wires between the old fashioned telegraph posts. 

What a great place to be. I think that perhaps I've made the best decision of my life.