Heading into town today to do some necessary shopping - not for Christmas, I might add, but for soap dishes and toilet roll holders - really exciting stuff! I'm hoping we've done all the DIY-ery we're doing for a while at least, and then I might be able to relax into writing a little bit more instead of listening for the terrible crash of falling tiles, or worse, of falling bodies.
So, after a brisk explore of Ardvreck, we drove on down the A835 towards Ullapool and telephone the Waterside Inn to secure a bed for the night. Once settled in, we walked out in sunshine along the shoreline and the river towards Ullapool Bridge and then on up the track towards Loch Achall. A pleasant walk uphill, now and then standing aside for the huge lorries working the quarry, which has expanded a good deal since we were last on this path. Eventually the track crosses the river, where the views open out, with Glastullich peeping out across the hillside and the loch disappears ito the distance. Much better weather here than a few miles further north! We walked until we got tired and then turned back, looking forward to a good meal and a good night's sleep. We'd just got back into our room when the five o' clock ferry hove into view. It reversed in, and, as it happened, stayed there. The wind was rising, and forming little waves on the loch, so out on the Minch it must have been quite rough. Everyone hoping to get across to Stornoway that night was stuck.
Gorse, broom, plant a genet It seems to me that characters make stories rather than plot. On the other hand, where would the Da Vinci code be without plot? Maybe I should have said I prefer stories that are character-driven rather than plot-driven. What a character does in response to the inciting incident defines the action for the rest of the story, and this in turn defines the plot line. The character may react in a different way to you or your best friend, but that does not make the reaction incorrect. It might be different, a tad out of the ordinary, but it doesn't mean his reaction is wrong. That's simply how he is. He may be unskilled, or uneducated and naive, but he'll learn as he goes, as we all do. Some people make the same mistake again and again. Most of us take a little time to learn something, and while our first error might well be catastrophic, the second stab at the same thiing will hopefully have smaller repercussions because we are aware of where
It may be a little early to tell, but I think there is no bank charge on the EFT payments. It was laborious, but I checked the payments declared by Amazon and then converted dollars, euros, rupees, etc to sterling and found the payments in my bank account matched almost exactly. There may be a penny or so difference but that could easily be the exchange rate at the time the conversion was made. That is good news. In case you have ever wondered, there are 0.010 rupees to the pound sterling! I'll keep a close eye on the next few payments, but it looks as if I worried for nothing. It is Spring Bank Holiday here this weekend, and of course the weather is typically grey and damp. Even Roland Garros is rained off from time to time, and thunderstorms in France have been quite extreme. Our friends in residence at the mill in the Dordogne are probably suffering as thunderstorms are prevalent there. We have a brief respite from paint fumes, but our decorator will be back on Tuesd
Croaky voice this morning. This cold has been brewing for a day or two and now its here. The sad thing is I cannot lie in bed like I used to! I'm more comfortable up and about. The paracetomol has lifted the worst of the symptoms so I'm doing some work before the effects wear off. I'm reading The King's Curse by Philippa Gregory and finding it a depressing tale. One thing I had not realised before opening this book was how many Plantagenets were still around in Tudor times. A vast family, and most of them healthy, unlike the Tudors, who were the absolute opposite. Poor genes, or was it the curse? Gregory has taken up the rumour that Elizabeth Woodville and her daughter Elizabeth spun a curse on learning of the death of the young Plantagenet princes in the tower - whoever killed them would fail to rear sons and grandsons of their own. I first read this in the White Queen, and thought what a stroke of genius it was. When daughter Elizabeth married Henry Tudor she beca