It is astonishingly quiet here. I was sitting on the verandah this afternoon, book in one hand, mug of tea in the other and was actually disturbed by the sound of a dried leaf landing on the ground. I looked round, then laughed. How different is this from noisy, polluted London?
It was such a good decision to embark on my adventure. Everyone at home was saying how brave I was, but it doesn't feel brave at all. It feels very fine indeed.
One slightly brave bit has been giving an introductory talk to a newly arrived group about where the fire extinguishers are, how not to hang clothes over the heaters and how not to be killed by a mountain lion. (I try to slide that one in fairly casually). I thought I had come across as confident and reassuring, so was rather put out when one person asked, while wearing a worried expression, whether I was the only member of staff on site.
I obviously need to practice my clever expression more. I will employ the look I previously used in scary work meetings, where I tilt my head forward and look over the top of my glasses. This implies I know everything, and as long as I keep my mouth shut, I don't break the spell.
The other nearly brave bit was when I was considering going for a swim in the sea. There are sharks on this coastline, but I was told not to worry, because when the lifeguards see a shark, they put out a flag.
I have a few concerns about this. The first would be whether the lifeguard responsible for shark spotting had had a bit of an evening the night before, and how groggy he was feeling. The second would be how long it takes for groggy lifeguard to find the flag and walk to the flag pole and winch it into position (possibly the length of time it takes to play the 'Jaws' theme tune?). The final thought was what happens if I am busy swimming away from the beach, so don't see the flag and the first I know of it is when I have a predator snapping at my ankles.
I have been responsible for flags at work, and I know that it can be tricky when you are required to suddenly find the Union Jack, which you last saw somewhere round about the Royal Wedding a year ago. They tend to get buried under things like Christmas tree decorations and broken lever arch files.
I decided the safest bet would be to sit on the beach for a while, and as long as no one was dragged out of the surf screaming, with fountains of blood pumping from where their legs used to be, it was probably OK.
In the end, I spotted a sign warning of a high percentage of algae in the water, and that we shouldn't ingest any. That did it for me, but I did wonder why the shark gets a magnificent flag and the little algae just gets an A4 notice pinned to a six foot pole (stick in the ground, not a person from Eastern Europe).
I wondered if I should put a 'post-it' note on a tree, warning of death by mountain lion, and take that bit out of the talk.
It was such a good decision to embark on my adventure. Everyone at home was saying how brave I was, but it doesn't feel brave at all. It feels very fine indeed.
One slightly brave bit has been giving an introductory talk to a newly arrived group about where the fire extinguishers are, how not to hang clothes over the heaters and how not to be killed by a mountain lion. (I try to slide that one in fairly casually). I thought I had come across as confident and reassuring, so was rather put out when one person asked, while wearing a worried expression, whether I was the only member of staff on site.
I obviously need to practice my clever expression more. I will employ the look I previously used in scary work meetings, where I tilt my head forward and look over the top of my glasses. This implies I know everything, and as long as I keep my mouth shut, I don't break the spell.
The other nearly brave bit was when I was considering going for a swim in the sea. There are sharks on this coastline, but I was told not to worry, because when the lifeguards see a shark, they put out a flag.
I have a few concerns about this. The first would be whether the lifeguard responsible for shark spotting had had a bit of an evening the night before, and how groggy he was feeling. The second would be how long it takes for groggy lifeguard to find the flag and walk to the flag pole and winch it into position (possibly the length of time it takes to play the 'Jaws' theme tune?). The final thought was what happens if I am busy swimming away from the beach, so don't see the flag and the first I know of it is when I have a predator snapping at my ankles.
I have been responsible for flags at work, and I know that it can be tricky when you are required to suddenly find the Union Jack, which you last saw somewhere round about the Royal Wedding a year ago. They tend to get buried under things like Christmas tree decorations and broken lever arch files.
I decided the safest bet would be to sit on the beach for a while, and as long as no one was dragged out of the surf screaming, with fountains of blood pumping from where their legs used to be, it was probably OK.
In the end, I spotted a sign warning of a high percentage of algae in the water, and that we shouldn't ingest any. That did it for me, but I did wonder why the shark gets a magnificent flag and the little algae just gets an A4 notice pinned to a six foot pole (stick in the ground, not a person from Eastern Europe).
I wondered if I should put a 'post-it' note on a tree, warning of death by mountain lion, and take that bit out of the talk.
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