After my duties in the abbey finished the other day, I decided I needed a treat, so bought a rather promising looking packet of upmarket 'Aberdeen Angus Steak' flavoured crisps. I knew they must be upmarket by the price. Not much change from a pound, thank you.
I happily started walking back to my accommodation in the village, which involved walking through a field. The field has always been empty of creatures, other than frogs, for many years. Yesterday however, this was not the case. The field was full of cows. I strolled along, admiring a large cow munching grass exactly in front of me on the path. As I walked closer, I was able to observe that this was no cow, but a bull. I regretted two things at this point a) my choice of crisps (I would not want to offend this animal by appearing to eat his mates) and b) the fact I was wearing a bright red jacket. Somewhere at the back of my mind I could recall someone telling me that bulls charge at red things, and I realised, forlornly that I was the looking uncannily like a matador's cape.
I wondered whether I should turn around and walk back, but rejected this option as having a bull behind me seemed worse than a bull where I could keep an eye on it. I sized up the wall on the right, and decided, if push came to shove (quite literally), I should be able to get over it without too much bother. Then, remembering the advice I had given to many guests in California about mountain lions, I engaged the bull in friendly, but firm conversation. My conversation didn't seem to interest him, and he carried on pulling the grass up, so I was able to walk past. He is quite a handsome bull, with a lovely shaggy, ginger coat and NO HORNS - phew.
The Hebridean islands are so beautiful. Yesterday, I was lucky enough to visit the Isle of Ulva with some friends. We took the scenic route, winding round the base of magnificent mountains, and along the side of sea lochs. Each time the car turned another corner on the single track road, it was hard not to gasp at the landscape opening up before us.
After an hour or so we arrived at the Ulva Ferry. The view from the boat was also amazing.
We were en route to a harvest festival, held at a church that stands disused at all other times of year. Many local people make the journey to this remote place for the service and there was amiable conversation as we walked up the track to the kirk.
There was standing room only by the time the service began. We sang hymns accompanied, unusually, by a piano accordion. This made for a very jolly atmosphere, which was carried on by some school children singing songs and waving puppets. A young woman sang two traditional Gaelic songs, which were quite poignant.
Afterwards, we walked back down to the boathouse, to sit with tea and cake admiring the mountains which were casting jagged shadows in the late afternoon sun. As we drove back we saw an otter playing in one of the lochs.
It's good here - really good.
I happily started walking back to my accommodation in the village, which involved walking through a field. The field has always been empty of creatures, other than frogs, for many years. Yesterday however, this was not the case. The field was full of cows. I strolled along, admiring a large cow munching grass exactly in front of me on the path. As I walked closer, I was able to observe that this was no cow, but a bull. I regretted two things at this point a) my choice of crisps (I would not want to offend this animal by appearing to eat his mates) and b) the fact I was wearing a bright red jacket. Somewhere at the back of my mind I could recall someone telling me that bulls charge at red things, and I realised, forlornly that I was the looking uncannily like a matador's cape.
I wondered whether I should turn around and walk back, but rejected this option as having a bull behind me seemed worse than a bull where I could keep an eye on it. I sized up the wall on the right, and decided, if push came to shove (quite literally), I should be able to get over it without too much bother. Then, remembering the advice I had given to many guests in California about mountain lions, I engaged the bull in friendly, but firm conversation. My conversation didn't seem to interest him, and he carried on pulling the grass up, so I was able to walk past. He is quite a handsome bull, with a lovely shaggy, ginger coat and NO HORNS - phew.
The Hebridean islands are so beautiful. Yesterday, I was lucky enough to visit the Isle of Ulva with some friends. We took the scenic route, winding round the base of magnificent mountains, and along the side of sea lochs. Each time the car turned another corner on the single track road, it was hard not to gasp at the landscape opening up before us.
After an hour or so we arrived at the Ulva Ferry. The view from the boat was also amazing.
We were en route to a harvest festival, held at a church that stands disused at all other times of year. Many local people make the journey to this remote place for the service and there was amiable conversation as we walked up the track to the kirk.
There was standing room only by the time the service began. We sang hymns accompanied, unusually, by a piano accordion. This made for a very jolly atmosphere, which was carried on by some school children singing songs and waving puppets. A young woman sang two traditional Gaelic songs, which were quite poignant.
Afterwards, we walked back down to the boathouse, to sit with tea and cake admiring the mountains which were casting jagged shadows in the late afternoon sun. As we drove back we saw an otter playing in one of the lochs.
It's good here - really good.
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