At last I have arrived on my favourite
Hebridean island, a small dot at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. It has all been a bit of a whirl, because in
the space of just a couple of weeks, I have gone from being beside the
Pacific, to being beside the Atlantic.
It has taken a while for my head to catch up with where my body is.
The weather is certainly rather different from the perpetual, glowing sunshine of California, which in all honesty, can become rather DULL. (If I say this often enough, maybe I will start to believe it). In fact, I feel nothing but pity and sympathy for those poor folk living in GORGEOUSLY WARM WEATHER. They must get VERY BORED of wearing sun screen and shorts all the time.
However, I have to confess that this morning, walking to work along the
fields overlooking the Sound, I was grateful it wasn't raining and I
didn't need to put on my coat.
I have been here often enough to KNOW
BETTER.
Within five minutes, the weather had gone from overcast and dry, to driving rain. It was coming at me so hard, I didn't even
want to stop and put on a plastic poncho I had in my bag (I will
explain what this was doing there later). I knew in the time I would have to rummage in my rucksack, open the packet and work out where my head went, that I
would be drenched anyway.
I started running for the abbey door and
skidded in, looking like I had just stepped out of the shower, wearing all
my clothes. Today was also my day for collecting supplies for our
communal house. I dripped up to the kitchen and the cook was so
surprised by my watery appearance, she immediately grabbed a towel
and started trying to dry my hair and wipe the rain off my face and
nose. I felt about five years old again - which was strangely
comforting.
It is fascinating to see how being in new places
makes you yearn for, and value different things. I particularly remember being in a group on a long train journey in India, where we
all were suffering from 'Delhi Belly'. For the hours of that trip, the
most coveted item, worth more than all the diamonds and gold in the
universe, was a meagre wet wipe. Now, on my Hebridean island, I
found my self jealous of someone wearing AN ARMY PONCHO. The proud
owner was standing in a downpour, looking smug and DRY underneath his
camouflage. I wasn't sure the camouflage was strictly necessary, as
no one has attempted a raid on this island since some Vikings
got ideas above their station.
You can imagine my delight, when I went
into the gift shop and saw row upon row of plastic ponchos for sale.
It was also fortuitous that they were black, because later this week
I have to appear on stage as a singing nun. The poncho will make a
very good habit, when turned inside out and worn over a white,
cardboard 'crown'. Posing as a singing nun is not part of my duties
here, but I seem to have been roped into appearing in a concert,
singing a couple of songs from, 'The Sound of Music'. I have yet to
confess that due to my hearing problems, I really cannot sing in
tune. The poncho may well double up as protection against rotten
tomatoes being flung at the stage. Well worth £4, I think you will
agree.
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| My workplace for the next couple of months |
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