Monday 8 July: mid morning I phoned Harry at Macleod’s quarry to order another load of their excellent MOT Type 1 aggregate. He said they could deliver it that afternoon – the driver would phone me when he was close. The only place we could have it tipped was were we usually park the car, so I moved the car and began screwing some wood together, to keep the aggregate off the pile of larch and stop it filling the ditch. I was quick but hadn’t finished when Tash came to say I’d missed a phone call. In ten minutes a heavy engine became audible, followed by the sound of tyres on the gravel and the clattering cattle grid.
By twelve o’clock we had our MOT type 1.
While standing at my workbench I saw a swallow swoop in under the overhang, just four feet away. Through the partly open window I heard him greet his mate on the nest, just out of sight, then he reappeared and settled on top of the tit box (unoccupied) two feet from her. I froze and watched carefully. Head down, he appeared to be inspecting his feet. Then his head came up suddenly, as though disturbed and he looked around; I remained motionless and his head went down again. His posture was very different to the usual upright way he perches on the roof when burbling. This pattern of movement was repeated perhaps five times before he gave his feathers a shake and flew off. I’m sure he was snatching fleeting moments of sleep, out of sight of predators, grabbing rest between the endless hunt for food for him and his mate, now sitting on her second clutch of eggs.
To make the most of Tash’s three day week while it lasts we went cockling at Crinan Ferry, arriving an hour before low spring tide. I walked along the sand beside the rapidly ebbing river. Several very large cockles later I became aware of some considerable fishy activity. The tide was almost at its lowest ebb and large seatrout were launching themselves across the surface or catapulting out of the water and crashing back, surprisingly close to the edge. Judging by their speed and abrupt movements the trout were in pursuit of fast and agile prey, sandeels or herring fry perhaps, herded into in a limited area. In water less than knee deep and only four metres from where I stood transfixed, a very large fish hurtled towards the shore, breaking the surface three times then, with breathtaking speed, turned at ninety degrees and was gone. My fishing gear was thirty miles away.
The week melted away, working to find and buy the last few things we need on which we should be able to claim back the VAT, when all is done.
I sent a sample of the blue grey formica we so liked to Paint4U that will put just about any paint in an aerosol tin – I’ll spray-paint the white kitchen drawer and cupboard fronts if we can get a good enough match of a suitable paint.
Shopping around for white melamine coated board to top Tash’s workshop bench I was told “we used to stock it“. Nearest source now, Glasgow.
Seagrass for the bedroom floors – the supplier with the best price can deliver to Glasgow for seventy five quid; I’m now waiting for quotes from others to get it here from there. The large local haulier has a virtual monopoly and delivered David’s double glazed sliding doors on the wrong day, when he wasn’t there, with one set of glass smashed and the metal frame bent. Compensation didn’t cover it – oh, the Highlands and Islands.
On Tuesday we’d tried to meet Harry at Macleods’ quarry to view possible paving stone, but he disappeared in a white van as we sat waiting. I arranged to meet him on Thursday but on arrival was told he was at the other quarry. For the time being I’ve given up on Harry; he’s too rare.
When not on computer or phone I repaired the last corner of lime render and got three coats of grey limewash onto it, then with Tash we continued to make more sense of the workshop; it’s not there yet but it’s getting closer.
It will be good to have a second fully functional shower so in the upstairs bathroom I sealed the shower outlets into place and the next day turned on the emergency stop valves.
The pipes gave a reassuring little kick as the water filled them, but no cold came through the shower. Hot was fine. I was perplexed and crestfallen. It was late on Friday afternoon and I’d had enough.
The previous weekend we’d kayaked out of our loch, round to the long beach under the triple fortress of Dun Skeig. Prompted by Tash having seen gannets diving we took our handlines, hoping the mackerel were in. They were but those we caught were all too small to keep. We picked mussels and more fat hen. The mussels were not all for supper that night but we ate thirty, finding more pearls than ever before. We’ve not heard or read about pearls in sea mussels before, but it’s so common place that we now have a small jar that we’re gradually filling.
It was easy to forget about the shower with the weekend, fine weather and a kayak trip across to Arran. No mackerel there either but from the Arran shore we watched two dolphins heading north with the tidal stream.
Monday – David arrived in the evening and on Tuesday Tash dropped us at the ferry before she caught the coach to Glasgow to head south for pressing family duties.
Islay: David has helped here on so many occasions it was good to finally feel able to return the favour, albeit in very small measure. Currently he’s building a summer house amidst twisty oaks on the hill behind his house and is now ready to start cladding.
Cladding: that’s where I come in. It took us some time to work out what we were doing and how we were going to do it and there was some general house keeping before building; I mowed the lawn and to reduce our exposure to ticks, scythed the long grass beside the paths (must get a scythe!). The borrowed blow torch was defective, producing flame at both ends (oops!) but with insufficient pressure and heat and the nail-gun wouldn’t because the compressor didn’t, if you see what I mean. Luckily a working blowtorch was available which we collected early Wednesday morning and David has hammers. The nails come joined by two thin wires in a rolled up belt – like bullets for a Thompson sub-machine gun, which go into the drum like magazine – and I spent a little time snipping the nails off the roll so we could hammer them in by hand.
David is charring his larch before fixing it but the planks needed to be cut to size first – necessitating a first fit to set the spacing (and hence the length), removal for charring, then final fix. While he was engaged on other tasks I fixed supports and the first window reveal.
The back wall seemed a good place to start as it will be the least seen and has no windows to confuse matters. The roof slopes diagonally from one corner to the opposite corner, so there are no horizontal eaves and every plank is slightly shorter or taller than its neighbour. We made a jig to hang on the bottom batten supporting the planks at the same height, then cut eight planks to suit. We ended up making and fitting a corner piece first, which gave us a firm reference point, though, surprise surprise… after charring the planks seemed to have shrunk. No matter we got into the swing of things and it looked good.
Just as we’d knocked off, knackered, a young friend of David’s came round with some promised muscle; Lucas, Lucas and Tomas. With David they manhandled the heavy replacement double glazing up the hill while I skipped ahead like the person who sweeps the ice ahead of the curling stone. The young bloods then insisted on helping lift the glass into place (oh alright then) then David aided by Lucas worked out how the beading clipped into place. While the muscles were on site they lifted the other double glazed unit into place too. Hey presto, one glazed sliding window/door and almost cosy summerhouse (sorry – it was so intense and absorbing that I forgot to take photos). The summerhouse’s elevation gives great views (which I also I didn’t photograph).
Two and a half busy days passed quickly at Lagavulin and on Thursday evening David took me to return ferry. I got back just in time to drive twenty three miles to the polling station and vote (Scottish parliament), with fifteen minutes to spare, despite the birch tree that had fallen across the road…
That damn shower: yesterday (Friday 19 July), fighting considerable inertia, because I feared having to rip the walls apart to get to the problem, I got myself into the upstairs shower. I’d have to look at the thermostatic mixing valve which lay beneath the face plate that I’d so carefully, neatly and firmly(!) sealed with silicone; I started cutting the plate free, then paused to check that the cold water was still not flowing – it wasn’t. I took all the knobs off and looked more closely at the thermostatic control spindle. I’d not really understood how the temperature control was meant to work when I fitted it and now wondered whether I could have simply misaligned the knob on the spindle it fixed onto. After some fiddling around there was a drip of cold water. A bit more fiddling, some more drips and I noticed a permanent felt pen line on the spindle and the inside of the knob. I aligned them and reattached the knob. The drip became a steady flow.
I never did get the plate off, it was too well fixed so I just made good as best I could. When Tash is back from southerly duties she gets the first, celebratory shower!
A sustainable house for unsustainable times... 