We have just realised that it is six months since we moved to Stronsay. It seems only a short while ago that we stood in the living room surrounded by boxes and packages wondering whether we would ever get unpacked and have a more or less tidy home again. However, everything has been unpacked and put away and we can (almost) find things when we require them.

We spent the first two weeks of September preparing for an all-too-brief visit by a long-time friend of ours from Kent accompanied by her daughter. This is the friend who dragged Antonius (aka Horace), the stone boar, all the way from London to Yorkshire on the train; we still feel sorry for the well-meaning lad on York station who offered to carry Chris's bag little realising that it contained an extremely heavy stone garden ornament. On the Saturday whilst we were on our way to Kirkwall to collect our friends from the airport the ferry had to carry out an 'emergency stop' because a large number of yachts were holding some sort of race directly in the ferry's path and seemed intent on using the 'sail before steam' rule. Luckily the ferries are extremely manoeuvrable and can turn in their own length thanks to the bow thrusters. I'm not sure what the ferry's captain thought or said but it was the first time that have heard the ferry use its whistle. We collected our friends from Kirkwall airport just after 5 pm and we all spent the Saturday night in a Kirkwall B&B. This was a large, very comfortable old house with huge rooms and high ceilings, there were no bedroom curtains but old-fashioned shutters kept out the light and the weather, which was wild, wet and windy. On the Sunday we took our friends on a quick tour of the usual tourist sights such as Skara Brae then returned to Kirkwall to do a little shopping and have a meal before catching the 7.20 pm ferry to Stronsay. Whilst in Kirkwall we saw two blackenings - when we first saw the trucks they each contained several neat, well-groomed, rather noisy young ladies but as time went on they became quieter and their hair & clothes became dirtier and dirtier. The penultimate coating appeared to be of treacle or molasses finishing off with a final dressing of chicken feathers. Our friend's visit was all too brief and they left on the Thursday morning flight from Stronsay to Kirkwall (just 8 minutes flying time). It is a pity that the weather was bad that morning - driving rain and mist - because they missed the aerial views of Orkney.

Since arriving on Stronsay we have both remarked on the friendliness and helpfulness of the local people. One day a man returning from taking his dogs for a walk in the pouring rain knocked on our and informed us that the window on our car was wide open. Another time a lady knocked on the door and asked if I knew that there was a pool of water underneath my car - she was concerned that something was leaking but, fortunately, it was just where I had been filling up the screen washer bottle. What really impressed me though was the local builder. On the Friday I had ordered some timber from him for a job in the attic, telling him that I was not in a hurry to have the timber delivered. On the following Monday I was in the garage planing some wood for an entirely different job when the builder, who was working just across the road, called in to ask if I wanted the timber I had ordered from him delivering that day because he thought he might be holding me up.

Next to our garage is a lean-to shed which is used to store sacks of coal. The shed roof is extremely leaky and therefore the shed itself is very damp so last week our local handyman (Matilda's owner) replaced the roof with corrugated plastic so that Maureen can use it as a greenhouse once the walls have dried out. All I have to do now is find a new home for the sacks of coal and all the other rubbish that seems to have accumulated in there.

Our handyman tells us that Matilda is still laying her morning egg in the living room but she has discovered how to get out of the field in which the hens are kept. Unfortunately she has not yet discovered how to get back into the field so she goes up to the patio door and pecks on the glass until someone takes pity on her and puts her back in the field with the other hens. One of the handyman's geese was silly enough to stand up and stretch its wings during the strong gales we had last week, the result was that the goose was immediately whipped off its feet and made an undignified crash-landing in an adjoining field. One of the handyman's older roosters was less fortunate, the wind must have thrown him (the rooster, not the handyman!) against a fence with some force for the poor creature was found there dead the next morning.

Last updated 02 October 2004