Tuesday 29 November 2022
The Velux windows are not steamed up, they have a crusty coating of frost obscuring them. Living in a modern flat in London, I have not woken up to frosty windows in a very long time. I just looked outdoors and the car needs scraping and all around is tinged with white, though it’s not the ‘is that snow?’ kind of frost.
In a couple of hours, we’re driving to Lockerbie to catch a train to London. We have already talked about how cold it’ll be when we get back here in a few days, but at this moment in time we have the advantage of a fire that is only just going out. It is going to be even colder than we can probably imagine. I so hope we have electric heating wired up before Christmas so we can at least keep the temperature below a certain level of coldness. Our flat in London is only ever degrees of hot, and even in winter it’s warm. We have never needed to use the heating. Unimaginable here. It’s not a good thing though, not having to use heating in the flat; in summer it is almost unbearable and, up until the move here eleven days ago, we still had to sleep with the window slightly open. But it is, obviously, quite a bit colder in London now too. It is currently zero degrees here, seven degrees in London.
Yesterday was not quite the day of overachievement I had envisaged, though I suppose I did the minimum, doing at least a bit of everything I planned to do.
I did, however, have an adventure of sorts. I was planning to walk along the road towards the nearby loch but, after a mile, saw an enticing loggers’ track off up into the hills on the other side of the road to our house. I walked up and up and realised I was almost above our house, above a patch of pine trees. I took some photos of our house, which looked lovely. On the way up, I’d seen a marker “A8”. I had been on an A[#] path before, no idea what they signify beyond obviously marking a clear route. It was a path through the top of the patch of pine trees. The sun was behind me, the path was slightly squishy and boggy and ran alongside a small stream (I say stream, it was probably a dyke; a channel draining excess rainwater off the hill). The path went downhill. I heard a few animal scuffles, saw some kind of big bird fly into the thick woodland but otherwise heard just the trickle (I need a word to signify between a trickle and running) of water and birds singing. Ever so slightly magical. My new-found love of moss and lichen is rapidly increasing.
At the end of the path, downhill for maybe half a mile, it ended with the corner of the patch of forest. I could see the road about 200m away so decided I’d be able to thrash my way through the tall whip-like grass and weeds. I followed a few sections of (probably) animal pathways. It was a very long 200m. The undergrowth was so thick I couldn’t see what I was walking on and the sun was directly in my eyes at the angle I needed to see what was ahead. I would say that my 20-year-old self would have charged through excitably, taking selfies from amidst the thick undergrowth (waist height). My 40-something self had moments of giddiness but I largely talked to myself, along the lines of “is that a stream or a low pathway?”, “Yes, I think I’m better of holding on to those clumps of grassy stuff” and “[expletive], that bit is wet and boggy”. I love that no one was around.
I emerged from my mini-adventure through a gap in a dry stone wall and onto the tarmac of the road a hundred metres from home. I felt ever so pleased with myself and ever so relieved I hadn’t managed to damage myself. My corduroy trousers were wet pretty much up to the waistband and my “I wonder if these boots really are waterproof” actually were. I then surveyed my route from the safety and firmness of the road, remarkably chuffed with myself. I then wondered which of my friends would undertake a repeat of that walk with me.
I moved the lounge furniture around again last night. It still looks wrong. I found some paint colours I like online, but then read that they need to be stored at over zero degrees (so I’m sending Chris out to the shed to put the paint the previous owners left into the (slightly warmer) utility room) and I now feel overwhelmed by the prospect of seven additional tins of paint to deal with. It also feels decadent to have seven colours for some furniture. I need to review the paint thing.
Heading back to London, I am unexpectedly ambivalent about whether I’d rather be here or in London. I am definitely looking forward to warmth and I’m going to scrub and soak my hands to restore their coal-free status. I will also be seeing my mum and at least two friends. Overall, I suppose I am still very much part of both my worlds, for which I am appreciative.