An evening in two parts: The Dulse & Brose restaurant launch and an evening trip to the shore

Considering Skye’s wealth of local produce and my appetite for trying new flavours I really should have written more blog posts about the food up here.
Perhaps the block has been because there’s so much to write… Where does one even start?

Well, actually that’s just been made easy. I’ll start with another start… the opening of the new restaurant, Dulse & Brose, at the Bosville Hotel in Portree.

Dulse & Brose at the Bosville, Portree

Dulse & Brose at the Bosville, Portree

I was kindly invited along to the event by Tim Hunter-Davies whose PR firm was running the evening.
Whilst I’ve been to lots of launch parties in London, this was the first night of this kind that I’ve been to in Skye and I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

I must admit that I’m always slightly wary of places that have been refurbed and given a ‘concept’.
They often turn out to be somewhere where you sit on cold modular leather furnishings whilst being offered unappetising little jellies and foams inspired by the chefs late discovery of the molecular gastronomy trend.

Skye’s fine dining comes in more than one type: there’s the try-hard-but-miss ones (as described above); the lazy ones that don’t try because they cater for one-off tourist bookings; and the spot-on destination restaurants.
As I got ready, shrugging off my painting scruffs and brushing my hair, I wondered what kind of place this was to be…

A busy opening night

A busy opening night

The venue was already full when I hurried in to escape the downpour.
I looked around at the crowd.
Once you’ve lived on Skye for a wee while you begin to spot the same characters at each event (although faces taken out of their usual context can be quite confusing, especially when the person in question can usually be found working outside on a boat or croft!)
But it was nice to see some familiar faces such as Mitchell Partridge of Skye Ghillie with his lovely wife Samantha, Mina and Chris from Skye Sea Salt, Marcello Tully from Kinloch Lodge and the boys from Skye Adventure, John and Matt.

It was also really lovely to catch up with Paul and Mags from The Oyster Shed and Karen and Colin from Lochshore House in Edinbane (who I’ve been bumping into on Skye consistently since my very first day here!).
One of the nice things about Skye is that it’s not short of friendly or interesting people -these four are both.

Strangely enough, at this event I met a lot of people who I’d interacted with via Twitter and my Facebook pages but who I’ve never met face-to-face before (including a number of the Hunter-Davies team).
A strange success for online networking and finally a positive excuse for spending so much time on the internet!

Paul and Mags from the Oyster Shed with Karen and Colin from Lochshore House

Paul and Mags from the Oyster Shed with Karen and Colin from Lochshore House

The food was a taster selection of canapes representing dishes from the main menu. I watched them glide past on huge white serving dishes like flying saucers whilst I chit-chatted hello to various familiar faces.
It must have been about half an hour before the conversation paused for long enough for me to try anything.

I plucked a little cup from a passing platter. Mushroom soup.
Soup isn’t something I’ve ever been interested in but I wanted to try a bit of everything tonight, this included.

I’m pleased I did, it was delicious. I’m not quite sure how the kitchen managed to get such a lot of flavour into a little serving of speckled taupe liquid. It was velvety and rich in umami with a cheesy, almost truffle-y garnish.
I’ve never ordered soup from a menu before but I’ll definitely have this when I come back here. I’d also be interested to see how well it works in a larger portion.

A terrine made from Kyle rabbit with apple and jam on crisp toasts was equally tasty. The meat was seasoned well (I think rabbit err on the bland) and the puree was sweet but acidic enough to counter the gaminess.
Well done D&B; two out of two.
Those first two tasters were my favourites but the rest were also good. The menu takes inspiration from Skye’s world-class produce and treats it with simplicity and respect. It’s something that I’ve noticed a lot of new places try but fail at; they complicate things with technique and the original ingredients become lost.
The source of each ingredient is stressed on every printed placemat or menu leaflet. For once it’s not just lip service to the importance of provenance.

The taster menu

The taster menu

As for the style/atmosphere of the place itself?

It was exactly how interior design should be done on Skye; contemporary but warm. Clean lines and minimalist design can be lovely but this is an island where you want a cosy place to retreat to on a dreicht day and stark modernism doesn’t usually provide that. The rough wood and earthen tweeds were stylish but in a comfy, casual way.

Skye arts and crafts line the rustic boxy shelves. Like the menu it’s a nice commitment to local artisans. Even the upholstery was made by Skyeweavers, a local couple who weave tweeds in their workshop on a foot-pedalled loom.

A map of Skye and it's local producers

A map of Skye and it’s local producers

It was a generous evening; the canapes didn’t stop and champagne flowed freely. The live music was a nice touch and the atmosphere was relaxed. Top marks all round.
But, all that said, these things aren’t what will make this a successful restaurant. What makes a successful restaurant is the strength of the cooking…

Once the evening had drawn to a close I sat in my car and unfolded the menu from my pocket. Within seconds I’d decided what I wanted to come back and try. I also decided what I’d have on my second visit.
If that’s not a good sign I don’t know what is…

***

I often get a restless energy in the evening, a kind of witching-hour desire to wander. It kicked in again when driving home after the restaurant launch…

As I neared the top of the island I remembered a text from my landlady about long finned pilot whales still in Staffin Bay. Although past 10:30pm it was still light. If they were still there I should be able to see them.

I pulled off the road and went down to Staffin Slipway. A glance from a few viewpoints. Nothing. They’d left.

Staffin Bay

Staffin Bay. Still light at around 10:45pm

Back on the main road I picked up speed and then… what was that? Something splashing close to shore. Not gone!
Almost missing the turning I swerved onto the track for Brogaig car park, crunched to a halt and jumped out.

It turns out, unsurprisingly, that long sequinned skirts and canvas sneakers aren’t the best items of clothing in which to tackle a boggy path after a month of constant Hebridean drizzle.
Painstakingly hopscotching over the puddles and tripping over my hem wasn’t working. I tucked my skirt into my knickers and sploshed through the mud. Who cares about soggy feet when there’s wildlife to be seen…

Muddy toes

Muddy toes

Down on the beach the whales were still slightly too far away to be seen properly. I took my shoes and socks off to wade out but the beach was still too shallow to get much of a view, even when I found a rock to perch on for height.
All I could make out was a closely-knitted group of bobbing heads. It wasn’t behaviour I recognised but I didn’t think anything of it (after all I’m a cetacean enthusiast but not an expert)

It started to rain (again) so I pulled my hood on and fastened my coat right to the top. Despite not being able to see the whales well I enjoyed how surreally special it felt to be standing bare-legged alone on a rock in the ocean in the drizzle in the wee hours. It was nice to just stand there listening to the fat water droplets hit the sea water around my feet.
What is it about the sound of rain that makes us all so calm…

Cold toes

Cold toes

In front of me I noticed some creatures surfing the breakers; left and right, back and forth. Very large and curious seals I guessed.
I dismissed the urge to wade out further to get a closer look: when you’re alone common sense must prevail over adventure; the chance of getting too cold or caught out by a current isn’t worth the risk. Not being able to swim in cold water when and where I want is one of the few things that frustrates me about being up here alone.
As the light finally began to dim I started shivering and it was time to trudge back up to the car.

Moody moon

Late night light

I walked through my door leaving my socks and sneakers in a gritty, sodden pile on the doormat.
It was an enjoyable evening but little did I know that it was to be continued in a less pleasant way…

Notes From A Small Island #3

'And the rest is rust and stardust'

‘And the rest is rust and stardust’

TO BE A LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER…:

I’ve just applied for a job with the Northern Lighthouse Board to become their Skye-based lighthouse keeper. The position involves keeping a check on four lighthouses on and around the island (including Neist Point, where I stayed at New Years). It’s only a part-time thing (I don’t get to live in a lighthouse) but it’s an opportunity I couldn’t miss.

Oronsay Lighthouse, one of the ones to be looked after. Photo by Finlay Oman.

Oronsay Lighthouse, one of the ones to be looked after. Photo by Finlay Oman.

I’ve had to put a few friends straight that it’s not going to be a romantic job where I spend most of the day looking out to sea in a stripy jumper smoking a pipe and growing a beard (well, I might try anyway)… I think it’s going to be more of a maintenance job involving carrying stuff to and fro in the pouring rain. I doubt I’ll get it but I bloody hope I do, who doesn’t want to work in a lighthouse?!

The foghorn at Neist Point Lighthouse

The foghorn at Neist Point Lighthouse

***

KATIE MORAG

I’ve been chatting to someone recently who pointed out that I remind him of Katie Morag, the Scottish children’s book character. It was something to do with both of us enjoying beachcombing, finding treasures etc.
I laughed and said I hadn’t read it but I’d take his word for it and he sent me a picture of one of the book illustrations. About half an hour later Mum sent me some pictures she’d snapped during our recent trip to Coral Beach where I had taken advantage of the especially low tide to find shells. They included the photo below.
Obviously there’s no resemblance whatsoever…

Katie Morag collecting beach treasures

Katie Morag collecting beach treasures

Katie Tunn collecting beach treasures

Katie Tunn collecting beach treasures

***

THE 70th ANNIVERSARY OF THE BEINN EDRA CRASH:

Saturday was the 70th anniversary of the WWII bomber disaster on Beinn Edra, the site of which I visited on Remembrance Sunday (you can read my blog post about it here). The Staffin Trust had organised a new memorial plaque which was unveiled at the Columba 1400 centre. This was followed by a service and a lecture from someone at the University of Glasgow.

It was an understandably moving ceremony; time hasn’t dulled the fact that this was a really horrible tragedy. The wind and rain whipped around the building as if to show us the weather that the flight crew had had to contend with.
A prayer read in gaelic by a man who had witnessed the event as a boy was particularly poignant moment.

Charles Jeanblanc, the aircraft navigator. He died aged just 23.

Charles Jeanblanc, the aircraft navigator. He died aged just 23.

But what moved me most about the event was how many people there were there; the hall of Columba 1400 was so full that some folk had to lean in through the back door to listen. It says a lot about the Staffin community (and probably most of the communities here on Skye) that they have collectively taken on the mourning for these 9 US airmen that just happened to lose their lives nearby. It’s a testament to the warm hearts of the Staffin people that they remember the loss as if they were their own family.
In a different way I’ve also seen some of that kindness in the way that I’ve been treated since arriving here.

The new memorial plaque for the Staffin war memorial

The new memorial plaque for the Staffin war memorial

***

SEA VEGGIES

Someone brought some dried dulse into the bakery the other day and I had my first opportunity to try it (something I’ve wanted to do for ages as I love foraging and wild foods).
Dulse is a deep red edible seaweed that used to be a staple of the old crofters diet throughout the North West coastal regions. It fell out of favour as people began to turn towards pre-prepared modern foods but it’s now becoming popular again due to it’s health properties (it’s full of vitamins, minerals and protein) and the trend for foraging and utilising local produce.

No prizes for looking appetising

No prizes for looking appetising

It tasted as you might expect, salty with a strong iodine flavour. It was incredibly chewy too, and I suspect it would make a pretty handy snack for anyone who would otherwise reach for a huge slice of cake in the afternoon (I’m looking firmly at myself here).

I’ve just bought a load of sushi ingredients back from Surrey and I’m going to do some experimenting with different types of seaweeds for wrapping the rice and making interesting salads. I’ve just got to wait until the weather’s good enough to clamber over the rocks at low tide to collect it without getting blown in. Looking out the window now, that may be some time away!

***

MAGIC:

There was something strange in the air the other night.

I’d been driving back from Inverness airport after a weekend in Windsor for a family event. I didn’t leave the city until it had got dark and I had this odd feeling that I was very far from home (which of course, I am, but I’ve never felt that here before. I’ve always felt very settled… It must have been leaving all my loved ones behind that caused it)

Flying visits

The long way home

It was freezing cold and I hit a blizzard again on the road coming up the the Cluanie Dam. It had been a long day, this was the last thing I needed.
It was treacherous but for some reason I felt completely calm, not like the previous time when my shoulders had been up round my ears as I anticipated sliding into a loch.

I came out of the other side of the blizzard to a brightly snow-covered landscape. The moon was almost full and the hills rose on either side of me, silhouetted pale grey against the black sky. Everything was calm, both inside the car and out.

Every now and again my car would disturb an owl on a fencepost and I’d see pale wings swoop up into the night. As I passed the Cuillins one of these owls flew up and followed the curve of the road. I pressed down on the accelerator and sped alongside it for a few seconds before it turned and disappeared into the forest.

There was something so strange about this night that I can’t put my finger on. It felt like a night for mischief and adventures; running around in the snow, midnight swims, sneaking into interesting places, watching meteors.
There was magic in the air tonight.

Driving into Uig I considered pulling over and going for a walk around the Fairy Glen. With work the next morning I decided against it but a wander around the bay wouldn’t keep me up too late.

When I got home I wrapped myself in warm kit, filled a hipflask and grabbed some headphones.
I’ve just downloaded an album by a band called Solomon Grey who composed the soundtrack to the BBC drama, The Casual Vacancy. I had to look them up after watching the programme; their music was perfect… hazy and haunting. I’m always looking for music that I describe as ideal ‘cold winter beach music’; something atmospheric and ephemeral to occupy the background whilst you’re making your way along a shore.
Solomon Grey is exactly that and it’s safe to say that they make perfect midnight wandering music too.

The Selected Works album by Solomon Grey

The Selected Works album by Solomon Grey

I didn’t take a torch; the moonlight was so bright outside that I could see my shadow on the track as clear as if it were bright sunshine. I turned my music down low so that it mingled with the sound of my boots crunching through the icy crust on the snow..
Someone had left a boat pulled up on the shore and I sat in it for a while watching the light on the waves. It was exceptionally still. (Thank you boat owner x)

Artwork by Karen Davis

Artwork by Karen Davis

When my bum got too cold I got up and wandered up the path towards the ruins of St Moluag’s Church. My feet took me up the path on the right towards Rubha Hunish but I stopped myself at the gate. No long rambles tonight, not on a schoolnight.
So I turned back and crunched my way up the track towards the main road.
It was SO still. But I was far from alone. There were birds still making noises, not singing but calling out every now and again. Hares ran here and there in front of me and the heavy, dark shapes of cows in the fields turned silently to look at me as I passed.

I wasn’t sure where to go next. It was well past midnight after an entire day of travelling. My sense of responsibility had a word with my sense of adventure and I turned round towards home.
It did feel sad to leave this moonlight though. I’m sure I sound a little bit nuts or silly but there really was something imperceptibly special about this night.
Again, this sounds ridiculous but it was like there was something huge that was… changing. Somehow.

The night sky over Cill Chriosd Church, Broadford. Photo by blaven.com

The night sky over Cill Chriosd Church, Broadford. Photo by blaven.com

I looked back behind me to take one lasting mental picture of the illuminated monochrome landscape of the back of the Quiraing. Then one last look at the stars. Or maybe just 10 more minutes…
I lay down on the track and looked up. Between the silvery clouds the stars were beaming. I picked out the easiest constellations and reminded myself that I really must learn more than just The Plough and friends.

My music shuffled onto the next song, Choir To The Wild, and the moment was perfect.
Have a listen to it on YouTube here (night sky optional but highly recommended). I think you should just about get the picture.

It didn’t take long for my eyelids to start feeling heavy and I tried to fight off the sleep. It wasn’t working very well so I admitted defeat.
So I went home and went to bed… but I took the calmness with me.

A photo journey from Fort William to Skye…. Inverlochy Castle, the Commando Memorial & some characterful wildlife

Warning: this is quite a long post as I didn’t want to leave too much out. My apologies if it’s a bit tedious!
(Written on Monday, the day after my ski trip to Nevis)

‘Time you enjoy wasting is not time wasted’

If you asked me what my perfect day here might be like, I might say a day something like today. A day of ambling, exploring, stopping and pausing. And maybe some cake.

I’ve just got home from a walk around the bay. It’s a still evening and the snow is reflecting the light of the full moon so that everything is illuminated in black and white. No need for a torch.

Moon face

I waded out to one of the big rocks and sat there for a while with my hipflask and music until my bum hurt from the cold. I got up and wandered along the road to warm up. It was so peaceful, if I didn’t have to be up early tomorrow to start back at the gallery I could’ve walked all night.

Sitting on the rock in the bay…

So that’s how my day is ending, I’m getting this the wrong way round… I’ll begin again…

I stayed at the SYHA Glen Nevis hostel for a second night last night. There was no way I was going to risk getting caught in a blizzard in the dark again. Now I’ve tried it, four-wheel ice skating isn’t something I particularly enjoy.

Inverlochy Castle hotel

A quick wash and dress and I was away. No wellies and scruffs this morning though, I had to pop into Inverlochy Castle Hotel to sort out a reservation.

I visited the restaurant at Inverlochy on my Scottish tour in 2013. Of all the Michelin starred places I ate at, I felt there was something extra special at this place. Apparently Queen Victoria said it was the most romantic place she’s ever visited. I can certainly see why she liked it, it is old-fashioned but also warm and charming.

Crackling fires and cosy cushions

Crackling fires and cosy cushions

Anyway, spending a night there has been on my bucket list ever since and last year my parents kindly gave me a voucher to stay for more than just one meal.

I popped in to book my weekend but I couldn’t resist ordering a cup of tea and a slice of Dundee cake whilst I was there. If only every morning could begin like this!

You know you’re somewhere special when your cake is served with three other baked goodies on the side!

It wasn’t easy to leave the crackling fire and impossibly comfy sofas but however much I tried I couldn’t justify staying all day. Not sure I could afford it much either…

Back on the road I had to put my sunglasses on, perfect white snow dazzled against the blue sky; a perfect day.

The commando memorial sign with Ben nevis in the background

Just outside of Fort William is the Commando Memorial. It’s a place I’ve passed many times but never stopped at.

The memorial sculpture by Scott Sutherland with ben nevis behind

As I pulled into the car park it struck me how beautiful the monument looked as it was silhouetted in the sun against the snow. It reminded me of the bomber crash site that I wrote about on Remembrance Day; that weird juxtaposition of sadness and prettiness all at once.

A tribute to the commandos of WWII

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Brushing the snow off the wreaths at the foot of the statue I thought how striking the red of the poppies looks against the purity of the snow. Again, a kind of sorrowful loveliness.

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There’s a little memorial garden nearby to remember those who have fallen in more recent conflicts. The remembrance plaques are low to the ground so most are covered or partly covered by snow. Little gaps revealed engraved messages or peeks of photos; smiling young men in stiff uniforms.

A plaque in the memorial garden

A number of the plaques had been adorned with rubber wristbands emblazoned with charity names like Help For Heroes or Walking With The Wounded. Wristbands similar to the ones I’ve been given by my friends in the army.

Wristbands around a cross in the memorial garden

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I suddenly found it quite overwhelming. I don’t think it was from worry about my friends; I’m not sure what it was. Maybe it’s because it felt like such a ‘relevant’ form of mourning, in which I mean it’s very current, somehow more accessible than a carved stone that could have been made yesterday or thirty years ago.
Despite the peace I couldn’t linger for too long.

The Commando Memorial at Spean Bridge

The Commando Memorial at Spean Bridge

*Just a note to any of my military friends who may be reading this (or their friends/family): If you have a connection to the memorial and want me to place a wreath, wristband, note or whatever here just let me know. It’s a meaningful place but I know it’s far away for most people. I don’t pass here often but I’m more than willing to place something for you.

The shores of Loch Cluanie

Back on the road I was soon distracted from my melancholy by the scenery. It was a landscape that doesn’t seem to suit the UK and round each corner it was slightly different. On one side it looked like the Swiss Alps, on the other it looked like Lapland as imagined in Elf.

A simplified snowscape

A simplified snowscape

Loch Cluanie

At the Cluanie Inn I slowed down to see if my old deer pas were about. Sure enough there they were, hanging out around the red telephone box and bins like a gang of misplaced teenagers.

I stopped and said hello, took some photos and let them sniff me. When a clang announced the sound of a back kitchen door opening they turned and trotted over to the back of the Inn.

Hanging around at the Cluanie Inn

That answered my question about whether they were tame because they’ve been fed scraps. I suppose it’s better than if they had lost their natural fear because they’re starving.
A brief conversation with one of the ladies at the Inn revealed that they even have names! The hinds are Florence, Flossie, Clicky and little Muddy. The young male doesn’t have a name and isn’t fed because it can cause aggression. But he’s got a lovely harem so I don’t think he’s doing too badly!

A handsome young man

Leaving Cluanie I passed through Glen Shiel. I’ve never stopped there but the brown crossed-sword signs indicate that it will be an interesting place to explore in future.

As I came to the sea lochs around Lochalsh I noticed how still the waters were. The mirrored surface reflected the hills and clouds so clearly that they looked like nature’s more detailed answer to a Rorschach test.
I parked up outside Kintail Lodge (closed for winter) and picked my way along the rocky shore. The water was so still that I could see every fragment of shell and frond of seaweed under the water. The only ripples on the surface were made by me and my boots.

The calm waters of Loch Duich

Old modules

There was a fishing boat nearby with it’s name hand-painted in fading reds and oranges like the letters on an old fairground carousel. I couldn’t get a nice picture with my phone but there was something particularly charming about this mouldy old vessel, quietly retired on this peaceful shore.

An old fishing boat

Lovely old paintwork

I skated my way along a slippery jetty and sat down on my jacket at the end. The water beneath my feet was a metre or two deep now but I could still see right down to the grains of silt on the bottom. It might be the clearest water I’ve ever seen, it almost seemed easier to look through than air.

Sitting on the dock of the bay… Popping bubbles!

I sat and watched the little grey trout darting between rocks at my feet. As I did so I fiddled with the bladder wrack seaweed I sat next to and I found that I could pop the little air pockets in the ‘leaves’ …like a natural kind of stress-busting bubble wrap. Not that there was any stress to be found in a place as calm and serene as this.
An hour or maybe two passed before I realised it was probably time to be on my way.

A place to while away the hours

I didn’t get far down the road before I noticed the horns of a large feral goat waggling around in some heather down next to the shore.
I’m not sure what it is about these creatures but I find them endlessly fascinating; it must be something about their strange, wild character.

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I turned off the main road and crept up a nearby dirt track still in the car. Because the goats tend to feed next to the roadside they seem to be much less afraid of people in cars than of humans on foot.

More appeared as I inched closer. This was the biggest group I’ve seen so far and they were much less nervy than the others I’ve come across. I got out and softly made my way towards them.

It looks calm and peaceful but there’s a great clattering of horns as they push each other out of the way to feed

If you can get close enough to them the smell of feral goats is amazing. It probably sounds incredibly weird to say it but they’ve got this satisfyingly warm, livestock-y smell (a bit like healthy cattle) but it’s so… goaty.
I suppose the only way I can describe it is to say it’s like the most expensive, well-aged French goats cheese you’ve ever tried. Those ones rolled in grey ash and licked by monks who live in caves, you know the kind. I know it sounds horrendous but somehow it’s really nice too. Just trust me on this one!

Wild looking beasties

As I got closer I noticed something small and dark nearby, on the other side of the road.
A cat maybe?

Something small and dark in the distance

No, not a cat, a tiny kid goat!
Cute can’t even describe this tiny thing. It’s was as adorable as a lamb but smaller and with more character.

The kid rejoins it’s mother on the brow of the ridge above the road

I watched them until I was joined by an ex-forestry ranger walking his dog. We discussed the pros and cons of goats, beachcombing, otters and forest fires before parting ways.

The sky was stunning as I neared Skye Bridge. Despite the fact that there are a million photos of Eilean Donan Castle out there I couldn’t resist getting one quick snap whilst it was looking so lovely (and a million isn’t an exaggeration by any means).

Eilean Donan Castle, the most photographed castle in Scotland after Edinburgh (I think it’s earned it though)

Eilean Donan Castle, the most photographed castle in Scotland after Edinburgh (I think it’s earned it though)

I always feel a barely-perceptible swelling of happiness inside my chest when I cross the bridge; a feeling of coming home. I get it even when it’s dull and drizzly so crossing on an evening like this feels extra special.

Skye Bridge and the lighthouse on Eilean Bàn

I had a couple of things to do before heading home but both had been cancelled. With the extra time to spare I treated myself to some mussels and chips in the pub before meandering home through the twilight.

The sun setting as I drive North

My wandering mood hadn’t gone by the time I reached home. I threw on some more warm clothes and grabbed a torch then set out for the shore.
Which brings us back to the start of the story 🙂

‘We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars’

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Oscar seemed to like the stars a bit too…

Last night, as I turned the lights off and went to climb the stairs I stopped in the hallway, distracted by the pale grey light shining through the porch door window.
Opening the door I looked out at the bay lit in the monochrome of a full moon. It was so bright that it looked like early morning. Like a floodlight, I could see everything.
I shouldn’t go to bed, this was too beautiful to ignore.

It took a considerable amount of effort to resist pulling on my wellies for a walk down to the ocean shore. It may be a tranquil night but I’ve already heard plenty of stories about people getting themselves into trouble by trusting a false sense of security. Wandering alone near the cliffs at night is too risky, even when the night’s peace seems limitless.
Instead I pulled on my ski jacket and salopettes. I grabbed a hat, a glass of whisky, some gloves, a blanket and a sleeping bag. I ventured outside to lay on the grass between the house and the water. Tucking myself into a warm, blanketed cocoon I stared up.

The whole scene above me looked like a cliché, like a fantasy-artist interpretation of a night sky. Or maybe something a teenager might paint as they dream up improbable, romantic images of the universe.
The stars were vivid, extra bright, like cheap LEDs. The clouds sat in huge white fluffy layers underneath. Then came the dramatic sooty black of the rocks. Below that the constant, shimmering ripple of moonlit on the water. Apart from the odd red star there was no colour, just light and dark.
It might be one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

I popped in my headphones, took a sip of whisky and let my head fall back onto the cushion. As I did a vivid streak of blue light crossed the sky in front of me. A shooting star. I laughed out loud, it was too bright, too obvious. It was like the heavens were showing off.
The wine and whisky must have washed over me, I felt elated. I’m glad there was no-one there to see me, I probably looked like a crazy person, grinning like a Cheshire cat and with eyes sparkling from joy.

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The music shuffled round to Wasting My Young Years by London Grammar, a song whose lyrics feel quite appropriate to me. My biggest phobia has always been getting older; a constant fear of passing into the next stage of life having missed experiences in the former. The awareness that life is brief and that there’s too much to fit in in such a short space of time. Frankly, it scares the bejeesus out of me.

As the song came on it reminded me of this. But as I lay there I felt nothing. No fear, no phobia. For the first time in my life I don’t feel like there are other experiences happening in the world that I might be missing out on. At this precise moment this is all I need. There’s nothing I could want more right now than to be on my back staring up at the stars.

It reminds me why I love this place. It’s strange to feel so attached to a geographical area but I feel that there’s something special here. I can’t work out what.
I might be alone tonight but I don’t feel lonely one bit. I notice shadows fly above me and move in the corner of my eye but I don’t feel fear.
(Actually, I haven’t ever felt scared here. Each night I hear doors blow open and closed downstairs or things move or wind rush down the chimneys. But I’m never scared)

I’m not sure what it is about this place, something just feels right. Looking up at the stars I feel at home.

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