How do we define home?

White planter with slogan 'home is where your story begins'.

I saw today that Taransay – the former home of the Castaways – is up for sale. Unfortunately I don’t have a spare £2million to spend on it, but seeing the news has left me thinking all day about my own childhood, which I spent in the Western Isles.

Although I haven’t lived there for nearly twenty years, the countless days I spent playing on the beaches and walking in the hills were happy ones, and I will always feel a deep connection to the place. I am convinced that growing up somewhere so isolated – where the relationship between the people, the land and the sea is still a strong one, and where there is still a real awareness of the rhythms of nature – has shaped my character in fairly fundamental ways. It also says something about the sense of community on the islands that even having been away for so long, when I go back and visit now I still have people asking when I got ‘home’. Continue reading

No More Romance on the Railways

woman standing on railway platform

I was so sad to read articles in the Scotsman and Observer this weekend noting that the restaurant cars on East Coast trains have been sent to the great railway heaven in the sky.

I can’t claim to have been a regular of the silver service dining cars – it has been at least three years since I made the journey from Waverley to Kings Cross at all – but I have some wonderful memories of them from the early days of my and DorkyDad’s relationship.

Back in those pre DorkySon days, we sometimes used to trundle down to London for the weekend, and usually tried to time it so that we had lunch on the train. It wasn’t exactly Michelin standard, but there was something very romantic about sitting at a proper table with a white linen tablecloth and silver cutlery, while we sped past fields full of cows and horses.

I was always filled with huge admiration for the staff members, who, despite the shoogling and shaking, managed to delicately transfer bread rolls from basket to plate without dropping them, and pour generous glasses of wine without spilling them.  Oh how they must have laughed at this fine dining novice, the time she knocked a large tumbler of water into DorkyDad’s lap… Continue reading

Raise a glass to those we’ve loved and lost

A group of my old school friends ran the Edinburgh marathon today, in memory of a friend of ours – Peter – who lost his life in a car accident just over a year ago.

They were raising money for Riding for the Disabled, an excellent cause, and if you can spare a couple of quid I know they would be thrilled with any additional donations.

I still haven’t quite found the right words to talk about how much I miss my friend. He was one of those rare people who you could go months without speaking to, and then pick up right where you left off, without a hint of awkwardness. He was a sweet and gentle person, with a wonderful laugh and a wicked sense of humour. He sent lovely chatty, handwritten letters. He would regularly leave me rambling, drunken, voicemails at 3am after he’d been out on a Friday night. He was probably the kindest person I’ve known in my life. I think of his family every day, and can’t imagine how hard the last year must have been for them.

Peter was a guest at our wedding – and gave us a gift of the two beautiful wine glasses in the picture above. We don’t use them often, but every so often it feels right to take them out and drink a toast to him. I imagine that tonight will be one of those nights.

I know I won’t be the only one who has lost a friend far too early in life. There is no way to make sense of these things, not much we can do but find our own ways to remember and honour. I could never have run the marathon, but I am so proud of those that did, especially his brother.  I hope tonight that they are sitting and chatting about all the wonderful times they had with Peter, and that they will join me in raising a glass to his memory.