On The Island, Day 2. Lights On. Lights Off.

Well, it is our first full day in the wilderness.

I don’t want to go on about the automatic lights but the list of points against are increasing.

I’m generally an early riser, which means that for at least six months of the year it is dark when I wake. When I walk around the house I like to decide which lights I turn on; sometimes I choose none until I reach the kitchen. What I do not want is to be blinded into being full awake in one fell swoop as I step into the danger zone, sorry dining room.

And in the kitchen, I will usually choose a Hopper-esque low level light from the kitchen hood, until I am fully ready to join the day. More so on holiday, when I feel I have the right to move gently to wakefulness.

Not a chance here. “GOOD MORNING” the kitchen lights shout, one set slightly out of time with the other, and, as I am currently sitting quite still, I am suddenly plunged into semi-darkness. It could be a form of torture.

Don’t get me started on self closing drawers and cupboards.

Today we made a couple of outings. The first at one of our favourite beaches. We chose to walk to the headland and round to the next beach to avoid the crowds. Sea air is good for the soul, but selfishy, we would like it pretty much to ourselves. We are more sociable than we used to be, and I made the mistake of smiling at the man in the day-van parked next to us. Every time I turned in his direction he was grinning back while we had lunch in the car.

Our second outing was to be a walk along a reservoir, hopefully enjoying a light breeze and views of wildfowl in their adopted environment. What we were treated to was a trek in an airless tunnel of trees. There was tentative promise of water shimmering one on side, and hopefully it will be presented just around the next turn….

Eventually we reached the end of the reservoir. Much beloved was hot and tetchy, and we had forgotten our water bottle. Ironic, when you consider the view.

Water, water everywhere….. Dam. Damn.

It think that what annoyed us more was that this was not a circular walk, and we would have to suffer the same route in reverse to quench our thirst.

Back at the cottage, at the end of the garden is a chicken run with four or five hens and a rather fine looking cockerel. We had expected that we would be woken by one of nature’s alarm clocks, but no. In fact we haven’t heard him at yet at any hour. Poor chap. Perhaps he is mesmerised by the amazing flashing house.



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