Favourite Places: Barns Ness Lighthouse

I seem to have a fascination with lighthouses, I'm not sure why. I think it must be a childish delight. On the one hand they make me think of fairytale towers, pirates, smugglers and the lighthouse keeper's cat but on the other, I think of isolation, storms, shipwrecks and that terrifying episode of Doctor Who - 'Horror of Fang Rock'! 

Fortunately, there's nothing terrifying about Barns Ness Lighthouse. Although it is in a fairly lonely spot, standing on a strip of coastline completely exposed to the North Sea, it is enchanting.When we first moved to this part of Scotland I was surprised to discover it as it is incongruously situated between the cement works and the nuclear power station. 

At low tide you can see the layers of sedimentary rocks between the pools and shingle - one of the reasons this is designated as an area of special geological interest. It is also a migration watch point for bird watchers and coastal forragers searching for all kinds of treasure: mussels, whelks, razor shells, corals and fossils. 

The lighthouse itself came into operation in 1901 and was finally deactivated in 2005. Made from local stone it withstood attack during the war Until 1966 it was manned by two lightkeepers which explains why there are two identical cottages alongside as well as the old engine house. These buildings are privately owned today and the lighthouse has become the ideal spot for abseiling, the last brave soul being our local minister who took up the challenge for the Bethany Trust just a few months back. Sometimes I think it would be rather romantic to live in a lighthouse but then I think of the practicality - Barns Ness has 169 steps to the top!  

Today, buttoned up in warm coats and wrapped in hats and scarves, we took a short walk with Luna. It's perfect for dog walking as grassy banks and well kept paths mean no mud! I attempted to capture some of the magic of the place. The light was just beginning to fade and you can just see the moon making its early appearance.

Paris

I had begun to write a post for Armistice Day but  I was finding it hard to write anything that didn't sound glib or mawkish. Having given up and left the post in my Drafts folder, I was compelled to resurrect it when the dreadful news about the terrorist attacks in Paris quite literally exploded onto our screens.

The sense of panic and terror was almost palpable. If it can happen in Paris it can happen here. Our proximity just across the Channel and the fact that, although we hate to admit it, we have much in common with our Gallic cousins, made the attack feel more personal. Perhaps this feeling has been forged from much shared history (if we weren't at war with one another then we were busy forming alliances). The English language alone bears witness to this - 29% of our lexicon is in fact borrowed from French.

There were criticisms of the amount of coverage given to Paris when compared to similar recent attacks in Lebanon and Iraq. I think this is, sadly, a reflection of human nature. We seem to have a limited capacity to care and we are, selfishly, more sensitive to victims closer to us both culturally and politically as well as geographically. The media is biased, this is true, but we as media consumers are also to blame for this inequality in sympathetic response. An attack in the heart of Paris, the city of romance, has had more power to shock and this type of atrocity is less frequent than reports of bombings in the Middle East. Morally we should care the same amount about all victims but it would be hypercritical to say this is always the case.

I'd like to think that this event expands our capacity to care rather than increase any tendency to hatred and division. Yet, it is worrying to hear about the rise of racial abuse and the ignorant accusations hurled at Muslims both here and in France. Fear breeds intolerance and suspiscion. You need only look at the mixed reactions to the first arrival of Syrian refugees in Scotland this week. Abhorrent extreme right-wing groups are quick to stir up anti-migrant sentiments in the aftermath and there are cries to close borders and deny aid to the increasingly desperate trail of refugees.  I hope and pray that the feeling of being under threat will foster a sense of empathy, support and solidarity that will, in the end, be stronger than hate. Love not war.

Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside...

We've moved. Again. And, this time, we're quite literally beside the sea - The North Sea - to be precise and not so much as 'beside' exactly as more 'above'. Perched on the edge of a cliff (I feel a bit weird typing that) the new house has spectacular views and I'm finding myself captivated by the expanse of blue, and thoroughly entertained by the constant parade of marine traffic, whether it's a heavily laden container ship or a jaunty little fishing boat. Not long after we had moved in we were amazed to see dolphins and learned from our neighbours that this is a regular sight; such a thrill to see them leaping clear out of the water.

I think my Australian sister would not think much of the rock and shingle beach below but I love it. I like to be able to amble down the path and walk along the shoreline, trying to distinguish between the many types of gull as they soar overhead while admiring the stillness of a pair of grey herons as they wait patiently on the rocks. The beach is not one to attract tourists as it is not a traditionally pretty beach but a wild and rugged spot. This is a place for birdwatchers, photographers, and serious walkers; the John Muir way passes through here. Neither is it a beach that's easy to discover. It is hidden away and you must walk down the pathway, through the dean and past the old mill house, following the sound of the water.  On one side you look out to the north and on the other the industrial coastline of East Lothian, the power station dominating the headland.

At the end of the path...

The little path down to the beach

We're not just enjoying having the beach on our doorstep, we're also enjoying the new house. I always attribute human qualities to houses and imagine them as distinct personalities. I think of this house as a stoic matronly type of house. She stands for no nonsense from the weather and seems completely unpeturbed by the gales and horizontal rain...so typical of a Scottish summer! One hundred years old, she must have witnessed a great deal and several generations have lived out the dramas of family life within her walls. Her rooms are firmly square and spacious - no whimsical arches, narrow recesses or pokey corners. It's comforting how solid she feels though the bones of her stairs and floorboards creak a little with old age. Despite her maturity, she's a well- kept woman and everything was immaculate and sparkling when we moved in. It made the whole moving process so much easier, only having to clean the one house we were moving out of and knowing that things could be put straight away; now I'm determined to keep the house that way!

So as well as photos of the beach, here is a sneak preview of one or two of the rooms in the house. We're still in the process of making the house into our home: deciding where furniture should go, sorting out pictures and raking through the remaining boxes - you know, the ones with no contents listed, packed at the last minute and containing all manner of random and unrelated items!

The back of the house has an open plan feel with the sitting room leading through to a dining room with a large picture window overlooking the sea. There is a sliding door to the kitchen from here and a sun room to the other side. I can't quite work out which way the garden faces but it seems to get the best of the sun for most of the day.  

When mowing the lawn or hanging out the washing you're liable to get distracted by the beautiful views and it takes discipline to finish the job.

 I end up just standing there admiring the scenery, lulled into inactivity by the sound of the waves.

Our eldest daughter definitely has the best bedroom in the house. She has two large windows that afford all round views of the sea and the coastline. Fabbydoo seems to like this bedroom the most too and can generally be found on the end of her bed or perched on the windowsill, looking out while the house martins and swallows put on a first-rate aerial display every afternoon.

I'm hoping that now we're settled here, and with a change to working 4 days instead of full-time, that this will be the start of more regular blogging. This setting is certainly inspirational!

Advice to my daughter on her 17th birthday...

So, yesterday, my beautiful girl, you turned seventeen. Seventeen! Such an inspirational age that it frequently features in song lyrics and novels. I can remember being seventeen very clearly - an age all about attraction, growing independence and following your dreams, all mixed up with uncertainty, anxiety and a lack of experience! Lawrence Olivier once said, "Inside, we are all seventeen with red lips" and I think he's probably right - we don't like to think about growing old; in our hearts and minds we want to stay our seventeen year old selves forever.

So, if it's such a remarkable age, then what advice would your old mum give you? Well here it is, 17 things I've learned and wished I'd known at seventeen (in no particular order and with no apology for cheesiness or cliche!)

1. Pause once in a while and take in the good moments - be mindful of the experience - you'll want to play it back to yourself one day.

2. Stand up for yourself and what you believe in - don't let others tell you what you think or feel.

3. Weigh up your options but don't spend too long thinking. Take the opportunity if it feels right - it might not come up again.

4. But there again, remember - 'there's no such thing as a free lunch'. If someone offers you something think about what they might expect in return!

5. Don't be in a rush to do everything. Take time to think about what you need at the moment as well as what you want in the future.

6. Be yourself - everyone else is taken.

7. Find a partner who is truly interested in you and not just in how you look.

8. Don't underestimate the value of patience and kindness. They can take you just as far up the career ladder as single-minded ambition, and, people will be less likely to want to push you off!

9. Everything seems worse at night. Sleep on it - things will be clearer in the morning.

10. Cherish your sister; sisters are blessings. She loves you just for being you and no-one will understand where you're coming from like she does!

11. Don't overlook 'the nice guy'. You might be drawn to the bad ones, the wild and the dangerous, but Mr Nice Guy is worth a try. Gentleness is far more important in the long run. He'll be the one who'll look after you and support you even when you're not being so nice yourself.

12. Nurture your friendships. Make sure to keep up with the old ones and be open to new ones.

13. Be kind to yourself. You're allowed to get things wrong.

14. Don't be persuaded to do something to please or to impress someone else. Listen to your inner voice; if you don't feel comfortable then it's not right.

15. Look after your body and stay safe. There are so many temptations but all come with risks and consequences.

16. Make time for the spiritual. There is something more to life than the material world around us. Whatever your beliefs, keep in touch with your spiritual side - be thankful, say a prayer, meditate, reflect, go for long walks - whatever feeds your soul!

17. Remember your family loves you no matter what. Our love is unconditional. You might, in the future, do things that are foolish, regretful, hurtful or downright annoying but it won't lessen our love for you - not even a tiny bit.

Merry and Bright

'Merry' and 'Bright' are definitely the right words to describe Christmas in The Little House this year. Last Christmas we knew that it was going to be our last in the farmhouse we so loved and the upcoming move in January hung over us all like a black cloud. This year things were more relaxed and, now settled once again, the skies were literally bright and the mood merry. 

The happy snowmen collection 

The run-up, as always, was a little frantic with lots of last-minute present buying, card writing, meal planning and house decorating. Every year I vow to be more organised, to start earlier, to sort through the overflowing Christmas boxes before putting them away, to spread the cost across the year etc. etc. but it never happens and I'm running around in a festive panic - thank heavens for Amazon Prime! 

Christmas baking

Inevitable materialism aside, there was much to be grateful for this year not least the fact that we were able to have my mother-in-law with us once again. Having won a hard fought battle against cancer a few years ago, at 80 years old, she remains one of the most glamorous grannies I know though being Danish she prefers the term 'farmor' - father's mother. 

Farmor is very popular with Fabbydoo and Luna too!

Old Christmas books came down from the loft and we enjoyed looking through them all. I especially love 'Mog's Christmas'. If you don't know the Mog series by Judith Kerr then I should explain that Mog is a thoroughly silly cat who is always getting into scrapes. In this particular adventure she is not impressed by the Christmas tree at all and escapes to the roof only to then fall down the chimney! 

The Wonderful Man excelled himself with not one but two Christmas feasts and not for the first time I thanked my lucky stars that I married a man who can cook!  Christmas Eve was our Danish celebration complete with traditional ham and caramel potatoes not forgetting the rice pudding and marzipan pigs. I wrote more about Danish Christmas Eve or Juleaften in this post last year.  

Then on Christmas Day the UK version where we ended up more stuffed than the turkey!

Christmas table set

Unlike Mog, I am very impressed by our Christmas tree this year.  It is a proper fir tree complete with little cones, thick branches and lovely long needles that so far have stayed in place.  We have many tree decorations but that doesn't stop us buying at least one new one each year. This year's favourite? I think it would have to be the Christmas sloth! 

If I'm honest, then I'd say these quiet days inbetween Christmas and New Year are my favourite.It's lovely to be able to stay in my dressing gown all day, to read, watch seasonal classics, eat peculiar mixtures of leftovers and at the end of the day just to sit by the fire and watch the twinkly Christmas lights. Hope your Christmas was merry and bright too. Blessings to you and yours.  

Life with the Old Lady

Well it's been a little while since posting. Don't worry, we haven't moved again! My excuse this time is the Old Lady who's been rather difficult lately and makes getting through the week feel like a battle. Who on earth is the old lady you ask? Well this is what I call Sjogren's Syndrome, a chronic autoimmune condition. You can read more about her here. As illnesses go it's not so serious, and I am really grateful for that, but it is downright annoying and makes me feel about 97 rather than 47. Plus, the weird sounding name is hard to pronounce (and spell) and no one has ever heard of it. Old lady syndrome seems more fitting.

At my last rheumatology appointment I was asked to describe the difficulties the old lady causes in order to work out the best course of treatment to manage her. Here's a typical day:

Dr Ziodberg a.k.a Lobster hands!

Morning time the old lady makes it really difficult to wake up. It doesn't matter how early a night I've had, or how well I've slept, I always wake up feeling exactly the same way I did when I went to bed...exhausted. The 6 o'clock alarm is like the boxer's count and even trying to lift my head off the pillow is a Herculean effort. Having got out of bed, the task of getting washed and dressed takes twice as long as my stiff and aching joints refuse to move. My children call me 'lobster hands' or 'Dr Ziodberg' after the character in Futurama as my hands tend to seize up making it impossible to do anything involving fine motor skills - I've lost count of the amount of mugs I've dropped. I have considered filming the pantomime of me trying to put on tights as I think it's worthy of You've Been Framed or YouTube.

Dry eyes are one of the most common old lady symptoms and I have plethora of gels and drops. Before I had this condition I thought artificial tears were something actors used to fake crying, now I use them around 8 times every day otherwise I look like Marty Feldman.  People look in horror when they see me putting drops in my eyes. I think it's something lots of people are squeamish about but I've got used to doing this anytime, anywhere, even without a mirror.

Marty Feldman (image credit. wampler foundation)

Trying to work full time is hard and my job as a specialist learning support teacher is not one I can do from home. I am beginning to learn how to adapt my teaching to suit the old lady. As much as possible children come to see me in my little classroom rather than me go to them. They think it's funny when I whizz around the room on my office wheely chair and they love that they get to write on the whiteboard. My school have been really understanding and do not, thankfully, expect me to do a whole range of extra curricular activities. 

The brain fog that seems to accompany so many autoimmune illnesses is one of the most frustrating aspects of life with the old lady. I have always prided myself on my ability to find the right word at the right time. Now I struggle to finish a coherent sentence and though I can come up with all sorts of words, they are frequently the wrong ones. Office staff were perplexed at my request to have something 'recycled' 30 times until they worked out I meant 'photocopied'. I've talked to bewildered pupils about 'exploding' a theme in an essay rather than 'exploring' it and I've written a very misleading report which warns against 'prototypes' rather than 'stereotypes'! 

Having survived another work day, the 36 mile drive home is the hardest part. I don't really understand what 'cytokines' are but I understand all too well that the old lady likes to make lots of these and in turn they make me feel like I am starring in the Night of the Living Dead. By now the fatigue is overwhelming and I will need to stop and sleep. I often pull over into an out-of-town Asda carpark and slump over the steering wheel. Interestingly, no-one has ever enquired after my welfare; perhaps this is normal post-superstore shopping behaviour. I have to set an alarm on my phone otherwise I'd still be there in the morning!

Once home, I fight off the desire to go straight to bed and I try to do normal things. I long for a glass of wine but having a dry mouth, often with ulcers, (another old lady specialism) means that it tastes very much like paint stripper and burns my mouth and tongue. Curries and anything spicy are off the menu too. Old lady food is the order of the day - bland, bland, bland. 

Sleep is instantaneous and I'm in bed before the children and long before my husband. Living with the old lady does little for your love life! I've just started a medication which I hope will help keep the old lady in order but it will take at least 6 weeks to kick in. There have been some side effects already but I'm still hopeful that it will make a difference. One of those side effects is vivid dreams but so far I'm quite enjoying the technicolour craziness of my dreams - they are certainly more lively than my waking life! 

Moving On

The new little house

Well, it's been more than a month without a single blog post. And the reason for such tardiness? We've moved house...again. In fact, we've moved four times in the last five years so you'd think that by now we would have the art of packing and unpacking down to a smooth and seamless operation where everything is organised and reorganised with professional ease. You'd be wrong. Each time we move it seems to be more chaotic and stressful than the last.  Consequently, I have no useful tips to pass on to other potential house movers. Moving house for me is a bit like my tennis: the more I do it the worse I seem to get! So where I was planning a post full of useful advice I will instead regale you with a few 'home truths' about moving and a few glimpses of the new place (as long as you understand that it is still in a state of moving flux and this is not the finished Pinterest-worthy interior).

Home Truth 1: There's nothing like moving furniture to reveal the truth about your housekeeping
Yes, the neglect of every corner, the failure to hoover or dust adequately, the stains on the carpet - all will be revealed in horrible slovenly detail when the furniture is moved out and you're left looking at the empty carcass of a rather dirty house.  Fortunately, we have good friends who were happy to go along with my excuses about, 'That being a very difficult place to get to' or how, 'There's been no point in hoovering these last few weeks what with all the boxes everywhere.'

Home Truth 2: The curse of the random box
I think our main problem has always been to seriously underestimate how long it takes to pack. We start off with the most beautifully packed boxes, items carefully wrapped in packing paper, boxes clearly labelled. As moving day looms ever nearer, the boxes become more and more random until items from entirely different parts of the house are thrown in together, possibly wrapped in an old towel or just wedged in with the odd cushion. Worse still, the description on the outside of the box rarely corresponds with the contents and so could end up anywhere which is how the tv remote ended up in the garage.

Home Truth 3: Sibling rivalry reaches new heights
Room sizes are just the start, we've had arguments and bickering about the most trivial of issues in the new house, even lampshades, and the view out of the window, have been the source of disagreement. A sharp reminder that the girls now have their own rooms and that we could insist they share again have swiftly restored the peace and they are now enjoying making their rooms very much their own.

Home Truth 4: No sleep for the exhausted
It doesn't matter how tired you are after moving, or even if you've managed to somehow reassemble your bed and you're not sleeping on the floor, the first night in a new house brings no rest. I spent the first night with seemingly super hearing, listening in to every strange new noise and feeling disorientated by now sleeping east to west rather than north to south as we had in the old house. Getting up in the middle of the night to try and find the loo proved interesting as I tripped over packing boxes, the hoover and the cat basket in my attempts to find the bathroom in the dark. I would have turned a light on if I'd had any idea where the light switch was!

Home Truth 5: New is better
Moving tends to bring out the optimist in me and I view each new place in a positive light. This home has lots of lovely features. It's terrifically light to start with. The house faces east and sunshine floods in through generous windows. An oak-framed extension has been added to the side of the kitchen, originally as an artist's studio, but for our artistically-challenged family it makes a super dining room instead and I'm looking forward to decorating the beams come Christmas time.

View from the kitchen window

Despite being towards the centre of the village, we are tucked away in a quiet corner and surrounded by hedges making it feel private and the sheltered garden provides the perfect environment for a huge variety of feathered friends. Best of all, from the kitchen window I can just see the sea!

Warm &Cosy

With stiff and aching joints, I'm thankful to be on one level - no more stairs to drag the hoover up - hooray! This little house is on higher ground and well insulated and so we no longer have to endure the damp and mould that permeated the last house.

Luna has found her chair

Home Truth 6: Moving makes you thankful
Thankfully we are blessed to have the most wonderful friends who came to our rescue onec again and helped us to move. They hauled 'the impossible wardrobe' onto the van and friends who were not able to help move furniture, helped instead by providing a much appreciated delicious lunch for the workers.

The Wonderful Man was entirely wonderful and managed to sort out all the technology in the new house in record time (the Ryder Cup which was on at the time and various other sporting events proved a useful incentive). He also took more than his fair share of physical punishment as chief removal man - this eventually resulting in a very sore knee (he is still hobbling - bless him!)