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When I first moved into this cottage last fall (autumn), I mentioned in passing that it was only a seasonal hire, and that I would be moving again in the spring. Well, that chicken has finally come home to roost – I will be moving at the end of April. Again. Heavy sigh.

Now this time ’round house hunting will not be quite so fraught with potential homelessness, because I have a new home all lined up – I need to go back to last fall to explain. At the same time as I was moving into this cottage and being advised by the owner that it was just a temporary let, my uncle in Lanarkshire was starting to fail, and his daughter was having to consider what she would do regarding his house after he was gone. She and her equally Scottish husband and their English children all live in Kent, south of London – over six hours away. But this was the house Ian and Margaret built when Viv was just a little girl, and she loves this house, as well as the surrounding village.

When I say she loves it, I mean she loves the ‘bones’ of the house – it’s a bonny wee 3-bedroom bungalow with a full (unfinished) loft, with beautifully groomed front and back gardens. But the decor is, well, dated. And the lay-out is very 1970’s. And like many elderly couples Uncle Ian and Aunt Margaret didn’t really see any need to change anything in the last few years of their lives, so it’s full of knickknacks, and slightly frayed cushions, and a velvet settee – you get the idea. So what to do regarding a house so far away, but that she wants to hang onto? This is when the perfect storm started to form. But a perfect storm in a good way.

The situation: Viv wants to keep the house, but isn’t ready to move back full time to Scotland – well, Elaine needs somewhere to live come the spring. It needs some renos done to bring it into this century, but Viv can’t really be supervising from afar – hmm, Elaine on the spot, with texting, Zoom, and camera to give updates and get guidance. The loft, garage, cupboards, and closets are full, but Viv hates cleaning and purging – oooh, Elaine loves that sort of thing. So, that evening back in December, as she and I polished off an unidentified amount of wine, we made the decision: I would move into her Dad’s house for the last of my Scottish stay, get some serious decluttering underway, and help monitor and manage whatever renos she decided to go with first.

Sounds perfect right? Well, as Rabbie Burns says, “the best laid plans, gain aft a’gley.” Wait for the next segment in Kirkwall to Carluke, The Voyage.

Are mustard-coloured coats a thing back home? They’re certainly big here, and I believe it’s a recent trend. That is to say, I’ve only noticed this in the last two weeks. Several days ago I was waiting for a friend outside a shop; she’s always been easy to spot because she has snow white hair, and wears a mustard-yellow, all-weather coat. I could see her just in the front of the store by the cashier and I pointed her out to the others in our walking group, before I realised that was a different tall, white-haired, yellow-coated Orcadian lady. Within two minutes, two more ladies walked by in similar jackets. I started watching, and by the end of the walk I had spotted at least another half dozen women (all different; it wasn’t the same lady looping the block) in varying shades of gold, mustard, amber, and school bus yellow.

Scout & I walked into town this morning and at one point stopped to chat with one of the other Community Fridge volunteers (who was in her yellow parka), and within my field of vision I could see seven – yes, seven – women all in mustard yellow coats. I tried to think of a way to get a photograph of them all to post here, but herding them together in the middle of the road didn’t seem feasible. Don’t get me wrong, I like yellow. It just seems like such a random thing to suddenly have sprung up.

Maybe it’s a northern thing – dark days means brighter clothes?

Headed over to Tesco this morning (note: our second walk of the day) and saw everyone walking out of the store with bouquets of flowers. Hunh.

Then I remembered, Mother’s Day in the UK is in March.

When my parents had the pub in Cheddar England in the 80’s, each March local customers would ask Mum if her daughters in Canada had sent her anything, or had called. She would explain that we had no idea it was Mothering Day in the UK, and that we celebrated Mother’s Day in May. Then, every May, she would put our cards out on the shelves behind the bar on display, to show that no, her daughters weren’t callous, inconsiderate wenches; and yes, they did actually love her.

I’ve been doing pretty well with my whole building-better-habits routine. We’re out as soon as we’re up each morning (although as the days lengthen, I’m not seeing much of the sunrises anymore), I’m hitting my steps target most days, and yoga is a regular part of my day once more. I was feeling pretty good, pretty smug about all that, quite pleased with myself, and then I read my friend’s blog.

LL is touring the US & Canada in a motorhome and is currently in Texas. She posted what her typical day looks like and while parts of her days are quite similar to mine (walking, cooking, Netflix, reading), they also include: water aerobics, pickle ball, swimming, and biking – all on top of not one, not two, but three walks a day. Well how annoying is that? Now, to be fair, she is in Texas in March, and I am in Orkney in March, but even so – WTF?

Well, sir, gauntlet thrown down, gauntlet picked up. I can guarantee I will not be swimming in the sea any time soon (even tho my landlord swears by it – nice man, but clearly mad as a hatter), and under no circumstances will you ever get me on these roads on a bicycle. But I pulled out my notes on what facets of my life I want to focus on, and what habits I can build to improve those facets (because, yes, Elaine, you have written this all down in a mind-map and created a habit-stacking list – of course you have).

What have I added, you ask? Well, let’s not get crazy here – it’s me after all – but the following items are now part of my daily routines: two walks EVERY day – 10,000 steps is a must from now on (I do have one exception to that – if winds surpass 40 mph we’re a No Go – common sense, people). Other habits adopted: try out one new author per week, instead of just reaching for the same old, same old faves (altho, I withhold the right to ditch an author if they’re not cutting it – yesterday I made it 17 pages into a novel before telling Scout it was utter shite and turning on reruns of The Repair Shop on TV); two 5-minute physio sessions each day, instead of waiting until my hand pains me and I need anti-inflammatories. And a full yoga practice daily, not just a 15 minute morning stretch. Although that last one may be tricky – see photo.

This whole 1% changes to make life better is good – I’m pleased with my progress and I’m feeling pretty good. But LL had better not up the game – if she suddenly takes up tae kwon do, or rock climbing, or something . . . . well, I’m out.

Mostly, the mail is pretty good here, at least by Canadian standards. Delivery is six days a week, and can be more than once a day. Granted, there are a number of postal strikes going on, but strikes are managed differently here; you get warning and it’s only for a day or two at a time. So an alert might show up on the BBC website saying that Scottish postal workers will be out next Tuesday and Wednesday, for example. Feels efficient in its disruption.

I’ve mentioned the hide-and-seek post boxes that can be tucked into a garden wall. Or, you can be driving through the countryside and come to an intersection: two single-track lanes converging, and the only thing to be seen for miles (other than sheep; there are always sheep) is a one bright red post box. There’s just something quirky about all of this to my Canadian town-or-city girl eyes.

Latest learning for me is all about when the mail is picked up. Wondering if you’ve made it to the post box before the 2:30 pick-up? Well, it seems that on those post boxes, be they tucked away in a wall or a red pillar box on the high street, there is a silver disk near the top which tells you what day is the next collection. So when I dropped my letter into the pillar box this afternoon at 1:25, I could see that the postal worker hadn’t been by yet. When she does come by, she’ll pick up all the mail, then change that disk to read ‘Mon’. Love it.

The first time I heard the noise, Scout & I were walking along the high street. There was banging, and shouting, and maybe honking, then a truck pulling a hay wagon drove by with a group of women hanging off the back, shouting, banging pots and the walls of the truck bed, and waving to the pedestrians. Oh, and they were covered in streaks of mud or something. Okaaay.

That was the first Blackening I saw. An Orcadian tradition (although I believe they do it elsewhere in Scotland), kind of like a stag or pre-wedding shower. Sometimes the men and women are together, but mostly it’s one group or the other, celebrating an upcoming wedding.

The hen party (if it’s women) are smeared with treacle and driven around town, banging pots and drums. Traditionally, blackenings were a LOT rougher: the groom would be stripped, bound, smeared with anything from treacle to dog food, to, well, whatever (ugh). Then covered in flour and feathers., and then paraded about. But those days are past – while it’s still loud and messy, it’s much more benign.

Last year I observed that the only snowfall Orkney seemed to experience was sideways sleet, that created a <1cm of snow on the ground, which didn’t stick more that 36 hours at most. And that was pretty much the case all of last year and most of this winter.

Well, this week we had a true snowfall. Just like back home. Big fluffy flakes, that ended up being about 5-8cm accumulation. Needless to say, the town shut down. The streets were deserted, next to no pedestrians, and a couple of friends emailed to check that I was alright. So very kind of them, but did I mention that it was between 2 & 3 inches worth, at most? But by this morning I could see the gritters had been out, as Scout & I headed out for our morning walk (only the second time I’ve worn my traction soles since arriving).

It was a very quiet walk – next to no one was out. What I could not get over was how beautiful everything was. I thought I had seen Orkney at its best, but this morning’s sunshine on the snow turned the town and the countryside into something magical. Snowcaps on the drystane walls, the bluest skies imaginable, and crocuses and snowdrops peeking up through the snow.

The snow is pretty wet now (it’s 3° and sunny) so it won’t last, and I know several of my friends found this a great inconvenience, but I am so glad I got to see one true snowfall here in Orkney.

When my Canadian/American/English friends were here last week, we were making more home vs here comparisons, particularly around food.

We all agreed the passion for wrapping everything in the produce section in plastic was annoying. (And just plain wrong. Reduce, people, reduce.) And I’m someone who already thinks we over-wrap in Canada; just imagine how bad it must be here.

With packaged foods, the amount (weight, volume) is always on the back. Why? What are they hiding? On the other hand, supermarkets here are much more diligent when it comes to the cost/unit calculations – they are clearly marked on every price card on every shelf. (Of course, that could just be a Tesco vs Longos/Loblaw thingy. But the ‘don’t tell them how much it weighs’ labelling is universal here.

All over-the-counter pills come in blister packs. All. Again, what an utter waste of packaging.

And on the other other hand, allergens are clearly marked, not only in grocery stores, but also on restaurant menus.

My friends left today, heading home to Oxford via Stirling & Lindisfarne (they love history). We had a great visit – their first and last days here were sunny (!) and no rain the entire time (!!!). We went to tourist sites I’d seen before, as well as some I hadn’t. The most remarkable of those was Maes Howe.

I had walked around it before, but never gone in (that’s actually been the theme of more than one of my holidays in the past: Saw It, Didn’t Go In). But this time, I did go in. It is accessible by tour only – a tour guide drives your group to the site, a hillock in the middle of a field; then unlocks a tunnel that you hunch your way through; and gives a 40-minute talk on the amazing chamber inside. Cathy & Mike say it was the highlight of their trip, and I think I have to agree that it is one of the most impressive things I’ve seen since coming to Orkney. It was built 5,000 years ago, in such a way that the sun on the winter solstice shines directly into the chamber (assuming it’s sunny on the 21st of December, a hit-or-miss proposition). It was then sealed and forgotten for a few millenia until Norsemen found and plundered it – there is actual Viking grafitti, some of which is quite vulgar, and one or two which basically translate to “Thor was here“.

But the best part of the tour, bar none, was our tour guide, Sarah. Really, a tour guide can make or break your experience, and she was amazing.

** Note: I think my friends would agree on the worst part of their visit to Orkney: my shower. It was a roller-coaster of a rinsing ride this week; their showers ranged from boiling to frosty, with little opportunity for the user to make changes to the temperature. Not a very nice way to start each day.

No, not that AA. Very funny. When my car wouldn’t start on Sunday, it occurred to me – I have Automotive Assistance! Rather than waiting for a mechanic on Monday, I could call The AA and get the car looked after right away (altho a part of me did think, well, they’ll still have to take it to a mechanic, so odds are it won’t be fixed today anyway).

Called their 0-800 number, and was advised that if this wasn’t a highway accident or breakdown, I had to use their website to report my breakdown. Okay, fine. Keyed everything in and got a reply: Based on your input, it seems that you are reporting from you own home. You are not covered for assistance for any breakdowns within a 1/4 mile of your home address. Really? Well that’s just splendid. I’m sure CAA doesn’t work like that.

Cathy & Mike did offer to help push my car 3/8 of a mile from my house, and we could try again, but that seemed. silly.