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I’ve been reading the forecasts wrong. At home, every morning I would check the forecast before taking Scout out, to gauge the appropriate attire for the walk. I would focus only on the temperature, and in the dead of winter and height of summer, would also check the wind chill and humidex respectively.

But since I’ve arrived in Orkney, the temperature hasn’t exceeded 13°C or dropped below 8°, and yet, how I feel on any given day can vary widely. I’ve figured it out: the number that matters isn’t the temperature, but rather the wind speed. It can be a balmy 11° out, but if that wind is coming in from across the North Atlantic at 40km/h, you feel it, and you’d better have sweater, windbreaker, scarf, and hat on. On the other hand, 9° with no wind requires only a light fleece for a lovely walk around town.

The wildest weather so far was a couple of weekends ago. I opened the curtains in the morning to absolute sheets of rain drilling into the windows, and the rose bushes in the garden leaning at a 45 degree angle. The forecast advised winds of 35mph and gusts up to 60mph. Sixty miles per hour. That’s 100 km/h or the speed limit on the 401. For 36 hours that’s what we had – wind & rain that just wouldn’t stop. And Scout loved it – we went for our usual walks (well, who am I kidding – abbreviated walks) and she was in heaven. I was head to toe in rain gear and the temperature really wasn’t bad, so I didn’t mind it either. But she absolutely revelled in it.

I have usually been fairly consistent when it comes to observing Remembrance Day – I think it’s an important day to recognize.  This year turned out to be more complicated than I had anticipated. 

I really liked that the local theatre had a huge poppy wall light in the evenings, and everyone was wearing poppies.  So I bought mine.  And I could not figure out how to pin it to my coat.  After several days (yes, days) of wrestling with it then leaving it on the kitchen counter: I finally googled, ‘how to affix my poppy’ and that was me off and running.  Next challenge was what service to attend – after the 2016 incident with a squirrel during the 2 minutes of silence at the Milton cenotaph, I’m leery of letting Scout near anything, but I heard there would be a parade on the Sunday.  Perfect, we’d go to that.  Except, I couldn’t find it.  I wandered around downtown for a while (I’m usually okay asking for directions, but approaching people to ask for the nearest parade felt weird), then gave up and came home.  Imagine my surprise seven days later, to come across a parade of bagpipers going past crowds lined along the streets – unlike Canada, where we celebrate things on or before the day of an event, it seems here they celebrate on or after the day.  Oh well, I’ll know for next year.

My mail is delivered directly to my door through a mail slot – I have not had that since University, so it’s quite a treat, and exciting for Scout too. And six days a week to boot! But I didn’t know where to send mail out. I try to watch for a mailbox, or pillar boxes as some are still known in the UK, any time we are out but they are nowhere to be seen. So I’ve been going to the post office to mail anything and that’s all the way on the other side of town. Yes, I realize saying something is on the other side of town in a place like Kirkwall might be a bit of exaggeration for effect. But I did think it odd that while I saw mailboxes down by the harbour, or outside the post office, there wasn’t one in my neighbourhood.

Well, yesterday, I found it.

There aren’t trees on Orkney. At least not outside of town. But in Kirkwall, there are trees dotted about the town and I live near two little groves. The noise coming from them can be deafening – at first I would have said dozens of crows, but the more I watch, the more I realize they number in the hundreds, and roost in the two aforementioned groves. And caw. I can hear them from my house. Late afternoon the crows start their commute home to the trees (I don’t know where they go during the day, but they return en masse) and the sky is black with them.

They don’t affect our morning walk, but in the evening they can be quite scary with all the swooping and cawing (and I worry too about the pooping, but haven’t seen too much of that) and anyone who knows crows knows they are clever, and can take dislikes to people. It hadn’t occurred to me that moving to Orkney and trying to fit in would include staying on the good side of a murder of crows.

I thought it odd when I saw an umbrella stand full of rocket fireworks on sale in my local hardware store and then I remembered, today is Guy Fawkes Day. Guy Fawkes was a domestic terrorist who plotted to blow up the Houses of Parliament.

In 1605. These people have really long memories.

I think Orkney celebrates Guy Fawkes Day with a bonfire at the Peedie Sea (I love that name – if ‘wee’ is the Scottish word for small, then ‘peedie’ is the Orcadian word for wee. The Peedie Sea is a round, man-made pond down by the harbour, full of ducks and swans – this can’t be a fun night for the birds.). I don’t think we’ll be wandering down there this evening; Scout doesn’t mind fireworks, but only from a distance.

My hoose here in Kirkwall doesn’t have radiators. Or a furnace. What is has is in-floor radiant heat. Each room is controlled by a thermostat, and the heat rising out of the floor heats the whole room. It is the best thing ever! No fossil fuels, and when I get up in the morning, the floors, whether bare or carpeted, are warm to my feet. I love this.

Now, I have not yet unpacked. I bought one Ikea dresser and I will assemble it tomorrow. But it means that for the last fortnight (see how British I am? Huh? huh?) I have had my suitcases spread out on the guest room floor, with all my clothes (except those hanging in the closets) laid out in them. It’s not quite the disaster it sounds, as I have my summer wear tucked into 1/2 of one case, and all my sweaters ditto, and so on. But here’s what I’ve noticed. Even though I have the thermostat in that room set quite low, it is still on and all the clothes are warm. That means my underwear is warm, my socks are warm, sweaters, jeans, etc… whenever I put something on, all thanks to the in-floor radiant system. It’s the best feeling in world, especially on cold mornings. I’m actually not really looking forward to moving everything into the new furniture.

So here’s my question: why aren’t dressers heated? I don’t mean anything extreme, not like a curling iron or anything, but just a gentle element, maybe running up inside each leg of the dresser, that slowly generates just enough heat to warm our clothes. Someone should invent that.

I had made the decision that each Sunday was going to be spent not prepping, or shopping, or sorting, or cleaning; but exploring – a different excursion each week.  We’ve done harbours, beaches, and a prehistoric village so far.  But the thought of getting in that car again after yesterday’s 10-hour journey; well, it just wasn’t on. So Scout & I went for a 2 hour walk through the town.  Up and down every alley, lane, close, wynd, loan, and walkway.  We found quaint little gardens, shops with handcrafted jewelry, a store that actually sells bulk food from a dispenser instead of the miles and miles of plastic I see at the major supermarkets, and, as we were walking down one twisty little alley, I heard bagpipes!  Well, that’s it.  I hope we haven’t peaked too soon: I mean, can it get any more Scottish than that?  I never saw the piper, I don’t know where he/she was playing, but as we strolled through cobbled lanes, we were serenaded by the pipes.  Och, aye.

Up at 5:15am, waved cousin & uncle good-bye at 5:40 and felt very smug about being on the road 20 minutes earlier than planned.  You see, I was aiming for the midday ferry to Orkney on the theory that I could avoid driving home in Orkney in the dark.  Hmm.  What I hadn’t thought about was that I was driving unfamiliar roads in the pitch dark for well over two hours in the morning.  In the rain. Again.  And, as before, well under the speed limit.  I could see the arrival time on my SatNav inching later and later as I cruised along at a frightening 55 mph, with transport trucks and school buses overtaking me. 

What was going through my mind during those hours and hours?  When I wasn’t freaking out about the lights of the oncoming vehicles, I was working out how I can place my next order and arrange for a delivery firm to pick it up, regardless of cost.  All I know is that I am not leaving this damned island again any time soon.  At least not until there is 10 hours of continuous daylight.  (Because, to be fair, when it did brighten, the drive was absolutely beautiful – mountains, farmland, coastline – just lovely.)

Those who know me know I don’t shop well.  I have been known to walk into a large store, see all the goods and all the customers, and turn to walk out (both sisters have had to grab my arm and say, “don’t be silly, come on.”)  I have driven all the way to Square One, driven around the parking lot, seen the crowds, and just driven home.  Really.

But I was on a mission in Glasgow; first stop: Currys (think Best Buy).  It wasn’t a quick process, but I walked out of there with everything on my electronic list.  Then off to Ikea.  Ikea: my sisters and I are convinced ‘Ikea’ is the Swedish word for hell.  One of my big concerns was: how much could I fit in the car (including poor Scout) and still be able to see to drive?  So I headed straight for the one item I desperately needed: a dresser.  I bought it and took it out to the car – it fit!  Returned to the store for another round of shopping.  Then we headed to my Uncle’s.

The next morning my cousin drove me back to Ikea for round three.  Had I mentioned the rain?  Pouring again, and this time the added fillip of COP26 which was starting that weekend – we saw a lot of Glasgow as we tried to dodge the protesters and the usual Friday traffic.  But she really didn’t seem to mind – so kind.  More furniture and stuff, then back to Currys (did you know they now sell cell phones with the cable but not the plug?  Or maybe that’s only a British thing.  So stupid. I have no idea why the salesclerk wouldn’t have sold me one the day before?)  I didn’t buy everything I needed this go round because of space limitations, but my intention is to have a bunch more things shipped to Ikea’s Aberdeen Pick-Up Centre and that will cut my next trip later this month in half.

We got home from my second day of full-time shopping and I was able to fit it all in the car, including a space for you-know-who (who was not impressed with her jury-rigged corner bed).  God I was tired.

When Google Maps tells you it’s about 5 hours+ to get from the north of Scotland to Glasgow, it’s easy for a Canadian to think, “Well that’s the same as driving from Toronto to Ottawa.  Easy.” But, when you factor in: leaving early enough to make the ferry, plus the ferry, plus the stops for you and/or the dog (there is not an On Route every 66km in the Highlands), and (and this is the biggy) Google assumes you will be driving at the speed limit the whole way there.  That is 70 miles an hours anytime it’s 2-lanes, or 60 miles an hour everywhere else.  Sixty.  That’s 100 km/hr.  On highland roads.  In the rain (it is Scotland after all) and, for the first hour of the morning and the last hour of the afternoon, in the dark.  As the roads weren’t too busy, I didn’t have to pull into passing places to let those behind go by all that often, but I can guarantee you that I was rarely driving the speed limit.

I bundled Scout into the car at 6:30am at home, and we walked into the hotel in downtown Glasgow at 4:25pm.  A hotel where the parking is a lot 2 blocks away.  And it was pouring by the time we arrived.  Sheeting down.

But we made it, and I was able to accomplish my number one goal: get a bank card.  At 4:55 that afternoon I walked into the bank, a sorry, sodden, cranky mess, and 11 minutes later I practically skipped down Argyll Street, all because of a little square of plastic.