Both of my sisters are quite artistic. I am not – I have accepted that. I do have nice penmanship; that must count for something.

Several weeks ago I met a very nice neighbour as we were both out walking our dogs. As so often happens we got chatting, first about the weather, then the dogs, then my accent, then my move here (these conversations follow a pattern). But, unlike other ships-that-pass-on-the-pavement, we didn’t just leave it at that; she took things a step further and asked me to join her weekly walking group, which I thought was awfully kind of her.

These 8 – 10 people (almost all are retirees) meet every Friday afternoon and, weather-permitting, follow one of the Kirkwall trails for an hour, then stop for a coffee. I’m really enjoying it: I get to see new local trails; they are an absolute font of local information (I am now saving big-time on my ferry rides and I found a place to rent a power drill (don’t ask)); and they have all made me feel very welcome.

Earlier this month one of the ladies (I think she’s the ringleader) suggested something a little different: instead of going for a walk the following week, we were going to try our hand at painting ceramics! All week I practiced my hedgehog drawings – it had to be a hedgehog, because you see, my family decided years ago that I like hedgehogs (well, I do, but I now have an awful lot of them, including one remarkably dramatic version in my garden in Milton) – so I would be ready on the day.

It was a lot of fun, the coffee in the workshop/café was particularly good, and I think the whole group really enjoyed themselves. Here’s my output. Don’t laugh.

I’ve had a couple of questions this week from friends and family around how much I cook vs dining out, and just generally what my diet is like here.

The Brits love wrapping things in pastry (except fruit, oddly. I’ve yet to see an apple, or berry, or peach pie. Hunh.). I was trying to think what the meat pie section of Tesco’s would compare to back home, and the best I could come up with was the frozen pizza section of the Superstore. I would say that the same amount of shelf space is devoted to meat pies (fresh, frozen, ready to eat) in our local supermarket in Kirkwall (pop. ~9,000) as is devoted to frozen pizzas in the largest grocery store in Milton (pop. 140,000+).

Dear God, the selection! There’s sausage rolls (just like at home but at least twice the size), steak & (insert 2nd ingredient here: kidney, tatties, mushroom, stilton, or ale), Cornish pasties (beef & potato half-moons), Melton Mowbray pork pies, Forfar bridies (minced steak in what looks like a small calzone), Lancashire cheese & onion pies, mince pies (ground beef with gravy), baked beans & cheddar in pastry (seriously, it was pretty good), fish, game, or rabbit pies, and my absolute favourite: Scotch pies (minced mutton with lots of pepper).

I must admit I probably have one or two variations on a meat pie each week, but to be clear, unlike the British, I don’t have any additional starch with them, usually just a salad or some homemade coleslaw. Pies here are usually served with mash, or chips. Or beans. Or all three – on menus here I have seen pie, chips, baked beans, and peas. All starch, all at once, all on one plate.

These are not the only things I eat, I promise. I will share a few of the other culinary delights I have tried (or even made) in future posts – and just wait until you see some of the things this country sells in cans.

One day last month, just after a light dusting of snow (and I do mean light), a little girl ran up to us on our walk and squealed excitedly, “It snowed!” I looked at her with contempt and sneered, “That’s not snow.” No, of course I didn’t; I scrunched up my shoulders like hers and squealed back, “I know, isn’t it fun?”

Today Scout & I headed down to Scapa Beach (dead seal count: 2. She sniffed both and rolled in neither – this is progress). It was very windy, we walked the length of the beach, and on the way back it started to snow. Well, not really snow. I’ve realized something – I have not seen a single snowflake on this island. Any snow we have had has really been teeny, tiny bits of hail, and has arrived horizontally. I don’t know if Orkney has ever experienced that heavy, gentle, silent, fluffy snowfall that we get back home, big fat flakes that you can catch on your tongue, or that rest on your eyelashes. It may be that it doesn’t get cold enough for that kind of snow here. It’s February and we’re hovering around the 4° – 7° Celsius mark (the wind chill brings it down to a frosty -1°C) – combine that with the ever present wind, and maybe hail is all they know?

It is a very Scottish expression to ‘do one’s messages’. That means to run errands. I don’t remember ever hearing my mother say it, so it was relatively new to me and I assumed it was maybe a highland turn of phrase. But my uncle uses it, as do the locals here in Orkney, as well as a friend of mine back in Milton who was born in Scotland. And in Britain, ‘the High Street’ is what North Americans might call Main Street, or even more specifically ‘Main St, USA’, referring to the primary downtown shopping & business street.

This is Albert Street, Kirkwall’s High Street, and at first glance one could easily assume it was a pedestrian-only walkway, as it is very narrow, windy, (that’s a long ‘i’ as in twisting around, not blowing around), brick & cobbled lane. Many stores welcome dogs, some food-based shops very sensibly do not. This is Scout, waiting patiently as I get my messages. I used to tie her up directly outside the shop I’m in now, but then I realized just how close the cars come to its front door. So she sits across the street and watches and waits.

I forgot to mention one of my other IKEA purchases – a little round hanger for drying clothes like socks, underwear, etc. I know I should be using the rotary drying stand in the back yard more often, but I really don’t see the point, when I know it is going to rain at some point each day. I see people with their drying out on the line, and I find myself wondering how often they have to haul it in soaking wet due to a sudden downpour.

But I thought this little guy would be very handy for smaller items, indoors, so I ordered it. As usual, when it comes to me and ordering online, something has gone wrong. The main hook at the top doesn’t fit over any of the railings in my house. The only place the hook works is if I open a kitchen cupboard and hang it on the handle there. Just what I wanted whilst cooking, damp socks and underwear dangling in my face, and absorbing the cooking smells. Nuts. (Yes, those are googly eyes – I guess IKEA figured that if you were going to have an 8-armed round hanger, it might as well have a personality.)

And, as a follow-up to yesterday – I did get the second guest bed assembled, and the bed linen is in place. I’m now all ready for visitors. There was one piece missing when I was finishing the second one – I don’t think I’ll mention that to guests and just hope they pick the more stable of the two beds. After all, how important could that dowel be?

I really thought after yesterday’s efforts that I would sleep like a log all night. As well as all the IKEA assembly, we had done two major walks, and on the second one, I stopped at the Garden Centre and picked up and carried home a 20L bag of soil. So when I went to bed at 10:30, I figured that, in spite of my normal insomnia, that had to be me out for the next eight hours easily.

Nope. I woke at 12:15 and that was me wide awake. After an hour of tossing, I put on an audio book (one I had listened to before, with a soothing British voice) in hopes that would lull me back to sleep. At 3:00 I got up and made a cup of hot milk. At 4:00 I got up and made a one-egg omelette wrap. Finally at 5:03, I thought I might doze off. I checked to make sure I had nothing to do today (not as ridiculous as it sounds – my social calendar is picking up), and decided to try closing the heavy outer curtains in hopes of blocking out the morning light.

All the windows in the house have regular blinds that do a good job of providing privacy and a fair job blocking light, and that’s all I’ve used so far this winter. But each bedroom also has heavy, thick, fully lined curtain. I have to think that, come June, when the sky is light from 3:30a.m. to 11:00 p.m., people here need those curtains to get a decent night’s sleep.

Well, they work – the room was pitch dark and stayed that way, and the only reason I am up now and not still asleep is a 62lb, 4-legged alarm clock.

I was very excited to receive my guest room & dining room furniture shipment from Ikea first thing this morning. Got over that feeling fast.

Fortunately I decided to start on the dining room chairs and table first (Voxlöv & Mariedamm respectively if anyone is interested), because, dear God the guest beds were horrific. I should say “guest bed was horrific” as I gave up after the first one. As usual, this is partly my fault; I did buy the cheapest bedframe they had. But I didn’t realize difficulty in assembly and price were inversely related. Had I started with the beds, the dining room would still be in the box.

Halfway through, I considered throwing the bed out into the driveway and writing family and friends and telling them they weren’t allowed to come and stay, but that seemed a tad over-dramatic. So I persevered. There was a fair amount of good, healthy Anglo-Saxon bandied about and at one point I may have shouted one word in particular at the top of my lungs. As my neighbour was walking by. Oops.

That got me thinking (I had nothing else to do as I was Ikea-key screwing in 32 fiddly little screws) – maybe I should start swearing in Québécois. I feel fairly safe in saying that next to no one here would recognize or be offended by a tab&@#ak or a cr!$$ % m@*de!

A kind fellow dog-walker texted me a list of some good beaches for Scout. One was Aikerness at the village of Evie. So we headed out this morning, but I made a wrong turn and after driving quite a ways down a single track, I ended up here at the Broch of Gurness, an Iron Age village.

I’ve been here before with my sister and nephew – I think my sister made friends with an Historic Scotland employee that day (but that’s her story to tell, not mine) – it is a fascinating settlement in breathtaking countryside. It’s over 2,000 years old, and as well as the Iron Age dwellings they uncovered, they have found Roman amphorae, Viking artefacts, Norse jewellery, and Pictish homes. It really is like walking through history, and then when I turned and headed back up the hill, the history continued as I was surrounded by farm houses and stone fences that were at least 100 and possibly 200 years old. (As an aside, that single-lane track that winds around the fields and over the hills has a speed limit of 100 km/h. Just sayin’.)

We did head on to the Sands of Evie to check them out – an absolutely lovely beach on a sunny day. I’m getting better at identifying the local birds – we saw oyster catchers, eider ducks, greylag geese, a grouse, and an extremely camera-shy grey seal. I swear he knew what a camera was and was taunting me by hiding every time I got my phone out, and bobbing up every time it went back in my pocket.

We walked for miles. The car is filthy, the dog is exhausted, and I can feel the sand in my hair – a great day!!!!!

Oh dear, getting a television license was a bad idea. (A) For reasons I have yet to figure out, they are charging me the full 12-month cost in the 5 months between now and July (note to self: call them today!).

(B) Instead of getting things done around the house, I have spent the last 2 days bingeing Around the World in 80 Days, followed by the Central England episodes of Great British Menu. And the Olympics. So, I have gritty floors, a hamper of dirty clothes, and the dog really needs a bath. But I have seen a hot air balloon, scallops with black garlic and samphire, and a lot of women’s curling (happy for GB, sad for Canada). And there are still so many shows I haven’t even found yet! As I said before, oh dear.

My first week in Scotland I ordered a Caesar salad in a pub. It came tossed with red pepper and hard boiled eggs; I haven’t ordered one since. I have seen it on menus since then – one included green beans. So today, in Tesco’s, I saw a small bottle of Caesar salad dressing and thought, “ooh, yum.”

I also wanted some rolls, so I picked up a package of Butteries. They look like hamburger rolls, perfect for a sandwich. Once I got home I looked at them more closely: they are very flat – it didn’t look like they would be easy to split. So I looked them up on the internet and it seems that butteries are more of a breakfast indulgence, eaten with jam and very rich – every description included words like ‘highly caloric’, ‘decadent’, ‘high fat content’, and ‘full of butter’. So not really what I had wanted (first person to point out that the clue was in the name gets blocked from my blog).

Instead of a sandwich, I used them to make the best croutons I have ever had. The Caesar salad was delicious.

Post Script: on another note, we’ve had another dead seal encounter. No blood or guts, just a reeks-to-high-heaven maritime pong.