Back of Beyond - June 2006

On Saturday I found myself, as usual, in Somerfield stocking up on essentials for the weekend (beer, wine, crisps, chocolate, newspapers, you know the drill), and, also as usual, my boys fancied a go on the money-in-the-slot car thingy. Unfortunately the ride was already occupied, albeit by a child who was, frankly, inappropriately large for it. Like Lynette in Desperate Housewives, I am regularly mortified in public by my children, and so, when they began to intimidate this poor soul into giving up her place in the hotseat, I quickly turned my back and began perusing the magazine stand. Briefly I wished I'd brought my sunglasses for disguise, then remembered that wearing shades inside, especially on a cloudy Saturday in Lewis, tends to attract more attention than one might wish. Also the chances of being in Somerfield on a Saturday afternoon and not knowing anyone are somewhat slim, and I didn't fancy appearing any more odd than usual to some passing acquaintance. So I concentrated on the rows of magazines in front of me, selecting the odd one, flicking idly through it, then replacing it and going on to another. By this time my sons had gained possession of the vehicle and I became aware that a small person was approaching me demanding money, and, horror of horrors, addressing me as Mummy. Quickly I grabbed the nearest glossy. Go away, I hissed, I'll buy you both sweets if you meet me in the car park in five minutes. Small face brightened. And don't call me Mummy, I added, still in a stage whisper, all the while looking round and smiling indulgently; wasn't it so sweet that this little angel had mistaken me for his mummy? Shame I'd never set eyes on him before. Mollified, he rushed off to resume fighting with his brother over the steering wheel.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I glanced down at the magazine I was holding. Scottish Field, not my usual choice of reading material, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Before long I was completely engrossed in an article about ex-Castaway Ben Fogle, reading with mounting horror that he is on the look out for a Scottish island to buy. He'd apparently had his eye on Ailsa Craig but mercifully that was snapped up by the RSPB first. Now, while I'm not mad about the idea of islands being bought up as lifestyle commodities, a far more pressing matter is that, were this to happen, he would be eligable to Island Blog! I ask you, folks, is this the sort of half baked non celebrity we're looking for? Quickly I replaced the magazine, and left the shop in disgust, and it was only as I drove out of the car park that I realised I'd forgotten something...

Once home, I needed a cup of tea and a read of the paper to recover from the traumas of the afternoon. The two boys were outside beating each other up in a Smarties induced hyperactive frenzy. I put my feet up, opened the magazine section and began reading an article by Julian Cope, who was waxing lyrical about Robert Burns, Ayrshire, Arran, and, you've guessed it, Ailsa Craig. Well, I thought, if Julian Cope wanted to join Island Blogging, that would be all right by me. Hail to anyone who has the nerve to appear on Top of the Pops wearing nothing but a sack - beat that, Ben Fogle.

I'm sure I speak for everyone in the Western Isles when I say that we are most honoured that the Great Godwin has condescended to allow us once again to imbibe of his wisdom. This is from the Stornoway Gazette, June 8 2006:

Further to the Rev Angus Smith's letter (June 1) and his aversion on principle to the use of hymns as expressions of worship, what makes him think that God does not speak also through the writers of hymns, as He did through the writers of the psalms and the gospels? 'Behold, I make all things new', says the Lord. He does not say, 'Behold, I require you never to change'.

Learn from the bramble plant. The stem that bore fine berries in past years in time becomes utterly dead and useless; the new growth is further on, where you might not expect it. So it is with churches. I was glad to see Iain D Campbell's acceptance (Back Lines, June 1) of other denominations than his as valid too.

Further to Robert Kennedy's letter (June 1) - 'The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath'.

Jeremy Godwin


I think you'll agree that this marks a return to form for Jezza, oops, I mean The Great One, and we can all rest easy in the knowledge that as ever, He will brush aside controversy as a hand does a wasp, thus allowing his everlasting Light to shine on petty local issues, for ever and ever, amen.

A wee while ago Arnish Lighthouse posted some information about Kinloch Castle on the Isle of Rum. My family and I lived on Rum for three years and it was so nice to see that old friend again that I thought, since there are currently no island bloggers from that isle, I would post some pictures to show what a beautiful place it is. A friend and fellow Rumach once said to me that he thought he would remember his sojourn on the island as being 'the best of times and the worst of times' (he was quoting I know not whom, my dictionary of quotations is useless, or perhaps it's just me) and I thought that pretty well summed it all up. Despite that, I miss it every day.