I went paddling on Tuesday evening. I haven’t done that in so long but I was parked on The Scores, overlooking the West Sands, and, returning to ‘the dodgem’ (pet name for Becca’s trusty wheels), I couldn’t resist. June 10th turned out to be glorious following the torrential, blustery rain of Monday. That’s the thing about the Scottish weather, it’s designed to wrong-foot … or not. Wakened by the sun streaming through the totally ineffective blinds, it was out with the old favourite white jeans, enabling my navy and white combo! Finishing touch? My ‘Audrey Hepburn’ navy and white polka dot scarf bought for five euros, many years ago, from a street stall in Rome. A gift from Manny, it is one which is constantly bemoaned by his sister whose many thoughtful presents of considerably more expensive scarves are regularly over-looked in favour of his – five euros! Such is life. Anyway, for once, I got it right on probably the most glorious day so far this summer. Is there even such a thing anymore? Looking out over my beach on Tuesday evening, I was persuaded that there is. The infernal (just realised that was a word Pop used a lot) wind was gone and there was a stillness peppered, only, by the sound of the birds – and the seagulls, of course. I have never tired of that sound, since childhood, the call of the sea and a catalyst for my imagination. Isn’t the sea incredible? At once, humbling, mesmerising, enchanting; stretching as far as the eye can see, one is drawn to thoughts of far-off climes, inevitably an escape from the mundane, at least in one’s head. Terrifying, too, its powers infinite and untamed. The unknown. What lurks below in the darkness? Deep water is definitely a major phobia of mine. Watched The Poseidon Adventure, as a little girl, and that was it. Put me in a rowing boat and I had to screw my courage to the sticking place, never daring to look into the depths below! As for Titanic and the haunting images of that stern, two miles down on the sea floor, eerily rising out of the darkness as though a warning to those who dare to disturb her final resting place – and that of the many she took with her … Would I ever go on a cruise? No. Join Hugh (Grant!) on a private yacht? Tempting … but no. In fact, can I see Hugh chartering a private yacht? Again, no, so problem averted. Mercifully, I can’t see him on Ryanair, either!
Help! That was a long paragraph. Betsy (old English teacher) would be unimpressed. I do have a tendency to digress, however, which seems to have exaggerated with age – or just hysteria! It is Saturday, 14th June, as I continue, and guess what? The rain is torrential; I mean, torrential. It’s the middle of June, for goodness sake, filling me with dread as we head, rapidly, towards the longest day, perhaps with no summer yet again. No, trying to be positive thus, note, I have not – so far – mentioned the pending Apocalypse! That said, a nod to Eamonn Holmes who, I think, catches the mood of despair and utter disgust of the nation. He came up on a GB News Instagram post the other day and he just says it as it is, long-gone any desire to disguise. He’s done with this horror film and being taken for a fool. Me, too.
A total aside – another one – before I get back to my idyll, what does Prince William look like these days? That hideous attempt at a beard, patchy at most, and his clothes … Why, what is it with wearing a narrow black tie to everything other than a funeral? Now, too, he’s taken to wearing some sort of checked light grey blazer rather than his traditional navy. Seems Kate is taking a leaf out of her nemesis’ book and trying to modernize him. Done nothing for Harry who, once, favoured a linen shirt, chinos and desert boots and is, now, reduced to a black polo shirt and trainers. Takes a strong man to resist the re-modelling of a stronger woman!
I’ve just realised that there is one word which sums up this country, the state of, and that word is decline. Everything is in decline in this rapid race to the bottom but my question is who fired the starting gun? The motive? Rhetorical, of course, but what happens when the race is over and we are knee-deep in the dregs? I, for one, do not want to stay here and I know I’m not alone in that. Where to go is, therefore, an increasingly common debate and without doubt, save a miracle, there is an increasing urgency for those of us for whom it is all too real. There is no burying one’s head, that’s for sure. The evidence of the great decline is all around, attached to some pampered pooch on the end of an extendable lead who treads the pavements, now, rather than the beach, wandering in and out of doorways and lifting its leg at leisure! Spend a day in town and count the dogs. When did it become fashionable to take one’s ‘dog’ shopping? Utterly ridiculous. However, while they are weeing in someone’s doorway, at least they are not on my beach, yapping – another bugbear with which, I guarantee, Hugh would agree!
Positivity at all costs. Going well! Back to my paddling on Tuesday evening; a glorious evening to pocket for the likes of now. Monday – so they tell me – and it’s blowing a gale and threatening rain. Pathetic fallacy. In my mind, I’m going to Carolina (James Taylor playing in the background) or, perhaps, I shall just return to my idyll. One forgets what it is to have golden sand between one’s toes, never mind to walk in the shallows, the gentle waves lapping over one’s tired feet, cool and soothing as the evening sun dances on the water. Nature at its best, casting aside man’s pettiness in its reminder of what is truly important. The sense of calm, freedom; space to breathe … just one other guy, doing exactly like me, in the opposite direction. We smiled, in passing, an unspoken appreciation of our lot. Shimmering on the horizon, as though an illusion, was a ship, turquoise in colour with white sales. Were my eyes playing tricks? The perfect finishing touch to the most beautiful painting. Of course, the camera on my phone could not capture it, so far off in the distance, but, somehow, that only served to add to the enchantment.
I have always loved the mountains, been drawn to them. Montana, of course, is on my bucket list for that very reason – big skies, no people and majestic mountains – but Austria is in my very soul. Flat terrain does nothing for me. Trees, too, are a must, come to think of it – I guess that rules Orkney out! However, much as I am not a sun, sea and sand person – the thought of sun loungers and all-inclusive giving me palpitations – I am also drawn to the majesty of the sea; a catalyst for my imagination and a safe harbour of escapism. I walk and wonder, reflecting on life and the past; treasured memories of a childhood washed away in the sands of time. Words fill my head, with any luck, to retain until I have the opportunity to write them down … I picture a life I would love with a cottage by the beach filled with all my cherished furniture, my paintings and photographs and a lifetime’s memorabilia. Far from the madding crowd, it would – of course – have a huge open fire, squashy couches draped in my many throws and countless old chairs, each with its story to tell. Pride of place, though, would be my lovely old desk sitting right in the window at which I would spend my days writing, returning from my morning walk along my beach, not another soul in sight. I would be privy to the tides and the setting sun as though a guest at nature’s table. What a privilege. What an idyll … What a recluse!
‘She collected herself best in tranquillity.’
Betsy Lyons – her comment on my very last school report.
You see! Only seventeen, then – and, clearly, a character in a Jane Austen novel!
This is Trish, signing off.
Whoops! Can’t go without referencing Becks’ knighthood … worth all the patches on the knees!
