Update 2020 : Lockdown day 1

Today is the first day of the UK-wide lockdown. A new situation for us all, and one which is really far more unsettling than I expected it to be. Insides churning, last night's sleep was a series of nightmares of situations gone wrong. It doesn't take an expert to understand why.

But today, sitting here completely at sixes and sevens, I have decided to do something that will hopefully bring both of us comfort: me and you. I am going to write, but beyond this first post, I will not dwell on the negatives but rather on the positives. There's a way through this - and hopefully a wee glimmer of light will be associated with my words.


I had my first outdoor swim the other day, at Loch Sgioport. The tide was pouring in, and the water looked turquoise - the sort of colour that hints at mermaids, seal cities and lives lived in watery pleasure. It wasn't easy to get in, it never is, even though my wetsuit is a buffer that protects me. However, the pleasure is all mine once I'm in the water.

A rock dove spun out and away from a ledge above the water. A nest, messy and chaotic, peeked over the edge. I wonder: will the eggs be laid yet? Or perhaps even hatched. Sparsely-clothed chicks growing chilled by their parent's absence.

It reminds me of my cousin and I when we were young. We'd climb up to the top of the lambing shed on the farm my parents still live on, and we'd take the pigeon chicks down from their nests that looked oh-so-like this Loch Sgioport nest, and we'd play with them for an hour or so before putting them back. It's incredible that they survived to fledging, but as soon as they had use of their wings they made sure to keep out of our way!

The cliff where the rock dove was was low, but high and steep enough to have trees growing out of it. They looked like rowans, coming out of the rock at sharp angles, evading hungry deer and sheep (and ponies, seeing as it was Loch Sgioport we're talking about) and surviving, if not thriving in their north-facing arbour.

The swim was divine. No seals, few birds, but the water was cold, the wind whipping up the waves nicely, and the sky interesting shades of blue with white clouds scuttling across. The wind, outside the water, could cut a body in half, but there's a change in the air: a sense of intention. Winter still clings on through these days of rough weather, but spring is definitely here and the birds, the mammals, the plants, the trees and the earth know it and are putting new life into motion.