Three Davys

It’s raining as Claire heads off south. By midday Peter and I are clambering into Amy & Finn’s van for a lift to Badluarach. The ferry is waiting, so it’s a seamless hop over to Scoraig.

I install myself in Mel’s mouse-house. It’s unoccupied, clean-ish, and provides a bed to unroll my sleeping bag on. I need no more.

I overtake Philip and Richard on the tractor hauling the last three bales of hay over to Achmore. Debbie, Vivian, and Gay have been out rounding up the ponies. Someone has left two gates open, giving the stallion an unexpected three week window for unplanned insemination. There may be a plague of Exmoor foals in the spring.

We unload the bales into the barn, have a cup of tea, and head back to the pier shed for the party. There are squatties and prawns and garlic mayo. The place is packed busy.

Reminiscences and toasts give way seamlessly to music, beer and curry. Lots of familiar faces and some new ones. Chicha, a friend of Tommy’s needs whisky, but the bar has none. I have a bottle of Pulteney, and exchange some for an interesting life story of Russian emigres, family decomposition, and perfection.

Later, I stagger up to Tigh Scoraig with Spanner and Rona. Lisa comes next. And then Jerry and Lydia arrive. The night is young and it’s already excellent.

Back at the pier shed Aggie and Diyanne have arrived. They are in party spirits. Someone called Fred is playing crazy slide guitar. There are far too few people still awake, but Emma Planterose is one of them. So many people from so many decades.

A posse of us head up to Aggie’s. We listen to Velvet Underground, St Étienne, David Bowie. Diyanne and I spar verbally as it begins to get light. A pregnant Holly shuffles out of the downstairs bedroom. It’s time for me to roll down the hill and steal a few hours rest in the mouse house.