The Heart of Hoy

Yesterday l voted for better weather,  today it hasn't arrived.   First thing the Hoy Hills are shrouded with mist, nearly down to sea level.  The north-west wind, which has overstayed, feeds in a nine degree misery.   The shoreline, only twenty five paces from the Bolt Hole, mirrors sky and slitherly, listless seaweed.  After a light game of crib we went up to the Kirk to deliver a new microwave.  (In the last Kirk dancing session Mabel had put the band's meal in the microwave to heat up.  There was a loud bang and the dial shot horizontally across the kitchen nearly embedding itself in the wall.  It was accompanied by a mini display of fireworks.  The band ate a tepid meal).

We had a constructive meeting with the Heritage Officer; she had just returned from an intensive two weeks of work on North Ronaldsay.  Post chat CMC went down to the Longhope shop for messages.

Tonight we are going to watch 'The Man who Taunted Machines'.