The Fallen~Sparrow~Hawk

Troll at the Gate                 Kirkudbridshire         February 21, 2002

Yesterday had numerological significance, 20/02/2002, a palimpsest, apparently astrologically powerful. I was sitting in Brett and Alison’ yurt at the Doon of May sipping a gin and tonic while listening to radio 2 powered by a battery. Some mod cons have sneaked into the way of life since I was last here with Nick, for a May Day gathering almost a year ago. Nevertheless, life here still revolves around water collection and wood chopping. Last night I was particularly cold and my attempts to heat the static caravan which doubles as the canteen were in vain. I think the fact that I closed the flue had something to do with killing the heat. Today is a lot more successful though the weather is a lot better. The stove takes a long time to heat the amount of metal surrounding it.

I have mastered wood chopping and Ill no doubt get through the pile I have today.

I don’t know how I feel; it is silent here far from the hustle and bustle of the peopled metropolises. So, I am feeling tentative. Hopefully money will come so I can buy provisions in a week or so. I don’t know if the check has been sent yet. The month ends soon. I don’t want to sponge off this situation and it would be ideal if I got work through translation. I should phone Temple Translations and notify them. I would want to wait till the generator was set up. With money coming in there would be more freedom and I would be able to travel about to and from here.

It is the first day of what may be my new life. I have phoned the IAA (Immigration Appellate Authority) and the (IND) Immigration Nationalities Directorate) hopefully they will provide me with work which will sustain me here allowing trips into Glasgow, Edinburgh and Stranraer for interpreting work. Temple or APA will hopefully send translation work once the laptop is up and running. Slowly, slowly. The office will be a tad cold, so, extension lead to the canteen wouldn’t go amiss.

I’m glad I have arrived in time for the wind turbine to be erected. If this works out I’ll have it all sorted. Then I’ll have to find a lover. I’ll stay faithful to Mark for the time being. I’m sure Jenny or someone can give me a lift into Stranraer in the future. I think maybe we will go out on the razz maybe. Must get a torch.

It is very windy outside; it would be great to convert it into electricity soon.

Feeling optimistic, that is if the different elements, lecky, laptop, phone, email, printer, fax, answer machine come together. I may be able to harness my writing skills and produce something of beauty. There is indeed an abundance of wood which is fantastic. I must Email Ben and Jo. I have to pay that phone bill pronto. Please money tree provide what is necessary!

Of course, what with the frenetic emotional activity that is London, Mark now seems embedded in chaos. That was me too; Alcoholic exhaustion.

Anyway, I’m not willing to trade this for the city, yet. I would like to write another book or two. I wonder what response I’ll get from Macmillan and Granta or Judy Martin. I’ll call soon enough.

So, winding down. Cabin’s warm, read, listened to the wind-up radio, write, dream, regret, think, organise, eat and burn wood. Wood chopping and water fetching are de rigueur. I fetch water from the ‘burn’ a stream which comes down through the Doon. This is, reportedly, full of minerals, whereas the nearest burn passed through the neighbouring farmers’ field and is full of chemicals. Brett pointed out the abundance of mosses and insects in the Doon stream and the lack of life in the stream running through modern agricultural land.

There is a rhythm, a daily rhythm to learn if one is to live with the maximum of warmth and comfort. Tasks, like wood cutting can take up to an hour or so and then fire building, including kindling. Cooking on the stove is a little bit longer than the conventional. Washing up is a feat itself, and I haven’t attempted a body wash yet. The toilet is a hundred yards up the track and is a conventional enamel loo perched on a high platform and all the detritus falls down a hatch in to a wheelie bin. Each time you ‘go’ you have to cover it with sawdust.