A Tale Of Two Sandys (and a Martha and a Tom and an Elaine. And a dug called Culain)

This week we were visited by journalist, broadcaster, musician, thriller writer, bread maker, chicken breeder and biker Tom Morton and gang including my old mate...wait for it... Sandy Nelson. Yes! The guy with me in the pic below is called Sandy Nelson! He's taller than me, 10 years younger, better looking and a doctor. We are like Schwarzenegger and De Vito in Twins.(l-r: Martha, Sandy, Sandy, Elaine.)

We stopped off here and there, me showing them the sites of Unst, including the Northern Lights Bistro which was closed. At 1pm-lunchtime. On a public holiday. On a Scottish Isle. During tourist season. Now, I'm no Duncan Fannytyne or Theo Clitoris but even an arty farty treehugger like me can see that this makes no fucking business sense whatsoever.

Anyroad, the big thing is that the Bus Shelter has had a makeover! Last year it was Baby Blue. This season it's pink to make the boys wa..er..wink.


Aw. Gorgeous!

(photies shamelesly ripped from Tom Mortons Beatcroft)

Shetland pony through the back

Looked oot the kitchen windae yesterday and what did I see?


Looks like my neighbour, Frank, the horse tamer, is bringing his work home with him.

It's the Unst show today and I think Frank is entering this little colt in the "1980's Pop Star Lookalike" category.

Pure Energy (by the way)

This is the Pure Energy Centre on Unst just up the road from the Bus Shelter.


nature drives the turbines with wind (of which there is an inexhaustible supply) which creates electricity which then is converted to hydrogen...or...em..in fact just click the link to see what they do there. They can explain it all better than me:

Pure Energy

And here's a wee film of the Hydrocar versus the Ice Cream Van race at the Unst Thrash, an annual gathering of young motorheads making lots of tyre marks on the runway of Baltasound airport. (The race is the first thing you see you feel free to switch it off after that. The rest is just a load of noise.)

Unst Thrash

Vroom

Love Thy Neighbour

Day 1. Friday. On our first morning in Baltasound the grass out the back looked like this:

Waist high to most, shoulder high to me. So I joked (well not joked just sort of said chirpilly,) to my neighbour, Boagsy, "Ye'd need a scythe to deal with that lot." He replied, "I hae a sye, ah'll hae it done in ten meenuts." It was lovely day so I said "Great," and went on rake'n'barra duty.

So Boagsy, who looks a bit like Catweasel, took his scythe and hacked away for about an hour and low and behold...There was a dog under there! No, of course not. You've been introduced to Meg before. But he did find rhubarb! "Get chirsell a knife an stick that in a crumble," enthused Boagsy. In fact he told me THREE times! "It's ripe! Root it oot!"

So when I went over to tell him that I'd done it he was talking to Frank, my other neighbour, the guy who tames Shetland Ponies (except up here they're just called ponies. A Brazillian doesn't call a Brazil nut a Brazil nut, he just calls it a nut. Actually up here they are just called horses. The ponies that is, not Brazil nuts.)

Frank just happened to have a bottle of Grouse in his bag, so he sent Boagsy in to get four glasses and me in to get Caroline. It was only about 1.30 in the afternoon, but , well, it's just a dram.

Then out comes Andrew, a lovely guy next door who sits in his garden drinking cider from a mug arrived, as did Yorkshire Steve who I'd met earlier when he came my door and said "If you need anything, anything at all, just ask." My city hackles went up wondering what he wanted from me till I remembered where I was and people actually mean stuff like that. So we all stood there drinking a dram, like the opening credits of King Of The Hill, (in fact Frank looks a bit like Dale Gribble.) And it was nice.

We all broke up and I went back to my raking, and Caroline back to her sanding and staining. That should have been it but Andrew went up the shop and bought another bottle of whiskey. So we all ended up together again sitting in our garden this time pissing it up with grain whiskey and red wine. By this time I was like this:


"Me daughter anner friend are oop frompt down south at t'moment," says Yorkshire Steve, "They mekkin' a pottachilleh? Fancy a bitta dinner?"
"Aye!" Sez we.

We were in his house till 1.30 in the morning drinking vodka and smoking rollies.

Now let me remind you- this was our FIRST DAY!!!! Where have we moved to?

Nothing much happened on Saturday.

Stay tuned.
S.x.