DISCUSSION OR ARGUMENT

 Tottie reporting for the Western Isles Wanderer, but for how much longer, is the question uppermost on the rest of the office staff’s minds. I’ve had a real week of it, not all bad. The boss had me off doing a tour around several producers of gin on the islands. A dream job you would think, and yes my tipple of preference is a G & T, but by the end of a four day tour I was convinced you could make gin out of anything, and it wouldn’t surprise me to hear someone was now producing Ye Olde Bootlace Gin in a stunningly beautiful designer bottle. I tried to keep an open mind, but I’m from the juniper generation, when gin was gin and yogurt was natural or nothing.

I never realised how fascinating a family tree could be, and I’ve already discovered an entire branch of the family I had no knowledge of. Unfortunately the boss caught me trawling through the 1905 census and today a written warning landed on my desk. I can’t see the problem as long as I do the work, but then he’s a bully and likes throwing his weight about, of which he has plenty to spare. They don’t call him Wobble bottom Bill for nothing. Last night I dreamt I’d discovered someone drowning on Garry beach. There was frantic splashing going on but it was only a few yards out. When I took a closer look it was old Wobble Bottom himself sinking slowly into the sand, and I just watched as he disappeared beneath the waves. I’m thinking it might be time to move on from WIW, do a bit of free lancing, or maybe try my hand at writing a novel. I’m sure I’ve got a cold coming and should probably take a day off, but I can imagine what Bill would make of that so perhaps I’ll just show up and breath a few of my germs over him.

 

Tom; I’m not sure what the difference is between a heated discussion and an argument is, but I certainly had one of them with Tottie. She’s become one of my very few sources of news from the outside world and this week she was full of excitement at the possibility of Tesco opening on Sundays. “At last we’re moving into the 21^st century”.

I freely admit I probably lost my cool. I understood when the Sunday ferry crossings started particularly for members of families working on the mainland wanting to return home at the weekend, but are we that wedded to supermarkets that we can’t survive a single day without them. They’re open from six in the morning to ten at night, six day a week for God’s sake! I was on a roll and there was no stopping me. I’ve never seen the attraction in shopping although I still prefer my own choice when it comes to fresh fruit and veg. Who am I kidding? Apart from bananas and garlic most of that is pre-packed, so I might as well get it delivered.

Meeting up with Tottie mid-week for a coffee has made a welcome interlude, a wee brush with the outside world, but after today that might require a cooling off period.

She said it was time people were released from the tyranny of Presbyterianism. I knew what she mean, but that’s not what Tesco are talking about, and how long before the Coop follow suit. Not content with losing our village shops; there were at least three in Tolsta before supermarkets arrived, and now we are being made to get rid of everything that makes our island different in the name of progress. It’s not progress, its money. Must we be bowing down to worship at the altar of Tesco.

Typical of Tottie, she had the last word trotting out that well-worn phrase that I’ve come used to hearing from other friend, “We can’t all be like you Tom”, adding “If you had your way they’d be closing the churches on Sundays as well”. Snookered, my only escape was to complain about the price of the coffee that would be costing more than a month’s supply of medium strong, freshly ground, Italian inspired coffee. She came back as quick as a fly to a rotting corpse, “Yes Tom, and you bought that at Tesco”. We sat in an awkward silence looking out across south beach as the ferry came in to dock.

“Anyway this coffee’s rubbish” I resumed trying to move on.

“A bit like this conversation then” she fired back with a large grin.

I held up my hands in mock surrender “OK, you win, Tesco wins, truce. At least out at New Tolsta I will be able to remain oblivious to the delights of progress and the 21^st century. I paid and she returned to the office. The following day I got a text from Tottie, “Off work, got a stinking cold”. “SNAP!” I texted back. The reply was almost instant, sharp as a razor, “Yeah, and I could only have caught it from you, or Tesco, or both”. 😄 For once I was pleased to see that emoji. Having spent the past two days tucked up warm in my studio, the latest needlework of Pabail Pier on the Point peninsula is nearing completion. As usual the pier has taken centre stage and the bay framed by the crofts sweeping down from the village, and out to sea the distinctive shape of Eileen Mor Phabail that ensures we can be nowhere else.