Old Habits Die Hard

What I've been thinking about this week:

1. Tea
2. Naps

You might remember that I went on a writing course back in October (I wrote about it in this blog). Well, I've just been on another one. 

In the run-up - as well as looking forward to spending a whole weekend writing and chatting to other people about their writing - one of the things I was most looking forward to was having a slower start to my day. Usually, I'm up, dressed and out with the dog before my eyes are fully open and my body is fully upright. 

Pre-dog, I'd shuffle about in my jammies for a bit, make a cuppa and then think about the day ahead. What joy it would be to relive those days! 

Except what I actually did was wake up at my usual time, get dressed quickly and wonder if the tutor's puppy would like to go for a walk. Even when she didn't, I was out strolling around Brig o Dee before 8am* and thinking about my first cup of tea of the day. 

I've never smoked (except in a pub one night in Cupar, which just left me with a sore throat and sore chest. The fact that the smoking took place inside tells you how long ago it was). However, I imagine the first cigarette of the day is very much like the first cup of tea: nothing else hits that high and you spend the rest of the day trying to recreate it. (A tea problem, me? Absolutely not. I could give up any time I like; I just choose not to.)

I got back from the weekend tired but happy. I'd learned loads and met some great new friends but what I hadn't done was sleep a lot. Despite a ludicrously big bed all to myself, my brain had been too busy to switch off and I arrived home in need of a nap. 

I already know that I am always going to be lazy compared with Ivie (I wrote about it in this blog) and this week I remembered that I can never, ever mention that I am tired. 

Luckily, Ivie is very relaxed about the different paces of our lives. A busy weekend for me is meeting friends for lunch, a rummage in Wigtown Community Shop and a dog walk with a friend (which also includes lunch). A busy weekend for Ivie involves a full day of work, lambing three ewes at 1am, coming to bed just after 2 and and then doing it all again. 

He rarely complains so I definitely don't feel I can moan about being tired when I was basically being force fed cake and laughing till I cried at (true) stories of hamsters and firemen. (It's a bit like the unspoken rule of not mentioning you got less than your usual 8 hours to new parents of a tiny human.)

Thanks to Drew, Ivie has had a couple of nights off from the nightshift so we're managing to go to bed at the same time, something we take for granted the rest of the year. His alarm will still go off before mine as I tell myself that if only I could have a day off from walking the dog, I'd be having a lie in with a cuppa. It seems you can't teach an old dog new tricks after all. 

* I know this is mid-afternoon by farm standards.

No Direction

What I’ve been thinking about this week:
1. My sense of direction.
2. Only joking! I haven’t got one.

The good thing about having no sense of direction is that I never worry about getting lost. 

I’m sure my poor Dad wouldn’t have been impressed to read that last sentence. He was in the Tweed Valley Mountain Rescue Team so could read a map in the pissing rain while looking for some daft sod who’d gone hillwalking in flip flops. 

Me n me Dad, 1989

I got many of his genes but not that one.

Luckily, I have friends who seem to understand where in the world they are, even if I haven’t the foggiest. 

Yesterday Rudi and I went for a walk at Kirroughtree with one such friend. She has an OS app on her phone so I immediately relinquished all responsibility for figuring out where we were at any given moment. 

Kirroughtree is just along the road from us and is part of Galloway Forest Park. It has fantastic walking and mountain bike trails and is used for lots of outdoorsy competitions and events. 

A past visit. I may have been on this path yesterday. Or maybe not....

A few years ago I volunteered to marshal at the Hillbilly Duathlon at Kirroughtree. (Ivie’s brother is one of the organisers and I was trying to get his family to like me. I’ll let you know how that goes.) I was dropped off somewhere in the forest with a hi-vis vest and an excellent packed lunch and instructed to direct the runners to turn left at the bottom of the slope. 

After the last runner had passed, I realised I had no idea where I was (you saw that one coming, didn’t you) and no phone battery. Unphased, I set off in the direction that I’d sent the runners. Who knows whether I took the most direct route (probably not) but I figured if I kept going downhill I’d get back eventually (I did). 

Kirroughtree, in particular, messes with my brain. I’ve never done the same walk twice (although, who knows) and I can never quite figure out which direction I’m facing. I did have a glimmer of recognition yesterday when I spotted the cemetery at Minnigaff in the distance and my friend’s map app informed us we were on Larg Hill. 

Happy dogs 
Photo by Catriona

We went back to the Spittal to have a cuppa in the sunshine. Ivie returned from being very busy and important and asked us how our walk had gone. I said we’d been on Larg Hill and we’d seen a farm in the dip below. 

“Yep, that’s Larg Farm,” Ivie said.

“But that’s different from The Larg (a farm in the opposite direction that Ivie often does work at),” I said. 

“Yep.”

Sigh. 

There’s really no hope for me and my sense of direction but at least it doesn’t bother me not to know where I am. Mind you, if I said ‘Larg’ I’d have a decent chance of being right.