shewhomust | Solstice (and previously)

I lay in bed and listened to the wind thundering and grumbling, and it has obviously rained overnight, but when the alarm went of at 3.30 it was dry, though cold, so there was no excuse but to pull our boots on and set off. Crooked Lonnen starts immediately opposite our front door, so that's the route we took out to the edge of the island; due to its extreme crookedness, it's a rather longer walk than the way we usually go, but we still came to the coast, and to the crè of willow ducklings with five minutes to spare and a bolster of dark grey cloud on the horizon. Eventually, we declared the sun risen by the clock (

durham_rambler's watch) and the wind too keen to wait any longer, and started walking towards the Castle. This was all the clouds had been waiting for, and they began to let the light through:

We walked back via Miss Jekyll's garden, and past the harbour looking radiant in the low light, and home to return to bed (or in my case, because I didn't quite fancy bed, the sofa in the conservatory). I'm quite chilled, and in need of sleep without being sleepy, but there's nothing in particular I need to do today, and it will all sort out. I have breafasted, and I can hear people stirring upstairs...

Tuesday was a quiet day: it felt more like a Sunday... It was grey and damp, not too wet to go out if you wanted to, but not so inviting that you felt you were missing something if you didn't. D.'s sister and brother-in-law came to lunch, so D. cooked a chicken casserole, which was excellent and contributed to the Sunday feeling.

Yesterday was more complicated.

valydiarosada had to leave us, but not before she and D. had lunched with a friend from Edinburgh, who was meeting them half way;

durham_rambler wanted to visit the archaeological dig at Coldingham, and his friend L, who would be at her parents' house nearby, clearing it ready to be sold. So as soon as the tide allowed, we all headed for Berwick.

durham_rambler and I parked at the Granary, and set off to explore Bridge Street, which gains more fancy restaurants and shops with our every visit. I always enjoy checking out the Green Shop;

durham_rambler wants to lunch at the Curfew micropub, where 'pie and a pint' means game pie served with a choice of chutney or mustard, and a choice of interesting beers (I had a wheat beer all the way from Camden Town). Neither of us was expecting the bookshop:

(Slightly Foxed, highly recommended;) which turns out to have relocated from the Butter Market, where I have ransacked patronised it in the past. He still has a good stock of O'Brian, and I captured a copy of Treason's Harbour, which is next on my list.

Bridge Street has a powerful aroma of coffee, but as far as we could discover, this is because of beans being roasted, not coffee being brewed. So we relocated to Coldingham, where L. made us instant, and gave us the guided tour of her parents' house, the Old Manse, which is huge and magnificent, and full of books which will have to be removed so the house can be sold. Also furniture, china and other things, but I was part icularly interested in the books. These were not, for the most part, rare or fine collectables, but the books amassed by people who, er, amass books; I felt right at home. A good collection of children's books (a couple of very tattered Chalet School volumes), and two tall shelves of crime, including nice hardback copies of The Samaritan and The Garden, both signed (yes, of course I looked!) in

desperance's fair hand to L.'s brother.

The dig was indeed nearby: from the spare window we had a good view down to their green tent in the next field. But to reach it we had to walk round by the church, built into what remains of Coldingham Priory: a massive rectangular church, two walls of old arcading, two plain, surrounded by the ruins of monastic buildings, adrift among the fields. Have a picture looking the other way:

The finger post tells us that Oliver Cromwell was here, on his way to (or from) Dunbar, and L. tells us that he set up his cannon on the hill to subdue the enemy troops stationed in the church. The dig had barely started: the topsoil had been removed, and some sort of stone feature revealed, but it was probably a field drain, and the interesting stuff, we hope, lies beneath. But all the team were very welcoming, and very willing to tell us what they were doing, and why. And then we left L. to fill her car with boxes, and came back to Holy Island via Majestic and Morrisons.