It’s come to my attention today that just getting myself and Faffy back to Gometra in one piece is not nearly enough to satisfy my obligations and maintain family bonds. One night and a fallng-out later has led to Andy and me now agreeing that living on the island demands so much concentration that it’s almost inevitable that you become myopic.
I’ll complete the picture:
So that I could be away for the running event described in yesterday’s blog Andy had to break-off his work in Shropshire and come up to the island to do the weekly school-run (collect Katy from the ferry at Craignure on Friday and take her back there on Sunday, both of which journeys take half a day to achieve, as opposed to an entire day when we had to walk across the islands). It was on Sunday, when they were already on their way, that I took a call from my hotel room in Brighton from Katy’s hostel. They were glad to get hold of me becuse they needed to let me know that the last ferry would be at 3pm, so she couldn’t get the later one that she usually took.
Andy and Katy were already at Craignure by the time I could get hold of them, so they had to retrace the entire journey by car, ferry and quad bike back home again. It wasn’t till Tuesday morning that Andy could try again, since we didn’t think it was fair on her to spend two consecutive days trying to get to school, given the toughness of the journey.
Last night, at the hostel, Katy contacted Andy to say she was feeling unwell, but he was on the overnight bus back to Shropshire. He spoke to the hostel and managed to get hold of me. I wasn’t receptive to planning anything, partly through exhaustion, but also since bringing her home would be more of a risk to her health than her staying put – especially since the car is misfiring badly and might leave us stranded. It made us both wonder today about what happens to children who are too sick to travel home, and whether the hostel accommodates them. I hope not to ever find out!