Back in Millport its time to chill out a bit, even though it is now thawing fast. Good though Christmas is, it also involves a lot of cooking and washing up, and the complex interplay of family relationships, which, while occasional tensions do naturally arise, are at core warm and loyal. But time on our own for the two of us is rich too. We walk up to the Gled Stane at the top of the island. The snow has totally gone there and the grass is surprisingly green, the gorse still sporting yellow blossom. The curling rink – a natural pond surrounded by reeds and bushes – has plainly been in use, and the competition area shows clearly on the remaining ice, now under a thin layer of water. A little robin flits amongst broom bushes.
I go to visit Joan in her little laundry, and we drink coffee to the background sound of the machines swishing and whirring and the steamy atmosphere scents the air.
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