Gathan Beaga

cut off

The phone is dead. People ring in, it’s engaged. We try to ring out, all we get is silence punctuated by farts of static. I always forget how much I’ve come to assume the collection of email and daily trawl of regular websites until the time comes when I can’t do it.

It probably has something to do with this southerly gale and pouring rain. I wish this weather would stop. The roof over part of the dining area is still off, and the temporary black polythene cover wasn’t really designed to cope with this sort of thing. The ceiling was dripping really badly, and sagging quite alarmingly. I drove a nail through the lowest point and collected a full 10 litre bucket of water in short order. At least now it won’t collapse. And I have a natural alarm clock: every time Becky wakes up to feed Rosa I’ll get up and change the bucket.

Oh joy.