成人快手

With all the important stuff about the results of the elections and Storas Uibhist i thought i would bring to your attention a lamppost which is in a highly dangerous place.
The roads department - if there is such a thing in Uist - consist of two men who gloomily drive a yellow pickup with tar in the back. I dont think they are responsible for such a reprehensible positioning of said lamp post.

It has been concreted on the opposite side of the road to poor deceased Father Roddys house. He painted the rocks on his croft in an artistic manner and used to write poetry. This is a dangerous corner and many people have ended up in the ditch right from the days of the horse and cart to the days of lorries loaded with lobster. Most have emerged unscathed but won't in the future as the lampost is now in their path.

It is well over 500 yards from the other lamposts newly positioned in Lochboisdale. What had it done to be so isolated and placed in solitary confinement away from the warmth and comfort of the other lamposts??

So here is the lampost. Took ages to work out how to reduce picture to size, the scissors were no good but the wonders of modern technology never cease to amaze.

Have been looking for a new car as my old one has fallen apart a bit as you can see from the picture. I tried to get into it yesterday to go to church and the door fell off.

Anyway better head off to bed. Will try and get Father Roddys artistically painted rocks soon. The forecast isnt to good with rain due and its a new moon tomorrow so visibility will be poor.

Here are the artistically painted rocks in South Uist i've been been telling you about. I think they should be part of the tourist trail. The serious local art trail. I really like them - the painter/artist worked as a painter (of houses, shops etc) locally for many years. He had an interesting past having been bombed 4 times.

There could be an alternative 'Spot the Tourist Trail' such as the camper van rubbish bags left by the side of the road (modern art) and trails of toilet roll left in the hills by birdwatchers (crap art). Apoligies if that word is not allowed.

The island is beginning to fill up already, I used to be excited to see them as it meant there were different cars on the road. Here you get to know everyones car and its so thrilling when you see a different one but by the end of summer you get very blase about it - "Oh yes thats a Fordsun Major fuel injection model" - saw two of them this summer, they're all the rage in Fort William".

Still on the look out for a decent car, its difficult to keep pumping up the tyres on my present model. But in the meantime i'm on the lookout for a tractor to take me to the Coop, i'm running low on potatoes and crunchies. Took a drive to the local tractor dealer and he suggested this model

What do you think?

Took this picture last week. It reminded me of days spent doing the peat. The sun always shone, you sat on the back of the tractor bouncing along the moran or peat bogs to get to your bog. You had a picnic after a few hours and lay back on the grass for a rest. Hoping that not too many ticks were on your thon.
Of course the cutting was done by a gang of men. They had a cooked breakfast, packed lunch with flasks of tea, then dinner with whisky after and money too. They used a treasgair for cutting the peat and the nice row of peats at the top of the bog was called the garaidh. The treasgair isn't used much nowadays as most have converted to oil and the peat cutting tractor has replaced it.
Then they left. I always wondered about that. I always thought there was more work in lifting them to dry them and taking them home. i think the peat cutting gangs got the easy part of the job. Saying that i enjoyed the nights after school going to the peats and then helping do the peat stack. This part is when you get peat in your eye. The peat stack is an art form as people have varying styles.
Then at the end of it you had a supply of fuel to last till you did the peats next year.
I'm sitting in a centrally heated house but would love to have a real fire and tartan legs.