Terrible news yesterday that our friend, neighbour and accountant Bob Holyoak had died suddenly. He was a crucial part of not only our lives, but of the Northmavine community, and everyone is very shocked.
Up at 5.00 am to catch the early Saab aeroplane for Aberdeen, wondering if I should cancel the planned trip to points south. It becomes increasingly hard to leave Shetland, especially as the winter darkness begins to creep in. I'll leave it up to Susan to tell me about funeral arrangements as soon as she knows and then head back early if necessary.
Not used to the security arrangements for flying. You now need to take your shoes off and put them through the security X-ray machine, which is all very well first thing in the morning when (most) people will have clean socks and feet. The last flight home from Aberdeen at night might be a different, rather more odiferous story. Unbelievably horrible clammy croissant with 'ham' and 'cheese' courtesy of Loganair, but I'd forgotten the camaraderie of the dawn flight (or flights: now three aeroplanes leave Sumburgh within a single early morning hour): You gossip with people you see at no other time, all of us half asleep.
Anyway. Safely to Aberdeen, and Comcab for once have a taxi there to meet me. How do Aberdeen taxi drivers afford these luxury Merc limos? I know they last for decades, but still. All of them seem to have sets of expensive golf clubs in the back too, and the drivers are forever heading off to Portugal for inter-taxi-firm tournaments. Small price to pay for a few gallons of vomit a month in the back seat, I say.
In Aberdeen Beebland now, the Barratt Broadcasting House, and must go in search of proper coffee. It could take a while.