I write this sat in the Garden on a delightfully warm evening.
Michaela is in the living room running a craft course with a group of people.
Will has gone for a walk along the sea front with a couple of pals- heading for the shop and an associated sugar rush. Emily is on her way back home from Glasgow after submitting her higher photography portfolio.
Staying in our annex is Sam, along with Becky and his three lovely kids. We spent an hour sitting in the sun with them watching them play with Emily’s old dolls house.
I am waiting for another friend, David, who is staying here overnight on his way back up north. We will no doubt share a dram and lots of good conversation.
Most of which is made possible by the place that we live.
I often feel guilt about our house. It is fairly big (even if definitely not posh) with fantastic views over the sea. In these days of house-idol-worship it might be considered to be in the upper pantheon. The fact is that we bought it reluctantly when it was in a terrible mess and spent 10 years patching it all back together on a shoe string, but despite this it is still grand enough to often make me wonder about our use of the earths resources.
But without the house, many good things might not happen- in our lives, and hopefully in the lives of many others.
This is no excuse- places have the power to sustain, to enrich, to revive. I pray that this may always be true of our house.