The Light of Wick

On then, to Wick, and MacKays Hotel, where what can only be described as a micro-elevator will give you hours of fun. Able to take you or your luggage but never both, it has no door, so feels free to misbehave, stopping randomly, pretending to be haunted, and just ignoring lights and buttons til it feels like going up or down. We decided to consider it charming.

Wick seems to have little enough to it. Its town steps were depicted by Lowrie, (https://www.lowry.co.uk/lowry-original-stepsatwick.html) it has at least one friendly cafe, and a harbour though I didn't seen any fishing boats or working ships. It's not picturesque but it's old - by heck it's old! The name is thought to come from vik i.e bay, or viking, but even by then the place had been inhabited for a thousand years and counting. Still, some would say there's no real call to stop there, and that would be a shame cos it has the most splendid museum.

The Wick Heritage Museum is just glorious, voices and artefacts out of the past, greeting visitors with such vivacity and love it feels thoroughly alive. Wick was one of those places the dispossessed of Sutherland walked to after the burning of their crofts, and when they got here, there was work enough. Herring! The heart of the town and yet far from the only story, from the sea to the smokehouses, barrels and boats, moustache cups and marmite cubes , who could have expected such an endearing impact? We expected to be in and out, a 40 minute look around, and instead, easily spent a couple of hours there. I have taken few photos because a local collection dots most of the walls, and copyright could be an issue. But the whole place is a gem.

This tickled me.

It was Wick's first phone - note the number Wick 1. Wick 1 had no-one to call, and no-one could call Wick 1, for a while at least. Still, I guess someone has to get things going, right?

In all the fascinating artefacts, there was one that dazzled me. The Noss Head Lighthouse was designed by Robert Louis Stevenson's uncle, Alan Stevenson, but I don't know if he created the lamp.






It's Tardis architecture, some kind of Fresnel lens I think. And yes, the information was there, but I just got carried away and never digested it. I read the poem though:

To Noss Head Light
As sweet to me as light of moon or star,
Is thy bright gleam, old trusty friend Noss Head
And doubly sweet, when o’er wide ocean far
The ray benignant on my course is shed
Blest be the hand that raised your steadfast tower
And he who trims you never-falling light
For oft when round me midnight tempests lower
Hope’s pulse had failed, but for thy flash so bright
My gallant boat, though scare inch-thick her planks
Flies livelier on the track that heads her home
And dips her prow, as if in grateful thanks
When first you welcome ray reveals the billows foam
Long where the nights and weary were my watch
If from the lively deck thy flame I did not catch.
James G Duncan

And a pause

God I feel ill.

I am getting better, but my mood is low, irascible unless I work at it. There are things that must be done and I can't hurry a single one of them. And there are emotional bits and pieces which do not help.

This is different to the first time I had Covid, bearing in mind that I had no test for that; the only way I realised was my cleaner pointing out this weird regular little cough I had, one-two-three, pause, one-two-three, pause, one-two-three... And I felt as cruddy as one does with any bug, and had some really weird ongoing fatigue, yes, lousy but.

But this is much worse. The whole taste and smell thing is a big issue for me this time. Bread tastes like bread, vinegar never changes, and neither does beer, but water is really rusty, chicken tastes burned with a kind of bizarre aftertaste that's overwhelming and unpleasant. Juices and squash drinks sear the back of my throat. I can't smell much at the moment, but that might be the same as any cold.

R is suffering from other symptoms, but doesn't seem to have these.

And I must begin a new project, I think, but my head is empty like an old tin.