Boatyard life

The tide of the year Is rising. Time for work

- Flotsam and jetsam

There was a rumour of a washed-out bridge in the shortcut as we headed north in the rain, so it seemed advisable to take a nervous detour over the Rest and be Thankful pass, itself built on a landslide, while Argyll and Bute Council tried to decide what to do about it all, which would probably be not much, slowly. And then we were at the bothy.

The bothy is an ancient ferryman's hut about 12ft from the West Kyle of Bute. It faces north-east, with its back to the gales, except last week's, which must have been north-easterly, because the door was swollen shut and I had to open it with a crowbar.

Inside, the solar panels had charged up the car battery that feeds the computer, and the water tanks had diligently collected the water from the roof. I lit the wood stove and pulled out five candles, supplied by F A Dumont, who is also ready to supply British churches (but not me) with light-up crowns of genuine Golgotha thorns at Passiontide. The laptop seemed to be charging rather slowly today.