Knockvologan times

My idea of a writing retreat is a small cabin with a big view, access to constant coffee, a beach within wandering distance all saturated with natural light. If you add free entertainment, that is but a bonus.

So, here’s the thing. The cabin that Miek and Rutger built looks like an octagonal structure, but that is just a trick of the eye. In fact it has seven sides, overlooks a broad field, and because the loo is tucked away a quick scamper down the path through the trees, you also get that most beautiful of utilitarian tools, a chamber pot.

When I first saw the view I confess I was slightly dismayed. I wanted the sea in front of me. But on first sight this was just a big, slightly tilted field with several hills at the back. A comfortable chair and table right in front of the windows, so I knew I’d spend a lot of time there despite the fact it was just a field.  I did sit there a lot. And this my friends, is where the free entertainment began…..Every morning, birds everywhere - I didn’t know what they were, swallows or swifts or something else entirely and to be honest that didn’t matter - the arcs, the spirals and swoops through the clean sharp salty air, the riot of movement, wing-beat, the ever-shifting loft of sky and clouds. The sheep grazed placidly amongst them, bleating loudly enough to wake me early every morning, so I could admire the new spiderwebs on the inside and outside of the windows of my seven-sided shelter. I also soon discovered that the hens roosted in the trees, which was comic.

I settled in and began to enjoy what was right in front of me.

At night, those placid sheep came to life. They held parties that began tentatively, and got more rowdy as the shadows deepened. I witnessed some very dubious behaviour that made me laugh out loud as I drank wine, and cherished the stars. It was late summer, but still cold enough on the odd evening for me to light the cabin stove. Because the cabin was small, as all cabins should be, and because this was a good stove (I mean friendly and quick not cold and cantankerous). The flames roamed around the cabin; I felt like I was on a boat in a warm-throated sea, cosy as I’ve ever been, listening to the night, and thankful for that chamber pot, just in case.

But. This was not actually a cabin, I announced to Miek and Rutger after the first week; it’s a cinema! They looked slightly bewildered but went with it, as I told them of the wonderful free entertainment, the enormous reels of dancing clouds, the greetings between me and the sheep, the antics of the birds and the spiders (especially when one ate the other) and the blissful noisy silence that gave me all the time in the world to dream about the book I wanted to write and to settle in and start it.

One afternoon Miek and I wandered down to the Knockvologan beaches as the sun shone and the wind scoured our tanned cheeks. We went seaweed hunting and picked Mermaid’s Tresses, Sea Spaghetti, Irish Moss, and Oyster Thieves. After splashing about in our wellies we stripped off and jumped in the high tide for the hell of it. The sea clear and bracing - just like my stay in Knockvologan. I laughed out loud, munched on Mermaid’s Tresses and heard my own skin thanking me for the beautiful sharp shock that tilted my axis towards a new compass point.

My book and I are doing well – please read more at; https://www.the-waugh-zone.org/