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Alas, Berneray today is green, lush and fertile. No longer white, as what few snow flurries we had have all melted. Still the hills across the Sound of Harris have bits of white on their peaks. At least we finally have some pictures of on the island website, so I know it wasn't a pleasant - though somewhat cold - dream.

Keen bloggerati will have been following the preparations for the Ness dating festival, as reported on . Here on Berneray (population 129), our usual ferry on the Sound of Harris crossing (the Loch Portain) has been sent to Gugurock for a refit in time for the event.

We anticipate sailing up the west coast of Harris and Lewis, stopping off at Taransay to pick up any other delegates outwith the reach of the Hebridean Coaches route network. Members of Berneray boat club will be navigating. A committee bringing together members of the Community Council, Development Group, Historical Society, Youth Club, Evergreens group, Community Association and all the other (population 129) has been formed to decide, in Ark fashion, who shall enter the Loch Portain and who will be left behind.

Festival organisers: what should we bring? We don't have a supply of Guga down here in the balmy tropics of North Uist, and are at a loss as to what offerings to bring to the event.

No rumblings of tractors and attached trailers past my house for the last few days. Either seaweed acquisition has finished, or it is being obtained from the west or south beaches.



Seaweed is used as fertiliser on the machair, where various vegetables are planted and grown. The first thing that surprises people not familiar with this plant is how large it is, with thick strands and stalks up to several feet long. The second thing is how heavy a heaped fork of wet seaweed can be. And the third is how much wet sand you can get covered in after only a few minutes of forking seaweed.

When it is not cloudy it is sunny.




There are cattle on the machair. The cattle eat the grass. They are bigger than the sheep, but not as woolly. There are also sheep, but they are smaller, and woollier. Cattle poo is easier to spot, but more deeper if you don't spot it in time.

I don't really have anything else to say on the subject. I guess it's time to call on a local crofter to add some more detail. Unless someone else on IslandBlogging knows more about cattle (that wouldn't be too difficult).

Digital Sands may only be a few days old, but the withered greying person behind the keyboard is somewhat more ancient. To the day, March 15th 2006, I am exactly 37 and a half years old. Both my birth certificate and carbon-dating will verify this.

At five o'clock this morn, unable to sleep as a cat was sat on my head, I worked out that I am both three-quarters:
- the way through my 30's
- from my birth to 50 years of age

Even worse, I am 93.75% of the way towards being middle-aged. That's too dark.

Where the heck did the first 7.5 years of my 30's go? Travelling abroad (12 trips), travelling around Scotland for holidays (umpteen trips), being self-employed (very nearly five years now), wondering where the next curry is coming from (a lot), playing video games (for work)(well, that's my excuse)(several years in total), watching boats zig-zag into Berneray harbour (too much but it's entertaining), staring at the signal strength on my broadband aerial (rather a lot recently), sitting on beaches (far too much)(or not enough, depending on your point of view).

If I was single (am not), would this make me too old for the dating festival at the Dell Fank? How should I spend the remaining 2.5 years of my pre-middle age? Is this the kind of mid-life crisis angst Calumannabel are looking for?

Below are allegedly real ads from lonely-hearts columns. Perhaps these are also suitable candidates for the Dating Festival up in Ness?

Grossly overweight Buckie turf-cutter, 42 years old and 23 stone, Gemini, seeks nimble sexpot, preferably South American, for tango sessions, candlelit dinners and humid nights of screaming passion. Must have own car and be willing to travel. Box 09/08

Aberdeen man, 50, in desperate need of a ride. Anything considered. Box 06/03

Heavy drinker, 35, Glasgow area, seeks gorgeous sex addict interested in pints, fags, Celtic football club and starting scraps on Sauchiehall Street at three in the morning. Box 73/82.

Bitter, disillusioned Dundonian lately rejected by longtime fianc茅e seeks decent, honest, reliable woman, if such a thing still exists in this cruel world of hatchet-faced bitches. Box 53/41

Ginger-haired Partick troublemaker, gets slit-eyed and shirty after a few scoops, seeks attractive, wealthy lady for bail purposes, maybe more. Box 84/87

Artistic Edinburgh woman, 53, petite, loves rainy walks on the beach, writing poetry, unusual sea-shells and interesting brown rice dishes, seeks mystic dreamer for companionship, back rubs and more, as we bounce along like little tumbling clouds on life's beautiful crazy journey. Strong stomach essential. Box 12/32

Chartered accountant, 42, seeks female for marriage. Duties will include cooking, light cleaning and accompanying me to office social functions. References required. No timewasters. Box 23/45

Bad-tempered, foul-mouthed old bastard living in a damp cottage in the arse end of Dumfries seeks attractive 21-year old blonde lady with big chest. Box 40/27

Devil-worshiper, Stirling area, seeks like-minded lady for wining and dining, good conversation, dancing, romantic walks and slaughtering dogs in cemeteries at midnight under the flinty light of a pale moon. Box 52/07

Attractive brunette, Maryhill area, winner of Miss Wrangler competition at Framptons Nightclub, Maryhill, in September 1978, seeks nostalgic man who's not afraid to cry, for long nights spent comfort-drinking and listening to old Abba records. Please, Please! Box 30/41

Govan man, 27, medium build, brown hair, blue eyes, seeks alibi for the night of February 27 between 8pm and 11.30pm. Box 17/91

With horror I discover that in a few weeks time we will be in April. My vegetable garden has not been turned over since last year, and there is much spadework to do. But I have housie chores, and other paid work to do (as one of the three houses in the Outer Hebrides that has a mortgage, gotta earn enough to keep the wolves from the door).

Here is my garden, with proof of some spade action by my very self, last year:



I have an idea. The fitter you look, the better a "catch" you will get at the dating festival at the fank. Thus, I am offering people going to the fank the opportunity to tone up, get fit, and develop that Brad Pitt / Angelina Jolie look. Or, for the older participants, the Pierce Brosnan / Sharon Stone look.

Dig my garden! Spades, forks and the like will be provided! Develop those pecs, thighs, and abs! Only a limited amount of digging space available, so first come, first digs! This service is provided absolutely free of charge.