A Fine Time

A while ago I wrote here about my interest in playing music and how this had come about. Since moving from Carradale into a (slightly) bigger Scottish village I have teamed up with other players who share my enthusiasm and with whom I feel encouraged and emboldened to squeeze away at my concertina more often. This has taken part of my life in a new direction so I thought maybe it was time to record here where things have gone and what doors it has opened for me.

OK, so we are not talking here about fame and fortune working as a musician. But in Scotland we have a thing called a ceilidh (pronounced KAY-lee) which is a traditional social gathering, a lively event where people come together to celebrate, often with traditional Scottish folk music and dancing. Ideally the music comes live from musicians in a band playing together but this does not necessarily imply a professional performance of music and in the case of myself and those who I team up with this is certainly not the case. Our objective is simply to produce something which is sufficiently listenable to and rhythmic so as to generate enough enthusiasm for those in the room who might like to dance. There are a number of traditional set dances which are well known enough and these have tunes which are associated with them such that so long as we can play those particular melodies then there is a good chance that someone will rise from their seat and give it a go. If they are joined on their feet by the requisite number to make a 'set' then that is all we need. All the musicians have to do is to keep playing long enough at the right sort of speed until the dancers feel they have completed the dance. Some dances have a regular sequence of moves to be followed but other than this it is simply a matter of guesswork and intuition, the tunes being repeated to extend the dances if necessary. This might sound quite straightforward, and it is, although keeping time is not as easy as one might think as we have to listen to each other's playing at the same time as playing our own instruments. 

After one dance is finished it might be important to allow the dancers to have a rest (particularly if there is a more senior age profile) so the band might follow on with a slow number, something melodic with a nice harmony or perhaps a song, to fill in until the next dance. This gives us the chance to show off in a different way, to demonstrate musicianship on our own instruments with different arrangements of lesser known tunes. The band in which I now play, The Fyne Thyme Ceilidh Band, has fiddlers (some might call them violinists but when playing traditional music they become fiddlers), guitarists, a keyboard player, a drummer and, of course, my concertina. The noise we make when playing together is sufficient for a small venue although we do use some amplification to help us balance the sound better if there is likely to be a large crowd. And there is one other thing that our band tries to do and that is to invite younger players to join us, either to play along with us or to contribute their own music if they can. We hope that this is of benefit to them such that their confidence will grow and music will become an important part of their lives.

We all have favourite tunes - melodies that touch something hidden inside us that makes us feel good - and to a musician if a tune also falls easily to the fingers then this is an added bonus. But not too easy, or else the challenge of playing that tune is lost and the satisfaction of adding emphasis or 'feeling' becomes too simple.

Just recently our band's repertoire has spread slightly as we play some tunes from another part of the Celtic world, Brittany. The harmonies and the minor keys are interestingly different and it feels satisfying to diversify in this way. We discovered a french website devoted to those learning the diatonic accordion, something we might call a melodeon, but with two different notes on each button, much like my own instrument.

On the same website is a detailed explanation (in french) of how it is possible to know when and where to place one's fingers on a musical instrument without consciously thinking about it. All musicians need this trick, particularly when playing fast, so that the conscious thought process can get on with doing what it does best, putting expression into the music. It is all about constructing connections in the brain between hearing a particular sound and the placement of one's fingers to make that sound. Then if you are reading from written music, there is a further connection involving sight where the dots on the page are associated with particular notes and sequences thereof. All these sensations are reinforced by repetition until they are wired into memory and can be called upon quickly with no conscious thought. Some might think of this as 'finger memory' but it is really our brains that are doing it and in reality it is probably no different from riding a bike or learning to walk on two legs without having to think consciously about avoiding falling over.

Aside from memorising a set of tunes, playing with other musicians requires patience as well as being able to listen to and watch those alongside you. Clues taken from each other's body language is what makes us into a 'band' rather than simply a few people playing instruments at the same time. If I were to inadvertently speed up midway through tune I would need to be brought back into line with a glance from someone else or by seeing their foot stamping on the floor and I must also be prepared to make similar signs myself at times.

All of which needs to be ready for our next gig, coming up in a few weeks time, an eightieth birthday party for a local man. We have a mix of tunes on our set list, ones that are within our musical capabilities and which we have practiced together to improve our confidence. Will I be nervous? Of course I shall, but hopefully my brain will feed my fingers the right instructions without me having to worry about anything.

More about Volunteering

I am dressed protectively in my overalls and thick gloves as I work to scrape away the thick layer of moss and ivy growing on a low sloping roof at the back of a building that has been purchased by our village community with the intention of using it as a meeting space or a work area for the benefit of local residents and businesses. Meanwhile work also continues on the renovation of the inside of the building - wall and ceiling refurbishment with new electrics and plumbing to make the building more usable. With the help of another volunteer, I find myself pulling years of vegetation growth to the ground so that in due course the roof can be repaired. The moss is a living carpet and within it are thick bodied worms the size of small snakes along with human detritus such as tea lights and drink cans that have been thrown there and are now trapped and completely submerged under the layers of living material. Once removed, everything is bagged up and carted away, the vegetable matter ending up in our compost bins at home where we hope it will rot down so it can be used in the garden. It has been an exhausting job but it is quite satisfying to see the end result of the efforts of a morning's work on the roof, which is now exposed to the daylight for the first time in many years. Somehow, participating in these work parties has become a regular Saturday morning feature of my life, a time when I am always doing something different and never working alone. The muscle aches that follow this are always in different places, which makes it interesting, and the company of others who are similarly motivated is very satisfying. A week or so later I was working inside the same building patching holes in the plasterboard walls whilst others were fitting a new suspended ceiling and threading cables for the new electrical system. After a couple of hours work we all sat around for a natter whilst drinking tea and eating cake or biscuits, an important part of the day.

To my way of thinking this is simply spending time doing things to occupy my day, things that are within my capabilities, either physical or mental, and which place demands upon me that I seem to be able to cope with and which give me some satisfaction, even pleasure. I receive an email message asking whether I am available to assist in the running of the Scottish Series, an annual yacht racing event that has been based in the harbour of our coastal village for many years and for which I have previously offered my services. My own experience on boats has been useful to the organisers and has seen me going out on the water during the racing when support boats are needed to lay the race buoys and otherwise assist wherever help is needed. Which is how I found myself as crew on a rigid inflatable boat (RIB) doing this once again not long after we had returned from our cycling tour of Holland. This year, however, would turn out to be a tough one as there would be strong winds and some vicious rain squalls associated with these, not a time when I would normally choose to be out in a small boat.

Day one, after loading the race buoys on board our boat and lashing them down so they wouldn't fly off whilst we were motoring out to sea, we joined the race committee boat as they anchored at the downwind end of the race course and for the rest of the day took instructions from them when needed. The race buoys used now are automatic, battery powered things with small propellers beneath a watertight box supported by an inflatable floating collar. The clever electronics enables them to be controlled remotely and kept in place or moved about to cope with wind shifts. Our role then, once they are launched and the races are underway, is to be on hand as a safety boat, something that was needed quite early on when one of the sailing boats broke its mast. We zoomed down the course to help and soon had a tow line rigged to bring the boat back into port. Plenty of sunshine gave us a warmish first day and although there was still a lot of physical stuff for us to do, like collecting up the buoys again after the last race, the day went well.

Day two was a different animal. Rain showers and stronger winds which meant a tough day for us bobbing around in an open boat. Day three brought even stronger winds, forecasted to rise to over forty knots at times, and our race fleet made the decision not to race. This simply meant that the role for our RIB changed and we became support boat for another fleet of larger yachts who were sailing a much longer course. We motored downwind at speed to a place where the seas were unpleasantly rough, a place where the waves were constantly throwing water at us as we followed the fleet tailenders back up the course. Added to this the rain squalls kept coming, spitting water into our faces with maximum energy. This was a tough day and quite a scary experience. I do not profess to have the best sea legs and quite how I survived such a bashing about I do not know. My body had reached its limit by the end of each day but somehow it recovered enough to be back on the water for the last day, with slightly less wind and smoother seas. This was volunteering at its limit, something that perhaps I should consider leaving to those with youth on their side but again overcoming these challenges is rewarding and enjoyable.

Venturing out to sea might be too extreme but we both find ourselves volunteering to help on a beach close to home where the winter storms have thrown up more rubbish than anyone would have thought possible. This is an organised event with a keen group of litter pickers. Everything we find here has spent some time in the sea but the waves will often throw smaller bits up into the trees growing close to the shore from where it droops down like brightly coloured rags. Just about everything we pick up is one sort of plastic or another, broken into tiny pieces and scattered about everywhere you look. Although we do sometimes find something unexpected, like a silver spoon or a toilet bowl, by far the majority of what we are picking up is from ropes or nets used by the fishing industry around these parts, a rather depressing thought which keeps us company as we work.

Our village of Tarbert is known for having a castle in which Robert the Bruce, once king of Scotland, resided from time to time.

He was responsible for some of the renovations and improvements to the castle structure although, sadly, during a later period of abandonment much of the stone structure was removed and used elsewhere in the village for house construction. The stones that remain standing today do not do justice to the man himself but the castle and its grounds are still a very popular visitor attraction, maintained by volunteers from the community and this again provides a regular outlet for my surplus energy. This might involve cutting away unwanted vegetation from the footpaths or ripping out brambles from amongst the trees in the community orchard but those involved in this are always eager to help and the atmosphere is always warm and welcoming. Who knows what else we might get involved in.

Waves of heat

Suddenly these phenomena are all over the news. Every day we read about somewhere that is getting record breaking temperatures and the effect it is having on people's lives there. Not just people either. A whole sea, the Mediterranean, is now experiencing temperatures way in excess of what we might expect in our local swimming pool and this can only be having a negative impact on the creatures that normally live within it. As usual, of course, there is something of a disconnect between the negative health impacts that this brings and the advertisements encouraging those that can afford it to take holidays in these places. Surely one would never deliberately travel to a place which is experiencing temperatures exceeding forty degrees Celsius... but many do. We are bonded into a way of life where a holiday in the sun is a desirable and this enables us to ignore anything negative about the place we would be travelling to.

So what is this thing, the heatwave. It turns out that this depends upon where you are. The definition starts by setting a baseline maximum temperature for every part of a country and when this is exceeded on three consecutive days then that is a 'heatwave'. Here in Scotland the threshold is a mere twenty five degrees whereas people living in London must endure twenty eight degrees for three days before they can call it a heatwave. None of these are anywhere close to the forty degree heat that Spain has been getting but then each of us has our own threshold and ours is quite enough for us to live with.

When we first moved to the west coast of Scotland we sort of knew what we were going to be letting ourselves in for in terms of weather. That it is a good place to erect a wind turbine or two is a clue to one of the main weather features common to the area we now live in. There is an ocean lying to the west of us, the Atlantic, with no land to slow down the wind before it reaches us so we are used to feeling its strength, our houses being built to cope with this. The air it brings our way is moist and relatively warm, coming as it does from the south west, so our climate is less extreme, both in summer and winter, than one might expect at our latitude. Rain is a constant friend, in quantities which might cause floods elsewhere, but here the steep wooded hills absorb much of it as well as providing a short runoff into the sea. We have had long dry periods of late which makes the vegetation vulnerable to fire but beneath the ground the moisture stays captured so the recovery time is always short. Our clean air, freshly scrubbed after its journey across the Atlantic Ocean, means the sun can be fiercely strong when it shines on us but the breeze is rarely absent so we would normally miss the extremes of heat that others might get.

It turns out, however, that this natural pattern of weather can go wrong. As I write the sky is completely cloud free in all directions, of itself quite unusual here, and the breeze has almost deserted us. What there is of it arrives from a south easterly direction, having crossed a land which is already scorchingly hot, so the cooling benefit is lost completely. We hide indoors, curtains closed to shut the sun out, and keep ourselves topped up with fluids as per the heatwave guidance. This is not normal for us and we know something has gone wrong when yet another day follows the same pattern of exceptional heat. We cannot complain, of course, since these temperatures are far from what others have to contend with when they arrive at their Spanish holiday destination but being locked into such a static weather pattern even for just a few days is rare here so it brings home to us how the world is changing, even for us.

Then suddenly everything changes. Our last day of scorching sun is accompanied by a cooling breeze, the first indication that a change might soon arrive. And so it does. Two days later you wouldn't know there had ever been a heatwave. It is cool enough outside to need a coat and the rain comes down in bucketfuls, drenching the ground, refilling the pond and watering the apple trees which were starting to whinge about having too few leaves to shade their (few, tiny) apples. The constant exhaustion we have been feeling gradually diminishes and we can start planning more energetic activities instead of staring at the TV in a living room darkened by the drawn curtains. Out of the blue I get an invitation from a friend to go sailing in his Mirror dinghy, something that sounds quite attractive now I know I won't get heatstroke any more.

Gardening

We have a killer in our garden pond! Over the course of the last few summers we have spotted both damsel and dragonflies around the pond without really thinking much more about it. Sure, the dragons are impressive beasts, almost the size of a small bird, and their ability to manoeuvre so quickly in mid air is hard to believe unless you see it close up. They have quite short lives as adults so it is easy to ignore the question of where they come from and how they grew to be such beauties. But spend time sitting next to a healthy garden pond in the early months of Summer and you may get to see exactly where they come from, where they have indeed spent most of their lives before taking to the air. During the course of sitting at my observation seat by our pond I had already spotted the tail of what I originally thought might be a newt beneath the water but the absence of any tadpoles earlier in the year eventually led me to the conclusion that I was looking at a nymph, the young form, of either a damsel or a dragonfly.

The time is right, so thinks the nymph, as he crawls up the stem of an overhanging plant or a reed until he is far enough from the water to begin his transformation. What squeezes out of the nymph's body is something far bigger, with a long black and yellow body and clear inflatable wings which are initially kept close by the body. This creature climbs a short distance away leaving the nymph carcass, a brown unattractive thing, dried out and hanging. The new creature's wings are pumped up using fluids from its body until they can be spread out at right angles to catch the sun which helps them dry out and solidify. This all takes a while but already he has learnt the skill of hanging on when the stem wobbles about in the wind. Soon he or she will fly off, maybe grabbing a bite to eat on the wing, before seeking out a mate who is equally attracted to the pond and willing to begin another generation of dragons.

Despite the surface of our pond being almost covered by a layer of algae, which is certainly not the most attractive look to human eyes, when seen through the eyes of an insect it is clearly a healthy environment, suitable for some breeding and also providing food for the youngsters. The nymphs are underwater killers and they can live for years in that form before emerging, so there must be a supply of food for them during that period. We can only imagine what triggers their emergence from the water but as I write there are at least three nymph bodies that can be seen and two fully grown dragonflies are hanging near them preparing themselves for their first ever lift off. What has happened, without any human intervention, is that nature has created a dragonfly breeding ground, right in our garden.

As for the algae, I must confess to having introduced a 'walk' of five Ramshorn snails (note the collective noun) with a view to controlling this. Yes, you can buy them online and they arrive in a bag ready to go. 

The first order got lost somewhere and never arrived; we are saddened to think of their ultimate fate. Perhaps the 'Live Creatures' sign was a bit too scary or maybe they were taken to a zoo somewhere. A second order arrived safely and they seemed happy when released into the pond and disappeared quickly beneath the algae. If they survive, something I may never know, then perhaps either they or their offspring might one day run out of algae to eat, giving me a clear view of the bottom of the pond again. [Update: Snail just spotted alive and well.]

On to the next project. Looking back at an estate agent's picture of the back of our house there is a length of solid looking decking surrounded by a wooden railing. One can only guess that this was created as a 'sitting out' area, a place where the owners could catch the evening sun before it disappears behind the hill. But we have never used it as such, perhaps largely because we are discouraged by the healthy midge population that live close by and come out for a feed whenever the wind drops sufficiently for them to fly. In any event there was clear evidence of rot in the decking timbers which rendered it rather unsafe to walk on. So we thought let's rip it up.

We soon discover, however, that this will be a major physical exercise since it is largely held together with long screws that are too rusted to extract. Instead we have to slice the decking up into pieces using a powerful circular saw then wrench each section free from the supporting posts. These are lengths of a reclaimed BT telegraph pole, impregnated with stinky creosote, and have been concreted into deep holes in the ground. It is hot and smelly work but gradually, section by section the decking disappears so it can be carted away to the local tip.

To do this means that each section has to be small enough to fit into our small trailer without overloading it too much then the pieces lashed down so they don't fall out on the journey to the local recycling centre. The wood is sodden, much of it crumbling into dust, and it takes five loads in total before the job is done. We no longer have decking we don't use and all we are left with is the decision about what to do with the space beside the house which is seeing the light of day for the first time in years.

The Next Project

I like a good project, although I must stress here that I am not using this word as an American might use it, to describe something we would call a 'job'. For me a 'project' is something bigger, more complex, and which involves multiple skills and a mix of different resources. Perhaps a better title for this one might be the 'Last Project' because on this occasion we are going to decorate the only room in the house that we have yet to tackle. It is small, thankfully, indeed it is the smallest room in our house (which means that it is rather difficult to photograph).

We refer to this room as the 'En Suite' since it is only accessible from one of our bedrooms but despite it being a feature of that room it remained untouched when we re-papered and carpeted the room itself.

So here is the 'before' picture, taken just before I turned off the water supply to the house so that I could fit shut-off valves to the pipes that feed some of  the plumbing bits, these being things that were to be replaced. Failure to do this would have resulted in water spraying everywhere so it seemed like a good idea. The plan was to change both the toilet and the sink so without any further delay, they are ripped out.

Why are we doing this, you might ask. In all honesty it comes down to the weather which has been exceptionally wet of late, an unpredictable mixture of sunshine and rain that makes outdoor projects unpleasant. Then there were the tiny beetles we saw flying about which made us think 'woodworm'. And indeed there was some slight evidence beneath the toilet of the tiny holes made by these insects when they transition from worm to flight mode and emerge into daylight. But thankfully nothing too serious.

So having made the decision and having begun the ripping apart, next comes the covering up phase, the ceiling, walls and the floor.

Painting a room, in my view, should start at the top, the ceiling, so this gets a new coat of paint after sanding off some of the uneven lumps and bumps. The room is a confined space so once the toilet and sink have gone things become a little easier and balancing on a set of steps is less fraught with danger. We need to make some decisions about the walls, what will best cover up their unevenness and will breathe new life into the tiny room but I have some leftover flooring from our kitchen project, easily enough to cover this tiny space, so I get down on my knees and start laying the stuff.

Buying big things like a new toilet and a sink/vanity unit has to be done 'sight unseen' as we live many miles away from the nearest store and even if we did fancy a day in Glasgow to look at toilets, many places do not carry much stock in store. So we are forced into online shopping, a process that restricts us to the limited number of suppliers who do not add on ridiculously high delivery charges for large items. When the first large box arrives, a small basin and the cabinet it will sit on, it is carried up to the house by the postman (sorry mate) and we stagger inside with it, anxious to see inside.

We rapidly unpack and are quite pleased with what we have bought unseen although it does require a little modification. It needs chunks cut out of the rear, so that the water and waste pipes can be connected,  these coming up through the floor from beneath the house. Any refurbishment project will almost certainly have problems that need to be solved, things that have to be worked out to make things fit or look nice. And then there is always an ideal sequence of tasks that must be followed to avoid fitting something then having to take it all apart again. I do not pretend to be an expert so I have a mighty feeling of relief when the plumbing is reconnected and the water turned on again with no leaks showing up.

Next comes the walls, probably the most important part of the room visually. Having decided upon wallpaper we order a couple of rolls then we agree that a line of white tiles (again leftover from our kitchen project) would look nice around the base of the walls. Our local hardware shop provides some tile adhesive, in tubes, which must have been on their shelves for ages as it was impossible to squeeze anything out without slicing the top off of the tube. But it did the job and this enables us to tick something else off the job list.

The project then goes on pause whilst we await the next exciting delivery package, a new toilet. Fitting this will be something of a challenge for me - it is a job I have always previously left to the plumbers and avoided doing myself for fear that mistakes can be rather smelly. But then we get a message saying that the toilet was delivered yesterday... except it wasn't. This leads to a frustrating sequence of exchanges through the supplier's 'chat' feature as we try to establish where it has gone and wonder whether it is sitting on someone else's doorstep, perhaps blocking their exit from home. But no, it turns out that the message was wrong and should not have been sent so we sit back and wait. Such complications are simply a factor of the world of instant communication that we live in and the confusion this can lead to when a wrong button is pressed resulting in the wrong message going out. How did we manage before internet based trading became the order of the day and communication with chatbots became an everyday experience.

But all this is forgotten as the wallpaper has finally arrived. We have chosen a 'Beach Hut' look and the paper has some rather nice glittery bits to add a touch of glamour when someone is using the loo. And the nice thing about this paper is that it does not require any pattern matching, the joins just disappear into the randomness of the fake wooden strips.

Sticking this onto the wall takes only a few hours but these are somewhat stressful as inevitably one is working to a timeline when putting up wallpaper. Once the paste is mixed then the clock starts ticking as the adhesive setting process has begun and each second that passes the paste will get thicker. However in this case we think the stress is justified and the transformation of our smallest room is just what we hoped for. One more job is ticked off the project list. Now we just need that toilet to arrive, as if by magic, on our doorstep.

And then it does. Just like that, without any warning and carried up the steps to our house by another muscle-bound delivery driver.  Which just leaves, of course, the small matter of fitting it and connecting it up so water can flow in and out as nature intended. This is a first for me, and perhaps also a last, so I start by reading the instructions thoroughly. These soon lead me to the conclusion that they do not accurately show how all the various bits fit inside the cistern because what we have bought is smaller than the manual assumes it is. So can I change things around and fit them differently and if so, will it still work?

I soon realise that there is a very precise sequence in which everything has to be fitted and connected up as access to the rear of the toilet is limited and the watertight seal between the cistern and the toilet underneath must be perfect as mistakes cannot be rectified later. There is nothing in the instructions that explains this. It is a 'work it out for yourself' thing. I have an additional problem to deal with as the water supply has to be fed from right to left behind the toilet which means bonus bits of pipework, again not something the manual deals with. Somehow or other the job gets done and once again there is an immense sense of satisfaction that comes when there are no leaks... from anywhere. So does it work? The first flush takes place and everything seems to go rather well. Water slushes away (somewhere) and more water gushes in ready for another go. I think we can call that job done.

All that remains is the project video. Enjoy.

Holland by bike - arrival home

Arriving back home from a holiday like the one we have just had; one might think it would be a time for relaxation and reflection. For us, however, it felt odd being back and we found it difficult to slip back into our old routine or even remember what it was. We had become used to a different way of life, one full of uncertainty: Where would we be sleeping the next night? How would our physical limits manage on the next day of riding? What was our route for the next day? Would it be another hot day and was there rain coming? What would happen if we had a puncture, a bike chain snapped or we broke down for some other reason? These questions were what we had accepted as part of our everyday lives and it would take time for the routine and stability of home life to become normal again, much longer than we might have expected.

Before any of that could start, however, we faced a list of chores - unpacking, emptying our panniers completely, washing the dirty clothes we had been carrying around with us, cleaning the accumulated dust and grime from the bikes. Then there were the domestic chores waiting for us. Everything in the garden had grown bigger or had come into flower during our time away. The grass in the garden was waste high, hiding the paths we generally keep clear to walk around on, so some strimming was needed. The water level in our pond was lower than we had ever seen it, an indicator of the long period of dry weather that had prevailed in our absence although the forecast for the days to come showed that this would all soon change.

We needed food, having run down our supplies before we left home, so shopping was a priority. It was only then that we discovered our local Co-op had empty shelves due to the organisation having been hacked, a news story we had missed whilst away. The friends and neighbours we had missed for so long wanted to know where we had been and what we had been doing. This needed a full explanation which took time as they seemed to find it hard to believe what they were hearing. We had returned from doing something they would never consider for themselves and which was something even we never really expect to repeat. Pushing our bodies to such limits over such a long period seems unreal, on reflection.

The hot dry weather we had experienced in Holland continued for a short while after our arrival home, which made us even more aware of how lucky we had been with the weather on our tour. We had gone away prepared for a mix of wet and dry, hot and cold, but instead were given just one day of heavy rain in four weeks of cycling, almost beyond belief. The first week had been cool, more or less what we expected, but then as it became warmer more of our clothes had ended up in the panniers until eventually the heat was such that shorts and T-shirts were all that was needed. We were pleased that our health and our stamina had held out, this being sort of what we had hoped for, although we had always been prepared to return early had we felt that this was necessary. It wasn't.

What we had not expected was the feeling of sadness, regret to have left behind an environment that accepts and respects cyclists. We immediately began to notice the criticism aimed at cyclists in our own country coming from other road users; both car drivers and pedestrians moaning about them for different reasons. Riding two abreast on a road (this is advised so that a car can pass more quickly), riding on the pavement (given the choice between a narrow road full of lorries and an empty pavement I know where I would rather be), such things have always been the subject of criticism but now our eyes had been opened to see things from a different perspective. Outside of a few of our big cities cyclists are generally second class road users, hated by all and expected to do battle with cars on busy roads with no help from the infrastructure itself. Holland is no different in one way. The roads are just as full of cars and can be unsafe for other road users but many years ago the Dutch people made the decision not to let rising car use dominate the way the country worked. They incorporated an alternative network alongside the one for cars and fought for the right to keep riding on bikes. Dutch cyclists do not, in the main, wear helmets for the simple reason that they feel safe when they ride and they do not want anyone to be discouraged from cycling by having to put one on. The low cycling casualty rates back this up so there is no reason to change. One Dutchman we met explained it this way - for all road users the heavier you are the more responsibility you carry towards those lighter than you, with pedestrians at the lightest end of the scale. Cyclists, whose combined weight makes them heavier than most pedestrians, must give way and respect the rights of those walking and cars, being heavier still, must give way to both cyclists and pedestrians whenever there are crossing points and junctions. The whole infrastructure in Holland is designed on the basis of this way of thinking.

I could not resist this. The Monday morning rush hour in Den Haag, to which I have added some music. This is the way of life we are now missing.

We have yet to ride our bikes since we arrived home, partly due to the wet weather but also because we know it will bring home to us again the sense of loss, awareness of the direction our country might have gone that would have made our lives different from what they have been.

Holland by bike - 8

We could not believe it. Our last day in Holland had arrived. Once again the sky was cloudless although the northerly breeze kept us cool enough to ride comfortably so after waving goodbye to our hosts for the night we set off towards the ferry port. The last few days had taken a lot out of us so in some ways we were looking forward to getting on board our ship and settling in for a good night's rest during the overnight passage. But in other ways we were sad to be leaving a place where we had enjoyed such an amazing holiday. (I was going to say relaxing, a strange thing to feel after riding so many kilometres.) As it turned out we had decided that the direct route to the ferry port would not be enough for us and whilst planning the ride the previous evening we decided to make a small detour to visit a vegetarian restaurant, of all things, that would make a good stopping point for lunch. It was actually run by an Italian couple who made their own very tasty houmous. Well worth the detour.

An early arrival at the ferry dock meant we were able to get ourselves and our bikes on board quite quickly, lash them down, then take the lift up to our cabin four decks above. Loading so many cars and other vehicles is a complicated and slow business and getting on board early meant that we could look down smugly upon those still waiting down below on the dock. Sitting in a car might be comfortable enough and foot passengers can wait indoors but if you are a cyclist and it is raining or cold then this is not where you would want to be hanging about.

Our cabin on board was tiny but perfectly adequate since we only needed it for sleeping on the passage to Newcastle. Once all the vehicle loading was complete we made our way to the self service restaurant where we enjoyed a substantial meal just as the ship was leaving port but before we had finished eating the ship's movement could be felt. The northerly wind was coming down the full length of the North Sea and once we were outside the harbour the ship started to pitch and roll as it punched into the swell. Indeed throughout the night in our cabin we could feel this movement and despite our tiredness it was difficult to ignore the gentle rolling and pitching and the slight noises which accompanied the movement. By morning we were wishing it would all come to an end and we delayed taking breakfast until the ship had reached the calmer waters inside the long arms of the harbour walls at the entrance to the river Tyne.

Finally the moment came to push our bikes off the ferry and take to the road to cycle away from the port. This time, however, we were back in the UK, so we had to remember to cycle on the left side of the road and also to steer to the left when confronted by another cyclist on a cycle path. Even more important was to remember to look to the right to check for cars when crossing a road. Everything that had become instinctive during the last month had to be un-learnt...and urgently, from the moment our feet touched British soil. And once again we faced the complex journey from port to home which started with a bike ride from the ferry terminal to Newcastle Central Station, right in the centre of the city. Fortunately this starts with a properly signposted cycle path so with all our senses on full alert we jumped onto our bikes and rode off.

We soon found ourselves crossing a waterway, just like we had done many times in Holland, although we could not help but notice something rather different in what we were seeing. Similarly with the cycle path itself which, instead of being smooth and clean, was riddled with lumps and bumps, obstacles that we had to steer around carefully. It was also covered with rubbish and dog poo plus we were constantly ducking from the overhanging tree and bramble branches that were growing beside the path. When we came to our first road crossing it became clear that priority would be given to cars, cyclists always being expected to give way even on the smallest of roads. This was not what we had become used to. It occurred to us that in the UK there are no rules embedded in our Highway Code that can be applied to signify a change of priority at junctions, no road markings specifically designed to indicate that cyclists have priority. All road users, cars included, are expected to give way at a Zebra crossing, marked with broad white lines on the road, but there is nothing similar to deal with the situation where a cycle path crosses a road. There might be an awkward pair of iron fences on the path which cyclists have to zigzag around when approaching a road but sometimes these are absent so there is nothing to warn the cyclist of the approaching road crossing and certainly never anything to require a car driver to give way. We had become used to a vastly different infrastructure everywhere we went in Holland, irrespective of whether it was a town or in the country. We had now arrived back in a country where cyclists are treated as less important than any other road user, quite a scary place to be.

Several times we were directed onto minor roads, perhaps through a housing estate, and the unclear signposting made this quite difficult but eventually the Hadrian's Wall cycle path took us along the River Tyne to the quayside in the centre of Newcastle. From this point we were faced with a very steep climb uphill to the station, this being on overcrowded roads with no signposted guidance as to which route to follow. It might have been safer to walk the bikes but pushing a loaded bike uphill either in the road or on the pavement is extremely strenuous. In the end we did a bit of both, riding, juggling with the traffic, and pushing, until the station finally came into view.

Once safely inside the station, grateful to have arrived in one piece, we located our platform then waited for our train to open its doors so we could find the carriage which contained the 'cycle storage unit'. This turned out to be a cupboard! Cyclists are expected to lift their bikes up onto the back wheels and hang them vertically from hooks, but since these were too small for our wheels our bikes were simply balanced upright in the tiny space provided. The door would not close and there were no securing straps so we had to improvise as best we could. Our panniers had to be removed first and stored elsewhere and the physical effort of lifting the bikes would have been too much for many cyclists. Considering this is a main line service between two big cities the cycle storage was glaringly inadequate. But worse was to come when we changed trains in Edinburgh and had to cross a bridge to get to the next platform. There was a lift provided for us to take our bikes up to the top but, so we then discovered, the descent lift to the new platform was out of order. This meant we had to manoeuvre our loaded bikes down a couple of flights of steps amongst a rush of impatient train travellers and with no help at all from the station staff. This was the stuff of nightmares.

But at least our next train had somewhere a bit more sensible to stow the bikes for the rest of our journey to Glasgow.

Our plan was to spend another night in the Glasgow Youth Hostel, a place we had stayed at on our journey out and a place where we knew our bikes could be stored safely overnight. Once settled in we ventured out into the city for an evening meal and were delighted to find yet another vegetarian restaurant close by. Life is getting better all the time! Then in the morning a very early bus ride home enabled me to collect our van with its bike rack and return to Glasgow to load up the bikes then drive home. Only when we had completed these final steps could we truly accept that our holiday of a lifetime was over.

Holland by bike - 7

The trip we were making was not just about the cycling, which we enjoyed, but it was also about immersing ourselves in another culture, although we had not expected to get so much pleasure from this. Each night we spent in the house of a Vrienden was an experience all of is own. In the small town of Bergen we found ourselves welcomed into a large historic monument of a house designed in the style of the Amsterdamse school of architecture, perhaps the equivalent of our 'Art Deco' movement. On this occasion the owner was not home when we arrived but we had been invited to use the garden so made ourselves comfortable until she arrived home a short while later. We had our own room upstairs with all facilities laid on and the following morning we sat around after breakfast chatting, exchanging details about our respective lives, which is all part of the pleasure of staying somewhere like this. Wherever we were we always left in the morning, after eating the ample breakfast our hosts provided for us, with a feeling of sadness that we could not stay longer with such kind and welcoming people.

On this occasion we knew we had a tough day ahead of us - a ride south into Amsterdam. Once again the heat had returned and unlike our ride from Den Helder, this time we would be facing a fresh southeasterly breeze, a headwind coming from exactly the direction we were due to be going. Cycling itself always creates a headwind so this has to be added on. Then, to make things worse, in order to reduce the length of the day's ride our route would follow the straightest line, mostly alongside a road busy with weekend traffic, so we knew there would be few hiding places and we could expect little relief from the wind.

The continuous traffic noise combined with the heat sapped our energy so we were massively relieved when we finally arrived at the ferry crossing (free for bikes, like all the ferries here in the capital) taking us over the Noordzeecanaal into the centre of Amsterdam. This was where we had planned another pause - two nights in a hostel - to allow our bodies to recover a little before moving on. However nothing could prevent us from doing a little sightseeing the next morning.

I must mention the new talent I mastered after arriving in Holland. Many road junctions have a set of traffic lights for the cars, another for pedestrians and yet another set for cyclists. The trick for the cyclist is to ride up to the stop line and come to a halt right beside the iron post which has the lights control button on it. This is clearly designed so that by stopping alongside it at a precise distance and holding the top of the post to balance, one's feet never have to leave the pedals. The post has a smooth top from use by the hands of many people using it to balance and once the lights turn green, a quick push off on the post makes restarting easy and you're pedalling across the road before you know it. It takes time to master the trick but it makes you feel like a Dutch cyclist if you can do it.

Amsterdam, like most cities, is a mad busy place to hang out in and our short walkabout highlighted for us the complications of crossing a road in this city. For a pedestrian, starting from a footpath at the side of the road, the first hazard to cope with is the red tarmac bike lane - strictly one way but rules can be broken so watch out! Next in line comes the first part of the road - full of cars and don't forget to look left. Once across this you meet the tramway, one track for each direction - bells and flashing lights will warn you if one of these beasts is coming your way. Cross this safely and you meet the cars again but from the other direction so look right this time. This is followed by another red tarmac bike lane and be warned, cyclists are not expecting to have to give way to a mere pedestrian. There is a sense of relief when the footpath is finally reached on the other side.

In some ways the bike lanes can be the most dangerous part of the crossing given the wide variety of pedal powered vehicles that are used. Many of the larger and the more modern bikes are electric and tend to be moving at some speed but they do usually keep to the lane where they should be. I should stress that my comments here relate to a big city environment and cycling is far more relaxed elsewhere. We come from a small village environment and no city is ever going to be our favourite place to move around in.

We stayed at several hostels during the course of our tour and if there was a common element to them it was probably that we are always by far the oldest people staying there. Amsterdam was no different in this respect but our room was clean and quiet (once the neighbour from the flats next door had stopped singing) and the food was well prepared and quite varied. Surprisingly most of what was on offer here was suitable for us vegetarians to eat, something we have not found elsewhere in Holland. Often restaurants have no vegetarian option at all and this led us always asking to see the menu before sitting down to eat. If there was a negative about our touring here then the attitude towards vegetarianism is it. (One menu even described something as 'vegan meat', a total contradiction in terms from our viewpoint.) To avoid too many embarrassing situations we occasionally avoided eating out by buying food from a supermarket to eat cold in the room where we were staying... but we soon realised we had no forks to eat it with. So rather than buy a complete dinner set, which we didn't need, we settled for a very nice set of chopsticks which did the job perfectly!

It goes without saying that in such a cycle friendly country our Amsterdam hostel had secure cycle storage; on this occasion our steeds were safely secured in a purpose built bike shed. In fact the only downside of our stay there was having to climb up three flights of stairs to find our bedroom due to a broken lift, not an activity we welcomed after a day of riding. Then in the morning after breakfast it began to dawn on us that we were facing a ride out of the city to get to the location of our final night stay, another Vrienden house in Zaandam, just outside the city boundary. To get there would mean negotiating the crowded streets outside once more.

The ride was stressful, bikes, cars and trams coming at us from all directions, it seemed, but then suddenly we arrived at the ferry to recross the Noordzeecanaal, along with a crowd of schoolchildren (on bikes, of course), and once on the other side we were suddenly away from all the rushing about. It was like a switch had been thrown. The absence of noise was almost deafening, and there were more windmills waving at us than we had seen anywhere on our trip.

So here we are, finally, at the home of another Vrienden for our last night in Holland. The view from the rear window felt very Dutch - the canal within touching distance - and our hosts, two sisters, left us in peace after giving us a key should we feel the need to go out, which we didn't. The room we were in had a cooker and a fridge stocked up with food for our breakfast next morning. In short, it was perfect.

Holland by bike - 6

We have now begun the last week of our month long tour. It has been an amazing experience for us, teaching us about what the world could look like if we thought differently about getting around. Our bikes are holding out well, just needing a bit of chain maintenance every couple of days to remove the tree pollen build-up and also the remains of less fortunate flies who misjudged their flight paths and got stuck there. Our electric motors are always ready but only rarely do we actually use them to assist us. Sometimes on a slope rising up to the top of a dyke or to cross a bridge over a canal we might switch them on and then when the wind is in our faces slowing us down we often need a boost of power. We have been staying most nights in the homes of members of Vrienden op de Fiets, a Dutch organisation comprised of individuals or families willing to offer a room in their home to cyclists or walkers for an agreed set fee. This has enabled us to experience life from a Dutch perspective, to see inside their homes and how they live, eat, sleep, everything. We can also recharge our bike batteries, which we do every few days, and this only takes an hour or so with us using so little power. Strangely, despite the load we are each carrying, riding often seems effortless and should we be lucky enough to have a tailwind then this feels like our electric motors have made their own decision and turned themselves on. Riding on roads without hills is hard to describe when you come from a land that has lots of them, the hills I mean, and the smooth surfaced tarmac or concrete car-free paths we are riding on really makes us realise the damage that motor vehicles do to road surfaces. Bikes are too light to do any sort of damage on their own so we are nearly always riding on tracks with scarcely a bump.

To our eyes, coming from a world where untidy gardens with uncut hedges and randomly cut lawns are the norm, we cannot fail to notice the Dutch obsession with tidiness. We continually ride past beautiful houses with immaculately neat gardens. When we first caught sight of a robot lawn mower in action we were fascinated but we now realise that these things are quite common here; mechanical beings that move silently around the garden making sure the grass does not get to grow more than two centimetres tall and all without any human intervention. They even park themselves away at night for a bit of a recharge.

On a much larger scale the Friesland landscape is fiercely agricultural - vast fields with gigantic tractors rumbling about everywhere pulling behind them enormous pieces of machinery. The landscape appears very dry (due to a lack of rain) but the fields are often separated by water filled ditches which act as a reservoir ready to be pumped up onto the fields when needed then sprayed into the air so the plants can think it is raining. The Ijsselmeer is also notorious for its mayflies, so we discovered after riding through massive swarms of them. After several days of riding through this agricultural world we were missing our woodland glades with their twisty paths so we made our way to Den Helder in the north of Holland where we took a well earned rest to prepare for our forthcoming ride south towards Amsterdam.

Before we set off on this last leg of our journey though I have to share my picture of this rather tame heron standing beside the road waiting for his best friend to take him home. He did not seem interested at all in my close presence. We have often seen herons in flight above us or standing at the edge of a waterway waiting for the opportunity of a meal but this was a first - a street heron.

Den Helder sits on a strip of land pointing north towards the Friesian islands, a line of low lying islands which mark the country's northern border.

Major flooding here some years ago prompted the construction of a system of dykes to protect the low lying coastal land and on the morning of our departure we were delighted to find ourselves riding on the seaward side of one of these massive man-made defences. Standing by the clearly marked cycle lane looking to the north one can see the low lying island of Texel, the first of the Friesian islands.

Without us realising it we had stumbled onto the northern end of the 'Dutch Coastal Route' and as we rode on we soon found ourselves on a smooth fietspad winding through the sand dunes of a long coastal dyke. Better still there was a warm breeze coming from the north east, blowing us on our way all day long. This is a very popular route and we were suddenly in the company of hundreds of other cyclists, many of whom had similarly loaded panniers strapped onto the back. We did feel sorry, however, for those riding towards us facing the headwind that was blowing us along. We stopped for a restaurant meal at one of the many beach side facilities, our seats giving us a view of the beach where the fine weather and the soft sand had brought people out as if it was a summer's day. Swimming in the sea was not popular, however, the water being far too cold.

Holland by bike - 5

Our days merge together as we cycle from one location to another.

We decide we need to pause for a day in order to let our legs recover and also because a mini heatwave has arrived, burning sunshine all day long and afternoon temperatures in the mid twenties (celsius). Two nights in succession in a bed and breakfast hotel seem to do the trick, especially when the room faces out onto a magnificent woodland. The hotel caters for different travellers and in the parking area at the front there are charging stations for electric cars and alongside these these are a bank of charging sockets for use by electric bikes, something we have never ever seen before. But of course it is obvious that this should be available for guests arriving on bikes since electric bikes are very common here, perhaps even more common than back home. We are constantly being passed by riders, often elderly, on their tall Dutch bikes, as they hum effortlessly along. We are slow movers compared to most. This is a country where the facilities for cyclists always go much further than we expect. We have not passed by a restaurant or a bar that does not have a cycle rack outside or close by.

Our rather casual attitude to route finding (adding a start and finish point into the Google maps app and telling it we are cycling) often brings us other surprises. We squeeze ourselves onto a ferry to cross a body of water, bikes being first on and first off, of course. A small payment is taken for this privilege. Soon after we find ourselves riding beside an 'N' road (possibly the equivalent of a UK 'A' road) but here the road always comes with a fietspad on one or both sides. These are not our favourite roads since the traffic noise is constant and this can be exhausting on a hot day but every so often there will be a roundabout which, like all others here, will completely segregate the cars from the bikes and clearly mark this with the red tarmac. Sometimes, but not always, cars must give way to cyclists but whichever way it works the road markings always make it very clear who has priority.

On arriving in Friesland we suddenly find ourselves at the smallest ever ferry, suitable only for about four bikes and a few passengers. We ring a large bell to attract his attention then the ferryman pulls on a cable stretched across the river to move his tiny raft slowly to our side.

As we glide from one fietspad to another on our trip we have noticed small signs with green numbers on, which clearly relate to a unique cycle path mapping system used here. Eventually we were pointed to a phone app called Fietsknoop and when we started using this for navigation we suddenly found ourselves moving between numbered 'nodes' on paths that deliberately avoided busy roads. We were sent down tree-lined avenues, along paths across farmland, on twisting paths through dense woodland, skimming along the top of a dyke, even along narrow paths at the back of a row of houses which involved bouncing over tiny bridges, going anywhere in fact where cars were discouraged. Sometimes the route signing is difficult to follow but the pay-off is a quiet, cycle-friendly world whose mission is to make things better for cyclists. Just when we thought we had experienced everything about cycling here this new world arrives.

It is not, of course, all plain sailing. Sometimes even cyclists must wait at a bridge to allow a boat to come through beneath.

Arriving in Friesland in the north of Holland we are beginning to feel blessed that we have not had to deal with any more rain showers. The exceptional heat has gone, being replaced by a cool breeze from the north which requires greater use of our bikes' electric power as we head into it.

Then, for the first time, we catch a glimpse of the Ijsselmeer, a huge body of water captured by the Dutch as part of their never ending plans to protect their low-lying country from the sea. Houses built on the land side of the dykes are clearly below the level of the water on the other side but life just goes on here as if this is of no concern. At Stavoren we take a ferry across the Ijsselmeer to avoid cycling across one of the long bridges that traverse it. Encountering a headwind on either of these would mean living with it for twenty kilometres, not our idea of fun at all.

So we casually ride onto the ship along with a handful of other cyclists, one of whom has a trailer carrying a small child, and we admire the view for the eighty minute crossing to Enkhuisen.

This brings us onto a long peninsula with the town of Den Helder at its northern tip, a place where we plan to pause again and brush off some of the hordes of mayflies that have plagued us for the last couple of days.

Holland by bike - 4

Our Rotterdam experience was dampened somewhat by the discovery, on the morning of our departure, that the rear tyre on my bike was as flat as a pancake. This was caused, so we discovered, by a tiny piece of glass, almost certainly the outcome of a careless drunk passerby in the street where the bikes were parked. We carry tools and a spare tube ready for things like this but a roadside repair on a busy street did not seem practical so we pushed it to the nearest bike shop and within an hour the repair was done.

The main aim of us visiting Rotterdam was to see our 'Dutch Daughter' who came to visit us last year. We were particularly concerned for her since a recent fall from her horse had left her with a broken arm and we were delighted to see her recovering well. But after two days here we decided we had seen enough of city life and felt we needed to get back out into the countryside. Maartje and her boyfriend, Leo, came with us on their two person electric bike to see us safely across the River Maas but what we hadn't expected was to descend in a lift then ride through a cycle tunnel beneath the river to get to the other side. Our time here is full of surprises.

Our destination after Rotterdam was Stellendam, a massive construction which serves to prevent the sea pouring into Holland. The dam is wide enough to allow two lanes of cars to pass in each direction, beside which, on either side, there is a pathway which is wide enough again for two cars. However this is just for bikes. This generous provision for cycling across motorways, railways and rivers is completely natural here. One railway bridge we encountered provided a lift to take bikes up high above the tracks then a smooth ramp to allow cyclists to whizz down on the other side.

From Stellendam our daily ride took us eastwards to Breda, a distance of eighty kilometres and the furthest we expect to ride in one day. Needless to say our bodies suffered aches and pains from this but we had recovered enough the next day to continue cycling, which must mean that our fitness level is improving. Just beyond Breda is Ramsdonksweer where the parents of our 'Dutch Daughter' live and we were delighted to be able to visit and spend time with them at their home.

We have known them for many years and Theo could be my twin! After lunch they joined us on their own bikes to ride with us to our overnight accomodation, a mere fifteen minutes away, which was in a delightful converted barn, everything beautifully laid out for us to spend a quiet night there.

We often find ourselves in conversation with random passing strangers, many of whom seem impressed when we confess to being from Scotland. Invariably they will ask about the route we plan to travel in Holland and each time we have to admit that there is no plan. We are travelling to a new destination on each ride which is planned, at most, two days ahead. The direction we go is decided by no more than 'it looks nice' on the map.

From Stellendam we were travelling eastwards (which might explain the sunburn on my right leg) but having decided first to visit the south of Holland, due to our friends living there, we changed to a more northerly direction, away from the coast, to see what the rest of Holland can offer us.

We crossed the Maas, again, and cycled onto a ferry to cross another body of water. The days are now quite hot, particularly in the afternoon, and we take care to drink regularly as well as pausing every five kilometres or so to allow our saddle bruised bottoms time to recuperate. Our stopping places are chosen at random; we either just come to a halt at the side of the fietspad or if we spot a seat then we claim this for a short while. A bus stop can have seats and provide shade from the sun too. There is also parking for bikes at many bus stops, something that seems so sensible. Of course you would want to ride to your bus stop to ensure you made it on time so why not park the bike there until you return later in the day.

Or alternatively you might ride your bike all the way to work and park it there for the day. We compare the space occupied by so many bikes with that needed for a similar number of cars. In a small country like Holland this makes so much sense... but wait a bit. Britain is a small country too so why have we never seen this many bikes parked together in our home country?

Perhaps it is because we don't have roads like this in our country, red tarmac on each side laid specifically for bikes. At home this might be called a single track road - room for just one car at a time going in either direction. The difference is the smooth bike lanes we have grown to love here. When a vehicle meets another from ahead then both may briefly pull over onto the red, but only if there are no cyclists there. Otherwise they must slow down and wait.