Not Going Out Again

 Now, that looks good, doesn't it? Did you notice where it says Free Entry? It was all over Radio Orkney yesterday morning. Events on the market green and installations in the Cathedral, at, the man explained, 

the interface where Art meets Science, featuring an arresting array of light installations, fire performances, and artistic displays each evening over the four days. As the festival unfolds across Kirkwall's historic streets, residents and visitors can expect to be immersed in a spectacle of colour, movement, and creativity. 

The Radio Orkney interviewer was mildly amused: Are ye no' worried about weather bomb Storm Ingunn, down frae Norway, with gusts of 106 miles per hour, yellow weather warning and all ferries cancelled?

Ha ha. We'll strap everything down.

Stalls and booths. Street food. Shops open late with light displays in their windows. So I went. A bit worried that I would be late for the opening - 4.00pm it was scheduled for, and I didn't get there until 4.20pm, I thought that the thin trickle of people making their way from the carpark (a very thin trickle - mum, child and grandmum) was because I was late. I really should know better by now. How long have I lived here?

Granted, there were some christmas tree lights on in the shops on Broad Way and there was something that looked like this, but well strapped down, on the Cathedral Green,

but, compared with Shetland's fire festival, Up Helly Aa,

it lacked a certain something. 

Fire. 

Big Beards.

Burning Viking Dragon Ships.

What it did have was a giant Newton's Cradle or wave pendulum inside the Cathedral, like this:

I admit, that was rather cool, suspended within what looked like a ship's skeleton. It was presided over by a middle aged steampunk couple, complete with top hat, frock coat (him) and corset laced over a black polo neck (her).  The handful of children present were clustered around an infinity recursion box of lights, which was also engaging for a couple of minutes.

That was it.

So I took myself off to Mr. Tesco's emporium, as the succession of January storms (Henk, Isha, Jocelyn and now Ingunn- the Norwegians named it before we could alphabetize it) had left me out of staples. Unfortunately, Mr Tesco was also out of staples. No boats again. Row after row of empty shelves. Where there are usually piles of apples - Gala, Golden Delicious, Pink Lady and Bramley, there was one. Not one variety. One apple. No onions, but, strangely, many carrots and garlic. I scooped up the last net of Sweet Easy Peelers (used to be called tangerines), and settled for a chicken that had Freedom to Roam in its barn - probably wouldn't have wanted to be outside in this weather. There was no bread other than that made on the premises, and there was damn little of that, so I had to make do with an artisanal sourdough worthy loaf. Radio Orkney had warned us to have food in the house that doesn't need electricity to be prepared, because of the anticipated power cuts, and, luckily, Mr Tesco still had some cheese and cold meat. Thank Bacchus for the wine aisle. I spotted a chum busily reading labels. "There's me all in a wine dwarm", she greeted me. "Best get some in afore the weather closes in the morn's morn.  I used to drink nothing but white wine - but I canna now - it is all oaked. You should try this - a friend gave me a bottle for feeding her cats. I don't usually go for comedy labels,

but it was a gift so I had a glass and oh my it was good so I finished the bottle and luckily they've got some in. I was going to tak the lot, but seeing its you I could spare you a bottle".

By now it was too late to cook, and I shouldn't eat my power-cut food, so I thought no harm in getting fish and chips for tea. First time this year, after all. 

Its called the Happy Haddock. I don't usually go there because I'm scared of the bloke that runs it. But there's a carpark next door and it was blowing a hoolie, not to mention the rain, so I thought, nothing ventured, no fishnchips, and in I went. 

"You wait", barked the bloke, busy on the phone. 

"Yes, nugget, chip, batter sosidge, fry chicken deliver. Half hour, you stay, maybe forty-five, you pay". 

"Yes? What you want?" to me.

"Fish supper please and a portion of mushy peas, please".

"That all? Hokay. Ten poun. You sit."

So I sat, while he parcelled up chicken nuggets, chips, battered sausage and fried chicken with frightening oriental efficiency and handed them to the delivery driver. Other people came and were served while I sat waiting for my small order of happy haddock. You'd think a shop selling fried fish would actually have some fried fish ready at teatime for customers wanting a bit of fried fish for their tea. But no. It is a rule that you always have to wait for fish. Then suddenly, breaking through my dwarm, the bloke shouts:

"Fish, shit, pee?"

"That's me", I say, recognising my order and receiving the cardboard box.

"Enjoy", he commands.

They were greasy. Cooked in beef dripping. But the half bot of Mr Tesco's The Pebble cut through the grease and I did enjoy, although  chips always, always smell better than they taste.

Here's the blurb: 

The vineyard soils of the Loire Valley are composed of a mixture of clays, sands, limestone and flint. These contribute a unique mineral freshness to the principal grape variety: Sauvignon Blanc. The Pebble serves as a reminder of the origins of this wine. An appealing aroma combines with complex flavours of citrus and passionfruit, to produce an elegant and refreshing wine which will accompany light foods or be delicious just on its own.

Or with fishnchips.