IT’S good to have a room with a view, and even better to have a house with several views.
There are three views from my house, even if one is just a few yards into a mass of greenery. I like the room with that view at the back of the house. It always seems so calm somehow.
It looks out onto the back-garden, and the main source of interest here is the bird-feeder. The birds, if not tame, have become less feart of Big Beardie Rab.
They’ll never trust me completely, for I am of the species that historically set traps. If I put a new source of food out, a weirdly shaped lump of suet or some such, they don’t come near it for ages, until one brave feathery soul gives it a try, and then it gets the all-clear.
But when I put out the standard fare into the usual feeder, the two robins, one female blackbird, one finch and one or two blue tits, come down and sit on the tree branches just a few inches from my face.
Others of the same species don’t come near, so it shows how they have different characters, some trusting, some adventurous, some less so.
It’s fun to watch them through the window of the back-room, sometimes through the binoculars. I really got the binoculars originally for the front-room, where the other two views can be had, one from a side window and the larger one looking out in another direction towards the sea and mountains.
‘The most cancelled ferry in Scotland’
The binoculars were to peruse shipping but, after a while, you realise it’s just the same handful of boats all the time.
The ferry is the most regular, of course. It’s quite reassuring to see it making its way placidly across the sound, even though it’s probably the most cancelled ferry in Scotland.
Beyond the sea, in winter and spring you can gauge how cold it is by the amount of snow on the mountain tops. None at the time of writing: hooray! What there is, though, since it’s sunny after a shower, is a double-rainbow – always a special treat.
It’s the third window that I look through most as it’s the one I see from the armchair where I sit and write or study or watch the telly. Other than mountains and the sea, it’s the sky that proves the most fascinating watch.
It’s always changing, particularly at dusk, which is when you’ll find me with a well-earned dram gawping glaikitly at the scene through the window.
Last night, through the swaying, naked branches of small trees, big brooding clouds shifted portentously. Behind them, a touch of azure remained, then came a sudden band of light followed by a blast of red: last hurrah of the Sun.
After that, when there’s nothing more to see, I like nothing better than to draw the curtains, light the electric candles, open the jelly babies and settle down to watch another episode of Star Trek. Don’t judge me.
But I’m very grateful for the vistas through my windows. I was always uncomfortable in flats with no views, and have come to believe you should be able to see a large expanse of sky whenever you look oot the windae.
That’s my view anyway.
