Dark Skye

Today is the beginning of the end, I'm afraid. Nothing to do with the CERN experiment this time - just the end of my summer. I looked up at 8pm tonight and it was dark. And yet on Sunday it was summer, wasn't it?

On Sunday Pika and I were in Skye after travelling up to Plockton for a wedding. We drove to Coral Beach, I rolled up my jeans, peeled off my socks and jumped into the sea. In Scotland. It was beautiful, one of those moments you try to freeze in your mind to make sure you retain the memory. Invariably, you just stop living it as you're so busy trying to capture it. I was lucky Pika with there with me. In very slightly different circumstances, I'd have been splashing alone.

It's a 4 and a half hour drive from Glasgow to Plockton, and that's with a good wind behind you and no slow petrol trucks in front of you. We packed the car and set off at 6pm, aiming to arrive in Plockton for a swift ale or two before closing time and prepare for the cerebrations the following day. The night was quite perfect, warm sun, then enormous pink clouds, and finally a slow mist and the moon on the lochs. We stopped at the Commandos monument after three and a half hours on the road and looked out over the village below, wrapped in mist and deeply silent. Discomfort edged into my mind. Something wasn't quite right.

Back in the car, we pulled back onto the road. I ran through my plans for the night: check into the hotel, meet our friends at the pub for one, drop wedding gift at the bride's house. Oh, and hang up my dress to get some of the creases out. My dress. Hmmm, my dress. With an almost-comedic gasp and hand in flight to my open mouth, I realised my dress was tucked into a bag which was, at that moment, leaning against the wall in my hallway. Pika pulled the car into a layby and emptied the boot. The dress was not there. Nor were the shoes, the jewllery or the hat. Tears bubbled over, punctuated only by the cheery toot of a car horn as it passed in the dark. "I'll just h-h-have to wear - to wear - my jeeeeans." Reminding me just why I put up with him leaving wet football socks on the kitchen floor, Pika uttered the words, "Never mind, we'll just go back for it." And then, "It's a lovely drive anyway."

Silence in the car until Glencoe, where we stood, necks craned, watching the stars. It was darker than I'd ever seen and the stars seemed so close and bright and almost scary. We were miniscule beside the giant mountains and this pressing sky. The 'problem' of the forgotten dress was even more miniscule.

Four hours later we were home, five hours after that we were back on the road, and six hours further on, we were in Plockton - perched on a church pew, in dress and kilt, watching our friends declare their love for each other. I felt I'd experienced a very practical version of that the night before.

And so there we were, two days on, splashing in aquamarine water on a pure white beach, and very lucky that I forgot my dress and experienced Pika's benevolence and that Pika didn't forget his kilt and experience my fury!

The story of the red dress that turned the air blue is still a brownie point earner for him, and something that now makes me smile as I sit inside with the central heating on and think about my summer.