My uncertainty grows as I carry out this morning's tasks. I dislike the stuffy airlessness of the guesthouse. I'm forever opening windows, which Marita says is good but half an hour later they are closed again. I'm used to spending a good deal of time outdoors and an indoor life does not suit so well.
I surprised myself, driving home from the airport this morning, thinking I'm perhaps growing a little fond of the area but i wish i could find a comfortable, peaceful, outdoor sitting area. I'm currently propped against a concrete wall at Marita's house, with the busy road beside me and just a glimpse of the fjord through slatted fencing. It is good to have recorded my thoughts, hitherto unable to think of any local good place to sit, my brain now recalls a patch of trees planted behind the church and a bench with a view.
That's better. If I block out the floodlights from the football pitch and the uninspiring school building, I have a view of sorts. Strange, I should now be looking at the school, I was thinking on my way here, perhaps I should try to make contact with a primary school, visit to talk with youngsters learning English, not that I am remotely interested in other people's children really but meeting people usually brings opportunity and invitation, which is what I seek. ill give it thought.
I think I've run out of things to say. My initial difficulties in adapting have abated, my excitement at two and a half days exploration is over, my inclination to return to my previously missed writing is non existent and I find myself flat, feel as though I'm in suburbia. Maybe a housekeeping afternoon, mending my daysack, doing my washing. The sun has been replaced by wind, I don't want to return though as I'll stumble upon a job that needs doing but my bench, in its elevated windy position has become less inviting.
Fair Isle, Faeroes
Variable 4, becoming northwesterly 4 or 5. Slight or moderate. Showers. Good
