The village shop is owned and run by the local community, so if it doesn't succeed as a going concern, inevitably it will not survive. Everyone is exhorted to 'use it or lose it' - and that means taking every available opportunity to prefer its facilities over those in the nearest town - be that the postal services, ATM machine, cafe (eat in or takeaway), gifts, general groceries, meat, bakery, wine and spirits. The prices are surprisingly competitive and often I have found daily necessities where Tesco has failed me, so it is no hardship to shop locally. Especially as there is always someone there to pass the time of day with, or sit and enjoy a cup of tea.
An energised group of women is working hard to market the shop wherever and whenever possible to ensure its success. This Christmas these volunteer helpers have made up fabulous Christmas hampers and sent numerous flyers out advising of the gourmet delicacies, local birds for roasting, and even Christmas trees "all sizes" that can be ordered through the shop over the festive period.
Over the past two weeks more flyers arrived in my newspaper, by email, in a hand-addressed envelope and thrust into my shopping, with an invitation to attend last night's wine and cheese evening which was organised as a way of sampling just some of the treats that the shop can pre-order for Christmas.
Strolling down to the party with Elaine and Ronnie, my neighbours, Elaine and I discussed writer's block. Elaine thinks writing poetry is much easier than writing a novel because it needs fewer words, and she just bins her screwed-up rejects and starts again. I disagreed with her - I suggested fewer words is harder to write than more words. As my novel has far fewer words than it should have by now, I think my argument wins.
When we arrived at the shop it was already packed with locals, most of whom I had never met before but by the end of the evening I had shaken many more new hands. I chatted with Andrew, a welder from Forfar who works on oil rigs and had just returned from weeks spent solely in the company of ten men with no alcohol on board, and who consequently found our village party rather overwhelming. I listened to a woman who did not draw breath for thirty minutes whilst she regaled me with her family's life history; sampled the wines Gilmore had selected for the evening's tasting from Chile, France, South Africa and Australia; and caught up with several new friends and - by now - familiar faces.
Ronnie didn't much like the Chilean Sauvignon Blanc, thought it was too young and anyway, he's a beer man. Paul favoured the pink sparkling but after a game of golf he prefers a dash of rum in hot coffee. Elaine confessed she likes to add lemonade to her wine. Jean said she always drinks Australian wine but whenever she opens a bottle for herself, her husband likes to partake of a glass or three. Andrew was enjoying the novelty of drinking from a glass rather than a paper cup - health and safety regulations on oil rigs having reached the heights of paranoia.
Mahri, Jan and Sally pressed through the crowded shop with plates laden with some of the local produce that they are taking orders for - smoked beef, game terrine, venison, Scottish brie, local cheddars - and were pleased with the positive response they got, as well as the numbers who had turned out to support the evening. Free booze and food will do it every time!
When I got home and was toasting my toes by the log fire, I reflected on how life-enhancing it is to be transported from one world into an entirely different one. I have been here more than five weeks and am loving every minute of it, especially the new perspective that such a change can give one's life. Even as I stare out of the window this morning across the gloomy garden at the driving rain, bemoaning that later I will have to trudge through the wet to the village fair, my enthusiasm is not in the least dampened.
Which is more than can be said for the coal and wood which I now have to go and bring in!
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