It's mad that the only way to prime the old storm lantern is to shove a flat knife into the vent and twist it. Forty years of that. Nobody ever thought to mention it in the manual.

COME ON THEN. Show a fin. One fin. I have been standing at this window for forty minutes and the bay owes me something.

Picked up a crab from the rock pool and ate it standing at the kitchen counter. No plate. Skua pretended not to notice.

Perhaps trying to catch the Stornoway ferry half an hour before the Highland Games was not my finest navigation.

It's genuinely impressive that the automated beacon at the point hasn't taken out the whole grid yet. Hums away to itself like it's planning something. Never trust a machine that doesn't make a proper noise.

Up before the birds, asleep before the news. Or the other way round. The light never cared what time it was and neither do I anymore.

If Coinneach rolls up at the last minute with ten mackerel he didn't even try for and takes the cup right out from under me I will not be held responsible for what happens to his creels.

The tide chart from that morning in '91, and the laminated diagram the Northern Lighthouse Board sent round explaining our duties. Conjoined triangles of success. I kept it on the wall for years as a warning.

Would anyone want to sit with me while I go through the old signal log and tell you what I was actually thinking at the time.

Found some old photographs from the mainland trip, whenever that was. The light's all wrong in every one of them. Trees white as sea-foam, sky the colour of a bruise. Don't remember it looking like that.

Yesterday on the shortwave was one of the best days I can remember in years.

Thirty-one years of unbroken light. If that's not reference enough, I don't know what to tell you.

Flat as a mill pond all day then every gannet on the island arrived at once just before dark. Quiet start to the season. Not complaining.

To me, that was the Northern Lights inspection of '89.

The heron just walked into the kitchen. We looked at each other. Neither of us had a plan.

Half two in the morning and I've just conducted a full formal inquiry into the fog signal log with Skua as the presiding officer. She took it very seriously. I did not come off well.

The post came.

IF YOU'VE GOT A VOTE LEFT USE IT WE'RE FIFTEEN BEHIND AND THE TIDE'S STILL WITH US

Heard the harbourmaster got on the telephone last night. "I just need to find one more basket. One. That's all. We won the quarter." The man has the dignity of a wet hen and twice the noise.

Already inside the fog signal housing apparently. Me and who exactly.

Skua looking up at me from the floor like I'm something small and confused she's found. Aye, that's about right.

Found a photograph of myself on the gallery walkway, hair going sideways in the gale, laughing at something. Don't remember what. Used to be cool.

Something Donnie MacAulay used to do — knock twice on the chart table before reading a bearing out loud. Caught myself doing it last Tuesday. Alone in the house. Knocked twice on the windowsill before checking the tide. It does sound good.

Wee robin on the dry grass looking at me like I owe him something. I probably do.

"Keepers never doubt the sea." No, some of them just never looked over the rail long enough to wonder what was underneath.

A keeper over in Ness told me once he had a fine reputation. Looked into it. Three nods a year from men who owed him money. That's been my measure of standing ever since, and I'm pleased to say I've cleared it.

If there was a button that gave me the light back, the shark in the bay, and Catriona's handwriting in the letterbox, I'd press it without putting my coat on first.

Donnie MacAulay's been behind the Stornoway boat all day. But look at that run since four in the afternoon. I think he takes it by midnight.

Second quarter's catch ledger is already beyond saving. Just wondering if I should rule a fresh line tonight and call it third quarter, or let it keep dying on its own.

One hand working out the lamp housing measurements with Donnie MacAulay's notes. Other hand carving a small indecent seabird into the back of the driftwood because it's the back and no one will ever see it.

Donnie MacAulay wrote back. Said "a current that argues with its own chart" was exactly the right thing to be nervous about. First time in years I've felt properly heard.

The harbourmaster when you try to tie up at the good mooring.

The Northern Board sent three men and a form in triplicate to inspect one rusted cleat on the harbour wall. One cleat.

Caught the Stornoway co-op running the catch price up and back down inside five minutes. Put the log on the counter and said nothing. That was the trick.

Watch this hooded crow take a bit of salt fish off the step. Go on then.

Remember old Peadar's signal box. The square one. Aye.

This is what I was saving the good peat for. Donnie MacAulay's laid out the whole revised system, proper and in order, six points and all. Aye. Worth the wait.

Would anyone want to read a proper account of how the automated light mechanism actually works inside. Asking before I spend a week writing it out longhand.

The supply boat brought in a decent haul. Meanwhile the Stornoway fleet's out there pulling up God knows what. Aye. Nice.

Donnie MacAulay said the tide doesn't retreat, it just trades God for gravity. I've been staring at the wall since.

Told Donnie MacAulay for years the swell rule held without exception. He pushed on it once, properly, and the whole thing came apart like wet rope. Aye well.

One flare pic a year is all you get. This is mine. The sky went that colour for about four seconds and Skua didn't even wake up.

The heron at the south inlet looks like it's had the same bad week I have. Ragged old thing. We understand each other.

Finally held the telescope steady long enough. There you are. Not a smear this time.

All my hens. Every last one. Gone by morning.

Took the big brass telescope out on the track. Aye. Outside.

Do you think they'll let me into the Stornoway ceilidh with the big brass telescope. Asking for practical reasons.

The supply boat, the postman, and a tourist all came the same morning. Skua hid under the table. I don't blame her.

Mine.

Ignoring the driftwood and the chisel for the rest of the day. Going to walk the headland with Skua and let the wind have at me.