Whoa, what a month... There has probably been nothing like it in our lives since we set up home in New Zealand... And we were working then... How on earth did we manage?

Anyway, at the end of January, you may recall, we were still in turmoil. Since then, we have made quite a bit of progress -- see the accounts here and here -- but there's a long way to go even now.

Along with all the house-sorting, February included a trip back to England, primarily to return the van, but also to see rellies, and have some R&R in Liverpool.





Since then, we've been trying to wrest some vestiges of relaxation from our hectic programme. These respites have included local walks and a trip to Ramsey.

But how does it all FEEL, this big move from one end of the world to another? In some ways, it's still hard to know. We're still too busy to be able to indulge in much contemplation.

But I can say this:

-- I definitely think we bought the right house. Who knows what the future will bring, but for the moment, it suits our needs very well.
-- I'm enjoying walking here. Even locally, the routes are interesting and pretty; there's lots of variety; and there are no major obstacles. I love the way the wail of the seagulls and the rasp of the rooks background the trills of the songbirds. It's especially nice to see and hear ever more indications of spring:



-- In all our administrative and commercial exchanges, we've found people very helpful. Generally, in fact, they're pretty friendly. Not effusive. But kind.
-- This one's a little more difficult to explain, but I'm enjoying reconnecting with a culture I only ever knew in snippets. There wasn't much emphasis on Manx history, religion, and folklore when I was growing up here. So I found it interesting to read, for example, about the traditions for La'al Breeshey (St Brigid's Day, which is 1 February) and for Oie'll Vreeshey (St Brigid's Eve). I enjoyed coming across Scran, a group of young Manx musicians, on Manx Radio, and hearing about their successes. Wherever I've lived in the world, I've always felt a pride in what local people are achieving. But here there's another dimension. I feel a kind of connection, as though it's somehow part of me and my heritage and the generations that preceded me. Which is absurd, but there we are. It was the same feeling when I saw that Words Without Borders had featured some Manx poetry. Or spotted the Manx translation of the standard warning on the bottom of the tax office email (you know, the bit that says it's confidential, and you have to be careful what you do with it): RAAUE -- S’preevaadjagh yn chaghteraght post-l shoh chammah’s coadanyn erbee currit marish as ta shoh coadit ec y leigh... Etc, etc. I feel -- again, absurdly -- that these things have something to do with me, that I somehow fit in here like a jigsaw piece.




-- I'm looking forward to the various events that the next few months will bring.


-- On the other hand, I really miss friends in Kuching. Miss the casual breakfasts and impromptu little outings. I regretted being absent for Chinese New Year, which I always enjoy. And Ramadan feels a long way away this year... Then there are the bowls of noodles for the equivalent of GBP 1, and the blisteringly quick internet that costs a fraction of what we pay here. There you go... Opportunity costs. Human beings can't be in two places at once (although we're going to do our damnedest to get as close to that happy state as possible).

And the Other Tern, you ask? Well, you'd better interrogate him yourself. He came with the intention of treating the Island as another foreign country, and I guess that's probably the best approach. He says he's coping. He's generally happy wherever you drop him. He's a Taurean Ox, you see. You plonk him down, and he patiently treads his furrow. Plus, his office corner and large monitor are a great solace...


***

It was certainly good weather for being outside today. In fact, it was the clearest day we've had since we arrived back this year. On our way home from town, we realized for the first time that we could see Snaefell, our highest mountain...


Then we realized we could actually see Snaefell from our house:


***

The Velvet Cushion is still languishing, unfortunately. It's still seven books behind, despite my best efforts... However, focusing on what we have, rather than what we don't have:

-- After a January hiatus, there was another Book notes post, on blind spots and homes of various kinds.
-- Cathedral of the Sea, by Ildefonso Falcones, was a readable and informative (if somewhat one-dimensional) account of 14th-century Barcelona; while another historical novel, Precipice, by Robert Harris, shone a bright (and all too relevant) light on the capacity of politicians' personalities to impact on their decisions, and on the ease with which warmongers prevail when tensions mount.
-- This Charming Man, by Marian Keyes, could have been slightly shorter, but is a great example of how a novel can deal with traumatic social problems in a way that's readable and engaging.
-- The Memory Police, by Yoko Ogawa, is another in my (accidental) dystopian series. Published in Japanese in 1994, it feels startlingly contemporary -- and yet its gaze, says its author, is more focused on the past than the future.
-- The Lady in the Lake was my very first Raymond Chandler. Twisty, and laconically funny, it was a great read.
-- It was The Friend, however, by Sigrid Nunez, that was my star read of the month. An erudite disquisition on grief and change and love and loyalty, it's done with an exquisitely light touch. Brava!



***

I follow Petya K. Grady on Substack, and love her perceptive comments about all things related to reading. I found this totally spot on:

"The books we gravitate toward reveal our affinities and our longings; they help us assemble a self that often feels more precise than the roles we inhabit at work or at home. Reading becomes a declaration: this is the intellectual lineage I want to stand in; this is the kind of mind I want to call mine."

Which feels like a good note to end on.