Wednesday 9th December. 21.23. & Into the night.

 

Letters from the Falkland Islands

 

There is still a little light clinging to this day. I’ve just ordered another whisky from the bar. It’s the second day of a nineteen day stretch of quarantine in this hotel room. That’s if everything goes to the current plan. It has felt like a long one, but not in the sense of boredom or anything like that. It’s just that it has been full of different moods and emotions, I suppose. I had the first of three covid swab tests earlier this afternoon; it wasn’t too bad, but it did feel like they took a little bit of my brain out as well. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t at all anxious about these tests. Not the tests themselves, but the knowledge that a positive test result would put a halt to my progress South. Antarctica is the only covid-free continent, and it’s vital that it stays that way. I haven’t got any symptoms, and I’ve been as careful as I can – even slightly paranoid at times. But of course, that’s no guarantee of anything, and it’s really not easy to shake the lingering possibility of ‘what if?’ I knew this all from the outset of course, I knew there would be this period of uncertainty. But knowing a thing and experiencing the real-life doubts are vastly different. You can’t really know how you’re going to feel until you’re feeling it. And even then, we don’t always have the words to put to it. I’ve been dwelling on this a little – it’s easy to dwell on things in certain circumstances. Of course, it does no good, when has worrying ever changed a thing. So, I’m trying to drag myself away from it, and is often the case the only way to do that is to face it head on. This (writing) is my attempt at that today. It’s not the only thing that has helped, though. And it’s funny the places that we find help, and the things that give us hope. In this case I found it in a tin of biscuits. This in many ways is a story in its own right – the story of the Eskdale Fell Runners. But I’ll save that for another time, because some stories are worth the telling in full. Just before I went away, the six other members of the Eskdale Fell Runners (formally established summer 2020) gave me some cards and presents. I brought the cards with me, along with a miniature Christmas tree. There was also room in my bag for a box of biscuits which I had just assumed contained the contents listed on the tin. But when I opened them this afternoon to have with a cup of tea, I found it full of ginger biscuits made by Ali’s husband, Ian. These biscuits are made in the shape of Herdwick Sheep, and gingerbread style biscuits are one of my favourite things. It was such a strong reminder of home, and of the last time I was sat out down by the coast with those friends. It was a reminder of the constant things in life, and of remarkable friendships forged in uncertain times.