Loaghtan Books

The Isle of Man doesn't get much snow, particularly on the lower ground, but yesterday we had a couple of hours of dazzling snowfall.  It even settled for about ten minutes. The road pictured is the small lane which wanders up the hill behind the office.  And, yes, it really is that steep.

The Isle of Man is used to storms, but they can still be quite exciting.  This is Ramsey, the small port a couple of miles away from our office. Island life means that we get used to things not arriving.  If it's too rough, the boat doesn't sail, which means that things like fresh food, newspapers and electrical items aren't delivered (post comes by plane).  Several boat cancellations means that the shops can be completely empty; my father said that it reminded him of wartime.  When the boats can sail again, priority is - quite rightly - given to food and medical supplies so everything else waits. Working out when a new delivery of books will arrive can therefore be quite a challenge...

The hawthorn outside the office window, pictured, isn't out yet, but is showing definite signs of life.  Everything is so very early this year. We have signs of life inside as well, and not only (or even!) from the staff.  We have a hibernating butterfly, a painted lady, who had gone to sleep on one of the corridor windows.  Then the warm weather woke her up and she stomped about a bit,  obviously miffed that her rest had been disturbed.  We were very much hoping that she wouldn't start beating her wings against the window.  We'd have let her out, of course, but she'd have stood little chance of survival outside, awake, in January. Then she decided that the bookcase was a better place to sleep and migrated down there.  I think she thinks that folding her wings makes her invisible.  Against tree bark and leaf mold it probably does.  Against the spine of a bright yellow and orange reference book it definitely does not.  We've put up a 'please do not disturb the bu