Home thoughts of 'abroad.'

It has been a week for visitors, some of them seasonal and therefore a sure sign of autumn, like the geese and the migrating swallows, some more of a surprise like Tom, who got married, said goodbye to us and tried living in Brazil with his bride. Now he's officially separated from the bride and also from his much loved dog who flew out with them but would face a long lonely quarantine if brought back. Tom likes Brazil, had spent plenty of time there to get to know the country and his new in-laws who he likes very much but long-term it wasn't possible to adjust. In his younger day he travelled a lot, even living in Australia for some years, but now has the feeling Scotland is home and this is where he feels complete. It's a feeling I understand from my 13 years in Belgium. I went with a good will, prepared to adopt another country and excited by the challenge. When I returned, or rather when I came to live in this part of Scotland, there was a moment when I felt myself coming back into my body fully from some place slightly to the right - it was an almost physical sensation.

After Tom, by some strange synchronicity (the week isn't over apparently!) Crawford came by to talk about the preparations he and his wife are making to live in Spain. They are booked on a ferry at the end of next month. He shared his growing nervousness at leaving this country 'for ever.' It's one thing thinking about it but quite another actually doing it. Crawford lived in South America for many years, and loved the continent. He speaks Spanish fluently so in many ways it should be easy for him to contemplate living in Spain, but it isn't. Perhaps it's something to do with our age - I don't like thinking that way. I reject the idea that I'm not as adaptable as I once was. Nevertheless perhaps our vision of the future is linked to the amount of time we once assumed we had to look forward to in which we could change our minds and return, and also the ease with which we could earn money to facilitate the moving around. The reality is that European borders are open - but that doesn't make the rest of Europe automatically 'home' to us.

After that conversation Miles and Vanessa arrived and we talked books, writing, mushroom poisoning. Miles had more news of the poor funghi-eating laird now facing dialysis for the rest of his life. The media have swooped on him asking him to 'raise awareness' of the dangers of picking wild mushrooms but as he ruefully said he has his own readjustments to make and recovery to concentrate on for the moment.

Then the bi-annual visit of two book-collectors from England, a jolly pair who bring me news of other shops and the odd morsel of enjoyable scandal in the book trade. They even bought some books. 'We'll be back next May' were their parting words. I pointed out that when May arrives they should ring first as I probably won't have the shop open by then but will certainly have books. Cries of dismay -'but we love coming here and talking to you..' Flattering. Not enough to spare the axe though. I'm enjoying my first free Thursday right now and although I am sitting in the place I usually sit when the shop is open there is a world of difference. I heard the door being tried just now and sighed with pleasure. I won't have to say 'no' to their books, value their books or order books for them. I won't have to make conversation with anyone I don't want to make conversation with for two whole days!