Which is why I have been studying closely the culicoides impunctatus, the proper name for a midge. Documents produced by Scottish Natural Heritage help us understand this blight on our lives. And, no surprise, I read it is all the fault of the moaney bidges. Sorry, the autocorrect on my computer is playing up again. That should read blone midges.

It is only the female midge that sucks blood from cats, dogs, rats, mice, sheep, cows and Hebridean gentlemen of a certain vintage. As we love to suck Cornish ice cream, so this bloodsucker of a she-midge needs protein to make the yolk in all these eggs she lays. That ensures we will be scratching ourselves from April to October next year.

Meanwhile, the dosy male midge is happy to nibble at a wee salad of grass or bracken. The guys congregate in swarms of a few hundred manly midges near breeding sites by vegetation or mud. The female of the species then fly coyly by, probably flashing the thighs of their six legs, before each swoops on their unsuspecting fella.

The SNH report says the males then “rest during the day in sheltered sites such as grass tussocks and amongst moss.” If I remember right, a tussock is a wee hillock so neither am I surprised that the coves need a breather after all that falling to the ground stuff. 

It also says the bite rate of a female midge is affected by the distance from the nearest breeding ground. They have been found over half a mile from their breeding ground in search of a sucker to suck but they like to keep near to the same area. Well, I never. Midges get homesick and just can’t chomp and suck so well away from home.

Their home community is where their pals are – and their many very close cousins. Interesting. Being a midge must be very much like being a Maciver in North Tolsta.

That report crossed my mind when I was delivering a parcel to Marvig in South Lochs a few weeks ago. Having accidentally left the window open, I got back to the van to find in it a whole swarm of very thirsty lady midges. I had to jump in and drive off.

I could have quickly opened the windows and hoped the haemoglobin hunters from hell would be quickly sucked out. But I was feeling bloody minded. With the Queen Midge and her attendants gnawing and slurping at my every bump and orifice, I speed on and on and on.

After 12 miles, we reached the Balallan road. I activated the UBPES, the Unwelcome Bloodsucking Passenger Ejector System. That is not for Mrs X when she grabs my credit card and demands that I take her shopping. It is for these other annoying wee women. With a deft press on the button as I roared up past the school, the windows slid open on both sides and the midges were whooshed out. See ya, suckers.

These ferocious midges, which had lost the inclination to ravage me before we reached Kershader, nevertheless had their bellies full from sucking my sore face earlier. However, I knew they were so far from home they wouldn’t make it back to their friends and cousins in Marvig.

Like many a lost Lochie before them, they wouldn’t make it past the Loch Erisort Inn in Sheildinish before falling on the ground again. I felt such a murderous maniac. Mwah-hah-hah.

I had a touch of déjà vu doing that. Many years ago, exhausted after witnessing a particularly competitive livestock section rumpus at the Lochs Agricultural Show, I was whooping it up at a very late-night Lochie party. After the grumpy host ran out of patience and rum and coke, I found myself lost and tramping up that same Balallan hill on a Sabbath morn.

With no money for a taxi, I smiled wryly as disapproving kirk-bound motorists whizzed past. No thought of being Good Samaritans on the seventh day. It was miles on at Keose that an elderly lady from Harris on her way to Leurbost showed me the milk of human kindness. She had a few pints because she also took me the extra seven miles to Stornoway. And she gave me her Alka-Seltzer. God bless the Hearachs.

The post How I killed that extended family from Marvig in Lochs – column appeared first on Iain Maciver Writes.

A minute or two into my nap, I heard rat-tat-tat. That wife of mine, laden with bags-for-life, was back and thumping the boot to get my attention. I rushed out and found that there she was – gone. Oh heck, not that dodgy handbrake. The car must have rolled backwards and over her. I bent down but she wasn’t there. Silly me, no way would she fit under a Renault Clio.

While on my knees I spotted another strange bird. It was tapping the next car along. This crow seemed to be tapping to get bugs out of the wheels and the bumpers with its beak. The cheeky bird was having lunch. It had me worried that something had befallen Mrs X because I wouldn’t get my lunch. As I chased it, the crow seemed to cruelly mock me. Caw, caw, caw.

I asked super-efficient trolley-pusher extraordinaire Norman Macaskill about it. He thought it unlikely that one crow had taken to tapping cars. They all had learned to find morsels. I just can’t think why crows chose the car-park of the Caw-op.

On the subject of peculiar creatures, I must tell you about a Niseach who turned up recently at a certain island airport weighed down by two cases. He hoped he would not be the one selected by airport security for a bag search.

Was he a smuggler? Had he dangerous drugs tucked into a secret pocket in his breeks? Were wads of freshly-laundered notes nestling in his bobban socks? Or was he a Hebridean ivory collector with an entire elephant tusk stuffed into a leg of his long-johns?

Then over the tannoy: “Would Mr Donald Morrison, passenger to Inverness, go to the security office by the check-in desk.” Nervously toddling over, he found the security people with his two cases and they explained that one would have to be opened.

A strange aroma filled the still air. Following his nose, a security officer went for the larger case, hesitated for a second, then went for the smaller one. Wise move. They rummaged through Mr Morrison’s underthings, and just ignored the larger one. They must have thought it contained the smelliest socks … and things.

Had they opted for the larger one, they would have found packed into a six-bottle wine case, a malodorous collection of parcels containing flesh and bones. What was once a flock of solan geese happily fluttering around a remote Atlantic island called Sulasgeir until some ravenous coves from Ness steamed over the horizon was now some Invernessian’s dinner.

Young solan goose it may once have been but when ready to eat it has been transformed into something not unlike an old scouring rag that has been used to wipe the floor and not rinsed for weeks. It also smells like that. The slimy texture suggests the rag has also been soaked in used engine oil.

Yummy.

To be a proper Niseach, like Donald Ryno Morrison, the boss of the Gaelic educational resources outfit Stòrlann Nàiseanta na Gàidhlig – for this was he – they must gobble it up and wash it down with milk and spuds and then – wait for this bit – they must tell everyone they enjoyed it. Eventually, their taste buds wither and die and they can devour anything. Niseachs would fare well on I’m a Celebrity … They must eat guga for a dare. Obviously.

While on peculiar animals and bravery, you should see the rabbits that have now taken over Great Bernera. Big and scary, they are not timid like when I was a lad. These new super-bunnies won’t run from cats or small dogs and were seen last week by my Tobson neighbour Mrs Dolly Mackenzie swaggering over the Bernera Bridge as if they owned it. They know the cars will stop. Who wants minced bunnies on their conscience?

It is the same in Ness where a hole appeared inside the six-yard box during a football match recently. The game was halted while a spade was found to fill in the collapsed burrow. Are these rabbits really brave or are they just acting? I recently caught a slightly confused actor on the radio who said: “There’s no such thing as not being afraid.” I think he said his name was Rabbit de Niro.

The post Ryno’s secret bird slips under the airport radar appeared first on Iain Maciver Writes.

PETROLPRICES.COM SURVEY – SEP 1

Unleaded
114.9p – Engebret – 31 Aug
115.9p – Spar – 28 Aug
117.9p – Campbells – 25 Aug

Diesel
112.9p – Engebret – 31 Aug
113.9p – Campbells – 31 Aug
113.9p – Spar – 31 Aug

PREVIOUS PETROLPRICES.COM SURVEY – AUG 26

Unleaded
116.9p – Engebret – 24 Aug
117.9p – Spar – 19 Aug
119.9p – Campbells – 21 Aug

Diesel
114.9p – Engebret – 24 Aug
115.9p – Campbells – 24 Aug
115.9p – Spar – 24 Aug

The post Town pumps cut prices as Gordon Diesel keeps up pressure appeared first on Iain Maciver Writes.

They say “cheap” mattresses sold by doorstep sellers might not comply with safety regulations and may be a possible fire hazard, or you could even be sold a second-hand mattress recovered and labelled with logos to look like new.

 A spokesperson said: “The mattress sold from the back of a van scam has been known to our Trading Standards colleagues throughout the country for several years,  however we believe this is the first time the islands have been targeted.”

 Trading Standards are looking for any information on doorstep sellers operating in the area. Trading Standards can be contacted on 01851 82294 or out of hours on Faire the community Careline on 01851 701702. Doorstep sellers may also be reported to the police on 101 or in an emergency dial 999.

 Trading Standards again advise residents to keep an eye out for elderly neighbours and relatives who the sellers may target for a sale.

 A Youtube video “The rip off van scam”  produced by The National Bed Federation, gives an insight into some of the problems which you could encounter when buying at the doorstep.

The post Beware the dirty mattress from a van appeared first on Iain Maciver Writes.

The post Shawbost Shop crowdfunding bid for a delivery van appeared first on Iain Maciver Writes.

A boil water notice was issued this afternoon (Sat) after Scottish Water consulted NHS Western Isles and said it was issuing advice as a precaution.

That followed a routine sample showing there had been what was said to be “a small deterioration” in the normal quality of the water supply.

The affected areas and post codes are:
Garynahine (HS2 9DS)
Linshader (HS2 9DR)
Breasclete (HS2 9ED, HS2 9EF, HS2 9FF)
Callanish (HS2 9DY)
Tolsta Chaolais (HS2 9DW)

People living in these areas were told to boil their water before using it and continue doing so until further notice.

They have also been advised to wash dishes with hot water and then dry them thoroughly before use. The water can still be used for bathing and washing (including babies), washing clothes and flushing the toilet.

Scottish Water said water that was boiled was safe to use for drinking, preparing food (including ice cubes and salads), preparing babies’ feeds and disinfecting feeding equipment, cleaning teeth, pet food and drink, and washing open wounds provided it has been allowed to cool.

Water which has been boiled and allowed to cool should be stored in clean containers in a fridge or other cold place.

The water authority declined to give details of the cause other than saying further sampling would take place “when the chlorine level has returned to its normal level”.

Further information is available from the website www.scottishwater.co.uk or by phone on 0800 0778 778.

The post Islanders told to boil water in 230 Lewis homes appeared first on Iain Maciver Writes.

Ideally, record-breaking pilot Norman Surplus will have time to fly on to Oban before the final hop to Belfast but that depends on leaving the Faroe Islands by 10am on Monday morning.  Norman initially left Larne, where he lives in 2010 but was dogged by delays and a refusal by the Russians to let him into their airspace.

Norman leaving Larne in 2010

If he is delayed departing from Vagar in the Faroes due to possible misty weather in the morning then the chance of getting as far as Oban during daylight hours becomes less likely.

No gyrocopter has ever successfully crossed the Atlantic before. The Satellite Tracker (below) will show his actual progress at any given time.

Satellite Tracker

The post Gyrocopter latest – 3pm Monday (maybe) appeared first on Iain Maciver Writes.

We knew everything about the late Cilla Black. She was the queen of Saturday evening telly but there were a couple of people around who she mentioned but who we never knew. Her husband Bobby was one. They were in the papers sometimes but I rarely if ever saw them on the telly together.

There there was Graham. She introduced him on Blind Date in treacle-think Scouse as “arr Graham”, the one who summarised the over-rehearsed spiel of the quivering hopefuls perched on the shoogly stools. But who was he? It is often the case that someone who is not seen has a face better suited to radio. Yet he was so calm and confident, ending his summary with a firm: “The decision is yours.”

Someone else with a decision to make today is Norman Surplus. An amazing guy, he may this week become the first person to fly an autogyro round the world. Well, not quite, but that is not his fault. The blame for that lies with that rude cove called Vladimir Putin. In case you don’t know what an autogyro is, it looks like a tiny, open helicopter.

A view from Norman’s gyrocopter

In fact, it isn’t a helicopter at all because the big rotor is not powered though it spins like a chopper’s. Those blades act more like a glider and the power comes from the smaller prop behind it. With no protection from the elements, flying it can be chilly. A pilot needs to don a few semmits.

After surviving bowel cancer, Norman, a lifeboat cox from Larne in Northern Ireland, decided to fly round the world in the tiny open aircraft. Yay, why not? He then learned how to fly and in 2010, he took off in a yellow one, registration G-YROX, from Belfast. In the months that followed he whirred around Europe, then headed way out east.

Over Saudi Arabia, huge storms were ahead. He scanned the desert and spotted – no, I don’t believe it – a lone filling station. He can land that buggy in 10 metres and he screeched to a halt on the forecourt. Once the attendants got over the shock, they were helpful. They refuelled him (unleaded, of course) and gave him a bed for the night before he put-puttered off for Riyadh.

In Japan that Norman came unstuck. He got permission from the Russian authorities to cross at the narrow straits with Alaska but was delayed in getting there. He reapplied and a bolshy official said: “Nyet nebol’shiye gyrocopters ne dopuskayutsya.” That means: “No small gyrocopters allowed.” He even wrote to the official’s boss who said: “Nyet, nyet, nyet.”

Norman appealed directly to Vladimir Putin. When the president doesn’t reply, that also means: “Nyet.” Apparently. There was nyeting else for it, Stormin’ Norman had to postpone the flight. G-YROX was laid up in a Japanese hangar for three years until Norman got up one day earlier this year and decided to hitch across the Pacific. So, after a few weather-related delays, he is about to come back home.

Another circumnavigator, Russian Sergey Ananov, has also been trying to get round the world in a small Robinson R-22 chopper. Just a day behind Norman, the news through Sergey was missing. He had crash landed on an ice floe in the Davis Strait. His wee chopper skited along the ice and plopped into the sea. Sergey had seconds to get out before it sank.

Sergey wasn’t hurt but discovered other inhabitants were on the ice. Three polar bears. Playing hide and seek with them was no fun. Then when he spotted a coastguard ship, it was with his last flare that Sergey attracted attention. A helicopter got to him on Monday morning last week just as Momma Bear, Poppa Bear and Baby Bear were putting on their bibs for breakfast.

When I last checked, Norman was in Egilsstaðir in Iceland. If all has gone according to plan, he will be in the Faroe Islands today and ready to hop the 255 miles to the UK tomorrow. To Stornoway, to be precise. No autogyro has ever flown the Atlantic before. That alone will put him in the record books. If all goes well, he will glide into Stornoway Airport and a Hughson’s Vehicle Services recovery truck will give him and his yellow craft a piggyback down to Stornoway lifeboat station to see some of our local heroes.

Maybe Norman takes a pint. If he goes for a swift half, he should check out some of our Stornoway hotspots which can be as friendly and welcoming as any ice floe between Russia and Alaska. Just watch out for our local bears though.

The post So, Vladimir Putin, why did you spoil Norman’s record? – column appeared first on Iain Maciver Writes.