Three points is too great a penalty

Sir, – It is about time that a converted penalty kick in a rugby game scores only two points rather than three.

The real achievement in a game of rugby is grounding the ball behind the opposition’s line and that is awarded with five points.

A conversion kick thereafter is awarded another two points.

Why should a penalty kick for a minor infringement, such as standing up in a scrum, be more rewarded?

I hope the Scottish Rugby Union has this under urgent consideration.

Donald Mcdonald.

Rose Terrace, Perth.

As the season slowly changes and the days get brighter and warmer, a Craigie reader wonders if this past year of lockdown and restriction has affected nature.

“Out walking, there seem to be far more snowdrops, daffodils and crocuses just waiting to burst into flower, particularly along the sides of roads and hedges,” she says. “I wonder if the reduction in traffic fumes has played a part in this.”

Hector hears his name, pokes his head briefly round the door in case there’s any dinner in evidence and wanders off again. “But your sister must have got away.” “She did and he’s never quite forgiven her for it. Or Garve for that matter. She met Jake at a ceilidh in the Keill village hall.

“He was over here on farm business. At some level, I think Dad blames the whole island!”

“It sounds almost pathological. I mean, it could have been worse. She could have run off, like my mum.”

He smiles, grimly. “It is pathological.” “Can’t you – I don’t know? Buy this place yourself ?”

“You mean sell my heavily mortgaged house in Glasgow? Besides, I have to be there sometimes, and I can’t live under the same roof as him when I am. And even if I could sell, I’d never get a mortgage on this place – it needs too much modernisation – and it would be long gone. He’d never let me buy it. He’d take a cut in the price before he’d let me do that.”

“Does your sister know about all this?” “No. She’ll be horrified. But there’s nothing she can do either. They don’t exactly make a fortune and what they do have goes back into the farm or they spend it on the kids.”

Undeniable craving

He looks around in desperation. “Christ, Daisy, I love this place. The best bits of my childhood were spent here. I can’t bear it. If I can’t come over to the island, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

She goes over to him and embraces him. Then he’s pulling her into his arms and kissing her fiercely, desperately. She can hardly remember how they find themselves in the bedroom, but she knows he closes the door and jams a chair against it. “Hector,” he says, succinctly.

The bed is unmade but the bed linen is clean. It all smells of Fiona’s lavender, like everything in the house.

Later they laugh at themselves, at their sudden undeniable craving for each other, lying back on the pillows and on the crumpled sheet, the duvet a tangle at the foot of the bed.

“God, that was good!” he says. “Almost worth...” He hesitates.

“Worth what?”

“I was going to say, almost worth having to suffer my pitiful father.”

“I didn’t ... it wasn’t...”

“Out of pity. I know that, sweetheart. You’re going to stay the night, right?” She nods. “But have you...”

“Any more of these things? I don’t know. I’ll have to have a hunt around. Let’s hope so, eh? Otherwise I’ll have to get myself to the hotel.”

“The hotel?”

“There’s a machine.”

“Ah, of course!”

“Can you imagine it?” he says, and there’s genuine laughter in his voice, laughter that bubbles up and infects her. “Can you imagine it? I might meet my father in there. Just as I’m putting a coin in the slot.”

Genuine laughter

She spends the night in his bed. He’s considerate, a kindly but passionate lover. She can see that she will have to be careful with this one. Never before has it occurred to her so soon and so swiftly in a relationship that here is a man she might love. He’s immensely loveable. And they fit well together.

She feels comfortable with him, but given his troubles with his father, given his background, she can see that he might not be a straightforward man to love. The physical side is one thing, but he clearly has, to use the cod psychology term, baggage. And she’s mature enough to see that unpacking those bags might just be beyond her capabilities, no matter how much her desire is clouding her judgement.

“Is your dad coming back?” she asks, as they are eating breakfast together, her bare feet resting on his, under the table.

“Lord, no.” He looks bleaker than he has since last night. “No. He gave me his ultimatum. He’ll be putting this place on the market in June, so I’m to clear out my stuff before then. But it isn’t all mine. A lot of it belongs to my mum’s family.

“He’s going off on the first ferry. Doesn’t want to hang about. Tell you what, though. He took his two lousy pictures with him!” He gestures at the wall, where she sees two blank spaces where the small rock pool studies were hung.

“What a plonker!”

He starts to laugh, genuine laughter again. At least he’s seeing the funny side of it all. He can’t help himself. “Exactly. He is.

He’s a plonker. But sadly, he’s a plonker with power.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to phone Catty later on. We’ll have a chat about it. You’re going to have to meet her, you know. Otherwise you’ll think my entire family is crazy, and she’s reasonably sane and sensible now. Well, compared to the rest of us she is.”

“I’d love to meet her.”

“I think you’ll get on.”

“Am I sane and sensible too?”

“You know what I mean. In one way she’s as mad as a box of frogs. I’m sure that’s what my father thinks.”

“I do know what you mean. Listen, why don’t you come to the house later? To Auchenblae? You can let me know what she says. You’re going to have to think about all this, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Don’t make any hasty moves.”

“You mean like last night.”

“No. You can make those hasty moves as often as you like. I mean with this house. Don’t let yourself be bullied.”

“It’s kind of hard not to when he has all the best cards in his hand.”

Hell mend him

“But he doesn’t. He’s made you think that. You’re a grown man with talents. When push comes to shove, he can’t dictate to you any more. He just thinks he can and he’s got you thinking he can as well.”

“You’re right of course. It’s just...” He looks around, sadly.

“Where there’s a will there’s a way.” “Aye right,” he says. “Talking of wills, I suppose I could just bump him off. That would be one way out of it.”

She thinks he might almost be serious. But then he grins at her again.

“I don’t mean it. If he crashes his car on the way down the side of Loch Lomond, it wisnae me, hen. I didn’t tamper with his brakes.”

“We’ll work something out between us. And until then, hell mend him.”

“Hell mend him,” he says.

She goes over to him and embraces him. Then he’s pulling her into his arms and kissing her fiercely