A surprise out of the blue

Fiona is by the seaside, taking in the vibrant colours of her host’s garden and the blues of sea and sky and then husband hands her...

We are over on the west coast. The sea is bright blue and calm. The sun shines and the wind is kind. We walk across the cliff tops. All around are golden bursts of gorse.

The MacNaughties bound on. Now running in a pack that includes a massive Labrador, a rather rotund terrier, and a delightful mixed breed, a Heinz 57.

Through the grass and wildflowers these new pals run. Giving the cliff edge a wide berth. Perhaps they realise it would be easy to leave Scotland for Ireland…

This is a weekend away and we are staying with friends. “Bring the dogs”, they say enthusiastically. After all, we have a connection. Nay, we are almost family.

Their cocker spaniel is the half-sister of our cocker. She and he share the same father, although you would not think it to look at them.

Their Teal is tiny and chocolate coloured. Our Barra is jet black and as large as you get for this bouncy working breed.

Indeed, the only hint of blood relation is the thin streak of white that both have down their fronts. And like siblings, they scrap and tease relentlessly.

We return to the house without losing anybody. Pack and humans are intact – and our host takes us on a tour of the garden.

A coastal retreat is not the easiest place to cultivate. But here are hardy plants. Specimens made to withstand the worst elements.

Here are side-lawns bright blue with grape hyacinths. In the borders cream and red rhodies are in full, magnificent bloom. On the hillside azaleas are ready to burst into latespring colour.

The tree-lined drive to the house is no less eye-catching: a layered monkey puzzle and a towering eucalyptus among the vegetation.

Why is that other people’s gardens are always more interesting than your own?

Perhaps it is because we can admire and enjoy without having to put in any actual effort. Maybe it is because we just get so used to our own patch of green.

We swop boots for wellies and follow the path into the woods. Past the little waterfall where the four-legged of us amuse themselves by jumping into the pool below.

Midges aside, it is a real tonic. We leave, tired but happy, damp dogs sleeping it off in the back of the car.

We arrive home late on the Monday night. I have unpacked and am in the kitchen making tea when the MacGregor comes in bearing a package.

“Happy anniversary!” he says, pressing

A coastal retreat is not the easiest place to cultivate. But here are hardy plants. Specimens made to withstand the worst elements

the thing into my hand.

I am confused and have to look at the date. May 14th. The day we tied the knot.

For the first time, I have forgotten our wedding anniversary!

Then, this is year thirteen. Unlucky for some. But this time, not for me.

Lucky to be married to someone who has not forgotten. And who does not appear to mind that I have.

That plus a box of chocolates. Happy days…