Plans are moving apace! The Man from Perth was most helpful and supportive and I have co-opted VJ and Andrew to help me set up a project group and apply for grant funding.
Instinct tells me that until all stars are aligned, the project should remain confidential. Instinct also tells me that in a small village there is little hope of keeping this a secret.
The Man from Perth advised I should form a project committee and over dinner we decide seven people would be the optimum size, but working out who to invite takes a few bottles of wine.
By midnight we each have two people to approach. Personal visits must be made, preferably closely timed together, so that no one feels disadvantaged by being the last to learn of the project via leaked information.
We also need a project name. Andrew, who has some experience in these matters, is tasked to find us an identity.
VJ and I set off early the next morning and drive up the glen to talk to our first prospective committee member.
“Oh goodness, look at THAT!” says VJ, pointing at the field on our left as we turn the corner to go up the hill.
A sheep is sitting, statue-like, on its haunches, front hoofs dangling in front of its tummy, looking more like a dog begging for its dinner. A peculiar sight.
But we have more important things to talk about, fearful that Polly – who has climbed Everest, teaches skiing, takes kids on adventures in harsh environments (all filmed by the BBC) and loves anything and everything connected with the outdoors – might be faint-hearted about being involved in Project NoName.
We sit with cups of tea, and I thank Polly for letting us invite ourselves up. VJ laughs nervously and reassures her that we are not Jehovah’s Witnesses or touting a pyramid selling scheme. I launch into my sales pitch.
Heading back down the hill after a very enthusiastic reception from Polly, we decide to capitalise on this first success and head straight to see the owners of the village hotel.
“Oh gosh, the sheep looks dead!” says VJ. Sure enough, our dog-mimicking sheep has now fallen on its side and two jackdaws are pecking away, vulture-like, at its more sensitive parts.
One must be brave, these things are all part of country life, I tell myself.
But then, miraculously, the sheep twitches its ear.
“I think it’s just stuck,” says VJ, “sheep are remarkably stupid. I think it’s rolled over and can’t turn back again.
“We should go an help it,” she declares, jumping down from the car.
I eye the fence around the field, relieved to see a way out of this rescue mission.
“I don’t think we’ll be able to get into the field, the fence is covered in barbed wire,” I point out.
‘Oh that’s not a problem,” VJ says breezily. “But your shoes may be, they look rather smart and new – not like my old country ones.”
Yes, VJ, they are smart and new (and expensive). But I will not be branded a town wimp.
“Oh, these!” I say, “just a pair of casual old things,” and I follow VJ through the wet long grass and watch as she swings her tall frame over a (fortunate) break in the barbed wire. Balancing precariously on the bottom wire, I manage to get over the wire without looking too foolish and stride behind her towards the lifeless sheep.
Actually, to be honest, I remain a good six strides behind her.
Suddenly the sheep rises up, showing absolutely no difficulty in getting to its feet, and trots away, casting us a dirty look over its shoulder.
“Poor thing, probably just trying to have a sleep and was enjoying the birds picking the fleas out of its backside,” says VJ.
“And no doubt fed up to be disturbed. I wonder how many other good Samaritans have tried to roll it over today?”
Secretly, I’m glad it righted itself else I might be writing about how I got unceremoniously butted back across the barbed wire fence.
My shoes are none the worse for their adventure and we head onto the hotel whose owner is also enthusiastic about our project and we agree to hold our first meeting in two week’s time in their cosy visitors’ lounge.
On to the pub to meet the new owners – brave souls for whom this is their first hospitality venture, and who by all accounts are a great improvement on the previous owners who overnight left the village without saying goodbye to anyone, even Eric, who nightly propped up their bar and contributed many shillings to the till.
Danny is a little unsure about what we are proposing. VJ tries to reassure him it won’t cost him money. He very solemnly says he will review my document and ‘make his decision’.
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