I’m a wellie. Sounds glamorous, doesn’t it? I have to tell you, my friends, that life so far has not exactly been thrilling. Lying on my side in a dark box. Pretty deadly. And I heard the cheap jibes from the other wellies, the smug kids who were setting out on paths that wellies were meant to tread. I took the knocks in my stride. I retained my dignity. And my colour.
But now, what’s this. I find myself in a place called Shetland. A good place for wellies, I’m told. You’ll love it, other wellies say. Plenty company, so the word is.
Hmmm. We’ll see.
I hear that I’m not staying here long. I’m off on a journey. Bit of a walk around Shetland, a visit to a place called an RNLI station, then off on a muckle great ship. I suppose it’s better than lying in a cardboard box. Fresh air is meant to be good for me.
I’ll keep you posted.
