Belhaven, 12 June

In my previous blog post, from April 10th, I wrote: it’s been a while. And I really had intended to write more frequently. I’d mentioned an inflammatory condition in that post, but later in April I discovered (after a consultation) that the burning pain I was having was, in fact, nerve pain. I started some medication, on a too-low dose initially, and have now doubled that dose. I’m still not sitting at my desk to write (yet), and I find it difficult to write standing.

I’ve realised that thirty-plus years of sitting down to write/work/do anything even vaguely productive means that my body has familiar habits and connections. X+Y=the ability to do the thing you’re trying to do, where X is sitting at my desk, tucked into an alcove in the sitting room, Y is opening my MacBook to a new document, and the thing is putting words together in a way that makes sense.

And it’s not just about writing: I sit to think, to ponder, to research, to edit and refine. And then edit and refine some more. Everything, really. When standing, I fidget, shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying to find a comfortable position that I haven’t, so far, found. I pace around. I need to move so I do some laundry. It’s the opposite of a settled ‘physical space’ and, as a result, also the opposite of a settled headspace. So I haven’t felt like being here. Once I’ve been standing for hours to write for work, the last thing I want to do is stand some more.

But after a consult last week, I need to accept that there’s no quick fix with nerve pain and I also need to look after my headspace by writing more. So, here I am with some photos from a recent walk at Belhaven. I have so much to catch up on here, but I’m also aware that we haven’t had any adventures so far this year – no day trips or holiday breaks – because the challenge of sitting is magnified by around 500% when in the car, so we can’t do day trips. And yes, we’re edging through summer and all I want to do is drive to Tentsmuir in Fife, to walk through that beautiful forest, or head up to Loch Faskally in Perthshire or… go anywhere. Anywhere different!

So we’re making the most of our more local walks. How do I share posts about the same handful of places? I’m not sure, to be honest. Maybe this is a space to write about other things. Let’s see.

This walk though – this was stunning. We started below a moody sky that suggested imminent rain, and as we crossed the dunes to the wide expanse of Belhaven beach, the sea was a gorgeous blue-grey. A grounding palette. I expected this low-light mood to continue through the walk, but then the light started to shift, as it so often does here, and by the time we’d reached the far end of the beach there was golden light bursting through the clouds.

We crossed back over the dunes to Hedderwick Sands beyond, now in sunshine, but still with dramatic clouds around, and with the low evening sun bathing individual clouds in its glow. It was very breezy, and the wind was whipping the sand into a dachshund-height sandstorm, so we headed to the relative shelter of the woodland, walking around the edge of the woods – a path we used to always take with Harris and Bracken, but less so now as we’re more likely to encounter people and dogs on this route and that’s never a good idea with Raf.

But, as there was no one around, we walked on, the pines thrashing above us. Such a grounding sound. And as we walked – me behind, filming, Raf and Oak cantering ahead, pausing to check on me every so often, and Richard slightly further ahead – I could clearly feel the familiarity of this scene. Of this walk, past these trees, in this light, with the sound of the pines. We were four, but it felt like there were six of us, the past and the present layered together. It makes no sense to write: I could feel the past and the present in these moments – but I could, clearly.

So I share these photos, and while this might look like any other walk with nice light and long views, once we were in the woods, it felt more than this. This was last Friday night, and Harris had been on my mind. Three years ago last week was when we discovered his mass. I’d reflected back on that Wednesday night, sitting outside our local small hospital, and the phone call that would change everything. The next morning, carrying Harris out to the car to go to the Dick Vet hospital for further tests, and closing the front door, realising in that moment that Harris might not be coming home. Handing our boy over to a vet nurse when he was admitted to ICU, and sitting in a room with Chris, the lead vet who would be looking after Harris, telling him his medical history, every detail sharp and urgent.

All of these memories were playing in my mind towards the end of last week, along with the memory of Harris coming home after nine days, home to heal, home to recover, and the immense gratitude I felt. Because as I look back on his loss, I also feel so much gratitude for the four months we had together. Four extra months that meant everything.

So yes, this walk was about more than nice light. I guess it was a reminder that the ones we lose can still feel close.

Belhaven beach and John Muir Country Park, East Lothian, Friday 12 June 2026