I set up the scope again looking out to sea, for the dolphins, and the porpoises, but what I saw this afternoon was a boat of some kind. It was large … grey … bulky. Reminded me of my husband. It was many miles out to sea and it didn’t approach the coastline, but I felt its presence out there like a weight.

After it had moved beyond my field of vision I didn’t see anything for an age and then, during the hour or so before sunset, I saw an Arctic skua flying low against the waterline, then pivot high above only to plummet in a dive to the surface. I don’t know what it was catching, but I pity its prey – I have never seen a bird twist and dive with such merciless precision. I couldn’t look away until the dusk made viewing impossible, and the darkness came as a relief.

Tonight, between six and eight, I’ll be getting my delivery. I have a standing order, which means that every fortnight my food arrives. It’s especially important in the winter when my own vegetables and fruit trees are not productive. I would so hate to have to leave! And I don’t need to, since my order has been delivered reliably every fortnight for two and a half years now. I don’t mind telling you that I have come to appreciate it.

It is always the same man they send, the Asda man, and he is usually cheerful and whistling as he walks up the path. At first, I left a note instructing him to leave my delivery outside the front door, saying that I wasn’t in. I didn’t want to be disturbed, I came here to be alone and I don’t care about the rain – what does it matter if things get wet? But these days I usually go to the door myself and open it once everything has been stacked up on the ground, ready for me to bring it inside. I like to make sure, to check everything personally.

The first time I opened the door he said:

‘Well, hello!’