Perhaps there's more in this than meets the eye

Two days ago I got an annoying email from a person who identified himself or herself only as 'a5467845'. It was sent via Proton Mail. 

At first it was the message itself that stirred me up. It went:

I came across your website after Google search, just to let you know that you shouldn't be sharing your national trust membership number online as it can be used by anyone to be used at any National Trust site...

That was it, three-dot ending and all. No name. A rather spiky message I thought. A bit of finger-wagging, telling me off. Well, how dare they, regardless of whether mentioning one's NT membership number on the Internet is a good idea or not! I am not taking advice from some officious anonymous person who is implying that I have broken some important rule, or at least violated good practice. 

In any case, are they right? So far as I know, you absolutely can't get into a NT property without showing a valid membership card - or by paying a non-member's admission charge. Merely knowing someone else's membership number isn't going to get you in. So nobody can impersonate me just by reciting my number. Nor will knowing that number give anybody direct access to, say, my home address in the NT's records. They'd need my NT password as well. 

When did I 'share' my membership number? It must have been in a blog post. I did a search of past posts and found only two which discussed my NT membership card. One was The National Trust tells me that I will die at age 74, published on 4th February 2017; and QR code woes! published on 8th May 2018. The latter was written nearly eight years ago. It's most unlikely to be found and read by accident in 2026. 'a5467845' came across it in a deliberate search, or so they say. Two things here: first, if I committed an online offence, it's an old offence. Second, why didn't this person just take it for granted that in the space of eight years several people might already have pointed out to me the error of my ways? (Incidentally, this was the first time anyone had) 

I decided not to write back and vent my indignation. Let it ride.

Then, curious now, I read this email again. It was an odd message. No 'Dear Lucy' or other salutation. Nor was it written in normal English. Why no 'a' before 'Google search'? Why the unnecessary 'to be used' after 'anyone'? As if somebody had constructed the message by stringing together various phrases, but neglected to edit the result for redundant or nonsensical words. 

Did a human being write the thing? And if it was some bot, what was the purpose of the message? To prompt me into responding? With what outcome?  

Then I looked up Proton Mail. This turned out to be (in their words) 'Secure email that protects your privacy' and 'an encrypted email service based in Switzerland' - therefore not subject to English law or any kind of control. And, no doubt, an email account with Proton Mail would be as secret and hard to trace as a Swiss bank account. 

My gut feeling was that anyone needing to hide behind an encrypted email service was a person best avoided. So I've reported this as spam, and have blocked the sender.

A new ring from Alison Moore

Almost the first thing I did once installed at the caravan site at Stromness on Orkney on 6 May last year was to wander into town that same evening, with the Leica X Vario camera that I've just sold, and my phone. Stromness is a gem of a place, basically one long narrow street full of old-fashioned-looking stone houses and shops. It looks pedestrianised but isn't, as you can drive down it in both directions. In the evening light of last May it was a delight to see; and both the Leica camera and Samsung phone were able to do it justice, even as darkness gradually fell: it was pictures by lamplight only by the time I reached the harbour.

On my way in, near the centre of that long street, I came across Alison Moore's Stromness shop. 

She is one of a number of ladies who design and make jewellery that is specifically inspired by Orkney - what you find in the sea, or on the land, and in the historic traditions of the place, from Norse times onwards. I first came across her in 2022, when on a short one-night visit. At that time her workshop and HQ was in a village called Dounby. More recently she has shifted her HQ to a former small hotel in Stromness, now converted, the rooms upstairs proving ideal as workshops for her employees and co-workers. With the cruise ship trade in mind, there is also a shop in the main street of Kirkwall, Orkney's capital. But the actual work is done at Stromness, behind the scenes. And having seen both shops, I prefer the Stromness one: it feels more relaxed, more informal; you can come inside and just take your time. 

Alison has strong competition, of course, from several other jewellery-makers, notably Sheila Fleet over at Tankerness, on the other side of the Orkney Mainland, which I also visited. Sheila has not only a big showroom in a converted church, but an adjoining restaurant. Both women offer things other than jewellery, such as home furnishings, but still using their own particular designs that are drawn from flora, fauna and special landscapes of Orkney. I think Sheila's business must the larger, because later on in my holiday, when visiting St Andrews in Fife, I came across a Sheila Fleet shop. Tapping into the tourist trade again, I'm guessing; although St Andrews is a well-off little town full of residents with cash to spare, besides being famous for its University, and also for being the Home of Golf. 

Alison Moore's Dounby shop provided me with Starfishie, the little silver starfish pendant that I have worn every day since purchase. Starfishie is one of a number of designs inspired by Alison's diving forays around the Orkney coast. Here's Starfishie in the caravan, on location, in my hands, and around my neck:

But now I've bought a ring as well. The morning after my atmospheric evening stroll into Stromness town, I drove Sophie there (as I was going onwards to Kirkwall). These shots, beginning with a morning view of Stromness, will show how narrow that main street can be!  Incidentally, there's a much wider back road that I used to tow the caravan on, from the ferry terminal in the harbour to the site at the Point of Ness.  

I was lucky to find a free parking space. The gods were with me. Alison Moore's shop wasn't far off. That morning a very pleasant young lady called Sarah was on the counter. Note the diving photos behind her.

It wasn't as large a space as in Kirkwall, but there was plenty to look at. 

It was still possible to buy a little starfish.

But I was focused on buying a silver ring, as a souvenir of my second visit to Orkney, this time not just overnight but for a whole week. 

I considered buying a ring with a stone in it. They were very nice.

But the new ring would be going on my right hand, and could expect plenty of battering and hard wear. So something simple, resilient, yet distinctive was called for. I soon homed in on this hammered silver ring. The hammering created multiple facets that reflected light brilliantly, and it wouldn't matter at all if usage dented it further. Nor would the weight of a stone and its setting make it revolve around my finger. Even if it spun around of its own accord, it would look the same whatever position it settled into for the time being. So practical.

Sarah said that couples getting married sometimes asked for 'his' and 'her' versions, as it wasn't overwhelmingly girly. I rather disagree: it's definitely a feminine ring. Anyway it appealed to me, and I decided to buy one if she had my size in stock, although there was time enough in the days ahead to get one specially made if necessary. But again, I was in luck. Soon I was £110 lighter, and sporting my new ring on my right hand in the bright sunlight. It was very comfortable, and glinted beautifully. One of the guys camping at the site, Paul, was enjoying his morning coffee in the street and gave me a big hello. Here he is. I showed him my new purchase.

He was going to move on the the farthest-flung island, North Ronaldsay. That's the one where the super-hardy sheep are confined to the shore and eat seaweed, which gives their meat a special flavour. I hope he enjoyed his time there.     

Later on, back at the caravan, I examined my new ring closely.

Hmm - hallmarked 'Z' for the year. That means 2024. 

This ring has proved to be a favourite of mine, and, like the two other rings I always wear, I never take it off. Eagle-eyed readers may well have spotted it in the odd blog post photo, but I this is the first time I have announced it as part of my regular regalia.

So I've now got a ring on both ring fingers. I don't know if people read much meaning any longer into the rings one wears, but I'd like my own collection to convey the messages that 'I've been married' (true), that 'I'm also divorced' (true), but 'sorry, I'm not available' (emphatically true). So far it's worked. I encounter friendliness wherever I go, both men and women seeming to enjoy talking with me. But thankfully nobody has unnerved me by expressing too much interest! 

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Dunnet Head

I've been very remiss over posts connected with my epic Scottish holiday in May 2025. I haven't said much about it so far, and seven months have passed since I returned. Let me start to remedy that now, with a post about Dunnet Head, the most northerly point on the Scottish mainland. I was there on 4th May.

It's generally thought that John O'Groats, not far away, is the most northerly point. Not so. Dunnet Head has the honour, and personally I think it's both far more dramatic and not at all touristy. It's for those in the know. 

Here are two location maps. (As with the photos that follow, click on these to enlarge the detail)

  

The best time to visit Dunnet Head is at sunset. The setting sun is often quite a spectacle here, especially when a bank of dark brooding cloud has formed.

What's there? Certainly not the tourist facilities you find at John O'Groats! There's a car park. A few information boards. There's a path down to an observation point, if you wish to view the impressive cliff scenery and various seabirds wheeling and spinning the way seabirds do. (Bird-watching is a thing all along the northern coast of Scotland) There's a fine lighthouse, now automated, with former lighthouse-keeper accommodation attached and further buildings nearby. There are well-preserved wartime buildings for the observation people who kept an eye on the Pentland Firth during both world wars. There's an Ordnance Survey triangulation pillar on a high point, with an extraordinary 360 degree view, although the view that takes the eye most is the one to the north, where Orkney looms, calling you with a siren voice. And you can just make out the Old Man of Hoy, the famous sea stack off the west side of Orkney's hilliest island, peeping over rising ground.  

The approach is along the B855 from Dunnet village, a narrow and in places twisty road that skirts some attractive little lochs. On the evening of my visit, these looked golden in the setting sun.

The road gradually climbs, with a couple of steep bits, then you see the lighthouse and the car park up ahead.

Some people come here just enjoy the view from the car park, and do no more. On a previous visit in April 2019, I saw a four adults eating a sophisticated cooked meal in their motorhome (with wine and everything) as the sun went down, all warm and snug, as it was cold and breezy outside. In May 2025, there was much the same kind of sunset to enjoy, with a similar cold breeze included.

The first thing I did was get some good shots of the lighthouse and the view north to Hoy.

A big foghorn!

I followed the path that led downhill to the cliff edge, to the viewing spot. 

Sandstone can form very precipitous cliffs! There were information boards around to tell you about seabirds, the lighthouse, and what might be found up the hill from the lighthouse.

I duly set off uphill towards a cluster of wartime buildings. I wondered why they were scattered, and not in a tight group. Perhaps some had contained ammunition, or sensitive radar equipment. One larger building might have been a canteen. They all seemed cold and cheerless in their dereliction, very much exposed to the gales screaming in from the Atlantic. Duty here in winter must have been very trying to the men (and possibly women) watching for enemy ships, submarines and aircraft. Some of these buildings now served as lock-up garages and storehouses for the residents in the former coastguard cottages. Some could be entered, and of course I had a look. The interiors were draughty and seemingly not designed with any comfort in mind. And yet there would have been tables, chairs, and a stove, with something on the concrete floor, and maybe a bunk or two if manned full-time. Hard to imagine any of that now.  

These must have been for storage, given the small windows.

I think this building might have been the canteen. If so, a place to fight off the cold and have a hot meal or drink. Perhaps it was brightly painted inside too. Or perhaps not.

How forlorn. 

I walked across to the OS triangulation pillar. Very much like every other. I always wonder how they were transported to the often very-hard-to-reach-by-road positions you find them at, before the days of helicopters.

At the top of the hill were these ventilation structures. What lay beneath? A reservoir? A bunker complex? 

The actual sunset was getting close. Time to hurry back to the lighthouse for some final shots. The track took me past those former coastguard cottages, apparently occupied. But by whom? They didn't seem smart enough to be holiday homes, and yet this was a very out-of-the-way and inconvenient spot to use one as a permanent home. Unless the view was everything.

Hot tubs in the open air, Dunnet Head style?

I was just in time to see the dregs of the sunset. Once the sun disappeared behind that bank of cloud on the horizon, darkness descended rapidly. I can't remember whether overnight parking was allowed - although who was there to police it? - but there was one campervan that might have intended to stay on. They must have been well buffeted by the wind. I was pitched down at Dunnet Bay, and probably slept better.

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