If there’s one thing to nag about the flat* it is that the view could be nicer, as the scenery is beautiful, but blocked by houses here and there. Then again it’s all so small that within a 2min walk to the end of the road you’re at the edge of a large field, with the Moray firth behind it.
The place is small in the sense that we know our neighbours, we now most of the shopkeepers, several busdrivers and the lollipop-lady down at Keppoch Road.
Having grown up and lived in a small place for most of my teens, I guess I am socially fit to function here. Culloden is a lot bigger than the nest with around 300 souls that I hatched in, but compared to where I have spent the last 15 years this place feels cosy and allows a feeling of belonging.
I remember my dad visiting me when I was living in Vienna (he did so every year for alsmost 10 years, looking back I give him much credit for doing so**) and us taking the subway together. He entered and approached somebody sitting alsone in a compartment for four saying “Good day! Do you mind if I take that seat next to you?”, as he would, and they just looked at him in bewilderment, thinking and signalling “Stop bothering me! What kind of freak are you anyway? “, as they would. For him going to a place like that would be strenuous and maybe puzzling and he’d be happy to be back home after a few days.
** even though, for example, when I had this tiny one-room appartment, his habit of getting up around five, smoking and having breakfast while watching TV and being pretty much “yeah whatever” about me insisting to carry on sleeping could be a bit annoying.