How much of our lives do we spend waiting?

Waiting on a bus, a phone call, our turn at the front of the coffee queue. Counting down hours, minutes, seconds, until something happens

And I’m writing this while I’m waiting for my kettle to boil.

Out here on Rum, we run on hydroelectricity, the supply tumbling down the hills that I can see from my living room window. But as with anything, there’s a limit, and for us, that comes in the form of a 5kW cap on our household electricals, else we risk tripping the island’s power supply. And it means no electric kettles.

My own kettle is a scuffed stainless steel, slightly spattered with tomato sauce from this evening’s bolognese. It sits permanently upon our gas hob, and is in constant use; on tonight’s menu, it’s a cup of tea for me (milk and one sugar, please), and a bedtime bottle for my now ten-month-old son.

I remember when I first moved to the Isle of Rum, the kettle was one of my first lessons in remote living. Boiled water had never taken longer than a few minutes to come by before, whether it be from my own kettle or from the bakery below my flat - now, I’ll be lucky if........

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