First off, I owe anyone reading this an apology. It’s been a stretch since my last post. Truth is, I’ve been properly unwell. Somewhere between the endless wind and damp stone, I caught something. It knocked me flat. It was a flu or some cousin of it. Fever. Chills. A head that felt packed with wet rope. And layered on top of it all, a migraine sharp enough to split a compass needle.

I always knew keeping this place wasn’t just about the solitude and the sea. There is a responsibility here. The light doesn’t get sick days. There is no one waiting in the wings to step in if I can’t drag myself out of bed. That is the reality of living out on this rock.

The morning it hit hardest, I woke up drenched in sweat. The bedding was tangled like I’d fought off a storm in my sleep. Every inch of my skin ached. My eyes could barely handle the pale morning light leaking around the curtains. But the logbook was waiting. The lamp had to be checked. The weather still needed recording. So I did what keepers have always done. I sat up slowly, one foot at a time, and pushed through.

The stairs up to the lantern room felt like a mountain that day. Every step echoed through the tower like a drumbeat behind my eyes. But I made it. I checked the mechanism. The lens was clean. The rotation steady. The light was cutting through the sea haze just as it should. That gave me a little comfort.

I kept my meals simple. If you can call spooning lukewarm soup from a pan with your eyes closed a meal. Mostly I just drank water and kept a kettle going. I wasn’t really hungry. I just wanted the migraine to let go.

Out here, sickness doesn’t mean sirens or thermometers. It means adjusting your pace. It means writing shorter entries in the log. It means gripping the handrail tighter when you climb. You don’t let the place fall apart. You don’t stop shining the light. But you do feel every second more than usual.

I didn’t leave the tower for three full days. The sea was out there, whispering its usual nonsense. I couldn’t face it. I didn’t even open the weather hatch. The barometer stayed where it was and I guessed more than I recorded. Maybe that is breaking the rules. Maybe it is just being human.

Only today have I felt well enough to sit here and write properly again. The migraine’s finally loosened its grip. The flu has faded into that floaty weakness that tells you you’re almost out of the woods. I’ll clean up tomorrow. Today I needed to just tell someone what it was like.

Final Thoughts from the Rock:

Being ill out here reminds you how fragile this whole setup really is. There is no backup. No sick days. Just you, the tower and the routines that don’t wait. It’s humbling and strange. Like arguing with the wind. But if anything it’s made me respect the place even more. The lighthouse doesn’t care if you’re well or not. It just needs tending. And I’m still here to tend it.