none

“Katie can come back and help repopulate the island.” Going on a retreat was not quite what I had expected.   I had gone to Lindisfarne, a small tidal island off the northern Northumbrian coast, somewhere in the North Sea. It was nicknamed Holy Island as a result of the establishment of a monastery to convert the ‘wicked and barbarous’ people of Northumbria. The island itself was lovely, the usual influx of visitors each day, armed with walking boots, brightly coloured coats and ready energy, prepared to scale the castle walls and inhale the monastic air, which must surely result in a holy and peace-filled constitution. The variety of people, some face hardened in determination to