May 30, 2009
An observer from outer space, had he, she or it happened to glance down in the direction of Scotland would have noticed something unusual this weekend. Well, two unusual things – the first being Scotland itself instead of the normal bank of thick cloud that conceals it from curious extra-terrestrial observers. The second would have been a million glaring spots of whiteness rapidly turning pink as the entire nation stripped off for the first really sunny day of the year. This is the second stage of the Scottish tan and is also visible from space. The third stage – rumoured, but never actually seen – is when people actually go brown.
I’m still on stage two. Turns out you can’t make up for nine months of vitamin D deficit in one day without a little collateral damage…
May 29, 2009
Having visitors means doing a bit of touristy stuff – for some reason, people aren’t all that keen on flying across the Atlantic just to sit around indoors moaning about the weather, however much they insist they want to see the ‘real Scotland’. So for me, that meant only one thing:
Not to be ridden
The bicycle museum.
Actually, it was pretty small, just a couple of rooms stuffed full of bicycles (I know, I know, what do I mean ‘just’)
What interested me was how quickly the bicycle went from rather unpromising beginnings to the familiar thing we know and love today. And also how, from similarly unpromising beginnings, the UK’s beloved cycling culture even more quickly took recognisable form. For the museum was celebrating the local son, Kirkpatrick Macmillan who invented the pedal cycle and then forgot to patent it. He celebrated by cycling to Glasgow where he was promptly arrested and fined five shillings, although in fairness to the authorities he was riding on the pavement at the time. No doubt he would have run a red light too, if anyone had got round to inventing them in 1842.
And for those for whom bicycles were not their thing, there was also some sort of a castle attached.
May 28, 2009
I have always felt the cold. I grew up mainly in hot countries and have always preferred to be too hot than too cold. On a warm sunny beach in the South of England I can go blue with the cold if I attempt to do anything so foolish as swim. I may be the last known sufferer of chilblains in the developed world. There’s a reason why I have been clucking over the Rayburn like an anxious hen with a poorly chick: it’s the only thing that got me through the winter.
But it seems that, over the last year, something has shifted. I appear to have actually acclimatised to my native climate. Five months of frozen misery have realigned my temperature settings to the point where I can – sort of – stand the cold. I thought this might have happened, but I wasn’t sure until we had visitors. Suddenly, they’re the ones sitting around in their fleeces and needing the heating on, while I’m in a t-shirt and cardigan (let’s not go mad here) feeling perfectly fine. Any more of this and I will turn in to one of Those People – you know, the ones who get onto trains and fling windows open in February, and who moan about it being too hot in the summer if the sun comes out for more than three days in a row. Please feel free to shoot me if I do.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I have gone entirely native yet. The locals this week have all stripped down to the skin and are busy working on their Scottish tans*. That’s still a clout or three too far for me just yet.
*that pale white glow that’s visible from space
May 24, 2009
… that there’s no point trying to take a photograph of a bluebell wood, because even the best result is never any more than a travesty.
This was the best least laughable
Things have been a bit lacklustre on this blog of late (yes, yes, I know, how can you tell?). The truth is that while I love spring, especially the whole not-being-winter part, it also makes me anxious. There’s just so much going on – everything growing so fast that you can hear it, birds arriving and singing and nesting all over the place, the hedgerow suddenly a mass of spring flowers and loveliness, and all the time the terrible feeling that it will be gone before we’ve even noticed it so hurry, hurry, hurry and go out and enjoy it. And yet, there have also been deadlines to meet, sick husbands to look after, visitors to prepare for, meals to cook and clothes to wash and dishes to do and it’s felt like, whatever I’m doing, it’s the wrong thing and besides it’s too late anyway.
So this weekend, I have been taking a bit of time just to appreciate it all. And if blogging is a little slow in the next few days it will be because we’ve got some visitors who will be helping to remind us just what a lovely place it is we live in.
When it’s not raining, that is.
May 22, 2009
May is Out
And it’s actually warm too. But I’ll be keeping the thermals handy all the same … just in case.
May 21, 2009
No, not mine, (You’ve already bought mine, right?) but one from Salt Publishing. They’re a fantastic little independent press – and nothing to do with me – who are struggling in the current climate. They concentrate on short stories and poetry and have a bright future – but only if they can survive the gloomy present.
Go on, you know you want to. After all, you’ve already bailed out all of those banks and those car companies with your taxes – and did you get anything in return? This way, you’ll also get a book. And that’s the sort of bail out I can recommend…
May 20, 2009
I was chatting with someone the other day about the joy of compost (I know, I know) and specifically the smug happiness you get when turning all your kitchen waste into something useful instead of landfill.
‘I’m not really all that into gardening,’ he said. ‘But I really do like putting stuff into the compost. In fact, I’ve started choosing my food on the basis of how much compostable waste it’s going to generate …’