Snatched from the Burning

May 27, 2016

How best to say goodbye to a small literary magazine which has run its natural course? I have been running the Fankle for five years now and it was more or less washing its face – which is about all you can ask of a small-scale literary pamphlet to be honest – until my printing costs doubled and I decided it was time to pull the plug.

I could have just quietly folded it up (appropriately enough if you know how it is made), but I decided its farewell should be marked in more dramatic fashion so we gathered together as many of our past contributors as could make it, to drink wine, read out some of our greatest hits, and then it seemed to make sense to give it a final, Viking-style sendoff by fashioning one into a boat, setting fire to it, and then sending it off flaming across the nearest loch.

When I dreamt this idea up, I hadn’t quite factored in the fact that it would still be broad daylight at 7 in the evening, which made it less dramatic a sight than I had hoped. Nor had I quite taken into account the onshore breeze – or the fact that when a party of people comes down to the edge of the water in an urban location, all of the local swans make a beeline for what they hope will be some food. It’s quite difficult to shoo a swan, it turns out, let alone a dozen of them. Indeed, even setting fire to a small literary pamphlet and floating it in their general direction doesn’t do much more than bemuse them. It takes a lot to faze an urban swan.

swan audience

Come to think of it, this isn’t a bad turnout for a poetry reading…

But it takes even more to faze a party of poets – who weren’t even all that drunk as they were driving so I had had to do my best with the wine – so we said farewell to it anyway (and then fished the remains out of the loch and disposed of them properly; we’re not litter louts). And perhaps after all, adding a touch of farce and an audience of swans to the proceedings wasn’t the worst way to see something off that has always run on a wing and a prayer.


Twelve* Angry Men**

April 26, 2016

An important-looking letter arrives

I know that jury service is supposed to be a bit of an imposition – but I’m actually looking forward to it in a way. I’m trying to put my finger exactly on why this should be. Partly it’s because I’m nosy – part and parcel of being a writer – and it seems like it would be really interesting. Partly it’s because I’ll be able to claim a massive 9.8p a mile for cycling to Bigtown’s Sheriff Courts for a week (what’s the betting they won’t let me sit on any dangerous driving cases?). But mainly, after the last few weeks I’ve had it’s because the thought of spending a week largely hanging around with nothing to do seems rather appealing …

* Except it would appear it’s 15 in Scotland

** and not all men either. Or, necessarily, angry.


Secret Squirrel

March 29, 2016

So, one of the reasons why I’ve been so busy recently has finally gone live – an interactive bit on the We Walk We Cycle We Vote website where (for viewers in Scotland) you can enter your postcode or constituency and find out where your candidates stand on active travel, and then tell them what you think about it. The other half did the clever bit, that actually makes it work* while I did what should have been the easy bit of gathering information on all the candidates standing for election and their contact details and getting them into a database.

Oddly enough, this proved quite tricky. You’d think, if you were running for election, that fairly high up on your agenda would be simple things like announcing you were running for election, and providing people with the means to contact you. And yet, a few weeks ago hardly any of the party websites had lists of candidates and those that did disdained to provide any way of contacting them beyond those annoying web forms that don’t give you any real sense of confidence that the email it supposedly generates will go anywhere but straight in the bin. Even now, with nominations closing on Friday, there are still gaps – some some parties haven’t included all their list candidates, some still treat their candidates’ email addresses like state secrets, some provide email addresses half if which ended up bouncing (naming no names, but it was the Lib Dems), and almost all of them make sure you have to click on each candidate individually to find out if there’s an email address for them at all – which is all good fun when your broadband is a rural as ours. Add in Gmail deciding this afternoon that I was a spammer because I was sending out too many emails – to be fair, it had a point – and as you can probably tell it’s been a frustrating exercise.

However, I have persevered, and with a mixture of googling and rummaging around in various Facebook ‘about’ pages, and just plain guessing (if a candidate called Firstname.Surname ever runs for office they’ll be a shoo-in) – I have managed to contact about three-fifths of the people who allegedly want to represent us in the Scottish Parliament. The rest clearly feel that not getting inundated with adverts for penis enlargements – or, indeed, requests for their policy positions on active travel – is more important than being reachable by their electorate.

Now comes the really hard part – which is deciphering the replies that have come in from the more practised candidates and trying to determine if they’re actually promising something or just writing something which semantically looks like a promise but has a way of wriggling out of your grasp like a double jointed eel when you try and pin it down. But that part, I’ll leave up to the voters to decide. If you want to play along go here and put in your postcode and see what comes up for your constituency. Bonus points to the first person who extracts an actual measurable promise out of a politician …

* And yes, I did use to be a computer programmer who managed web-based database developments in a previous life, but I have thoroughly de-skilled myself in the intervening years. Possibly the ‘managing’ bit was part of that process…


Pass the Spanner

January 13, 2016

It’s beginning to dawn on me (I’m slow that way) that life in one’s forties consists largely of tedious maintenance tasks if your body is not going to gradually fall apart or, more likely, seize up. If I added up all of the things which ‘just take five minutes’ which various health-related professionals have advised me to do on a daily or (worse) twice daily basis, I’d never actually leave the house, except to take my recommended 30 minutes of exercise. It all seems perfectly reasonable as the optician explains why I should be regularly gently steaming my eyelids to keep the glands open, the yoga teacher recommends 10 minutes of poses to start the day, the dentist wants me to add using the poky wee brush between my teeth on top of the statutory 2 minutes regular brushing* – but usually after a week or so, I revert to my normal low-maintenance routine, promising myself I’ll make up for it when I have time.

Still, it’s the time of year for turning over a new leaf and while my half-hearted attempts to at least do a few yoga stretches every day have fallen by the wayside, I could at least return to regularly attending yoga once a week, and hope that would be a start. Sure, I was very busy but I’m always very busy and what could be more important and productive than an hour or so of mindful exercise followed by a nice 20 minute nap.** So yesterday morning – running rather late because I had been trying to get some of the backlog of work done, I threw my kit together and sprinted off on the bike, conscious of the fact that I needed to get there early because the yoga class has moved to a new smaller studio and I wanted to beat all the other resolutioners …

Unfortunately, I take a similarly neglectful approach to maintaining my bike – I always mean to regularly wipe off and oil the chain, clean it occasionally, tighten those various nuts, investigate that odd new noise coming from the back wheel – and then get home and forget all about it in my haste to get inside and out of the weather. Which is why I got halfway up the road before I remembered that, oh yes, I was going to look at why that brake was rubbing. And tighten up my front light before it detached itself and launched a suicide mission into my wheel.

In the end, I decided that I would acheive more in the way of zen calmness and inner peace if I turned around and actually sorted out the front light and the back brake and then got some work done, than if I pressed on, especially if it turned out that Yoga Bunny had nicked the last remaining spot

But I’m definitely, definitely, making it to yoga next week. And I will certainly be keeping on top of the bike maintenance. And taking the time to steam my eyes. And running more often. And moisturising regularly, and eating my five a day…

Ah sod it. Perhaps I should just resolve to keep riding my bike because I’m going to do that anyway.

* actually I do that one because the dentist is the only one who backs up his requests with a rather robust approach to pain relief…

** I also regularly resolve to stay awake through the breathing and relaxation but the minute I close my eyes and start visualising whatever mad thing it is we’re supposed to be visualising, that’s it, I’m gone. I wake enormously refreshed though.


Merry Christmas

December 25, 2015

May your day be merry and bright …

white trees blue sky

… even if your Christmas isn’t white


Walking with a Purpose

December 24, 2015

If you think cycling to the shops is doing it wrong around here, walking to buy something is even more outlandish (unless you’re at the mall, of course). Much as I like going for a walk, I also like walking to get somewhere, especially if that somewhere has some sort of a reward attached. Here you can just about walk to the nearest garage, if you were really desperate for some sort of corn-based cheese-food-flavoured snack products, but otherwise if you wanted to get your treats on foot, we thought we were out of luck. But then we learned that the best donuts in town were actually sold at the nearby Chinese restaurant, which is just over the road:

Although by ‘over the road’ we mean ‘Highway 50’ …

donut shop

here be donuts

Still, when the other half jokingly suggested that if I was going to go for a walk I should pick up some donuts while I was at it, I decided to take him at his word. I did take the slightly more scenic route though – up via the University, past the golf course, through the tumbleweed on the sidewalk …

tumbleweed

(that’s slightly unfair – the road in question is a dead end so the tumbleweed has piled up everywhere, not just on the pavements. But you’ve got to love how even a dead end has about 3 lanes in each direction)

dead end road

Anyway, 50 minutes later (I took the more direct route back) I reckoned that the box had it right.

you deserve a donut

And then we went for a proper walk so we could deserve a couple more

Nature Centre, Pueblo


Old Fashioned Courtesy

December 19, 2015

vintage pickup

I must admit – and I’m not complaining in any way shape or form – that the extremely courteous attitude of drivers around here to pedstrians is beginning to freak us out. There you are, ambling through a car park to a shop, minding your own business, when you realise that the car which has randomly come to a halt several yards in front of you is not just sitting there for the fun of it – its driver has anticipated the fact that you were going to be crossing their path and is now waiting with no sign of impatience whatsoever for us to mosey along and get past it so they can be on their way. Still, given I’m still habitually looking the wrong way when attempting to cross the road, and the roads are very very wide, it’s probably no bad thing. It’s still weird though*

more blue skies

This picture doesn’t illustrate anything particularly to do with the text. It’s just there to make you jealous

Twitter suggested it might be something to do with the gun laws (the other half thinks it’s more to do with the recreational marijuana laws – and you have to enjoy the fact that the local police are currently investigating a break in at a cannabis growing facility …). I’m not so sure about that, but I was pleased to stumble upon the secret motherlode of Trousers That Fit, in Big R (Carhartt relaxed fit heavy duty work khakis, if you’re interested), a store whose customer demographic must surely contain a large proportion of women who come armed with a gun. Given that Hoggs of Fife have recently been – worryingly – talking about their ‘new fashion cut’ for their ladies’ moleskin trousers, I shall have to stock up before we leave…

me and my shadow

* and yes, I know it’s the law, but so is giving way to pedestrians at zebra crossings in the UK and that never happens unless you make it happen. It makes me feel even sorrier for any Americans who visit Britain than I do when I contemplate the difference between what they consider a ham sandwich to be and what passes for a ham sandwich in the UK. Sorry, guys. We have other fine qualities, honest …