On the telly

It's been a busy old week in the brave new world of stem cell research. Our researchers published a paper, reporting that they had, for the first time, made pure brain stem cells. We thought that was quite cool, a major advance, so we wrote a press release about it.

Often, you can write a press release about a science story and nobody notices. But this week they did - maybe because we had pretty pictures in the press release too.

The BBC made a story of it. And then so did just about everyone else. The news making the news.

Enough about work, though. Back on the Fringe, Cracks in the Garden was a wee bit uncomfortable - an audience of only 10 is seldom anything but. Kevin MacNeil was worth getting up early-ish for on Sunday morning - I'd read his new book, The Stornoway Way, cover to cover the night before. It's always nice to hear the voice of a Leodhasach (love that lilt).

Kiwis in the house

Listening to: The Black Seeds

Over and over, on CD, bought out of a battered kiwi suitcase at the Black Seeds gig in Edinburgh last week. Also Fat Freddy's Drop, bought from same suitcase. The sun's been shining, and Wellington dub is good sunshine music.

So, the gig. Never knew there were quite so many kiwis in Edinburgh. I think I was the most Scottish person in the crowd. How could I tell? Well, apart from the sea of hands in the air when the Black Seeds played a track for "all the kiwis in the house", they also have a look about them (we have a look about us?). A. describes it as "an extra layer of grunge". Guys with shaggy hair (here, they're more coiffed than the girls, a la Becks), jandals, grubby Ts. Girls dressed down, without fake tan.

We've had kiwis in oor hoose too. Actually, a Wellingtonian, currently resident in London, and his girl from Denver - Simon and the lovely Lesley. Their visit was nicely timed to coincide with Fringe previews, so we took in a couple of shows at pleasantly low prices. Definite highlight was Jump - one of those random picks which sounded intriguing in the programme, and turned out to be fantastic. A piece of Korean physical theatre, piled high in the air with comic, acrobatic and kung-fu capers. We laughed a lot at the sheer silliness of it, and marvelled at the gymnastics on show.

The whole Fringe seemed to be running late on Friday - not so good when you're going to a show at 11.59pm. More like 1 am by the time things kicked off. This was Best of the Fest - a pot luck selection of stand up. Apart from the dire, painful Fiona O'Loughlin (although a late and well lubricated Friday night Edinburgh audience, kept waiting for an hour, are not the easiest to please), there were laughs aplently.

Yesterday was rugby day. Enough said about that.

Buggy

I'd always thought of cool-climate Scotland as a pest-free zone. When I leave toast crumbs and a sticky knife on the kitchen bench they are still there when I get home from work...no voracious ants to devour them. And on the occasional balmy night, an open window isn't an open invitation to mozzies and other flying biting things.

Nothing like a camping trip to dispel a few myths.

Despite A's entrenched belief that it simply wasn't possible, never mind sensible, to go camping in Scotland, the new tent had to be tested. A-camping we must go.

Friday night, after work, we packed up the car with assorted essentials - espresso pot (but no stove to put it on) food, wine, tent, the ubiquitous fold-up chairs (less than a fiver at Tesco)...the baby boot of our C2 was fuller than it's ever been.

We headed through Glasgow and up the west side of Loch Lomond to Inverarnan. Our campsite was on a farm on the West Highland Way, surrounded by trees and hills, very pretty. No caravans (unusual in Scotland, where they're almost as ubiquitous as those cheap folding chairs), but lots of people and lots of tents. Ours was up in minutes (it seems to be foolproof, so far), the barbie lit, wine uncorked and stomachs rumbling. Our sausages browned, sunlight faded, the breeze dropped, and just as we were about to tuck in, the midges descended. And tucked into us.

Actually, the biting's not so much of a problem. It's more the density of the swarm - they get in your ears, your nose, your food if you're trying to eat...not very pleasant. Fortunately the Drovers Inn was within walking distance for a wee dram and some local colour.

Later that evening...

There's nothing worse than listening to drunken, unimaginative chat up lines, like "what's your favourite sport, " when you'd rather be sleeping. Delivered in a booming Glasgow accent that sounds like it's in the next sleeping bag instead of the next tent. The joys of camping. We resolved to head further afield in the morning.

Imagine our horror when, on the road, the same booming voice was only four cars behind. It even stopped at the Green Welly Shop when we did. Oh no.

Fortunately we managed to lose it somewhere in Glencoe, which was looking glorious in the sunshine, and somewhat different to our last visit.

We took the Corran ferry over Loch Linnhe towards Resipole Farm on the Ardnamurchan Peninsula. Lochside camping, an on-site restaurant and art gallery, peace and quiet. A didn't enjoy the single-track road driving, but I'm sure it keeps the crowds at bay.

Wonderful walks to deserted beaches (just watch out for those clegs - yep, more biting insects), ruined castles, and the weekend was gone too fast. We forgot the camera, so no pics. I discovered the only souvenir on Monday night. Alive, and still attached to my leg. A tick. Lovely.

(Don't worry, it's since been safely disposed of. Not my idea of a pet.)

Nice things

Listening to: The Magic Numbers (and grinning, how could you not be?)

I had one of those milestone birthdays that end in zero this weekend. No big bash, but low-key delights aplenty...a welcome situation, since this was my first weekend at home in the last 5.

The day started with the postman's doorbell ringing (bills, and junk mail, of course). Hot on his heels were mum, dad and Fayth (my 3 yr old niece) , with various songs down the phone (including happy birthday and what A has dubbed "the kiwi vowel song"). I opened their presents while talking to them - almost like being there.

Quirkiest present is definitely the baby pink polarfleece beanie embroidered with "Auntie Katie". Fayth chose it herself, and the colouring-in poster card that went with it.

A. finally succumbed to my pestering, and bought me a tent for my birthday. It's super-light (less than 3kg), roomy enough for our airbed (for comfort camping), and even has skylights for looking at the stars. I pitched it in the livingroom yesterday - successfully banishing any thoughts of aging by playing camping!

We had a picnic at Roslyn Glen, making the most of this most unScottish summer, joined the hoardes at Roslin Chapel (wondering if we are the only people in the world yet to read the Da Vinci Code), and a very grown up dinner at the Stockbridge Restaurant (as an indicator of grown-upness, my heels got an outing, for only the 3rd time this year!). We dined magnificently on halibut, asparagus, sorbet, parma ham and other summery colourful treats, washed down with some very tasty kiwi wine (Waipara Hills sav, I think).

Here are some pics of Hydra, in Greece. I was there last weekend, on a work research trip. Seriously.

It's an island 1.5 hrs from Athens, with no cars (donkeys and boats and feet are how you get around), 365 churches, pebbly beaches, turquoise water, tasty food, great sunsets and a quirky host of residents and visitors, all trying to find something, or escape something, or both. We met a French-Canadian poet looking for Leonard Cohen (who used to live here). A globetrotting restaurateur. A lady artist. A storytelling sailor. And lots of others.



We saw dolphins too, which as my first non- themepark encounter with these graceful, playful and intelligent creatures was super-exciting.

Live8 in Scotland

Is is just me, or was James Brown an odd choice to wrap last night's Live8 gig at Murrayfield. Sure, he's the "godfather of soul" and a living legend, but his dancing girls and the over-produced nature of his set was in stark contrast to the low-fuss, lo-fi performances of the rest of the evening that had so electrified the crowd. He played to rather than with the crowd.

I didn't manage to get tickets to the gig, despite furious texting, so just watched on telly. Murrayfield is only a couple of miles down the road, but it didn't rain once here.

the bathroom chronicles

For the first time all week, I'm properly clean.

We have been without a shower since Monday, but today we have a white shiny new bath. For those of you who have seen our bathroom, this is quite an achievement (the room is not much bigger than a cupboard).

Tomorrow we get tiles, Friday grout, and Saturday we get to paint and A gets to drill holes in the new ceiling and hope hope hope that his wiring is in the right place! On Monday, it didn't all sound so easy, when the plumber arrived with drawings that were 20cm out.

If you're into Sudoku (people are mad about it here in the UK), my friend Alastair has built a nifty website. He's very clever.

spring food

I've eaten quite well this week...perhaps inspired by the delicacies on my Copenhagen brunch plate. And the almost summery weather, bringing raspberries and asparagus and other things of the season.

This morning, not quite as bright and early as I planned, but bright and early enough, we went to the Farmers' Market. It's on every week now, instead of twice a month - meaning that you can wake up and decide to go, instead of waking up and trying to figure out whether it will be on before going (I have miscalculated in the past and trekked downtown thinking about yummy things, only to discover an empty carpark where laden stalls should be). This week's delights included perfectly ripe, home-grown strawberries (sweeter than any I've eaten in a long time); still-warm pretzels - shiny, salty, chewy and tasty; home-made ginger marmalade; wild venison pies; blackface lamb and baby beets for a spring sunday roast; organic veges and dry-cured bacon. Our fridge is looking good!

We had perfectly ripe figs earlier in the week - with peppery rocket and topped with Dunsyre Blue from Mr Mellis. And a melon, pink grapefruit and lychee fruit salad another day. Sounds odd, but tasted and looked fabulous.

abject terror on the Demon

Copenhagen highlights

Tempted by the prospect of pastries and design from the home of such delights, we snapped up some cheap flights and booked a B and B (without the second B, as is apparently the norm in Denmark) for a weekend in Copenhagen.

Much shopping, munching and mooching made for a nice couple of days. The sun even shone a wee bit, as Andrew demostrates here in Nyhavn. That was just before he terrorised motorists, cyclists and pedestrians alike when he took to the streets on a bright red free bike (the bikes are ubiquitous and indestructible, luckily).



Friday night we screamed our little lungs out on a small but fast and scary rollercoaster (the Demon) in Tivoli, an unDisneyfied funpark straight out of a fairytale. Elvis Costello played there too, another fab Copenhagen freebie, in what became a very dramatic electric storm. Forked lightening, rolling thunder, torrential rain. Great atmosphere, but very wet feet. Which explained the popularity of welly boots - since it's a pair of red Hunters I've set my heart on, I thought I should wait till I got home to Scotland.



More mooching on Saturday, with some tourism activities thrown in for good measure...Rosenborg Slot and the national art gallery - where we saw a man with very long legs.

This gallery was also where I devoured a fantastic brunch plate, comprising:

• greek yoghurt and spiced blackcurrant compote
• shrimp salad and egg (Andrew helped me with that one)
• Lomo and hummus
• smoked salmon and creamed artichoke hearts
• a big hunk of pecorino with black olive tapenade
• fresh fruit (melon, grapefruit)
• croissant with home-made rhubarb and strawberry jam
• home-made breads & butter

I could get into this brunch plate concept, definitely.


Late night modern jazz with an anti-Chirac flavour at the Copenhagen Jazz House. The bass player is actually wearing ninja shoes.


5.30 this morning on the way to the airport. Sleepy...

Daisy, daisy

give me your answer do
why are you carpeting my lawn today
and why so many of you?

OK so that was lame, but the daisies look amazing out on the back green in their thousands. Reminds me of making a daisy chain that went right around our house when we lived up in Lewis.

Have wheels, will travel

We're quite excited and delighted to be drivers once more - a lovely man from Yorkshire delivered this wee cutey a couple of weeks ago (thanks Intelligent Finance, yay company cars).

Since then we've clocked up 500 miles or so - work and back a few times (the poor scooter's feeling neglected), plus a couple of longer trips. Last weekend the sun was shining (just like in the car photo taken the weekend before - it's not all dreich and dreary in Edinburgh) so we headed out to St Abb's Head for a bracing clifftop walk (Scotland does bracing very well). Saw lots of seabirds making kamikaze aerial manoeuvres, and lots of old men with binoculars. A bit further south (almost in England, in fact), we stopped in at Eyemouth for a fish supper at Giacopazzi's, followed by home-made Italian ice-cream. Mmmmm.

On Friday, after work, we headed further afield. As we were driving to an outdoor concert (always a risky proposition in this part of the world), the torrential rain en route was somewhat concerning. But the sun was shining by the time we got to Culzean Castle, for the Burns an a' that Gala Concert. Culzean, by the way, is Cullane, and I also discovered on Friday that Menzies is correctly pronounced something more like "Menghis".


This is a blurry pic of Culzean lit up in pink at the end of the concert. It's about 11pm, and not dark yet...one of the best things about Scotland at this time of year.

The main reason we trekked across to the Ayrshire coast was to see this man:

Lou Reed. He only sang four songs, proclaimed Scotland to be "colder than Finland" and was perhaps a touch grumpy , but it was still very cool to see him, live, and in such a stunning setting.

Other acts included the orchestra of the Scottish Opera, Eddi Reader (singing Burns: my fave was John Anderson My Joe), Phil Cunningham & Duncan Chisholm (very nimble-fingered on the fiddle and accordion) and folk singer Dougie Maclean. His Caledonia made me feel very Scottish and somehow sad. Whether I'm in NZ or in Scotland now, I think I'll always miss the other place. The downside to dual citizenship...sometimes feeling torn.

It's a lockout!

Got home from the pub quiz at the Antiquary last night at 11-ish. 10th out of 16 - a pretty poor performance. A & I suspect we may not be asked back!

So, 11pm, A takes out his keys, and discovers one has developed an unusual curve while in his pocket. Tries to straighten it and *snap*. Broken clean in half. Crap.

We borrow some pliers from a neighbour who's still up, but the haf-key is too short to open the lock. Nobody seems to have the key for the long ladder upstairs. Time to call the locksmith.

Enticed by big ads in the yellow pages promising no call out fees* (beware of the asterisk) we called a few. And discovered that £100 is the going rate for such a service. Per hour. Minimum. Plus of course VAT and materials. Not a buyers market, then.

We waited in our neighbour's flat and watched a rerun of Footballers Wives. There's something comforting about trash TV in moments of crisis. Eventually, anonymous locksmith arrived (later, when things weren't going so well and I asked his name, he refused to tell me).

His initial proclamation that we were in real trouble because the lock on our door was more at home in a jewellers shop and was impossible to open didn't fill me with confidence. Since it was now well past midnight, the volume of his delivery and propensity for swearing wasn't great either. Still, he had a box of tools. There must be something in there that could sort it, right?

Wrong. Said box contained a motley assortment of re-purposed and homemade junk. Not a purpose-built gadget in sight. The torch ran out of batteries about 2 mins into the job (yes, you guessed it, "materials" and therefore chargeable). A noisy half hour later, after much cursing and pulling scarves through the letter box (but magician he wasn't), I remembered that our spare key might be within reach. Off he went to get the fishing rod. Really. A fishing rod. Probably still had bait remnants smeared on it. Didn't work.

Next he had a hissy fit and noisily packed up his "tools". Didn't really want to stand on a ladder in the dark and rain to get in the window. He was a master locksmith. We could call anyone we liked. They wouldn't be able to get in either. Our flat was impenetrable. The only way was to drill out the lock, but that couldn't be done at night in a common stair. Stomp shout.

Suddenly, I was reminded of a TV programme I'd seen called something like "all locksmiths are dodgy", which showed that in 95% of lockouts they drilled out the lock rather than using less invasive procedures, so they could charge you for more materials (at a premium). Suddenly, I was glad of the late hour, and understood his bad humour. No drilling allowed.

Somehow, he changed his mind and decided he would get his ladder out and try the window. Must have been that vision of big fat wads of cash. More noise and harumphing. But once he was up the ladder, he was in within 30 secs. So why didn't he try that first?

So feeling a bit tired this morning, and determined to make some kind of a spare key plan to avoid ever having to experience a master locksmith again.

More on bunny rabbits

Real live ones this time though, with bouncy legs and cottony tails. We saw lots of them this weekend, at the nature/sport themepark that is Center Parcs. Lots of ducks too (check out the photo), and squirrels and big fat woodpigeons. And tadpoles and squashed toads (I thought the "toads crossing" sign was a joke until I saw the squashed ones).

Someone at work today asked me why I had gone to Center Parcs - they had the (quite reasonable) opinion that you only went there if you had children. We did see a lot of children. Hooning around on bikes, poking aforementioned ducks, screaming in the swimming pool. Even more dangerous on the bikes, however, were the adults who had forgotten how to ride. Wobbly. Everyone's on bikes, you see, because you have to leave your car in the carpark - it's a car-free environment. I guess that means that the toads were squashed by bikes.

We were at CenterParcs among the trees for a reunion of one of the branches of my family. 44 kith and kin (of whom I had met only 4, including A, before the weekend) - some closely connected, some more tenuous, some I still haven't figured out.

The sun shone, we had a big barbecue, people told their favourite stories. It was nice to meet the extended family, but still feels strange to be so far from my immediate family.

Save Tob(e)y

It's amazing what people will spend their money on. I've always found the wealth (in both senses of the word) of animal charities in the UK a bit disturbing. Are we so dislocated from each other that it's easier to give to animals than to fellow humans?

Taking things a step further, animal lovers are now shelling out thousands to stop someone eating their pet rabbit. Clever chap has already raised US$28,000, and been on telly.

Our pal, Al, never one to miss a trick, suggests there's another Tobey out there that we could all save, if only our pockets were deep enough. Go on. Dig deep. Save Tobey Maguire.

Painting

It's a year since we bought this place here in EH1o. About time I sorted out the kitchen, thinks me. Anniversaries seem to have that effect - a good motivator to do something.

I thought it would be a small job, just stripping and painting a couple of walls. But then A said all the woodwork should be painted too. Fine. Still should manage this long weekend. Hah!

Stripping the walls started well, with the paper coming off easily. The second wall, though, had seven layers of paper (including quite a few vinyl layers). Aagh. It soon became apparent that all that paper was holding the wall together - as the paper came off, so did bits of the wall. Lucky I'm so experienced in the art of Polyfilla.

Back to wall one, which seemed so easy. But the wallpaper paste was actually superglue, unbudgeable despite sugar-soaping. Only sugar soap applied with sandpaper would do the trick.

A bit more sanding this morning, then I'm ready for painting.

No posts

This blog has been a bit gappy lately.

During the last couple of weeks, work has been keeping me busy and away from internet access - I was at a conference in Milan, and before that a meeting at the gorgeous Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni in Bellagio. If only our punishing 8am-10pm schedule (wall-to-wall stem cell science!) had afforded more time to enjoy the stunning and luxurious surrounds. At least I had trompe l'oeil ceilings, elaborately carved columns and huge gilt mirrors to distract me when the data, proteins, transcription factors and other scientific detail became too much for me. And meals were always a welcome interlude - especially the "molecular cuisine" we enjoyed on the first night. This meal included nitrogen-frozen ice-cream of the smoothest possible texture, created right in front of us by a virtuoso chef of the Ferran Adrià school of cooking.

weird things

There is a guy lying on the pavement across the road. It's cold and damp, not really the kind of weather for lying on the street. He is youngish, though (hasn't collapsed there), and seems quite happy - wiggling his feet and chatting to my neighbour who was I guess concerned about a guy lying on the street.

Professor Doherty?

I got an email at work today, from organisers of a conference in Milano that I'm going to next week (yes, I have scheduled a day's shopping at the end!), which began "dear Professor Doherty". Naturally, I corrected the mistake. The next email I received was addressed to "Dr Doherty". It seems that in the field I work in, it is inconceivable to be a lowly old Ms. It's OK, though. I'm getting used to being the least educated person in the building!

Tell me a story - plot generator

Since DIY's been on the back burner, we've been busy building something else instead. A plot generator.

A what?

A nifty gizmo that's guaranteed to while away hours of your time, producing Hollywood-style plots at the click of a button. Give it a shot. It's a throwback to A & Steve's code geek days (they also made a programme that produced cocktail recipes), rewritten in PHP and housed on my nice new website.

Let me know what you think.

We caught up on a couple of movies this weekend too, Closer and Sideways. London and California. Art and wine. Beautiful people making a mess of things, and not so beautiful people making a mess of things (but not so irredeemably). I liked both, but Sideways wins for making me want to hit the bottle (in a wine-appreciating way, of course!). And for making me laugh lots.

Springtime?

It feels like it. Today was a home-work day, and I had windows open, bare arms and sockless feet as the sun streamed in. It's been like this for days, unseasonably warm and spring-like. Crocuses are sprouting all over the place. It's enough to distract a girl from the dangers of climate change for long enough to enjoy the moment!

We hired a car this weekend, as we had a family 5oth to attend in Uddingston (much like the family 60th in Uddingston). Nobody in my family lives in Uddingston, I hasten to add, but for some reason St John the Baptist Church is a favourite venue. Must be the cheap beer (£1.40 a pint) and liberal smoking policy, which to me seem incongruous with a church hall, but it is like a different country over west. Uddingston is a Glasgow commuter town these days, but hard to commute to a) from Edinburgh and b) on a Saturday night. Hence the car.

Anyway, with such splendid weather and a car to play with, the Pentlands were a good choice. If you've been to our flat, they are the hills we look out on. The hills were nice and high (for lowlanders like us) and the views right nice:

View from Carnethy Hill, the Pentlands

Those of you who hang out for DIY updates (or should that be DIY, A?) will be pleased to know that we now have two shelves in the study, nifty floating bracketless ones that were a complete bastard to mount on our crumbly masonry. It's starting to feel like a proper office now. Progress on the bathroom has been slower, and our designer curved ceiling is yet to materialise. Maybe we need a designer's help?

Hokey Pokey Squiggles...

...quite possibly the best biscuit in the world. I'm tucking into my Christmas stash. mmmmmm. Thanks mum!

I survived a week in the world of science

Thursday lunchtime, and it's the end of my (formal) week's work. One of the perks of being part-time (although I'm less part-time than I was at the beginning of the week - I've been upgraded to 3 days/week).

I've learned lots of new words, like transgenesis and hematopoietic (nothing to do with verse), attended a seminar which felt more like a piece of avant-garde theatre (incomprehensible but lots of juicy words), and discovered that posters are not what you and I might think of as posters. But I'm not quite as green as I was on Monday, and already have trips to Brussels and Bellagio in the pipeline. I still don't have a lab coat, though.

Snow, new job

As I type, Edinburgh is being blanketed in white. It's funny how the weather sometimes seems to be attuned to events in my life.

Today I started my new job, at EuroStemCell, as communications and outreach officer. The role will involve dealing with the media, developing an "outreach package" (including a short film, website and leaflets), and a lot of translating cutting-edge science into plain English. First, though, I need put together a communications plan.

It's a part-time job, 2.5 days/week, leaving me plenty of time to develop other projects. I'm based at Edinburgh University's Kings' Buildings, a 25 min walk from here, in a building that sometimes smells of mouse. I haven't been issued with my lab coat yet (although it's on my orientation list!).

The MORI Lady

Scotland has been in the grip of some crazy weather in recent days. Edinburgh has been spared the brunt of it - no floods here - but it's been unpleasant nevertheless.

So when the hapless MORI lady rang my doorbell on Saturday afternoon, looking apologetic, damp and windswept, I couldn't send her away. She promised her questions would take only 20 minutes, and would be interesting, so as I'm a pushover, I invited her in.

A torrent of hard-hitting, personal, political, bizarre and just plain daft questions was unleashed. First up was "who would you vote for at the next general election", and some general, opinion poll, impression of the government-type questions. They also asked about the biggest issue in education, and a lot of questions about retirement provision - would my parents be living with me in their retirement? - would my children be providing for my retirement? - and other such crystal ball material.

One of the most bizarre questions involved looking at pictures of egg cartons, and identifying whether they were free-range, barn or battery. As they all said what they were on the cartons, I'm not sure what the point of this was - reading test? I also had to pick my favourite real and fictional double acts - French and Saunders, Sooty and Sweep - perhaps Gordon and Tony have decided to work on their relationship and are looking for guidance.

I saw Scorsese's latest, The Aviator, on Friday. It's the story of aviation pioneer, eccentric billionaire, filmmaker and wooer of leading ladies, Howard Hawks.

Leonardo DiCaprio puts in a fantastic, nuanced performance in the title role, surrounded by a big-name supporting cast that includes Cate Blanchett, Kate Beckinsale, Alec Baldwin, Alan Alda and Ian Holm. Blanchett, in particular, manages to capture the essence of Katharine Hepburn - a character who borders on caricature - without overdoing it.

The film, at 166 minutes, is long, but flies by in a whirl of Hollywood glamour, fabulous costumes, business by instinct (huge decisions in split seconds) and airborne adventures. Yet accompanying the glamour and Hawks' outward ascendance is his inner turmoil and descent into madness. Hawks embodied the classic dichotomy - genius and madness . Scorsese treats it well. While mental illness frames both the film and Hawks' incredible achievements, leaving the viewer wondering what happened to Hawks, the darkness isn't overpowering or bleak - just human.

The Long Tail

An article in Wired that I found really interesting, analysing how media markets have changed, fragmented, specialised...and what that means for producers and consumers. Chris Anderson argues that:

"The future of entertainment is in the millions of niche markets at the shallow end of the bitstream...

Unlimited selection is revealing truths about what consumers want and how they want to get it in service after service, from DVDs at Netflix to music videos on Yahoo! Launch to songs in the iTunes Music Store and Rhapsody. People are going deep into the catalog, down the long, long list of available titles, far past what's available at Blockbuster Video, Tower Records, and Barnes & Noble. And the more they find, the more they like. As they wander further from the beaten path, they discover their taste is not as mainstream as they thought (or as they had been led to believe by marketing, a lack of alternatives, and a hit-driven culture)...

Long Tail business can treat consumers as individuals, offering mass customization as an alternative to mass-market fare."

It's worth reading the whole article if you're interested in the impact of things like Amazon.com recommendations.

I'm in web research mode, as the above might suggest. A's back at work, so I'm thinking about work too - what that might mean in the year ahead.

white, shiny and new

It's that time of the year...contemplation, resolution, overindulgence, bad TV. Makes you wish it would just snow, make everything look clean and white, provide a meteorological distraction.

Last night, it did. We went to the movies (saw Garden State on a second-hand but reliable recommendation (Morg) ) and A said it would be snowing by the time we came home. It was. I don't know how he does that. It was especially exciting as the first snow of the season, and it's nice that it snowed on New Year's Day.

I really liked the soundtrack to Garden State, and the film's quirky randomness - images like the boyfriend in faded armour, the boat atop the crevasse, the beige Canterbury helmet, "we'll go after we've buried your mom, I guess," seem to have stuck in my mind.

Today my Bellshill rellies came for lunch. We ate split pea and frankfurter soup - sounds weird I know, but apparently all those round golden things are symbols of prosperity and just the thing for New Year feasting. I hope my unrisen bread didn't reverse the effect. We also ate "smelly socks cheese" (except the person who called it that), gooey brie and chocolate cake (but not all at the same time), washed down with gallons of tea. There were three Dohertys in the house, after all.

My uncle gave me a yoga book for Christmas, and I did a nice winter practice this afternoon (the book's chapters are in seasons). He also gave me a book about world peace and how I can help make it happen - I'll give it a go and keep you posted.

New Year's resolutions of sorts (may be updated after reading said book):

• Find a new way of making a living (that one's been forced upon me, but I am embracing it)
• Laugh more, fret less
• Blog more

I've got a Site Feed now, so you can find out when there are new posts, if you're that way inclined.

Happy New Year, y'all.

Merry Christmas from eh10

That's Jeremy, Andrew and me on a post-turkey, pre-trifle stroll. Jeremy's wearing flashing santas, Andrew's got a sparkly santa hat, and I think he might be trying to be a turkey.

Olly was the photographer, Netty was keeping warm inside (cruel Christmas flu).

We had a super Christmas, just like a childhood one (lots of toys and chocolate, endless dishes), only more champagne. Toy of the day was probably the i-Top, although the Powerball was also popular (Jeremy the reigning champ, much to the other boys' chagrin), and my favourite was my new pink iPod mini. So cute. Lots of lovely NZ goodies too, including a paua Christmas tree for our Christmas tree.

Speaking of Christmas trees, they are better here than in NZ. You get to choose from lots of different varieties - branchy ones or bushy ones, short or long needles, silver or green, 3 feet or 13 feet (metric still hasn't really caught on). Ours is branchy, and its piece de resistance is an African mama painted steel angel from South Africa.

There are a few more Christmas pics on atkd.

Sedition

It's great to see Timothy "electoral fraud" Selwyn up to old tricks again - and still wearing the same suit. Earlier this month, he was accused of an axe attack on NZ PM Helen Clark's electoral office, and has been charged with charged with "conspiracy to commit criminal damage and seditious conspiracy." Serious stuff.

Back in my student days, when I lived above the undertakers with a collection of weirdos and Tom, I got to know Mr Selwyn quite well. Not voluntarily, I hasten to add - he dated one of the weirdos, and spent a lot of time sitting in our kitchen dressed in only a towel. Enough to put a girl off her breakfast. He was also quite fond of expounding his particular view of the world (whether or not you wanted to hear it). It seems that he has developed even more forceful methods of putting across his "alternative viewpoint".

In need of a holiday

How can I tell?

• I just spent half an hour looking for a book of stamps that I had put in a safe place only half an hour before.
• I almost sent my computer to an early grave by dousing it in tea.
• The contents of our study and bathroom and some of our living room too are arranged around the walls of our bedroom, and everywhere else in the house is covered in dust or wet paint. There are works in progress - a good time to get out.

It's 23 deg in Fuerteventura! Christmas with a tan...it'll be just like being at home. Who am I kidding? I don't really tan. But maybe I'll be less translucent :-)

Life on site

Construction site, that is. I'm perched on a chair next to a freshly painted wall, atop some bright orange bubble wrap that makes a good, if noisy and at times fright-inducing, dust sheet. Pop. One sofa's obscuring the telly, another blocking access to the dining table. We've been painting.

Now A's busy (pop) exploring the fireplace we've just discovered. Pop. Well, we knew it was there, but didn't realise that it was so easily accessible behind a hinged door. No skeletons hiding in it. A's dreaming of installing an entertainment system, or shelving, or one of those flash modern fireplaces we can't afford (and I'm not mad keen on them anyway - too modern). I think we should just seal up the door and wallpaper on over it. Especially since we've bought such fab wallpaper.

The bathroom has a big hole in it too. One day the ceiling will be raised, but we're not quite sure how. So for now, a big hole where the water tank used to be.

Domestic bliss aside, I discovered today that the end of the year will signal the end of my employment contract...no funding = no job for me. I had been thinking about not renewing my contract anyway, but it's still a shock. It's somehow much better when you are free to make the decision yourself, rather than have it made for you. The positive spin, though, is that my boss feels bad and is being nice, rather than being annoyed that I'm leaving and being difficult. I'll get a good reference and maybe some intros for freelance work and, as I still have some holidays left this year, my last day will be this Friday! Four more days! I can't quite believe it.

To escape from the orange bubblewrap (pop) we took in a couple of movies this weekend. First up was Enduring Love, based on Ian McEwen's novel of the same name. I've read a few of his books, and now I'll definitely have to read this one. The detail in the film was so finely tuned that I was left wondering whether to admire the craft of the writer or the director (probably both...and the actors too). Small moments in the lives of real people. Blowing the dust out of plastic picnic cups before pouring the bubbly. Mundane detail, but utterly convincing. Great story, too, and the cinematography and art direction were gorgeous.

Quite different, but just as enjoyable (maybe more so), was The Incredibles. Lots of laugh-out-loud moments (like when Dash's flying feet propelled the Elastogirl rubber dinghy to shore), great characters (personal fave: Edna), super suits. Cool fun all round.

looking back on London

That's right, I was going to say some more about London-town.

It wasn't all art and views...we managed to fit in a bit of shopping (I always manage to). Top spot - Marylebone High Street, home of the Conran Shop, Cath Kidston, Skandium and other treasures. Coffee comes kiwi-style at the Tapa Room (flat whites even, and NZ mags), but even then it was beaten to the title of top London coffee by Fern's find Ottolenghi (staffed by Australians). Yum!

We also fitted in a grand tour of the beeb (Fern again, what a star) - even on a quiet day we saw Ruby Wax in reception and Kirsty Wark filming Newsnight. And the Blue Peter Garden. Cool.

It was nice to catch up with old pals, and to come back with two loaves of Vogel's (thanks Tanya!) ... we might even visit again. Urban Path looks like a good guide to the better things in the vast metropolis.

Closer to home, I'm jobhunting (again/still), developing a few projects, anything as an escape route from my current employment. A's making holes in the bathroom, training for a half marathon and helping with my projects. Busy times.

Keeping an eye on London

London Eyes (x8)

Twice the Taylors, last seen high in the sky on the London Eye, sporting sunset glows and family resemblances aplenty.

London was a fun town this time around (last time we had been travelling for 4 months and suffering from associated poverty/"will we find a job?" anxiety/general travel fatigue). It feels so much more the big city than dinky wee Edinburgh...more and better shops, busier streets, blacker snot, bigger distances.

We marvelled at fantastic art. The Saatchi Gallery was a definite highlight, with Tracey Emin's Bed, Damian Hirst's formaldehyde, Ron Mueck's Angel and other definitive moments in contemporary art. My favourite, though, was the oil room, a wood-panelled room filled torso-high with black oil, providing a perfect mirror image of itself when viewed from the inserted walkway...cool!

The ooh-ing and aah-ing didn't stop there. The London Eye, perfectly timed to catch the sun disappear behind Big Ben, afforded fantastic views of a flat and sprawling city, and the pink sunset further along the Thames made jewels of the riverside buildings. Cold, though. And can you find a pub when you want one? At about half past ten at night they start turfing you out, and are few and far between on the South Bank.

It's way past my bedtime (London pubs are long since shut), so you'll have to hold that thought till next post (soon, I promise!).

deepest, darkest...

Not secrets, but winter...it's descending, and fast. The clocks changed last weekend, and with the extra hour in bed on a cold morning came dark afternoons (4 or earlier)...and still almost two months of diminishing daylight before the shortest day. No snow yet, though.

It's been a while. Since last post, I've been:

• Shopping for some winter sun. After much deliberation, we opted for a cheap and cheerful (hopefully) week in Fuerteventura.
• Learning how to draw - at the Edinburgh College of Art. I'm taking a beginners drawing/painting class, which started with a whole lot of right-brain drawing . The theories behind this are quite interesting (basically, that to be able to draw well requires a switch from left to right-brain modes, and that this can be practiced and learned).
  
• To see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds at the Carling Academy in Glasgow (last night). It was a stonkingly good gig of two sets - the first half from his latest album, the second a host of old faves, including the exquisitely delivered God is in the House, a blistering Red Right Hand, and Henry Lee (sadly sans-PJ). The stage was crammed full, not just with tall men in dark suits, but with a lot of kit (2 drumkits, a piano & two keyboards, guitars, flute, violin...), a lot of amplification (it was LOUD) and some gospel singers too.
• Teaching my new line manager how to open Microsoft Word (it gets more Office-like by the day in that place).
• To Lewis & Harris - with work this time. Stocked up on Stornoway Black Pudding while I was there.
• To see the Finns at the Usher Hall.

We're looking forward to a trip to London next weekend...

Things to do (3) - further afield

I already mentioned (in passing) the Botanic Gardens...a really nice place to visit, especially in summer. Although the hothouses are good all year round. From there you can walk all the way along the Water of Leith to the Dean Gallery & Gallery of Modern Art - worth a visit just to see Charles Jencks' Landform and sit in the cafe.

The Traverse is good for theatre, a beer or fine dining. A bit further up Lothian Road (en route to EH10), the Filmhouse cafe has a good vibe, the Cameo's got a nice new bar too, and Bennet's is worth a visit. The Apartment is The Outsider's suburban sister, up the hill to Bruntsfield, Peckhams, a cool stationery shop, my yoga school (straying outside tourist territory here!) , Luca's at Church Hill and you're on the home stretch. The Canny Man's is a very posh pub indeed (our local, I suppose).

Things to do part two - the New Town

This is refined Edinburgh at its best - Georgian townhouses, sweeping crescents, urban planning. And Princes Street - high street stores, architectural disasters (Princes Street Mall, anyone?), gorgeous gardens. Where to start?

Art-wise, galleries abound. For blockbuster exhibitions like the Age of Titian, The RSA and National Gallery, recently joined underground, are your best bet. The Portrait Gallery is tucked away on Queen Street, in a fabulous building, and has a proper old-style caff with famous, fabulous scones.

Just around the corner you'll find a shrine to all that is chic - Harvey Nic's. The cafe upstairs has a great view if you can score a window table, the merchandise is luxurious and nice to look at. They have the best window displays in town, too. Jenners is old Edinburgh's department store (third century of trading!), and is easy to get lost in. It also sports a 40ft Christmas tree at the appropriate time of year (how do they get it into the building?). Otherwise, for shopping, you're better off in Glasgow.

Views can be had all over Edinburgh...it's that kind of city. Top spots include the Scott Monument (not for claustrophobics), the terrace of Oloroso, North Bridge in either direction, Calton Hill, the Botanics looking back to the city and (insider secret) the ladies' loo in House of Fraser.

The Cafe Royal Circle Bar has amazing mirrors and tiling, The Dome has a nice...dome, the Opal Lounge is full of beautiful people, Centotre plays Italian lessons in the toilets.

Things to do in Edinburgh - the old town

We were chatting at work today about nice things to do in Edinburgh - visitors imminent and all that. Collectively, we came up with so many ideas that I thought it might be useful to note some down for future reference & referral. Pen and paper just won't do these days, so here they are, in my blog...

In the Old Town
Take a tour - above or below ground, by day or by night - not for the faint of heart, I hear.

Visit the new Scottish Parliament. You can take a guided tour at £3.50, or just wander, I think. Down that end of the mile, you can also visit Cadenhead's if you're a whisky geek, the map shop opposite if you're a map/print geek (or just for some good craic with the shop owner, quite mad but all the better for it), visit the Queen at the Palace of Holyroodhouse (across the road from the Parliament) - very nice door-hinges and, until 7 November, Dutch Paintings of the Golden Age. And you're not too far from Holyrood Park/Arthur's Seat/Salisbury Crags - perfect to burn off some energy, blow away the cobwebs and for a knockout view.

Moving on up the mile... Always Sunday's always ok for coffee (and, if you score a window seat, people watching). Sir Sean was seen last weekend at Cafe Florentin (although I have had bad coffee there). Explore some closes en route, or if you're heading for Waverley Station, Cockburn St is interesting (in a kids with piercings kind of way).

Spit on the Heart of Midlothian, be impressed by St Giles', avoid the tacky tourist shops and nasty £20 kilts.

The Mile ends (or more properly, begins), at the Castle, of course. Pricey (£9.50), but you have to do it at least once. I might be able to wangle a freebie for this weekend's visitors, in exchange for participation in the Big Draw!

Moving south ever so slightly, you could visit Victoria Street/West Bow for dinky shops, a nice gallery that I can't remember the name of, and the Bow Bar for a pint or dram in trad surrounds

Up on George IV Bridge, The Outsider is good for dining with a nice view in a nice place - fresh & tasty food too. Just around the corner, there's the Museum of Scotland and The Royal Museum - good for wet weather discoveries, coffee in the atrium, swanky dining in the Tower (I've never been).

That should do for starters.

They've bottled it

I made this discovery when tripping around the Highlands a couple of weeks ago. We took in a tour of the Glenmorangie distillery, way up in Tain, and spotted in the shop a whisky called EH10. The name is "a blend of the Edinburgh postal code and a reference to the ten premium whiskies it is made from", and the box features a catalogue-style image of a grinning couple below Edinburgh Castle, all black and white and yuppie-styles. According to its makers,

it encapsulates the sophisticated and stylish character of Edinburgh, from its vibrant café culture to the splendour of its historic traditions. We believe it will have real appeal to younger consumers.

Somehow I don't think I'm quite the target market. Oh, and café culture? Not so I've noticed.

The Scottish Parliament opened officially yesterday, but was rather a subdued affair. The Queen was there, but managed to look cheerless through most of proceedings (unruly, unpredictable, unwilling subjects, us Scots), and was the only one in the whole of the chamber not to take her neighbour's hand and sing Auld Lang Syne - the most uplifting and Scottish-feeling part of the day. Outside, cold and confused about what was actually going on inside (the lack of big screens or other broadcast of proceedings on this historic day to the amassed public kinda went against the whole "parliament of the people" ethos - you had to wander up the Mile and into a pub to find out what was going on), we were entertained by a singer/clarsach-player with dour classics like Loch Lomond and Imagine. Not very cheery stuff. Inside, the other highlight was Edwin Morgan's poem Open The Doors, composed for the occasion and delivered with great gallus by Liz Lochead. You should read it all, but here's an excerpt:

Did you want classic columns and predictable pediments? A
growl of old Gothic grandeur? A blissfully boring box?
Not here, no thanks! No icon, no IKEA, no iceberg, but
curves and caverns, nooks and niches, huddles and
heavens syncopations and surprises. Leave symmetry to
the cemetery.
But bring together slate and stainless steel, black granite
and grey granite, seasoned oak and sycamore, concrete
blond and smooth as silk – the mix is almost alive – it
breathes and beckons – imperial marble it is not!

Tuesday evening

The home-weigh job was even less accurate than we thought...and my package was over the magic 2kg mark. So much for physics.

I watched The Boy Whose Skin Fell Off on TV last night. And bawled my eyes out. It was an amazing piece of documentary, incredibly moving & very funny. Well worth watching if you get a chance.

Mail fun

Postal physics

Take one bottle of powerade, one plank of wood, assorted pre-weighed (and unopened!) groceries (eg 1.5kg pack of muesli as pictured) and a rudimentary knowledge of physics and - hey presto! - you have a set of scales with a margin of error of about 25%. Brilliant.

My dilemma was this. I wanted to post a parcel by surface mail (yep, Christmas shopping, feeling very organised!), but it has to be less than 2kg, otherwise the price jumps from around £8 to £29. Which is quite a big jump. Keen to avoid my mum's experience of removing string from her parcel at the PO to get it below 2kg, I wanted to make sure before packing it all up. Somehow, despite A's best efforts, I don't think we have conclusively established that the parcel is below the magic weight. But we had fun trying!

You have to be careful in the land of the free

It's a great title, of the novel I'm reading at the moment, by "Skarrish" writer Jim Kelman. One of the more challenging and yet engaging books I've read in a while, it's a 448 page chapterless, break-less, (brakeless?) stream-of-consciousness tale of a weegie about to take a plane home from America. The narrator, Jeremiah, is pure Glasgow linguistic delight.

The pic I posted last time was of the castle/youth hostel we stayed in last weekend, way up north. With marble statues, elaborate ceilings and resident ghosts (I'm sure I heard the phantom pipers) it ticked all the castle boxes, while funny tourists (not Germans but Aussies by the car-full), creaky bunkbeds and those sheets with inbuilt pillowcases reminded us that we were actually in a hostel.


statue gallery


crazy cornice

Carbisdale Castle

Blogging in Bed

...made possible by the acquisition of my very own laptop (no more sharing) and installation of a wireless network. Cool fun.

Off to stay in Carbisdale Castle this weekend - not as glamorous as it sounds, as it's actually a youth hostel, but still, it's a castle. Since we're in Scotland, we might as well!

Happy birthday to Jon & Berin earlier in the week.

Long weekend

It's Edinburgh's September holiday. It took me less by surprise than last year, but I do still find these local holidays quite mysterious and randomly observed.

I've had a very lazy long weekend. The weather's been pleasingly autumnal - blustery, showery, cold and generally conducive to at-home-laziness-without-guilt. I have a bit of a cold too - even more excuse to stay home, read the weekend papers (The Herald and the Guardian for a change), think about a winter holiday (Morocco or skiing?), catch up with mum's latest dispatch of NZ mags - NZ House & Garden and the brand new, dishy, The Dish (and consequently be reminded about some of the things I miss). I baked a cake from one of aforementioned mags too, but had to find a treacle substitute as our supermarket no longer stocks treacle. I swear the baking shelves get smaller every time I go there. Nigella would be unimpressed.

On matters domestic, I hear that an architect friend of mine designed his kitchen, right down to the tapware, to make it easy for his gal to "fill the kettle for a cuppa". What a gentleman. His house does look nice, though.

Seen and heard

Saw The Motorcycle Diaries at the weekend. I enjoyed the film immensely, but then I think I could enjoy Gael García Bernal in River City. Or anything. I don't know much about El Che, either, but Garcia certainly captured the charisma behind the ubiquitous image.

I think I could watch the Latin American landscape in anything too. It was as much a character as Ernesto and Fuser, and played a more important role in the development of the story and characters than the Norton 500 - "The Mighty One" - of the film's title.

I also watched Spellbound on DVD. A wonderfully engaging look at the seamy underbelly of spelling bees in America. That's not true, actually. It's not at all like the beauty pageants. There is no underbelly (just a liberal sprinkling of pushy parents and extraordinary kids). The wonderfully engaging bit was true though - a nice story, simply told. A reminder of genuine all-American weirdness too.

An aside...around film fest time I was intrigued by the prospect of free DVDs for a month, and signed up for a trial at LOVEFiLM. Fully intending to quit after a month. But the service is so good, I'm hooked. Such a simple but well-executed concept. Makes me wish I'd thought of it.

Heard, yesterday, Marc Prensky, who lists among his job titles "visionary" and "futurist". He led a round table discussion (where we sat in rows, bizarrely...someone missed a point somewhere) on using technology to engage learners, and more interestingly, on applying the principles of game design to engagement. I particularly like his application of gaming to the 7 Habits... It's nice to hear people thinking about things differently.

Holyrood is open

The MSPs have moved in, banged their heads a few times (probably not such a bad thing), and today the whole parliamentary process creaked into life in it's new, gorgeous home. It's been a controversial project, cost a lot of money, and I did once wonder if I would still live in Scotland when it was finished. Well, I do. I like what I've seen so far...architecture that suits its purpose and sits well in its environment, and yet a building that captures the imagination. Now all I need to do is blag a tour.

Last night I watched a doco on TV about another controversial architecture project - the Ground Zero memorial site. It transpires that Daniel Libeskind's building, which won the design competition and is a very personal & symbolic response to the site, doesn't suit the current leaseholder and the "commercial demands of prime real estate". So the building we end up with may very well be an ugly compromise. All very depressing.

Things that have made me smile today

• A red-headed, knee-socks and T-bars girl (7?) dancing away with her reflection in the bank window, whileher mum used the ATM. She even did the chicken dance.
• The sunshine, making the North-East coast sparkle on my trip to/from Aberdeen.
• Being able to run a wee bit further than last time (which was over a week ago - I'm very intermittent!)

edge of the earth part 2

So, Baile Na Cille. A rambling sort of place, with big comfy beds, Harris tweed curtains, a dog (deaf Lord Bertie), a cat, thousands of books, bar billiards, a tennis court, and a certain shabby chic. The Blairs have stayed there - subtly referenced on the Baile Na Cille website - "Escape world tension, politics, work, the kids, royalty, reality." Why not just say "better than Balmoral"? While we were there, we enjoyed the company of Clive Anderson and his family - complete with big black (Newfoundland) and small white dogs. They were good at Balderdash (the family, not the dogs), but not as good as another guest, who cheerfully admitted that this was her 18th visit to BNC - twice a year for 9 years!

The food was good - Stornoway black pudding (and eggs, bacon, sausages, fried bread, tomatoes, toast, fruit, cereal and coffee) and creamy porridge for breakfast. No need for lunch. Dinner at 7. You are told where to sit (around two big tables, for good craic), and the food keeps coming. We thought our fellow guests were joking when they told us after our main course that there were three more to come!

Luckily we managed to fit in some walking around all that digestion and some pretty dramatic weather - rain in the night like machine gun fire, gale force winds, sunshine, rainbows, everything except snow. Our photos might give a flavour. From BNC you could walk along the Uig Sands for at least an hour before turning around - as long as the tide was low enough and you crossed the burn at the bridge. Plenty of good walking elsewhere too - the Castle Grounds for a tree fix (Lewis is notoriously tree-less...the father of one of our fellow-guests was from around Uig, and was 12 before he saw his first tree!), endless sparkling beaches, peaty moors and even some mountains in Harris if you're that way inclined (I'm not).

Lewis is also home to some pretty amazing sights. Top of the list would have to be the Callanish Stones, an impressive 5,000 year-old (or thereabouts) stone circle / avenue /radial arms combination that makes a slightly skew celtic cross. Our photos don't do them justice, but part of the magic of the site is that it is impossible to capture / fix - with your eye or with a camera. There's a mystery and majesty about the place (how did they get there? why? whom?), augmented by the isolation. Despite being Lewis' top tourist attraction (I guess), when we visited there was no-one else there. Complete isolation allows you to contemplate the bigness of it all. Better still, it's free to visit, no tacky tourist trappings, dramatically situated and exposed to the elements.

The Broch at Carloway is also impressive. They were quite good at arranging stones back in times BC. And imagine living there!

You stumble upon archaeological treasures all over the place in Lewis. Even cows make archaeological discoveries (or owners of cows, depending on which story you believe). The enthusiast at the Uig community museum up the road (well worth a poke around) told us that the site where the chess pieces were found has not even been properly excavated/investigated. An opportunity for any archaeological enthusiasts out there.

The black house village at Gearannan was cool too. You can even rent out some of the houses as self-catering accom, although I'm not sure I'd fancy having tourists wandering around all day. And the Iron Age "jelly baby" house, Norse Mill, galleries, potteries...so much to see, and we didn't even make it to Harris (although I did pick up some Harris Tweed in pretty colours straight from the mill, at (hopefully) bargain prices).

Have I sold you yet? If you get a chance, in this lifetime, go to the edge of the earth.

The edge of the earth

Just spent a relaxing three days on the Isle of Lewis - my home from 1981-1987. It was my first visit since leaving all those years ago, and I was particularly interested to find out how the memories would hold up, how much had changed.

We flew up there and hired a car (about the same price as taking a car on the ferry, and much quicker). Lochs Motors proved to be a relaxed outfit - no insurance excess, extra drivers at no extra charge, and to drop off the car at the airport on Sunday, we just had to leave the keys under the sun visor (and the car unlocked). Almost like being in a different, more honest, decade.

Our first stop was to Aird, Point, where I lived and went to school all those years ago. On the drive out to Aird, I was pleasantly surprised to recognise houses and remember who lived where. My school seemed smaller and grimmer than I remember, and I later heard from my neighbour that it is due to close soon. The distance between home and school also seemed to be shorter than I remembered...funny how memories of size and distance are invariably inaccurate. We parked up outside my old house (more or less as I remembered it) and visited my next-door neighbour and former Brown Owl (I was a Brownie, once) for lunch. The Atkins diet has even reached Aird (and has in Betty one of its staunchest supporters!), but fortunately she had some bread in the freezer for visitors! All in all a surreal meal experience.

Next stop was Stornoway...I was on a shopping mission, only to be cruelly thwarted by Stornoway Communion (the shops were mostly shut). This is a place where, more than anywhere else in the world, religion (in the form of strict Free Presbyterianism) rules. The sabbath is strictly observed, in some households to the extent that meals are not even cooked on Sundays. No-one was allowed to come out and play on a Sunday, riding your bike was frowned upon, and as a child it was definitely the most boring day of the week.

Some things have changed. You can now fly on a Sunday, buy petrol, and a Sunday newspaper. But at our guesthouse, no cooked breakfast today as there were no workers, and guests were asked to make their own beds if staying on!

While in Stornoway, we checked out the Great Book of Gaelic exhibition at An Lanntair - a touring exhibition that brings together the work of calligraphers, poets and artists from Scotland & Ireland, and that will ultimately be bound in book form. Apart from that, and discovering free parking (nice) and closed shops, the squally rain made more of a look-round an unpleasant prospect. Instead, we hit the road, headed for Uig and our lodging for the next three nights, Baile-Na-Cille.

Enough is enough?

What's happening in NZ these days? What's with all this enough is enough Destiny Church stuff? Quite disturbing, from what I have read (although being so far away and out of the loop, NZ-wise, it probably snuck up on me more than it would have at home). I like Tom Scott's cartoon take on things.

Even though we are permanently connected, always on, NZ news is quite often old news by the time I catch up with it. I'm obviously not a dedicated-enough Herald/Stuff et al reader...in fact the only NZ news site I manage to regularly keep up with is Public Address (although that might not be such a bad thing...). Even with email, it's hard to remain connected to people when your telephoning window is only a couple of hours a week if you work and have some sort of social life (and the person on the other end does too). I was chatting to Fern about this a few weeks ago, and agreed that it's the time difference, more than anything else, that makes NZ so far away.

Too far away to import bread from, too. I'm still on my Edinburgh Vogel's quest. They just don't do good bread here. Mellis' at the end of the road does quite a nice 5-grain at £1.69 a loaf which seems a bit steep (plus they're not open before work and the bread is stale by day 2). Marks & Spencer do a good Irish bread, but it's not very handy either. I hear you can get Vogel's at Sainsbury's in London, so if you're heading this way from there, pop a loaf in your bag for me :-)... (that's me drooling!)...

why I'll never be an olympian

It's not that I lack the requisite strength, endurance, speed, and talent to be a great Olympian (although certainly, these are all factors standing in my way). Nope, the main reason I could not be an Olympian is that I'd probably be arrested for punching a commentator not too far into my career. Like maybe the first time they said "that was a poor race. You ran/swam/cycled too fast/slow in the first/last 100/400. The whole country's disappointed," or something of that ilk. The BBC commentators are brutal, especially the trackside athletics lady - so mean, curt, evil headmistress, "could have done better"-ish. I feel sorry for the athletes. Seconds after their Olympic hopes and dreams have been dashed, she makes sure she rubs their noses in it.

Otherwise, I am enjoying the Olympics...all the sports you never get to watch are on primetime TV and sometimes surprisingly fascinating.

Book thing

I went to a book thing last night. There are always book things in Edinburgh, but before I moved here I don't think I've been to a single one. Maybe NZers are not so into book things. And I suppose Edinburgh is currently bidding to be the first World City of Literature.

I realise that my terminology is a bit unspecific - but so are such events. A reading, and author talking about their work, an author signing their work, an author in conversation with someone else about their work, or some combination thereof. So, a book thing. Last night was Louise Welsh talking to Jamie Byng about (amongst other things) her new book, Tambourlaine Must Die, at the Fruitmarket Gallery.

Louise Welsh was quite delightful - short, cute, funky and smart. Her comments and observations were modest and to the point...a definite discipline with language. Her publisher was altogether looser (to match his flowing locks and fidgeting), but still charismatic for it.

I was at this book thing quite randomly. I was reading Tamburlaine Must Die at the time, and got an email at work saying it was on. I was also kind of interested to see the head of Canongate, as I'd recently applied for a job there.

So, I listened to them chat over a bottle of wine, was too shy to ask any questions (as usual...for some reason, despite being quite used to public speaking , I am always afraid my voice will come out like a squeak), and queued up afterwards to get my book signed. I somehow was feeling a bit nervous then too...what will I ask her to inscribe, what will I say? It's quite ridiculous. An unassuming author, who told me she gets so nervous at book signings she sometimes forgets how to spell her own name. A queue of nervous readers. What is it about human interaction with an unknown (and especially a famous unknown) that is so scary? Maybe we're just out of practice.

more festival stuff

My definite festival highlight so far has been my favourite kiwi parody folk duo, Flight of the Conchords. They were great last year, even though they played to a half-full, half-wit audience (well maybe the last point's a bit harsh, it just went with the other half I guess, and they did seem to struggle to get the show), in a leaky, smelly venue. They went on to get good reviews, sell some more tickets, and get nominated for a Perrier. They have evidently developed a bit of a fan base too - they have a fan-site, a lot of girls in the audience (many of whom had bought their album), and a sold-out opening night at the much more classy Reid Hall.

The show started with a ballad of mistaken identity, with Jemaine playing the guy who doesn't remember meeting the girl (Bret) he has in fact never met (while she thinks they have a child). Hard to convey in prose, great as a musical double-act, funny stuff. Other musical highlights included an instrumental action song with an Egyptian theme, a little bit of ragga, and some tales of seduction (with socks on, on a Wednesday night). There was of course some classic Conchords banter, and a great story about Bret's imaginary children (one named Mildred, to rhyme with children). Throughout it all their timing is classic and their delivery deadpan. Very, very funny.

For some reason Bret reminds me of Paul - the Scotsman reviewer picked up on this vibe too, describing them as looking like "mildly bemused supply teachers".

Last night was more comedy - this time of the less quirky, more mainstream variety, in the form of Danny Bhoy. It was a nice show. A bit slow to start, a bit light on belly laughs, a bit of over-familiar territory, but well-crafted and nicely delivered nonetheless.

It's that time of year again...

It's the silly season in Edinburgh. A taxi driver said to me yesterday that if he could afford to he'd take off to another country for the month of August every year, eschewing increased profits in exchange for escaping the traffic, the gormless tourists, the general hassle of the Festival. And it's only just begun! They do like to whinge, though, the Edinburgh cabbies. And the populus in general - a national (UK wide) pastime.

So what of the Festival so far? It does feel a bit strange, second time around (can't quite believe it's been a year). I've lost a bit of the wide-eyed wonder, but there is always something around the corner to rekindle it. On Saturday night, after watching Macbeth, appropriately enough, it was the haar that did it. The city centre was transformed into an eerie, otherwordly place...the kind of place Burke and Hare would have inhabited. You couldn't really see the old town from the new town, just some light suggestions that there might be something up there on the hill.

Macbeth itself was an uncomfortable experience. Hard, short-backed seats, too close to each other, and sweltering, sweaty atmosphere. There I go, indulging in that national pastime again. The play itself was visually strong. The minimalist set featured only a stage full of swords, suspended by their hilt from the ceiling, and lowered, raised, clattered amongst and lit to suit the dramatic action - to spectacular effect. The gals were all heaving bosoms, the lads sported almost architectural leather jackets, both suitably Shakespearean but with a modern edge. Performances were good, too - apart from Macbeth, whom I found unconvincing - but as a whole the play seemed to lack something. Or maybe it was just the lack of air-conditioning.

Sticking with the sticky heat for a bit takes us to yesterday, perhaps the hottest, sunniest day of the year, and a fine day for the Edinburgh Festivals Cavalcade - a big parade of floats and dancers and pipe bands and transvestites and other exhibitionists (the Ladyboys of Bangkok were my group's favourite - you probably don't get to see many Ladyboys in Dumfries), watched by 185,000 people. I was working, trying to wrangle a 50-strong group of adult learners and their families, make sure that they had sandwiches that they liked (no mean feat), shared the cameras, and collected lots of good ideas...so that they can build an award-winning float for next year. By which time, hopefully, I will be doing something else!

16 Years of Alcohol

Went to see this at the Cameo on Friday. It was on Screen One, quite a grand old-style theatre, complete with pillars, ornate plasterwork, italiante statues and velvet curtains, but with a very shallow slope (not good for shorties like me). The screen is of a decent size and the red velvet seats are plush and comfy, but somehow the cinema still seems to smell like old men. I don't know what it is about the Cameo, but all its theatres smell like this. Maybe something to do with the Tollcross location?

The film was a looker - especially for something shot on digi. Director Jobson wears his stylistic influences on his sleeve - not the grim social realists that the subject might suggest, but rather east-Asian cinema (his next film, The Purifiers, is a martial-arts flick), and in particular, Wong Kar-Wai. He calls it his "hymn to the city" (of Edinburgh) and indeed she has never looked so cinematic - from the National Monument on Calton Hill to the closes and wynds of the Old Town and the smoky pub interiors. It's quite poetic, too, with its narrative meditation on hope, and the performances (especially Kevin McKidd as Frankie) are convincing and at times explosive.

I did find some aspects of the story quite annoying though. It at times feels like an excercise in self-justification (especially give that Jobson is quite open about its semi-autobiographical nature). All the dreadful things that Frankie does (and there are a lot!) seem to be attributable to an external force rather than to the character himself...as if the director is trying to convince you that all this stuff really wasn't his fault. Perhaps I'm being uncharitable...but any sympathy with Jobson I might have had was destroyed by the post-screening Q&A...never have I heard a film director more in love with the sound of his own voice! He repeated himself, repeatedly, for a good 45 mins after the film.

It's been a hot weekend, but the sun has struggled to burn off the summer haar. Still, it's sunny now...off to enjoy it while it lasts!

Wheelie good

Hoorah.  The sun is shining, the birds are singing (actually, that bit wasn't so good - we had a colony of marauding gulls outside our office all afternoon making nasty gull noises), and I got home to find a package from Japan on our doorstep.

Yes folks, it was The Difficult Second Album.  The Cosmic Wheels rock.  The NZ ones, that is.  Unless Tom has lost all taste and design sensibility, this Cosmic Wheels  (minus the The, I note) is just a group of pretenders straight out of PG13 (my favourite song).

I'm up to track 10, and have grinned a lot.  Clever lyrics and catchy riffs abound.  My album of summer so far.

impressions of Ireland

3 Dohertys and a Taylor.  A big green Skoda Octavia (a good family car for a family road trip).  Six days around the Emerald Isle.

The driving.
I was one of the designated drivers, but did I get to do any driving?  Nope, because the other was my dad.  Dads never let their kids drive them .  But since A always makes me drive when we hire cars (he's out of practice at the gear-clutch combo), I did appreciate my time in the back seat.  We managed to clock up close to 900 miles over the six days, on all sorts of roads.  There was a fair amount of "are we nearly there yet?", a few nasty traffic jams, a few wrong turns and a few times we were totally lost, but it always worked out in the end.  Like the time mum took us to an interesting looking blue symbol on the map, where she was sure we could get a cup of tea (more on that later).  We turned off the highway, with little clue of where we were headed.  What we found, in the end, was a gem.  A craft co-operative (lots of interesting studio/shops) with a cafe that serves the best apple pie I've ever tasted, staffed by a friendly, chatty but 50% incomprehensible waitress (very thick brogue).  She delighted in sharing the news that that day was St Swithin's Day.  If on St. Swithins Day comes the rain, for forty days it will remain.  It was raining.  And so far, so true.

The weather
I mentioned this in my last post.  It rained a fair bit - but we were in Ireland.  It does that.  How else could the Emerald Isle possibly achieve those 40 shades of green?  The sun shone too, though, and we saw dramatic, big skies.

The people
From a place and a people that is personable, locquacious, chatty and musical (even when talking about scones), we found no shortage of good craic.  People always want to know your story, and are happy to tell you theirs.  This was a delight, used as we are to slightly reserved Edinburgers.

On the other hand, it didn't take long to become totally fed up with the hoardes of Spanish schoolkids everywhere we looked.  They have to be the noisiest teenagers in the world, and it doesn't help that they travel in packs of 50, with one hapless teacher trying to keep things under control.  They have been spotted in Edinburgh too.  I think this might be Spain's revenge for the louts that descend on their country en masse from here every year.

The most famous person spotted was Mary McAleese, the Irish president and an all round nice lady.  We saw her, quite by chance, at the blessing of the boats in Howth (a fishing town close to Dublin).  Everyone in the crowd seemed to love her, and the lack of security and her general accessibility was quite remarkable.

The sights
We packed a lot into our six day trip.  A definite highlight was a visit to the Rock of Cashel - a spectacular limestone outcrop topped by medieval cathedral, church, tower & cemetery.  By itself, the rock and buildings would have been amazing, but they were really brought to life by our guide, Donna, who had a loud, lovely voice and lots of great stories.

The atmospheric Doolough Valley was a surprise delight.  We happenned upon it quite by chance, and were astonished to discover a place so still and quiet and beautiful, steeped (as much of Ireland is) in tragic history.  During the worst famine years, more than 200 starving people walked through the valley to Delphi Lodge to ask for food.  They were refused, and many perished walking back through the valley.  They are commemorated by a cross, and were remembered by Bishop Desmond Tutu, who repeated the walk in 1991. 

Galway was pretty, with great, music-filled pubs but lots of tourists too.  Cork was a mess - lots of work to do before next year, when it will be European City of Culture.  All the streets are dug up (not too dissimilar to Edinburgh, really, where they've had to tarseal the Royal Mile temporarily because the cobbles laid a year ago are all broken) - we even met a cheery chap in the pub responsible "for this feckin mess".  He seemed quite pleased with himself!  Dublin was bustling, with a great atmosphere and loads going on.

I like Ireland, and would visit again in a minute.

almightily bad

A just made me sit through a movie he said would be really funny.  Instead, t'was cheesily bad.  Bruce Almighty.  Don't rent it.  Don't even borrow it for free. 

Today was my first day back at work after a week and a bit of tripping around Ireland and looking after maw & paw.  For those who are following their travels (I hear Kevin likes to do so with an atlas in hand) they left this morning for East Midlands, Potterhanworth and Coventry.  They like to pack things in.  Actually, if you were following their travels, this blog would not be the place to look as it's been so infrequently updated.

Being a work day (my first in a while) the sun shone all day and it was hot (for the first time in a while).  It rained a bit in Ireland.  But, to be sure, you wouldn't be in Ireland if it wasn't raining.  So the leprechauns said.  Yes, Morg, they really do say "to be sure".