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".

accommodation adventures

A couple of weeks ago, we got back from Budapest, having enjoyed 9 days or so there and in Prague. It's always difficult to write about a trip afterwards, to evoke the joys, the frustrations, the disorientation and just plain weirdness of being in another place. Actually, the weirdness is usually a good place to start.

Top of the list has to be our "private room" in Budapest. We had left things a bit late, being assured by guidebooks (note to self: remember not to believe even half the things I read in guidebooks) that there was plentiful accommodation in the Hungarian capital. We hadn't banked on Pentecost (not mentioned by Lonely Planet, of course), a big holiday in Hungary. And, as the Hungarian Taylors often reminded us when we saw them, Budapest is the only place in Hungary worth visiting. So I guess everyone flocks to the city on holiday weekends.

This is why we ended up staying with a "nice German lady" in the Casanova building (apparently he stayed there once - should be a clue to the building's state of disrepair), on the Buda side of the river. We thought it would be OK, a kind of B and B type thing, heck there was even a private bathroom. The reality was just a bit too odd, however. The "picturesque double courtyard" onto which her apartment looked was currently a building site, complete with concrete mixers and cussing builders. The roof was being repaired and, lucky us, the contraption to lift tiles up to the roof was noisily situated right outside our bedroom window.

I say bedroom, but it was actually German granny's livingroom, complete with a life's worth of nicknacks, way too personal to be comfortable. We slept on her sofabed, and had to walk through a kitchen complete with boiling pots of chicken feet to get to our room. After assuring us the builders wouldn't be working the next day (via her neighbour as we don't speak any German), they started at 8am, right outside the window. Attempts to forcefeed us strange-looking chocolate cake for breakfast didn't help.

We felt bad about not staying the full 4 nights we had arranged (I'm sure she needs the money), but 2 nights was our limit!

The agency we booked through moved us to an apartment on the Pest side of the river, a bit handier for most things. Thankfully the only odd thing about this place was that it was on the half-floor. A wee bit John Malkovich. Midway between the grandiose elegance of the ground and first floors was a much more modestly proportioned half-floor, accessible by a separate, dark and slightly dingy set of stairs. If you have a look at this photo you might see what I mean.

Another strange accom experience was delivered by the Reeves in Prague. "Come stay with us", they said. "We have a sofabed." Yeah, right. I got to sleep on the couch (which did not, in any way, fold down to a bed), while A slept on a bed made of towels (the apartment had a lot of towels), a folded rug, under a tablecloth and more towels (we had 2 x sleepingbag liners, but only one sleepingbag - that will teach us not to travel so light!). He assured us all it was quite comfortable, but his multiple abortive efforts to move in the morning suggested otherwise. Still, it was good to see the twins & their girls...just like old times.

He has really big hands

Jonah Lomu, so he does. I was very excited to get the chance to shake them last week, at Ottakar's (a nice old-style, non-Waterstone's/Borders bookstore in Edinburgh - still a chain but a small one).

The big handed one (actually, he's big all over - I think he might have towered over me while sitting down) was in town to sign his book. I don't know if I would have gone to a signing in NZ, but there's something nice about doing it here. Almost as exciting was seeing my pic in Metro the next day. Metro is a free newspaper you get on buses and trains or generally on the way to work. It's not known for the quality of its journalism, but is worth a read for the generally bizarre letters pages. For example (and I quote the entire letter here):

Can you say hello to my Aunty Duncan?
Caroline, Glasgow

See what I mean?

Got to vote in the European elections yesterday. Have yet to meet anyone who has a clue what they are all about though.

All the holes are now filled, the walls of our bedroom are painted, and it doesn't feel so much like we're living in a worksite. Which is lucky, as it's visitor season...