Daylight wasting

Is that the opposite of daylight saving? Daylight is certainly increasingly fleeting. The clocks have just gone back, and it's dark when I come home from work now (although for now still light in the a.m.). I am struggling to resign myself to the fact that it will be like this for the rest of the year (and a bit of next year too). Meanwhile, all I hear from NZ are stories of the sunniest Labour Weekend in living memory.

Fitting, then, that it's almost Hallowe'en - which marks the end of the light half and the beginning of the dark half of the year. Hallowe'en is a big deal here (well it is a celtic festival - A took some convincing on that one, he was sure it was invented in America). In Scotland, people go guising rather than trick-or-treating, dooking for apples is almost obligatory, and many other messy food games are involved (I'll give you the full update after our themed team meeting at work on Friday - I'm busy carving turnips as we speak).

Speaking of Scottish festivals, I was excited today to receive my two free tickets to Edinburgh's Hogmanay, a big street party on New Year's Eve (or Hogmanay, as it's properly called). They allocate tickets by ballot in October each year. It promises the world's biggest Auld Lang Syne, not sure what else though - probably a serious chill to the bones and lots of general revelry to distract merrymakers from the cold.

We just received a copy of our wedding video - lovingly crafted by Richard Foy at Propellerhead Productions (aka his living room). I can't believe it was almost a year ago. Richard did a great job (not too long, not too much to cringe about, some nice touches with titles, music & graphics), and it was so nice to see faces and hear voices that we hadn't seen/heard for so long.

It's snowing

Yep, it's October and it's snowing already (or at least sleeting - there's definitely some frozen stuff in those raindrops). 88% chance of snow tonight, -2 degrees. Brrrrrrrr! Fow a wee peek, check out these Edinburgh webcams. I'm so glad we have central heating.

I've just been in Dunfermline for 2 days - staff away days for planning and the like, but not too much in the way of teambuilding activities that are the stereotype of such days (no quadbiking :-( ). I suppose, being a charity, it's not a good look to spend on such frivolities. Still, the hotel we stayed at had a nice pool. Somehow I've come out of the two days with lots more work (including writing a communications strategy for the organisation!),

Here comes Andrew - I can hear the distinctive scooter drone. He looks VERY cold!...so cold in fact that he was unable to untie his shoelaces when he came in (his hands were that numb!). The poor wee soul.

My fascination with the telly is waning a bit - a fair amount of dross to wade through to find the good stuff. Some particular highlights tonight: Britain's Worst Driver, Wife Swap and Pornography: The Musical - an "operetta about the sex industry" where "porn stars sing about their lives". Apparently, the music's awful too.

There are some definite treasures though, some things that you would never see on TV in NZ (God bless the BBC and her public service requirement) - like the programme about this year's Stirling prize finalists and winner (an architecture award). Mind you, given the UK's obsession with real estate in all its guises, it's not really that surprising that architecture telly makes it to prime time.

Golly it's Olly

Had a super weekend - one of those weekends where you hardly spend any time at home and feel all the better and more rested for it. We had a visitor, inspiring us to go out and do stuff - Olly the vet. He didn't even break anything while he was here (although there were a few touch and go moments).

Definite highlight of the weekend was chance spotting of group of Norwegian telemark skiers serenading girl outside Mellis' cheese shop on Candlemaker Row. This may sound way too farfetched to be true, but true it is. They even had a papier mache dog as past of their entourage (and quite a nifty trick involving a skipole that made it look like the dog was dragging them up the hill). They skied UP the cobblestone street in their short pants, long socks and funny hats, quite a sight to behold. Olly and I had great fun poking around in dinky wee shops - where they specialised in cigars (Olly, sucked in by the sales pitch, bought some of Fidel's faves) cask-strength whisky, maps, wine, kilts...

Finding Nemo's worth a look for some feelgood family fun.

Update on last post - we now have TV. ASDA came to our rescue with something cheap, good, and in stock. Why all stores don't follow that model, I have no idea. It's gotta be a winner. I feel a wee bit like they must have felt in the 50's (or in NZ, the 60's) when TV was new and exciting and different. I am particularly interested in ads, but I'm sure it will wear off...

Just been to the inaugural Morningside Wine Tasting (hence the stream of consciousness blog), run by our good friends at Oddbins. A very congenial evening, held in this weird building that looks dead modern on the outside but inside is all 80's bad carpet and disco lights (think all your worst ferry crossing and casino experiences rolled into one). One NZ wine in the tasting, Wither Hills Sauvignon Blanc 2003. Yum! The best bit was all the stories about the winemakers (I think our host/guide Gareth had a soft spot for the underdog and Kiwi/Alsatian/Spanish battler). And the tasty wine, of course. He even recommended old fave Cuisine as the place for info on NZ wine. Much discussion about the merits or otherwise of Lindauer - seems to be quite popular here, sells for around £6-7/bottle. I also learned that aforesaid wine is NZ's 3rd most popular grocery item. Not sure how much truth in that, slightly scary, statistic!

Sweeties, darling

Today I had a most enjoyable mission, which took me into just about every sweet shop in Edinburgh, and down memory lane as well. SALP (where I work) has a new campaign in November, called Bite Sized (all about reaching new learners by offering "bite sized" learning opportunities, short, sweet and free). I am writing to a bunch of people to encourage them to get involved, and decided to go with the theme a bit, and include a gimmick with the letter. My first choice, chattering teeth, were beyond our budget, but I decided that a couple of sets of Milk Teeth would grab the attention almost as spectacularly. So began my quest. I had no trouble finding penny shrimps, sherbet dabs, dolly mixtures, flying saucers, edible paper, drumsticks and kola kubes (yum, sucking on one now), but no milk teeth to be found. Still, I was pleasantly distracted. There's something fantastic about walking into a shop that can unlock so many childhood memories through its Pick n' Mix.

I have since tracked down some teeth - at the local UGC's candy bar (although it's probably called something different).

Andrew's busy listening to the miracle Italian CDs that he got from his work (they have a very comprehensive training library). "Michel Thomas" (the most sought-after language teacher in the world, apparently - he has taught Emma Thompson, Mel Gibson, Eddie Izzard & Princess Grace) promises "no pens, no paper, no homework, no memorising". 8 hours and we'll be set for Roma, I hope!

He's listening to it on our new home cinema system - we decided to get that rather than a stereo and DVD seperately. It makes a pleasant change from listening to everything on the PC or tranny - has everything, including radio, and can play MP3s and just about every other file format save .doc. The cinema part is a bit of a joke at the moment though - we don't have a TV yet. Not that we haven't tried. I have encountered some bad shop & restaurant service here, but so far, nothing compares to electronics retailers. They seem to specialise in stocking their shop with things that you can't actually buy, TVs without remotes, TVs without boxes, TVs that are "discontinued" and TVs that are out of stock. If you ask to see the picture quality, they show you a different brand and screen size and tell you that it will be just the same. Brilliant. I've actually lost track of how may TVs we have tried to buy.

Still, sans TV, we might get good at Italian!

A gathering of the clan

There was snow in the air yesterday - it felt like somewhere in Scotland, it must be snowing. The skies were ominously leaden one minute, opened explosively to drench everything the next, and then blinding sunshine would reflect off every soaked surface as more grey clouds piled in...a three act play repeated again and again. A crazy weather day. A good day for a trip to Uddingston (home of Tunnock's, of teacake fame) and some family madness.

Uddingston's a Lanarkshire town not far from Bellshill (where we stayed when we began this wee Scottish adventure of ours)...our destination was the St John the Baptist Church Hall, where my uncle Joseph's partner, Michael, was celebrating his 60th birthday.

The hall was filled with Dohertys, Sweeneys, Gavigans and other branches of what I have come to realise is a fairly substantial family. My dad's 4 brothers & his sister were there, along with their weans (and grandweans x 2 on the way), and cousins galore. They all know how to party - lots of dancing, lots of drinking, lots of chat. Andrew & I were a star attraction ("all the way from NZ, mind?"), fielding many questions (some, overzealously bordering on interrogation) about our plans, impressions of Scotland, NZ, the Dohertys, families... Much debate about who looked like whom, many memories shared of my antics as a child... One uncle would talk to me, then another would want to know what he had said! They're a highly competitive bunch.

We have since been invited to Christmas at the godfather's (my Uncle George) for more family intrigue. Should be fun.

East & West

I was in Glasgow twice last week - once to attend a conference at the SECC (right next to the gorgeous armadillo), and the second time to run an adult learners' forum in the Mitchell Theater - another architectural treasure, of an altogether different era. The interior is yet another contradiction - all wood panelling, orange and brown carpet and architectural steel light fittings (originals of course), that wouldn't be out of place in one of the ubiquitous "style bars" that are so popular in these parts. The fourth in this little architectural quartet was the depressing interior of the Western Infirmary's emergency waiting room (one of the learners had had a fall and I was designated taker to hospital) - old and tatty and covered in posters warning of the evils of drugs, drink, sex, and pretty much everything else. As some of you may know, I intensely dislike hospitals, and have discovered that the only way to survive the experience is to treat visits as a cultural experience. I watched family tragedies unfold, and lives teeter on the brink, in that depressing, antiseptic wee room.

I like Glasgow. It's different to Edinburgh in a way that's maybe summed up by my architectural experiences last week - bolder, brasher, tattier, trendier, more diverse, shinier. Not that I dislike Edinburgh - which is perhaps more conventionally appealing, prettier (although not without its rough edges). Maybe it's just that my roots lie in the west.

My Edinburgh architectural experiences this weekend (courtesy of the fantastic Doors Open Days, where you get to go into buildings that aren't normally open to the public or would normally have to pay to see) comprised the South Bridge Vaults - a labyrinth of chambers built beneath one of Edinburgh's oldest bridges, where, up till 1820, people lived and worked. They are reportedly haunted, and are in the Guiness Book of Records as something like "the most systematically investigated supernatural site". We also visited the Royal College of Surgeons, where we wondered at the opulence of the building and the intricacy of the cornicing, learned about the man who was the inspiration for Sherlock Holmes, and looked at lots of truly repulsive specimen jars (cancerous lungs, tumours, and many other body parts that had seen better days). For one so squeamish, I think I managed rather well.

Thermals

My current shopping list has a slightly ominous ring to it - dad-style pjs, vests and other thermal wonders, a hottie. The air has a chilly crispness about it this week, there's a "central heating" van parked outside our building, and the coat and gloves and boots are all being hauled into action. Although the temptation is to make like a squirrel and hibernate (but no hottie squirrelled away yet to make that plan a goer), I probably just need to get better at layering.

Speaking of squirrels & other indigenous fauna, A's workmates have realised that NZ'ers don't know what badgers are. They think that this is the funniest thing in the world, and were absolutely delighted when they asked him what colour a badger was, and he replied, "sort of brownish".

That's all for now - a conference in Glasgow means an early train tomorrow...

Mushroom Madness

This week's subject of fascination is fungi...

It's that time of the year when the possibility of foraging in the forest and finding food for free is a fabulous one (didya like all those Fs?). There is a likely woodland just down the road. But in the interests of not poisoning myself and other loved ones, I thought I'd better find out a bit more before I ventured into the woods (this is all sounding a wee bit Hansel & Gretel). Fortunately, help was at hand, in the form of enthusiastic mycologist Gordon Rutter, running a course this weekend at the Royal Botanic Gardens.

An hour of slides, showcasing weird and wonderful specimens from the fungi kingdom, and then it was off to the forest for a bit of a foray. I was quite delighted to find a common stinkhorn (phallus impudicus) - can you guess what that looks like? In the East, they are sold dried in markets, as aphrodisiacs. We also found a very pretty Fly Agaric (they're red with white spots, very Noddy & Big Ears, and also, apparently, very hallucinogenic). An old lady in our group decided to take it home because it was "such a nice looking specimen". Another very cool one is the beefsteak, which turns red when you cut it open and bleeds - possibly the only mushroom to spark a murder inquiry!

Moving on to movies, Belleville Rendezvous is worth a look. It's an animated feature by Sylvain Chomet, very French, very funny (in a laugh-out-loud kind of way), and completely bizarre. For me, the delight was in the gorgeous animation and intricate visual detail. And any film that can withstand a screening at Cameo 3 (tiny screen, sticky floor, smelling more than a little of wee) must have considerable merit. Will be interesting to compare Spirited Away, the other animated feature that's big news at the moment (I can already say I prefer the funky BR soundtrack to the Disney job done on SA).

More is more

This is the maxim followed by all good Scots b&b hostesses (as they invariable are - often with invisible, silent husbands who really don't get into the hosting thing). Decor-wise, the more stripes, florals, other patterns, doilies and embroidery the better - preferably in shades of pink or apricot (or both). Stuffed animals, small statuary and gilt are also good. Minimalism is not a word in their vocabulary (and nor, I suspect, is Ikea - not that that's a bad thing!). This does induce in the visitor an initial sensory overload, but it comes to be quite comfortable - a bit like staying at your granny's house!

More is also the philosophy applied to breakfast at such establishments, and especially, more grease. A heart attack on a plate is standard fare - bacon, eggs, sausages, tomatoes (all fried) - occassionally supplemented by fried mushrooms, fried potato waffles, fried bread. And lashings of brown sauce. Cereal too, if you go for that kind of thing, juice, coffee, toast, porridge, fruit, and even, my favourite, homemade oatcakes & marmalade. Phew!

I almost forgot to mention our nessie-sighting. But maybe in this instance, less is more. A picture says 1000 words, right?

Highland capers



Real life hielan' coos were indeed spotted - on the first night of our trip, happily grazing away (in perhaps a slightly art-directed way) outside the entrance to Blair Castle in Blair Atholl. It's a quiet wee town in the heart of Highland Perthshire, very much on the tourist trail as a result of the castle (which we didn't visit - you have to pace yourself with castles in Scotland, there are so many of them), but rather empty on Friday. With the cool highland air and the mist, this emptiness gave the place a slightly spooky air after dark - somewhat exacerbated by what sounded like the random detonation of a huge stockpile of ammunition (or someone's very big fireworks stash) just next to our b & b - nobody mentioned it the next day!

Blair Atholl's pub, The Bothy, was probably the best of the highland pubs we visited. It had tartan without tack, roaring fire, real ales , excellent pub grub (game casserole w juniper berries & red wine; Haggis, tatties & neeps - of course; steak & ale pie...you get the idea! - hearty, tasty stuff), and a kiwi behind the bar. A Johnny Cash tribute provided a fitting soundtrack for the evening. We'll all miss the Man In Black.

Real ales are definitely a discovery - there are hundreds of them, and different pubs serve different ales, so there's always something new to try. Sure beats drinking American beer (which is also reasonably common here).

The Clachaig in Glencoe, which is a CAMRA award-winner, comes a close but not too close second. It definitely wins on the location front - nestled deep in the glen, nothing else around for miles. With 120 malts to choose from, its whisky selection was pretty good too , and of course there was the ubiquitous kiwi behind the bar.

Our whole weekend wasn't spent in pubs. We discovered the delights of single-lane roads with passing places - taking us through tranquil glens, wooded grottoes and misty mountain passes. Scotland is very much a storybook kind of country, you can just imagine the faeries and goblins. We explored a bit on foot, too - no Munros bagged this weekend, and in fact the closest we got was 3/4 of a Graham but I don't think that really counts for anything. Still, walking doesn't need to be about conquest - we discovered some gorgeous wee lochs, a ruined castle on an island, a lilypond and yes, you guessed it, another kiwi (at the end of a fishing rod rather than behind a bar) on our ramblings.

Watch this space for insights into Highland decor and scottish breakfasts (gleaned from 3 nights in b&bs).

Free range butter

My favourite thing from NZ at the moment - good ole Anchor Butter. It's marketed here as free range, from cows that eat grass all year round. In this hemisphere, cows eat feed instead - battery cows. What a weird concept. Anyway, Anchor is the only spreadable butter that spreads and tastes like butter - most others do neither!

While I'm on the subject of cows, on our highland adventure this weekend one of the things I most want to see is a real life heilan' coo - I haven't seen one yet (there not being many in Edinburgh), and for me they are the quintessentially cheesy picture postcard Scotland. Who knows, maybe next post I'll have aforesaid picture postcard image to show you all.

Congrats to Matt & Kirsten and their bonnie wee bairn.

We got up yesterday morning and the sun was shining, so decided to get out and enjoy it, by climbing Arthur’s Seat. So who’s Arthur, you’re probably wondering. I know I was – I had just assumed he was a giant because his Seat is pretty big, at 253 metres high. But then I read in the paper that:

 Legend has it that deep in the hill, King Arthur and his knights slumber, ready to defend Scotland in battle.

I thought that King Arthur and his knights were English, maybe they just like to identify with the underdog. Anyway, it’s nice to know that they are there should battle loom.

It’s a spectacular walk – starting from The Palace of Holyroodhouse – one of the Queen’s Scottish timeshares – up past the ruins of C15th (at least) St Anthony’s Chapel, a couple of wee lochs and generally a lot of wilderness for a hill right in the middle of the city, to the summit and amazing views. Then back around via the Radical Road (really just a path) along the Salisbury Crags.

Up on the hill, you get a good view of the New Scottish Parliament (three words that have inspired many jokes as well as much gnashing of teeth up and down the land, and have made some people very very rich). It’s not even nearly finished, by the look of it (even though it’s already 2 ½ yrs behind schedule), is the only building site I’ve ever seen with 2-storey Portakabins (an entire village of them), and has gone over budget by a whopping £300 million. The latest in the ongoing saga is that an inquiry into aforementioned overages will itself cost £1 million and not report until 2005!

Architecturally, it looks quite quirky and original, and Sir Sean approves. But I wonder if I will ever see it finished…

The scooter’s good fun – great for zipping around town with no parking hassles. We saw Respiro last night, which is an excellent scooter movie, a great ad for Vespas in particular, and has the most resonant film score I’ve heard in a while.

Next weekend, we’re off to the highlands...

Berin says (in response to the scooter challenge):

  1) Jacqueline (sp?) Kennedy Onassis.

  2) Jake Dagger.

  3) Frank.

  I am working on the France=>Scotland angle, but apart from Old Mary, Bonnie Prince Charlie and a rumoured exodus of the Knights Templar, I am having troubles.

I wondered if "Jake Dagger" was some kind of reference to something meaningful, but Google says no. I guess Berin just liked that name.

Broadband?

This is now the second time I have written this post - yesterday, as I clicked the magic "post and publish" button our internet connection failed and my lovingly composed blog disappeared before my very eyes. This is an ongoing saga with our broadband provider (in reality, the connection speed is often slower than a dial-up) - I'm getting close to throwing a tantrum!

So, I'm giving it another go...

What's new in eh10? eh? I have one of those season-change-induced colds - yes, the heatwave is well and truly over! There's a definite autumnal nip in the air, and it wont be long before the leaves change colour. I have finally managed to book some flights for a wee jaunt this year - to Italy (Rome and Venice), in November. Easyjet's sale has cured my disillusionment with the online travel marketplace (see post back in July), temporarily at least!

I have been underwhelmed by the response to my scooter-naming challenge. So far the only responses have been from Dad (who suggests "Aggie") and David's "MacPac" and "outwith". So either the rest of you have had a very uncreative week, or nobody else actually reads this blog. Sigh.

Saturday night I saw the best fireworks I have ever seen - the finale to the festival, spectacularly located atop the Castle (I can't imagine a better location for a fireworks display), nicely accompanied by the chamber orchestra (Handel's Music for the Royal Fireworks, bien sur). It reminded me a bit of the concerts in the Auckland Domain - everyone gets into the spirit of the event, with picnics and much wine - very festive. Even a bit of rain didn't dampen the spirits (but I'm glad that the torrential downpour after the concert didn't happen during it - our entire group would have probably slid down the steep slope we were perched on). The definite highlight was the enormous waterfall effect over the length of the castle wall (especially exciting when bits of vegetation on the rock face below caught alight).

I've been researching Scottish music (not the hoodrum heedrum variety, something a bit more contemporary) for an award ceremony for young adult learners I'm organising for early next year. This means that we are currently listening to a radio station that specialises in new Scottish music. It reminds me of the bad old days of bFM (very variable, real gems lost amongst the thrash guitar). The music scene does seem to be quite lively here - loads of venues, loads of bands. I'm yet to establish my favourites, though. But we have secured tickets to see the Flaming Lips when they come here in November.

While I'm on a pop culture theme, I really enjoyed Pirates of the Carribbean. It was a good give your brain a rest flick, without being incredibly dumb, and, of course, I'll watch anything with Johhny Depp in it. I was quite keen to see Pirates, as it was a project I had worked on at Film NZ (not that it made it to NZ, but I was curious about the locations they chose in the end). We watched at our local picturehouse, the Dominion, where you are personally greeted and farewelled by the owners (it's a gorgeous old art deco cinema, that's been in the family for decades). Now that the weather is a bit cooler, I'll probably be a more regular visitor.

I was the lucky recipient of a stack of NZ mags this week, including the new Wellington title Staple - glossy and stylish and very cool in a kiwi way (there doesn't seem to be much like that here, or maybe it's just harder to find). Thanks mum!

What the kids are wearing

I got a letter from my wee brother last week (I like to call him that, cos he's much bigger than me). I got a letter from my granny too. It was a week of letters - a treat in these online days. The post is so much more satisfying than a post, like this one.

One thing Kevin wanted to know was what the kids are wearing here - well maybe not the kids, but you know what I mean. So I've been extra-observant this weekend, and identified the following looks:

*Tan suede slouch boots (obligatory), straight(ened?) bleach blonde hair, nasty tan (the oranger the better), blue eyeshadow, micro mini and anything skimpy on top. This one is sported by 14-17 year old girls who hunt in packs.

Actually, I can't have been very observant at all, as that's all I've come up with so far. The locals are obscured by the tourists a bit. Denim jackets seem to be popular, and white trainers and football shirts too. Have I mentioned tracksuits yet? These are generally sported by young men who are no longer allowed to be called "neds" (but are anyway, as the proposed PC alternatives, like "tracksuit ambassadors", were, frankly, ludicrous). Actually, older men seem to quite like them too. And whenever the sun's even sort of shining at the moment, we are treated to a mass display of pasty white (or sunburnt) beer bellies - the lads love to take their shirts off.

Immediately contradicting the above points, guys tend to be a bit more image-conscious here, so there are more shops for blokes. But more doesn't necessarily mean more variety - just more of the same.

Went to see a band last week, which happened to be 3/4 kiwi (although our connection was the other quarter, Stuart, a mate of Andrew's from work). They're everywhere, I tell you (easily identified by Macpac or Kathmandu backpacks). The band was called Bee Thousand, and was having an off-night (I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt). I find it harder and harder to get excited about boys with guitars these days - very few doing anything other than derivative, I think. Cosmic Wheels excepted, of course.

Time for a wee dram I think - we're drinking Highland Park and the moment, all the way from Orkney (and very nice and mellow it is too, just like the sound fx on their website...)

Hey Nostradamus!

That's the title of Douglas Coupland's new book. I've just been to see him at the Book Fest, in what was perhaps one of the funniest and weirdest and hippest (in a geeky kind of way) shows at the fest. He started by introducing himself as Troy McClure. Looking quite conservative in a pinstripe suit (there was a story behind it, but he ran out of time to tell it - one hour was over way too soon) and narrow old-boys-type tie, he then interviewed himself, based on questions he'd been asked in recent email interviews. Quite a good way to get to the meat (or paint the picture you want to, avoiding questions you don't want to answer) without the distraction of a chair/moderator. He put in a good performance on audience questions too, however - someone asked about the greatest coincidence he'd ever experienced, and his response was both elaborate, bizarre and banal (if you can imagine such a combination). There was also a reading from Hey Nostradamus!, one of the most aesthetically-pleasing novels I've seen in a while - nice heavy paper, tactile embossed cover (hardback), and now the added bonus of being signed by the man himself. I'll report on the story once I've actually read it. It's not in the shops till September. I bought another of his books too, "All Families Are Psychotic" - I liked the title. The other great moment in his talk was a mobile phone symphony - before the show you had to find out your neighbour's cell number, and then he asked everyone to ring the numbers, close their eyes, and listen to the chaos.

It's been a bit of a book fest weekend - last night I took my godmother Helen to see Candace Bushnell (Helen has recently discovered Sex and the City, and loves it). Checking out the audience at this gig was almost as fascinating as Candace herself - plenty of SJP lookalikes (although none quite so gorgeous as the real thing), and probably a few Manolo Blahnik's too. Never in the history of the Edinburgh Festivals has there been such a well-dressed (and certainly well-heeled, literally) audience. Candace of course was looking fab (Carrie's style was originally based on hers), and the audience loved her. I couldn't get excited about her new book, Trading Up - not really my thing - but she did have some memorable things to say (possibly paraphrased slightly, which she hates with a passion, but I didn't have my notepad out!): "anything a woman does is cool" and, when asked about the most and least important qualities in a husband, responded that he had to be nice (a quality she had, interestingly, denounced earlier as a kind of cowardice - maybe it's ok in men but not women?), and that it didn't matter too much about his shoes, because you could change those.

Outside of books and the larger-than-life personalities behind them, the big happening this weekend was getting the scooter. We now have wheels, and have had great fun playing in the traffic (except when Andrew almost took out some pedestrians, but he promises never to do that again!). We haven't got a name for the scooter yet. When I said maybe it should be something Scottish, A's immediate response was "kilt". This doesn't have the best connotations (reminding us of those poor pedestrians again). Maybe one of you has a brilliant idea for a name that will suit the wee Peugeot Vivacity...if so, get in touch, and I'll publish the best suggestions right here. Here's a wee reminder of what she looks like (and what A looks like too, with his racy helmet!).

Wheely good fun

Golly! It's been a week!

I didn't bother with my Ewan-stalking plan (see post on 7th August) because I would have had to travel a bit further than the UGC down the road. All the way to Australia, in fact, because he's busy with Star Wars. George Lucas has a lot to answer for.

Instead, A & I saw what would have to be my Fringe highlight so far - Demetri Martin's show, If I. You got a good sense of what the show was going to be like from the programme handed out beforehand. It comprised 2 poems, one composed from the words on a bottle of Rolling Rock beer, and the other, a 225 word palindrome. He's obsessed with palindromes, and puzzles, and in finding mathematical solutions to things that are not remotely mathematical. It was clever (which meant, sadly, that not all of the audience seemed to get his jokes, if you could call them jokes) and witty and philosophical all at the same time. The Scotsman had a good review. Incidentally, I think the bike he is photographed with in this pic is one that I wanted to buy...

A couple of weeks ago, when seeing Nick & Ingrid off at Waverley Station, we discovered a great way to find a cheap secondhand bike. There was a big queue outside what looked like a door to nowhere (solid steel, flaky paintwork, no signage, in the middle of the station). People also seemed to be holding tickets. I thought maybe this was some kind of weird Fringe show that I hadn't heard of yet. I don't like to be out of the loop, so I asked the chap who let everyone in on the dot of one what this was all about. It turns out that down there in the bowels of Waverley is a bike workshop that reconditions donated or salvaged bicycles. That explains the chap in the queue with the bike with buckled wheels. Every second Saturday at one, the public can descend into the cave and possibly nab a bargain (on a strictly first come first served basis - explaining the queue, and the tickets - you get 15 mins to look at the bikes first, and then they start calling out your number and you can choose the bike for you). As I hadn't queued, there was no chance of me being able to buy anything, but there was this great bike like the one in the pic, very Anne Frank, black, curved handlebars, chainguard and mudguards (very skirt-cycling-friendly), and even three gears and a Dynamo light. Remember them? I fell in love, but the object of my desires was snapped up by a cool (in a nerdy kind of way) guy that in hindsight looked rather a lot like Demetri Martin. Maybe he's going to take it back to NY with him. I've been biking to work, but find the mountainbike we are borrowing from my uncle a bit impractical and uncomfortable (saddle feels like a plank). And I have a thing for retro bikes at the moment - I'll keep looking.

Speaking of transport of the two-wheeled variety, we bought a scooter today. I can't believe I got this far before I mentioned it! It's a Peugeot Vivacity, silver and quite spunky. Only 50cc, which means that we don't need any special licence to drive it, but fits the two of us no prob. It's mainly for A to commute to work (rather than 2 buses twice a day), but will also be handy for scooting around town whenever we feel like it (rather than being wedded to bus timetables - which are mainly a fiction anyway, some kind of joke Lothian Buses play on hapless travellers). We pick it up next Saturday, and then we'll be freeeeeeeee!

The bus service is quite good in theory. From here, you can bus to pretty much any corner of the city, quite often without having to change. There are about 5 routes that chug along Morningside Road. Which should mean that you never (or hardly ever) have to wait for long. The reality is somewhat different. Buses travel in packs - 3 or 4 together, then none for 20 mins. And bus drivers never let you on if you are running for the bus and they are about to leave the stop. It's not in their disposition to be so kind. This is probably also why they all have a preference for sudden braking, jerky steering, and other driving methods guaranteed to make the old lady in the aisle fall over. The other annoying thing about buses here is that you have to be ready to alight as soon as the bus stops or you'll miss your stop - which can be hazardous given the driving techniques outlined above, and the fact that most buses are double deckers. You also have to have exact change, which for a ride pretty much anywhere is 80p. I am constantly emptying A's pockets and looking down the sides of the sofa to make up my 80p. Having said that, today I rode seven buses (scooter shopping, rugby watching, all over town) for the princely sum of 1.80 - yay Daysaver tickets!

More kids online - welcome to blogdom, Berin and Nic. I look forward to reading about your existential adventures in Godo.

Outwith the box

Do you know the word "outwith"? Chances are you probably don't, unless you've lived in Scotland or are a keen linguist. I don't recall ever hearing it before I came here (although I'm sure I must have, first time around). Having recently noticed people saying this strange (and I thought, made-up) word quite a lot, I looked it up in the dictionary. It's not even in every dictionary, but the Oxford has it, as a Scottish preposition. It means "outside", and now that I'm tuned in to it, I hear people using it all the time.

There really is a distinct language here (although Glasgow is a more fertile hunting ground for linguistic delights - but there is a bit of Glaswegian spoken here too). People describe things at exhibitions as "pure gallus", on the way home after a few bevvies they're steamin and probably stoap at the chippie. I love it.

It's early Sunday morning, too hot to sleep. Why is it that, when it's hot like this, you have nae bother sleeping during the day, but come nightfall (when it must be at least a few degrees cooler) you just toss and turn and get entangled in your sheets. Yes, the heatwave is still going strong. Last night we were at an outdoor concert (always a risky proposition, I would think, in Edinburgh) in Princes Street Gardens. The setting was magical - a hot, clear night, the castle rising up in the background, lit up and encircled in flaming torches, and the rest of the Old Town skyline looking equally impressive. The day before we had been in the gardens and a haar came in at about 6 (it had been gloriously hot and sunny up till that point). Within 5 minutes, the Castle (literally only a few hundred metres away) disappeared before our eyes, and the temperature dropped what felt like 10 degrees. It was quite a magical thing.

The concert was a charity gig, in aid of a Landmine Free World, and comprised an impressive line-up (especially if you like things a little bit folk, a little bit country!). Emmylou Harris was the leader of the band, more than ably accompanied by Steve Earle, Joan Baez (St Joan to many singer-songwriters), Billy Bragg and Chrissie Hynde. It was an acoustic gig, where they all sat on the stage together, playing a mix of solos, duets, all-together pieces, oldies and just-made-up stuff. One of the highlights was a song Billy Bragg had just made up that afternoon, called "the Bush War Blues" (to the tune of Leadbelly's "Bourgeois Blues") - with lines like "better watch out what you say/ else you might end up in Guantanamo Bay". The last verse, describing Tony Blair as Bush's poodle, brought the house down. Steve Earle's Jerusalem was a gorgeous end to the evening.

As I said when setting the scene, the Castle formed the backdrop to this concert. And as you might know, at this time of year, the Castle is home to the Edinburgh Military Tattoo - a spectacle of military bluster, pomp and ceremony, and quite a bizarre contrast to the peace-loving songs of revolution being played down in the Gardens. It does have great fireworks though!

Heatwave
Yep, from "sunny Monday" to a full-blown heatwave in just 4 days. The UK hasn't seen a summer like this in a while, and the media are finding every possible angle on the story. Bookies have been panicking because of the rush on bets that temperatures will reach 100F. Ice cream sales have rocketed. And Tescos report that "people are going mad for disposable barbecues". Crazy!

It really is hot, I wish I was at the beach. One positive spin-off from the heatwave is that I get to go home from work early. To quote my boss, "we don't get weather like this very often, so we might as well make the most of it." A good philosophy. She went on to remind me of the number of days in winter when I won't actually see the sun. Best not to think about that just now. Judging by the hoardes on the streets, it seems like we're not the only workplace to make the most of a sunny day (and quite a few people don't even make it to work in the first place when the weather's like this).

I also discovered today that we finish work at 4pm on Fridays. Every week of the year (apart from the 6 weeks of holidays of course). Things are looking better and better.

I spent my bonus afternoon time today outside (of course, making the most of the sunshine), in Princes St Gardens until I got bored of the hoardes and then in the peaceful oasis of our back green, poring over festival programmes. I think that a great part of the pleasure of festival time is the anticipation when the brochures come out, and the delight of reading and re-reading and choosing things to see. Making lists. Choosing is also the most agonising part, though - especially when you're still waiting for that first paycheck. There's always going to be a split between what you want to see and what you can afford to see. And, if you have a job, there's never enough time to see all that you would like to. I also discovered yesterday, if you linger too long on the tagging and highlighting phase, you sometimes miss out on the real action.

I must have read the film festival programme about six times, each time finding something new that I kinda wanted to see. But was never quite compelled enough to actually book tickets. I blame the programme. The NZ International Film Festival programme was thick and glossy and fitted in your handbag and had a picture and lots of info about every film (but what's the story with the orange and pink website this year???????). It got me excited about the films. The Edinburgh programme, in contrast, is tabloid size, printed on newsprint, and has not nearly enough pictures (only one for every 3 or so films) or info (although their website is quite nice). Summer also seems like the wrong time of year for a film festival and for spending a lot of time in darkened theatres. So, what all this design analysis is leading up to, is the fact that I didn't get tickets to the two films I was most keen to see - NZ feature Christmas (because it's the only NZ offering this year, looks kinda interesting, and is probably less likely to screen again any time soon) and the festival opener, Young Adam - a Scottish film, and Ewan McGregor's latest. I'll just have to enjoy the sunshine instead (and maybe hang out at the theatre where Young Adam is screening, to try and catch a glimpse of Ewan!)

Sunny Monday
Yes, after weeks of feeling that winter was definitely on its way, and now that all our visitors have gone home, the sun has come out to play again. Yay!

This all adds to the festive atmosphere, and makes things like free live music in the park very attractive lunchtime distractions. It also makes it hard to go back to my office in the attic in the afternoon.

Last night we saw Daniel Kitson's show, a made up story. I thought it was going to be stand-up, but it wasn't (guess I didn't read my programme in enough detail). It was funny though. Not hilarious, but funny, and quite clever. And an amazing feat to perform - an elaborate tale of interconnected lives, precisely timed with a filmed backdrop, and with some quite complex linguistic moments that any lesser mortal would have surely tripped over. And the venue is circular ( a bit like a big top) so he was constantly whirling around, but managed not to fall over or tie a knot in his microphone cord. I was quite impressed.

And now something I'm less impressed with. When you pay for things by SWITCH (what is commonly known as EFTPOS in more advanced civilisations), you don't enter a pin number. No siree. You just sign the till receipt and walk away with the goodies. This system seems way too easy to defraud - steal someone's wallet and you can really go shopping! The banks have seemingly just cottoned on to this, and there are rumours of PINs being introduced this year. What??? No!!! That's a crazy idea! In an effort to win the public round (they really don't want to change), there have been lots of articles in the press about how PINs are actually a good thing, and with a wee bit of effort you might just be able to remember the number. Mind you, Ingrid and Nick weren't even issued PIN numbers on their SWITCH cards (I'm not going to get into the inefficiency of banks here, it's too long a story), so they would have been a bit stuck.

Speaking of inefficiencies, gotta go do some (laborious, painful) internet banking. See ya!