Al headed off for a weekend of sea kayaking today, so I came home at lunch time to let Dougal out. The poor pooch had pretty much spent all day home alone by the time I finished work though, so I didn't have the heart to shut him in again while I went for a run (I'm waiting until I can buy a proper running dog lead before running with him, as I fear he is too bouncy to run on the regular extendable lead without entangling us irreparably).
Instead, we had a lovely walk together. It must have been nearly four miles out along the back road but cutting back to the railway from the far side of Dollar. He did some heel work, which he clearly finds tiresome but has to learn so he won't get run over in the city, and had a good romp off the lead on the railway.* There some pools of water covered in dense green weed tempted him with their apparently firm surface and he fell through the weed into the water not once but twice - a very surprised pup.
I read somewhere once that walking uses a particular butt muscle not used in running, so it will be no great hardship to have to run and walk for the next few weeks. I can use the running to get fit and the walking to procure/maintain a perky posterior. A plan with no drawbacks.
Oh, and the big field at opposite us which was previous full of grass about the same height as me has been trimmed right down, so Dougal did mad big circular dashes all over it. He spotted a black lab that he thought was his friend Jake and was very disappointed when it wasn't. We were both knackered and hungry upon our return and, while having sated the hunger with pasta, I'm now even more knackered after dismantling the guest bed (which was too small for the mattress and held together with extra planks on a broken side) and getting the Ikea boxes for the new one in from the van. I'm leaving the remantling till tomorrow.
* This is a defunct railway track now used as a walk. I wouldn't let him run around in front of actual trains or anything.
Friday, 25 July 2008
Thursday, 24 July 2008
Nedding
I can't do justice to it, I really can't. So just the highlights:
Can't wait to run another Mouse Race next year! I'm already planning on asking the neighbours if we can borrow their tennis court and wondering if you're allowed to swim in Gartmorn Dam.
Back down to earth: Fi's sister caught me in a weakened hungover state and signed me up for the Coll half marathon in (gulp) five weeks. I'm going to try and run 100 miles before then: averaging 20 miles a week. So far I have done two gym trips, one 4 miles and one 4 and a half, at just quicker than 6 mph. It was horrendous: so depressing that what would have been a mild warm up three months ago is now a real workout. But if all else fails I can do the 5km race instead.
- Seeing the girls head off to the registry office in a state of high excitement and return (about 30 seconds later) officially nedded: it brought a tear to my eye (in a good way).
- The first sight of the secret location, the glorious Ardanaiseig Hotel, and Fi's particular excitement at showing us all to our specially selected rooms (ours chosen for the short bed (as Official Shortest Couple) and fabulous freestanding bath).
- Trying out the bath - mmm, hot water!
- Seeing the boys draw up in their Inspector Morse car.
- Walking into a timewarp before dinner when everyone had dressed up beautifully for the 1920s theme and the venue was perfect for it.
- Venison.
- Poker with a professional dealer.
- Music and dancing and Fi and Ailsa looking really happy.
- Messing about quietly with arty stuff in a comfy yurt.
- Swimming in the loch, thinking all swimming should be done in fresh water, under the open sky.
- Lying on short grass in warm sun.
- Talking to Archie about dinosaurs.
- Feeling pretty in my hippy dress.
- Steak.
- Ceilidhing with Simon and Morag like old times.
- Al winning the Fantastic Prize.
- Mulling it all over with the cheeseboard on the way home.
Can't wait to run another Mouse Race next year! I'm already planning on asking the neighbours if we can borrow their tennis court and wondering if you're allowed to swim in Gartmorn Dam.
Back down to earth: Fi's sister caught me in a weakened hungover state and signed me up for the Coll half marathon in (gulp) five weeks. I'm going to try and run 100 miles before then: averaging 20 miles a week. So far I have done two gym trips, one 4 miles and one 4 and a half, at just quicker than 6 mph. It was horrendous: so depressing that what would have been a mild warm up three months ago is now a real workout. But if all else fails I can do the 5km race instead.
Wednesday, 16 July 2008
Friendly weekends and a political rant
Long time no blog, what with two delightful weekends full of friends to keep me busy.
First there was the long-awaited hag do for Fiona and Ailsa: a fantastic event over three days organised with precision by Barry, Colin, Hils and Helen. There was a meal in the intimacy of a private room at Channings, where we could get all loud and annoying without worrying that we were bothering other people. Then on Saturday were split into two teams (I was on Fi's) and set on a series of challenges including golf, cryptic clues, rounders, tug of war, a beer mat collecting exercise and cheese and wine tasting. I was mediocre at all of these but nevertheless our team triumphed overall.
That evening we had a two round poker tournament, playing for actual money: £10 in the pot from each of 14 of us made it a prize worth winning and really very exciting. I made it to the second round on the back of extreme luck, including being dealt a natural full house, but Barry proceeded to amass a heap of chips so huge you could barely see his eyebrows. I went all in on the last hand - three threes - and won most of Al's stash (he claims, in the misguided belief that I would have done likewise, that he 'donated' them to me knowing I had the better hand) but even that was not enough to overcome Barry's hoard and he was declared a worthy winner.
Humph.
Sunday found us at the Sheep's Heid in Duddingston, a pub I've been meaning to go to for years but never got around to. It claims to be the oldest pub in Edinburgh, with a tavern on the site for the last squillion years, and boasts an old-fashioned skittles alley. To be honest I was hoping for a little non-competitive, genteel, ad hoc skittle action, but being us we once again organised into teams. Luckily a round of sausage sandwiches from the pub barbecue revived us enough to not lose every single round, but not enough to deny Ailsa the chance to claim a victory.
Last weekend Mo and Ray came up to visit, seeing the cottage for the first time. It is, at least, just about habitable for visitors now, though we still need a new spare bed. The current one is nailed together with planks and the mattress is too big and hangs over the edge. I have booked Al in for a trip to Ikea before my mum arrives. Anyway, Morag and Ray were most patient with it, and apart from the study, which still looks as a bit empty and seems to get covered in muddy paw prints as fast as I can hoover them up, the rest of the place cleaned up nicely after a two hour frenzy with the vacuum and duster.
We'd planned to do very little and enjoyed a leisurely lunch followed by a two and a half hour walk along the back roads to Tillicoultry, where ice creams were purchased, and back along the railway. It was the first time Al had done this route, which is familiar to me from running. It's a lovely walk with hardly any roads and Dougal loved it, romping happily with passing hounds. Back home he summoned just enough energy to eat his dinner before curling up on my lap and sleeping - the first time we've managed to tire him out!
I made a lasagna while Morag and Ray erected a massive Leaning Tower of Cake from the sponges I'd made earlier. Well, Morag mostly made it while Ray provided helpful comments, took photos and prevented Dougal from eating things. The shelves inside the oven have slipped so cakes come out a bit squinty, but my assistants managed to match the layers of sponge beautifully. Held together with whipped cream and an entire punnet of strawberries, it was a sight to behold.
After the previous weekend, Al had the poker bug and we had requested that our guests bring cards and chips. Fortified by cake and whisky, we pokered away until Al had won everything and then we went to bed.
I dragged myself up at 9.30 to let Dougal out. Having done so, I went to the loo and returned to the kitchen to find Al letting a rather confused Dougal out again. He (Al, not Dougal) had mistaken a pile of duvet for my sleeping form and was sleepily surprised to find me downstairs as well as still in bed.
While not exactly sunny, the weather was at least making some attempt at warmth and we spent a pleasant morning in and around the hammock with the papers before tootling off to find a pub for lunch. We tried to track down one in Powmill, which Al's parents had recommended, but we couldn't find it and returned to the Muckhart Inn instead. Al and I were on the bike, so Mo and Ray headed home after lunch and we motored back to the hound and more hammock time.
I took another look at my courgettes. They still haven't grown, even though I've watered them and been stung by nettles weeding them. Expert opinion (ie my mum) suggests that they are now goners. How ungrateful of them. At least my herbs are making a brave showing, proving that I am not a complete plant Jonah. The basil is even recognisable as basil already.
Back to work for a short week - Friday to be spent at a Secret Location for the non-wedding of the year. Took Dougal to the vet yesterday as he has an eye infection - probably from running through acres of eye-height grass. I was much more nervous than him. When the vet picked him up to put him on the table he thought he was getting a cuddle, and then he kept trying to lick the torch used to look in his eye. Now we have eye drops to administer, which takes a while as Dougal thinks they'd be much better taken orally.
Otherwise, I've been kept occupied following the Glasgow East by election. As Ray noted over the Sunday papers, the Sunday Times seems to be under the impression that the Tories could win this seat. Possibly their thinking goes: Labour not looking good, therefore Conservatives not looking bad. But I'm pretty sure that, in their desperate search for a way to show Gordon Brown where to stick his 10p tax band, the people of Glasgow East are not clinging to the legs of Tory politicians and pleading for forgiveness for the crime of never having voted for them before.
Oh no. I think the SNP will probably do quite well.
Especially if Labour keep coming out with stuff like this, from Labour minister David Cairns: "Councillor Mason [the SNP candidate] has finally let the cat out of the bag. He has admitted what we knew all along – he is a hard-line Nationalist who sees his role at Westminster to bring about independence."
Um, am I the only one who thinks that possibly the cat was never in the bag in the first place? That, in fact, the cat was sitting some distance away from the bag, sunning itself and opening flaunting a yellow SNP badge? Hello - it's called the 'Scottish National Party'. The clue is in the name.
Now I don't support Scottish nationalism (yet). I'm not quite convinced it's in Scotland's interests to go it alone, or that the rest of the UK will ever let go of all that lovely oil that Alex's relying on. But I do support democracy. And if the people of Scotland vote for an independent Scotland then that is what they should get.
David Cairns seems to think that if you support nationalism, you shouldn't be allowed to express that support democratically by electing someone to bring about such a state of affairs by peaceful political means. He's out of touch if he thinks that wanting an independent Scotland makes Mason an unacceptable representative to most Scots.
Quite apart from the fact that independence is not, north of the border, viewed with the antipathy it is in London, the SNP has managed over the last year and a bit to establish itself as more than a one issue party. I didn't want to like them. But they keep doing things I agree with.
I want Labour to win Glasgow East because I want Gordon Brown to stay prime minister. So my advice to Margaret Curran (who seems a lot more on the ball and is a proper Weegie to boot) is to ignore Cairns. Don't try and denigrate the SNP for being what they are, when what they are is popular. Instead, Labour might do well to consider why they're not so popular themselves right now.
First there was the long-awaited hag do for Fiona and Ailsa: a fantastic event over three days organised with precision by Barry, Colin, Hils and Helen. There was a meal in the intimacy of a private room at Channings, where we could get all loud and annoying without worrying that we were bothering other people. Then on Saturday were split into two teams (I was on Fi's) and set on a series of challenges including golf, cryptic clues, rounders, tug of war, a beer mat collecting exercise and cheese and wine tasting. I was mediocre at all of these but nevertheless our team triumphed overall.
That evening we had a two round poker tournament, playing for actual money: £10 in the pot from each of 14 of us made it a prize worth winning and really very exciting. I made it to the second round on the back of extreme luck, including being dealt a natural full house, but Barry proceeded to amass a heap of chips so huge you could barely see his eyebrows. I went all in on the last hand - three threes - and won most of Al's stash (he claims, in the misguided belief that I would have done likewise, that he 'donated' them to me knowing I had the better hand) but even that was not enough to overcome Barry's hoard and he was declared a worthy winner.
Humph.
Sunday found us at the Sheep's Heid in Duddingston, a pub I've been meaning to go to for years but never got around to. It claims to be the oldest pub in Edinburgh, with a tavern on the site for the last squillion years, and boasts an old-fashioned skittles alley. To be honest I was hoping for a little non-competitive, genteel, ad hoc skittle action, but being us we once again organised into teams. Luckily a round of sausage sandwiches from the pub barbecue revived us enough to not lose every single round, but not enough to deny Ailsa the chance to claim a victory.
Last weekend Mo and Ray came up to visit, seeing the cottage for the first time. It is, at least, just about habitable for visitors now, though we still need a new spare bed. The current one is nailed together with planks and the mattress is too big and hangs over the edge. I have booked Al in for a trip to Ikea before my mum arrives. Anyway, Morag and Ray were most patient with it, and apart from the study, which still looks as a bit empty and seems to get covered in muddy paw prints as fast as I can hoover them up, the rest of the place cleaned up nicely after a two hour frenzy with the vacuum and duster.
We'd planned to do very little and enjoyed a leisurely lunch followed by a two and a half hour walk along the back roads to Tillicoultry, where ice creams were purchased, and back along the railway. It was the first time Al had done this route, which is familiar to me from running. It's a lovely walk with hardly any roads and Dougal loved it, romping happily with passing hounds. Back home he summoned just enough energy to eat his dinner before curling up on my lap and sleeping - the first time we've managed to tire him out!
I made a lasagna while Morag and Ray erected a massive Leaning Tower of Cake from the sponges I'd made earlier. Well, Morag mostly made it while Ray provided helpful comments, took photos and prevented Dougal from eating things. The shelves inside the oven have slipped so cakes come out a bit squinty, but my assistants managed to match the layers of sponge beautifully. Held together with whipped cream and an entire punnet of strawberries, it was a sight to behold.
After the previous weekend, Al had the poker bug and we had requested that our guests bring cards and chips. Fortified by cake and whisky, we pokered away until Al had won everything and then we went to bed.
I dragged myself up at 9.30 to let Dougal out. Having done so, I went to the loo and returned to the kitchen to find Al letting a rather confused Dougal out again. He (Al, not Dougal) had mistaken a pile of duvet for my sleeping form and was sleepily surprised to find me downstairs as well as still in bed.
While not exactly sunny, the weather was at least making some attempt at warmth and we spent a pleasant morning in and around the hammock with the papers before tootling off to find a pub for lunch. We tried to track down one in Powmill, which Al's parents had recommended, but we couldn't find it and returned to the Muckhart Inn instead. Al and I were on the bike, so Mo and Ray headed home after lunch and we motored back to the hound and more hammock time.
I took another look at my courgettes. They still haven't grown, even though I've watered them and been stung by nettles weeding them. Expert opinion (ie my mum) suggests that they are now goners. How ungrateful of them. At least my herbs are making a brave showing, proving that I am not a complete plant Jonah. The basil is even recognisable as basil already.
Back to work for a short week - Friday to be spent at a Secret Location for the non-wedding of the year. Took Dougal to the vet yesterday as he has an eye infection - probably from running through acres of eye-height grass. I was much more nervous than him. When the vet picked him up to put him on the table he thought he was getting a cuddle, and then he kept trying to lick the torch used to look in his eye. Now we have eye drops to administer, which takes a while as Dougal thinks they'd be much better taken orally.
Otherwise, I've been kept occupied following the Glasgow East by election. As Ray noted over the Sunday papers, the Sunday Times seems to be under the impression that the Tories could win this seat. Possibly their thinking goes: Labour not looking good, therefore Conservatives not looking bad. But I'm pretty sure that, in their desperate search for a way to show Gordon Brown where to stick his 10p tax band, the people of Glasgow East are not clinging to the legs of Tory politicians and pleading for forgiveness for the crime of never having voted for them before.
Oh no. I think the SNP will probably do quite well.
Especially if Labour keep coming out with stuff like this, from Labour minister David Cairns: "Councillor Mason [the SNP candidate] has finally let the cat out of the bag. He has admitted what we knew all along – he is a hard-line Nationalist who sees his role at Westminster to bring about independence."
Um, am I the only one who thinks that possibly the cat was never in the bag in the first place? That, in fact, the cat was sitting some distance away from the bag, sunning itself and opening flaunting a yellow SNP badge? Hello - it's called the 'Scottish National Party'. The clue is in the name.
Now I don't support Scottish nationalism (yet). I'm not quite convinced it's in Scotland's interests to go it alone, or that the rest of the UK will ever let go of all that lovely oil that Alex's relying on. But I do support democracy. And if the people of Scotland vote for an independent Scotland then that is what they should get.
David Cairns seems to think that if you support nationalism, you shouldn't be allowed to express that support democratically by electing someone to bring about such a state of affairs by peaceful political means. He's out of touch if he thinks that wanting an independent Scotland makes Mason an unacceptable representative to most Scots.
Quite apart from the fact that independence is not, north of the border, viewed with the antipathy it is in London, the SNP has managed over the last year and a bit to establish itself as more than a one issue party. I didn't want to like them. But they keep doing things I agree with.
I want Labour to win Glasgow East because I want Gordon Brown to stay prime minister. So my advice to Margaret Curran (who seems a lot more on the ball and is a proper Weegie to boot) is to ignore Cairns. Don't try and denigrate the SNP for being what they are, when what they are is popular. Instead, Labour might do well to consider why they're not so popular themselves right now.
Wednesday, 2 July 2008
Busy evenings
Been unusually busy through the week with a delightful last minute dinner at Holly Cottage on Monday so Al could get his massage as he is a guinea pig for Fi. Of course he was late and as usual took 20 minutes to get ready so I drove like a demon until we got stuck behind a tow truck and had to crawl anyway. I was berating him the other day for his inability to leave the house in under half an hour and he pointed out that he often manages to leave very quickly...but then has to go back again for whatever he's forgotten. How hard can it be - it's not like he has to brush his hair or anything.
I suppose everyone has to have one annoying habit. Callum always leaves empty packets in the cupboards and fridge when he's taken the last of something, which drives Al crazy. I told him to think of the day when Cal leaves home and eventually opens his fridge to find nothing but empty packets taking up all the room.
Anyway, as soon as I walked through the door of HC I felt instantly relaxed, as is always the way, and was plied with wine and nibbles by Ailsa, followed by tasty roast (yes, Morag, I got your roast! Mwa ha ha!) Al too looked chilled out following his treatment. He is very complimentary of Fi's talents and has been persuaded to possibly go back to the doctor about his back, which is good.
Yesterday we'd invited the neighbours round as they'd had us over for drinks and had introduced Al to some cycling friends. We had a nice chat and some wine. they were amazed we had the fire on - 'But it's the middle of summer!' Oh yes, I am trying to avoid thinking about possible indoor temperatures come winter.
Tonight is a free night, phew. Then a public meeting for work tomorrow night and the hag weekend starts Friday.
Nice to have some time to myself but I am missing the jingle of little Dougal's collar as he potters around the house. We have turned into sickeningly doting dog owners. Gazing adoringly at Dougal and gently stroking his paw as he slept, Al announced that he loved him. I was slightly put out, pointing out that it had taken Al nine months to say that he loved me, and only then after I'd said it first.
'Has Dougal ever told you he loves you, eh?'
'Ooh yes, he says that whenever he licks my ear.'
'That's not him saying he loves you. That's him trying to get you to regurgitate food for him.'
I suppose everyone has to have one annoying habit. Callum always leaves empty packets in the cupboards and fridge when he's taken the last of something, which drives Al crazy. I told him to think of the day when Cal leaves home and eventually opens his fridge to find nothing but empty packets taking up all the room.
Anyway, as soon as I walked through the door of HC I felt instantly relaxed, as is always the way, and was plied with wine and nibbles by Ailsa, followed by tasty roast (yes, Morag, I got your roast! Mwa ha ha!) Al too looked chilled out following his treatment. He is very complimentary of Fi's talents and has been persuaded to possibly go back to the doctor about his back, which is good.
Yesterday we'd invited the neighbours round as they'd had us over for drinks and had introduced Al to some cycling friends. We had a nice chat and some wine. they were amazed we had the fire on - 'But it's the middle of summer!' Oh yes, I am trying to avoid thinking about possible indoor temperatures come winter.
Tonight is a free night, phew. Then a public meeting for work tomorrow night and the hag weekend starts Friday.
Nice to have some time to myself but I am missing the jingle of little Dougal's collar as he potters around the house. We have turned into sickeningly doting dog owners. Gazing adoringly at Dougal and gently stroking his paw as he slept, Al announced that he loved him. I was slightly put out, pointing out that it had taken Al nine months to say that he loved me, and only then after I'd said it first.
'Has Dougal ever told you he loves you, eh?'
'Ooh yes, he says that whenever he licks my ear.'
'That's not him saying he loves you. That's him trying to get you to regurgitate food for him.'
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