I have made the rookie error of reading Fiona's blog before writing this, which means that I can now only remember her excellent turn of phrase and will enscribe but a poor parody of her musings (see what I mean?). But here goes.
We went to Skye! First we went to Fife on Thursday night to avoid the bridge roadworks and ensure an early start in the morning. Then we spent about an hour squidging everything into the landrover so we didn't really set off that early after all, but hey, I got to climb on the roof of the car to lock the roofbox, so that was cool. I was preoccupied with the minor debacle of a freelance report I was coordinating. I'd set off to the Land of No Mobile Signal leaving my lovely and creatively talented but unfortunately completely disorganised designer in charge and phoned and emailed him a few times to make sure said report actually made it to the printers by its deadline. That faff notwithstanding, we made good time up north, screeching to a brief halt only when we saw a sign which advertised 'Cakes, coffee and other yummy things'. It did not disappoint.
All of which landed us in Glen Brittle on the west coast of Skye after driving across the bridge - I was taken aback at how short it is, having expected a Forth Road Bridge type affair - and fitted in a quick look round a ruined castle in the south of the island. The campsite was not as dire as I had prepared myself for, and we set up tents and got dinner going while admiring the view over to Rum (or was it Mull?). I 'helped' Fiona by putting her tent poles through the wrong loops - turns out her tent goes up outside first, not inside like mine. Which makes much more sense if it's raining.
I do like my tent, an excellent purchase in Australia when I walked the Overland Track with it on my back. I'd bought it because it was the lightest model I could find and I do hate carrying a heavy pack, but it is also spacious (for one person) and secure. And easy to put up, obviously.
It is also waterproof, which you'd think was a given quality in a tent, but Colin's proved otherwise. We woke on the first day to that sound of rain on a tent roof which can (occasionally) be comforting and homely but quickly becomes overlaid with the nasty realisation that at some point you're going to have to go out in it. We awaited Colin's arrival in the landrover, comparing notes on a night of broken sleep. The camp warden had told us that it was much colder than was usual in September and I'd been glad of a cosy Baffie sleeping right at the bottom of the sleeping bag (how she breathes down there remains a mystery) to warm me. However, because it was the first night both dogs had been restless in their strange surroundings and took it in turns to wake up and squeak. When Baffie did go to sleep her snores echoed around the campsite.
Good old Colin arrived, having left Edinburgh at some ungodly hour in the morning. We weren't sure if he'd be disappointed if we suggested an alternative to walking, but he jumped at the chance of a trip to the Talisker distillery instead. At this point we were still naively hoping that it would stop raining the next day! Anyway, Fi, Ailsa and I went to the pub while the others did the whisky tour and then we did a couple of short walks in the rain that afternoon. One led to what would have been a spectacular waterfall, though it appeared through the mist as only a distant white smudge and some atmospheric background noise.
We slept better the second night, probably due to being good and tired, and Ailsa was particularly cheery in the morning. Though still showery, there were dry patches and we decided to walk out along the coast. Originally we'd wanted to do a walk into the foothills of the Cuillin, but the book pronounced this boggy. The coast walk was mostly on a good hard track, with only a short section of bog towards the end, when we tracked down a neolithic chambered cairn. Much fun was had finding suitable places to ford streams, some of which had become minor torrents in the rain. At one point the dogs had to be tossed over a particularly deep and fast stretch, but mostly we managed with only swearing, jumping, slipping and hopping. The sun came out briefly for a ten minute rest by the cairn, then it rained again most of the way back!
We had dinner at the Old Inn in Carbost, which was an excellent pub. It boasted live folk music (not that we heard much as it was in another room and we were next to a table of rowdy walkers telling unfunny jokes), great pub food, a pool table and more types of Talisker than you could shake a stick at. To avoid unnecessary trips to the far away camp loos in the night, I stuck to wine and whisky, which seemed to do the trick. And speaking of tricks I even joined in the card games and learnt contract whist. Rock and roll!
We drove merrily back to Glen Brittle where, as soon as I was zipped up in my sleeping bag, it became apparent that a minor hurricane had taken up residence. My tent was making a noise similar to someone enthusiastically applauding a particularly deaf maestro, and whenever it let up the neighbouring tents decided to take over.
Baffie passed out, exhausted by her adventures on the walk, but woke up in the middle of the night (I having spent the intervening period staring at the seam of my tent) and decided to be scared of the noise. She emerged from the bottom of the sleeping bag for a cuddle and to sleep with her head on the 'pillow', which was fine until she stretched out luxuriously and the sleeping bag's zip started to unzip itself under strain. Rather than sleep with a cold back or holding the zip together, I tried to wake up the pooch to persuade her to move. My god that animal can sleep! She's like the canine equivalent of me. She ended up on her back with all four legs in the air while I held her chest with both hands and waggled her back and forth, occasionally stopping to check she was still breathing. To no avail: she simply snoozed on with tongue lolling and ears flapping. Eventually I used stealth tactics and took all the covers away so she awoke in 10 seconds, complained of the cold and returned to her foot-warming position.
All told, we did not have a particularly restful night and Colin discovered that a tent with no lining (who knew such a piece of shit existed?) had a tendency to gush water every time he touched the side, which was a lot. But we are made of stern stuff and even managed to just catch the ferry to Raasay. I can't remember now what made us late. Oh yes, the car keys were missing I think. Someone once bought Fiona those keys which, when you whistle of shout for them, make a noise so you can find them. But they ended making the noise all the time, whenever they called the dogs or something, so were ditched for being annoying. I think the only solution is an adaptation of a rather funky new laptop we have at work which logs you on by recognising your finger print. No need for keys and you can't forget your fingers!
Raasay was lovely, I'm really glad we went. The important thing to remember about Raasay is that is it in fact pronounced 'Rassay' with short 'a', or so my know-it-all boyfriend informs me by laughing every time I get it wrong. And he hasn't even been there!
We did a short, flat walk along a coast path that was easy to follow until the very end, when we got lost. Morag had turned back earlier and we'd left her with the map and directions. Duh. We were trying to get to the ruined village of Hallaig, which was deserted in the clearances. As it happened, I wasn't too bothered about seeing the village close to. We could see the outline of the ruins on the way, and I found the path wandering through the birch woods much more appealing It was autumn overload with orange bracken, purple heather and yellow birch, not to mention fungi the size of soup plates. There was a cairn overlooking a wave-washed and rainbowed bay with a poem by an apparently famous poet called Sorely Maclean. Fiona has reproduced it in full on her blog, so take a look. It's worth mentioning that, other than a damp couple near the beginning of our fist coast walk, we didn't see anyone else on our walks the whole time in Skye. Near Hallaig, the absence of people made it a particularly evocative.
We dropped Col back at the ferry and went on to discover one of my favourite bits of the trip. A while back I'd read something, possibly in the Scotsman, about a guy who built a 10 mile road with his bare hands. Well, presumably he had some sort of shovel or something, but he dug the stone, measured the camber, stuck it all together all on his own with no mechanical help. It was to get to some tiny settlement that people were leaving because the government wouldn't put in a road. I'd been quite taken with the story but had forgotten all about it until we found ourselves on the very road! I hadn't even known it was on Raasay! Well Callum's road was the twistingest, turniest single track road ever and I was glad we were in the landrover. Eventually we got to the end and turned round and did it all again going back.
We planned a quiet last night at the campsite using up our food and ended up having a picnic in the car as the rain came on again. We gave up and headed back to the pub for cards and warmth until we were drooping with tiredness and got a few hours sleep. We'd originally been planning to move camp sites half way through the trip, but as it was such a faff getting stuff all packed up and we'd had to miss a couple of the fair weather walks we'd ended up staying on. After much discussion, we picked Macleod's Maidens for our final walk. This nine mile route was another coastal walk which ended at a trio of sea stacks. We wanted to do Macleod's Tables - two flat-topped hills nearby - but felt they would be just too boggy and steep. Skye is basically a big peat bog with some mountains sticking out! Somehow, even a slope so steep that the path rises level with your eyes can be oozing water - surely it should all sink to the bottom?
We'll have to come back in better weather for some of the other walks, and maybe leave the dogs behind for what the book describes as 'handwork'. For amusement value we looked up the most difficult walk in the book, which was part of the Cuillin ridge. It was described as a difficult scramble with 'some interesting situations' - can't wait!
Anyway, the Maiden's was certainly not demanding in any technical way but was rather long and undulating. When we eventually spotted the sea stacks the wind was blowing so hard that my camera kept telling me that the picture was blurred and asking did I want to save it anyway? Unsurprising that the picture was blurred when I was crouching behind a hillock near the edge of a 40 foot cliff in the rain and wind to take it. The way back seemed strangely longer. I'm sure someone slipped an extra mile or two in between the beginning of the woodland plantation and the road, and we were all truly sopping when we got back to the landrover. I think the Maiden's was the right choice as the Tables would have been miserable in the wind.
Luckily, salvation awaited in the form of the Three Chimneys, where the lovely staff took one look at us and - no! they didn't call the police! - they made us coffee and cake and moved back our dinner reservation so we could spend a good half hour each scraping the moss from under our toes ('I haven't seen my feet since Sunday', Morag cheerfully remarked.) Dinner was everything I'd hoped for: good, fresh, local, seasonal food. Good portions - not teeny artsy fartsy stuff but not so much that we felt too stuffed. I had a mussel risotto followed by venison which came with tiny baby turnips. We all tried each others' food though, which is a great way to get a feel for a restaurant. Hil's salmon and Ailsa's aubergine salad were particularly fine.
We retired so our beautiful clean, huge rooms. I'd been expecting to share a double bed plus campbed arrangement in the family room, but we had full size single beds for two of us and a small double sofa bed made up for Mo, who pronounced it most comfy. I was asleep before she turned off the light.
Breakfast in the morning was another highlight, with tasty muesli, fruit, CHEESE! and smoked meat as well as endless coffee.
Then we drove back to Fife and thence to Edinburgh and my lunch break is coming to an end as well as my typing ability so I will say only that it has taken two days to dry my tent and my boots and still squelchy. But it was great! And I will definitely go back to Skye and do some scrambling and hill walks. I'll just make sure I take my new waterproof trousers with me.
Friday, 21 September 2007
Wednesday, 12 September 2007
Monday surf
It's all been a bit quiet on the exercise front, with loads of work on, including freelance work so that I've been coming home from one computer and sitting down at another. I was asked at the last minute to attend a conference in Newport last week, which raised my hopes of a sneaky off-conference surf trip to the Gower. But it was not to be and I was forced to listed to investment experts tell me that when my fixed price mortgage ends next year I'll have to pay loads more money instead.
We were supposed to go to a wedding on Saturday - a friend of Al's - so got all poshed up in dress and kilt and taxied to the Balmoral (the hotel, not the castle) for 3pm. There was no sign of a wedding so we asked at reception, where the receptionist managed to refrain from laughing in our faces as she pointed out the the invitation Al was clutching said the 16th. Not only the wrong week, but the wrong day of the week, too! Al claims this is because they changed the date having reserved the 8th ages ago. Anyway, we took our posh outfits to the Scotsman for a cocktail before walking home. Al bemoaned having spent £5 on a taxi. I bemoaned having spent £13 on two bloody marys (maries?).
So I suppose I could have spent the unexpectedly free weekend doing sporty type stuff. Instead we went to a friend's barbeque (having by now changed out of our nice clothes, and with Al sporting my fleece with his dress shoes) and then to the cinema. We saw Run, Fatboy, Run, which I rather liked, predictable as it was. Al thought it was cheesy, which was true. I thought it could have had more running and less overt Nike sponsorship in it. Anyway, it inspired me enough to get off my arse and go for a walk on Sunday, after I took Hilary shopping for sensible walking clothes for Skye. I went round Arthur's Seat where there was a scenic burnt out car. How pleasant.
Real exercise finally kicked in on Monday, when I got my first surf for ages. Morag graciously accepted my apologies for aquafit and Al and I headed down the coast to Coldingham. Surf was small but regular and we were joined by Al's friend Ben and his girlfriend Sue, who I kept calling Sam by mistake. Ben was in his kayak and caught loads more waves than us. The water was incredibly warm - I wore my thin boots and no hood. At one point three flares went off to the south - probably a fishing boat with engine trouble heading for the cliffs. It was a good night for wildlife too, with a massive frenzy of gulls divebombing not far out. There must have been a school of fish being eaten from both above and below out there. And the closest seal I've ever seen, staring at us with bold curiosity.
Eventually I thought there was something wrong with my contact lenses because I couldn't see, before realising that it was just getting really dark so we had to come in. It was only 9pm but all the chip shops had closed - disaster! We were back in Edinburgh and it was 11pm before I got my fix.
We've had a warm few days and it's tempting to herald an indian summer, especially after the complete lack of an actual summer. But this morning I left home to the distinctive Edinburgh smell of hops. I know they must brew all year round but for some reason this scent always seems very autumnal too me. Let's hope autumn at least provides some warmer water surfing. I've lent my board to a guy a work who may buy it for his daughter, so I'm off to perve over possible replacements...
We were supposed to go to a wedding on Saturday - a friend of Al's - so got all poshed up in dress and kilt and taxied to the Balmoral (the hotel, not the castle) for 3pm. There was no sign of a wedding so we asked at reception, where the receptionist managed to refrain from laughing in our faces as she pointed out the the invitation Al was clutching said the 16th. Not only the wrong week, but the wrong day of the week, too! Al claims this is because they changed the date having reserved the 8th ages ago. Anyway, we took our posh outfits to the Scotsman for a cocktail before walking home. Al bemoaned having spent £5 on a taxi. I bemoaned having spent £13 on two bloody marys (maries?).
So I suppose I could have spent the unexpectedly free weekend doing sporty type stuff. Instead we went to a friend's barbeque (having by now changed out of our nice clothes, and with Al sporting my fleece with his dress shoes) and then to the cinema. We saw Run, Fatboy, Run, which I rather liked, predictable as it was. Al thought it was cheesy, which was true. I thought it could have had more running and less overt Nike sponsorship in it. Anyway, it inspired me enough to get off my arse and go for a walk on Sunday, after I took Hilary shopping for sensible walking clothes for Skye. I went round Arthur's Seat where there was a scenic burnt out car. How pleasant.
Real exercise finally kicked in on Monday, when I got my first surf for ages. Morag graciously accepted my apologies for aquafit and Al and I headed down the coast to Coldingham. Surf was small but regular and we were joined by Al's friend Ben and his girlfriend Sue, who I kept calling Sam by mistake. Ben was in his kayak and caught loads more waves than us. The water was incredibly warm - I wore my thin boots and no hood. At one point three flares went off to the south - probably a fishing boat with engine trouble heading for the cliffs. It was a good night for wildlife too, with a massive frenzy of gulls divebombing not far out. There must have been a school of fish being eaten from both above and below out there. And the closest seal I've ever seen, staring at us with bold curiosity.
Eventually I thought there was something wrong with my contact lenses because I couldn't see, before realising that it was just getting really dark so we had to come in. It was only 9pm but all the chip shops had closed - disaster! We were back in Edinburgh and it was 11pm before I got my fix.
We've had a warm few days and it's tempting to herald an indian summer, especially after the complete lack of an actual summer. But this morning I left home to the distinctive Edinburgh smell of hops. I know they must brew all year round but for some reason this scent always seems very autumnal too me. Let's hope autumn at least provides some warmer water surfing. I've lent my board to a guy a work who may buy it for his daughter, so I'm off to perve over possible replacements...
Friday, 24 August 2007
Back to business
Dammit! I wrote a long, erudite and amusing blog yesterday which I then lost completely when the computer crashed. Now I have to be witty all over again.
So. The day after the wedding we enjoyed a late breakfast. I was entertained by Maureen the landlady who asked Fiona what the bride's dress had been like 'because there's no point asking the boys'. Fi politely revealed that it had been white. Then Maureen went on to complain about the football season restarting and not knowing 'what the men see in it' while Fi rolled her eyes.
We were invited to a barbeque at the Leeman family farm. The weather had broken and it was absolutely tipping it down, so it was a good job Helen and Colin hadn't been able to get married on the Saturday as they originally preferred. Instead they had arranged a great bash in a barn. We chatted and met the horses and Helen's sister's Romanian boyfriend carved up an entire cow and put it on the barbeque. Al and Barry proceeded to eat it all. We had chance to see some of the first photos of the events and eventually headed off replete.
We headed back on the Sunday, back to the ferry, where again someone had lost a small child. What is it about ferries that makes parents abandon their children? We stopped at the smokehouse hoping for a late lunch but they had just stopped serving, it being all of 3 o'clock. We belatedly remembered that they had done the same thing to us the last time we went there. So much for the customer being king - they lost our custom (10 people!) and that of the couple that followed us in. Instead we eventually tracked down the Cream of Galloway ice cream place, no thanks to the smokehouse woman's instructions. Here we tucked into the best commercial ice cream I have ever tasted: I had double chocolate and lemon curd. Al and Barry went back for seconds. Since Al had been going on about buying a landrover ever since he went off-roading with Fiona and Ailsa (in much the same fashion as I go on about getting a dog, I imagine), I bought him a toy Defender. Surely almost as good as the real thing!
Then it was a steady drive back up. Mo and I discussed starting swing dances in September, something Al had been quite keen on when I first mentioned it. But now, sitting in the back of the car with Ray, they formed some sort of anti-dance alliance.
'What day is it on?' asked Ray. 'I have some evening classes to teach...'
'I'm not sure,' says Morag.
'I think I'm busy that day,' counters Al.
But! To no avail. Morag is going to sign us all up.
So it was back to the flat and my parents who had been having a good but predictably exhausting time at the festival. With great wisdom, I had booked Monday off work and was able to catch up with them and enjoy a sample festival day myself. We went to The Early Edition - a sort of daily Have I Got News For You with free coffee and croissants (gallingly, we got there before they wheeled out the doughnuts). Then we saw Romeo And Juliet - A Rock and Roll Love Story. This was, predictably since it was put on by the University of West Connecticut, very earnest and amateurish.
I had a rehearsal in the evening and we had dinner on Tuesday night, after which Al and I went to a late-night stand up show called Stick Your Job Up Your Arse. This appealed to me for obvious reasons, and was also very funny, being the true life story of a guy who ditched his pharmaceutical sales job to become a comedian.
I've also seen the excellent Bacchae and a play called Long Time Dead. This was about climbers and very interesting staged with great lighting, as well as being quite emotional. Not sure if I'll get to see much more of the festival, despite people showing flyers at me when I'm clearly destined for work. But hopefully we'll fit a film in too.
So. The day after the wedding we enjoyed a late breakfast. I was entertained by Maureen the landlady who asked Fiona what the bride's dress had been like 'because there's no point asking the boys'. Fi politely revealed that it had been white. Then Maureen went on to complain about the football season restarting and not knowing 'what the men see in it' while Fi rolled her eyes.
We were invited to a barbeque at the Leeman family farm. The weather had broken and it was absolutely tipping it down, so it was a good job Helen and Colin hadn't been able to get married on the Saturday as they originally preferred. Instead they had arranged a great bash in a barn. We chatted and met the horses and Helen's sister's Romanian boyfriend carved up an entire cow and put it on the barbeque. Al and Barry proceeded to eat it all. We had chance to see some of the first photos of the events and eventually headed off replete.
We headed back on the Sunday, back to the ferry, where again someone had lost a small child. What is it about ferries that makes parents abandon their children? We stopped at the smokehouse hoping for a late lunch but they had just stopped serving, it being all of 3 o'clock. We belatedly remembered that they had done the same thing to us the last time we went there. So much for the customer being king - they lost our custom (10 people!) and that of the couple that followed us in. Instead we eventually tracked down the Cream of Galloway ice cream place, no thanks to the smokehouse woman's instructions. Here we tucked into the best commercial ice cream I have ever tasted: I had double chocolate and lemon curd. Al and Barry went back for seconds. Since Al had been going on about buying a landrover ever since he went off-roading with Fiona and Ailsa (in much the same fashion as I go on about getting a dog, I imagine), I bought him a toy Defender. Surely almost as good as the real thing!
Then it was a steady drive back up. Mo and I discussed starting swing dances in September, something Al had been quite keen on when I first mentioned it. But now, sitting in the back of the car with Ray, they formed some sort of anti-dance alliance.
'What day is it on?' asked Ray. 'I have some evening classes to teach...'
'I'm not sure,' says Morag.
'I think I'm busy that day,' counters Al.
But! To no avail. Morag is going to sign us all up.
So it was back to the flat and my parents who had been having a good but predictably exhausting time at the festival. With great wisdom, I had booked Monday off work and was able to catch up with them and enjoy a sample festival day myself. We went to The Early Edition - a sort of daily Have I Got News For You with free coffee and croissants (gallingly, we got there before they wheeled out the doughnuts). Then we saw Romeo And Juliet - A Rock and Roll Love Story. This was, predictably since it was put on by the University of West Connecticut, very earnest and amateurish.
I had a rehearsal in the evening and we had dinner on Tuesday night, after which Al and I went to a late-night stand up show called Stick Your Job Up Your Arse. This appealed to me for obvious reasons, and was also very funny, being the true life story of a guy who ditched his pharmaceutical sales job to become a comedian.
I've also seen the excellent Bacchae and a play called Long Time Dead. This was about climbers and very interesting staged with great lighting, as well as being quite emotional. Not sure if I'll get to see much more of the festival, despite people showing flyers at me when I'm clearly destined for work. But hopefully we'll fit a film in too.
Wednesday, 15 August 2007
Wedding Belles
Last week saw me finishing work on Wednesday with a smile on my face and a song in my heart as I didn't have to return to the office for five whole days. We were going across to Northern Ireland for Helen and Colin's nuptials and the associated partying. I duly finished scrubbing my flat in preparation for my parents to stay in it while I was away and we set off, along with Ray, Morag having flown ahead to do bridesmaid type stuff.
We took the scenic route down through Galloway, taking it in turns to drive. Both the boys fell asleep at one point, leaving me to entertain myself by wondering what to wear in my hair. We passed the Cream of Galloway (mmm, ice cream) and a smoke house I visited with Fi, Hils and Morag last year (mmm, smoked stuff). But there was no time to stop! We had a ferry to catch.
'What do you have in the boot?' the guy at the terminal asked Al. I saw him mentally run through the list: bags, a rug, spare oil, a kilt, a dress, twenty five different sorts of hair decoration...'Oh, you know...just stuff,' he succinctly summed up. Ferry man nodded. 'On you go then.'
The ferry terminal at Stranraer proved less than worth hurrying for, however. I'd been quite hungry when we went in, but the sight of the array of 'food' on offer in the tin shack convinced me to wait until we were on board. Instead, our combined brain power (together with that of Hilary and Barry who we met in the car park) won £5 from the 'Who Wants to be a Millionaire' game. Then Hilary and I looked at magazines. I bought Glamour and she went for Elle (free bag) while the boys took the piss until Al found a copy of Landrover World he actually wanted to buy.
We sat in the car with Al reading Glamour (what men really think about sex) and I read Landrover World (top tips for buying a second hand Defender) until Fi, Ailsa and the dogs arrived. The dogs looked pleased to see Al and put muddy paw prints all over the car and him. The crossing was swift and uneventful other than an announcement being made for someone to come and collect their lost child. It took us ages to exit the terminal at Belfast, partly because of rush hour traffic and roadworks, but we also had to drive across some carpet soaked with disinfectant as a foot and mouth prevention. They didn't ask us to get out of the car though, so foot and mouth must not survive on shoes.
We made it to the B&B, which was in the middle of nowhere but quite pleasant in a newly-built sort of way. One couple, it was announced, would have to stay in the other guest house up the lane. I volunteered us on the grounds that it would be mean to make Ray go on his own and anyway, we had just spotted some freaky fake children. The landlady had these manikin models of kids scattered round the house in dark corners. Maybe they were supposed to look like they were playing hide and seek but they actually looked like they were crying and/or hiding from a paedophile. So I was more than happy not to share a house with the weirdly realistic things (the dogs barked at them too).
Helen, determined to make the most of the event, was meeting folk in Armagh for drinks so we drove in for some food as well. Here we met up with Rob and Phil who had earlier in the day called me.
Rob: 'You know the wedding?'
Me: 'Yes.'
Rob: 'Well what time does it start exactly?'
Me: 'One o'clock.'
Rob: 'Excellent. And the church would be...?'
We were all knackered and poor Fi was not looking forward to her debut singer/songwriter performance so we tried to head off not too late, to Helen's chagrin. We charged Morag with making sure she didn't drink too much. And I drove a full car back to the B&B while Al and Barry went to get some booze. My passengers coped admirably with my inability to work the headlights and the occasional excitement of an unsignposted 90 degree turn in the rain and we arrived back safe and sound and with time for a few drams before bed and the Big Day.
The Big Day started with a Big Breakfast, as Maureen the landlady provided us all (apart from Fi) with two eggs, two sausages, three slices of fried bread, unlimited tea, coffee and toast and what can only be described as a 'heap' of bacon. I ate it all. Felt a bit sick, but it would have to keep us going till the evening meal. I squeezed into my dress with Al's help and faffed around choosing a hair decoration for about an hour before we set off. We were under strict instructions from Helen not to be late so we arrived almost an hour early and wandered around - or tottered around in my case, as I was wearing my lovely but rather impractical Prada shoes. It turned out we had even more time than anticipated as Colin's family were held up for half and hour by road works. Luckily the Reverend kept us entertained with practice runs of the responses while various wedding party members got out of cars and walked the last two miles.
The wedding itself was a nice service - not too long or with too much God stuff. Helen's brother read a beautiful Celtic blessing which didn't mention God at all. Fifi sang amazingly and sounded completely relaxed doing so. The bride and bridesmaids looked gorgeous but were outshone by the cute flower girls, who behaved perfectly for the service but proceeded to bash each other with their flowers and wrestle each other to the ground outside.
We took a roundabout route to avoid the roadworks between the church and the reception and ended up being first there, in time to greet Helen and Colin who had been stuck in a traffic jam in a Rolls Royce with only a bottle of champagne to sustain them. Then the fun really began. Both a champagne and a Guinness reception! Huzzah! My camera had broken so I appointed Al my official photographer. I stood around drinking champagne and directing him: 'Al - get a picture of the bride and groom.', 'Al - the bridesmaids.', 'Al - a group shot.' He was very patient (possibly due to the amount of Guinness available).
The meal followed, with waitresses constantly offering me more wine, champagne and potato of various forms than I could fit on my plate or in my multiple glasses. We shared a table with friends of Colin's parents who had been roommates at university. Just like me and Morag, I pointed out! Just think, they said, in thirty years we could be at each other's children's weddings...scary thought.
Helen made a fabulous speech and Colin an almost as good one...we hid in the bar for a bit and accidentally missed the ceilidh but there was a great cheesy disco. The first dance was 'Especially for you'! I danced a lot and was very happy and slightly drunk...the combination of the three later led to accusations of me being much more drunk than I actually was. In all, probably my best wedding ever.
We took the scenic route down through Galloway, taking it in turns to drive. Both the boys fell asleep at one point, leaving me to entertain myself by wondering what to wear in my hair. We passed the Cream of Galloway (mmm, ice cream) and a smoke house I visited with Fi, Hils and Morag last year (mmm, smoked stuff). But there was no time to stop! We had a ferry to catch.
'What do you have in the boot?' the guy at the terminal asked Al. I saw him mentally run through the list: bags, a rug, spare oil, a kilt, a dress, twenty five different sorts of hair decoration...'Oh, you know...just stuff,' he succinctly summed up. Ferry man nodded. 'On you go then.'
The ferry terminal at Stranraer proved less than worth hurrying for, however. I'd been quite hungry when we went in, but the sight of the array of 'food' on offer in the tin shack convinced me to wait until we were on board. Instead, our combined brain power (together with that of Hilary and Barry who we met in the car park) won £5 from the 'Who Wants to be a Millionaire' game. Then Hilary and I looked at magazines. I bought Glamour and she went for Elle (free bag) while the boys took the piss until Al found a copy of Landrover World he actually wanted to buy.
We sat in the car with Al reading Glamour (what men really think about sex) and I read Landrover World (top tips for buying a second hand Defender) until Fi, Ailsa and the dogs arrived. The dogs looked pleased to see Al and put muddy paw prints all over the car and him. The crossing was swift and uneventful other than an announcement being made for someone to come and collect their lost child. It took us ages to exit the terminal at Belfast, partly because of rush hour traffic and roadworks, but we also had to drive across some carpet soaked with disinfectant as a foot and mouth prevention. They didn't ask us to get out of the car though, so foot and mouth must not survive on shoes.
We made it to the B&B, which was in the middle of nowhere but quite pleasant in a newly-built sort of way. One couple, it was announced, would have to stay in the other guest house up the lane. I volunteered us on the grounds that it would be mean to make Ray go on his own and anyway, we had just spotted some freaky fake children. The landlady had these manikin models of kids scattered round the house in dark corners. Maybe they were supposed to look like they were playing hide and seek but they actually looked like they were crying and/or hiding from a paedophile. So I was more than happy not to share a house with the weirdly realistic things (the dogs barked at them too).
Helen, determined to make the most of the event, was meeting folk in Armagh for drinks so we drove in for some food as well. Here we met up with Rob and Phil who had earlier in the day called me.
Rob: 'You know the wedding?'
Me: 'Yes.'
Rob: 'Well what time does it start exactly?'
Me: 'One o'clock.'
Rob: 'Excellent. And the church would be...?'
We were all knackered and poor Fi was not looking forward to her debut singer/songwriter performance so we tried to head off not too late, to Helen's chagrin. We charged Morag with making sure she didn't drink too much. And I drove a full car back to the B&B while Al and Barry went to get some booze. My passengers coped admirably with my inability to work the headlights and the occasional excitement of an unsignposted 90 degree turn in the rain and we arrived back safe and sound and with time for a few drams before bed and the Big Day.
The Big Day started with a Big Breakfast, as Maureen the landlady provided us all (apart from Fi) with two eggs, two sausages, three slices of fried bread, unlimited tea, coffee and toast and what can only be described as a 'heap' of bacon. I ate it all. Felt a bit sick, but it would have to keep us going till the evening meal. I squeezed into my dress with Al's help and faffed around choosing a hair decoration for about an hour before we set off. We were under strict instructions from Helen not to be late so we arrived almost an hour early and wandered around - or tottered around in my case, as I was wearing my lovely but rather impractical Prada shoes. It turned out we had even more time than anticipated as Colin's family were held up for half and hour by road works. Luckily the Reverend kept us entertained with practice runs of the responses while various wedding party members got out of cars and walked the last two miles.
The wedding itself was a nice service - not too long or with too much God stuff. Helen's brother read a beautiful Celtic blessing which didn't mention God at all. Fifi sang amazingly and sounded completely relaxed doing so. The bride and bridesmaids looked gorgeous but were outshone by the cute flower girls, who behaved perfectly for the service but proceeded to bash each other with their flowers and wrestle each other to the ground outside.
We took a roundabout route to avoid the roadworks between the church and the reception and ended up being first there, in time to greet Helen and Colin who had been stuck in a traffic jam in a Rolls Royce with only a bottle of champagne to sustain them. Then the fun really began. Both a champagne and a Guinness reception! Huzzah! My camera had broken so I appointed Al my official photographer. I stood around drinking champagne and directing him: 'Al - get a picture of the bride and groom.', 'Al - the bridesmaids.', 'Al - a group shot.' He was very patient (possibly due to the amount of Guinness available).
The meal followed, with waitresses constantly offering me more wine, champagne and potato of various forms than I could fit on my plate or in my multiple glasses. We shared a table with friends of Colin's parents who had been roommates at university. Just like me and Morag, I pointed out! Just think, they said, in thirty years we could be at each other's children's weddings...scary thought.
Helen made a fabulous speech and Colin an almost as good one...we hid in the bar for a bit and accidentally missed the ceilidh but there was a great cheesy disco. The first dance was 'Especially for you'! I danced a lot and was very happy and slightly drunk...the combination of the three later led to accusations of me being much more drunk than I actually was. In all, probably my best wedding ever.
Thursday, 2 August 2007
A day off
Well it is August so now officially summer whatever the weather may have to say about it. Guess what! I just touch-typed all of this. It only works if I'm not thinking about it though.
Anyway, I had a day off booked to take Callum up to Fife where Al was busy dogsitting. Callum came prepared for the journey with a collection of Simpsons-related goodies (board game, notebook and comic) but in the end we spent most of the drive chatting. Subjects ranged from What Edinburgh Needs Most (Me: sunshine. Cal: a theme park) via Places We Would Live If We Had a Time Machine (Me: ancient Rome. Cal: ancient Rome and/or Asterix's village) to Does Rome Still Exist (Yes.).
We arrived to find a gorgeous sunny evening. Al had kept the dogs happy, losing only one shoe to Bridie, which he had finally located in the garden (where he had earlier saved a baby bunny from her Jaws of Death). He cooked me a burger and the boys then insisted I play Buzz, a game-show style playstation game. I didn't want to but they made me and then I beat them by 3,000 points, ha!
An early night and then a slightly less long lie-in than I had planned as the dogs were squeaking to be let out. Bridie proudly brought the previous day's bunny to the back door - clearly it had not been as unharmed as Al had thought, so I made him go and finish it off while I had a shower.
It was a bit rainy so we headed for the aquarium at St Andrews, which was very informative, though it made me sleepy by being extremely warm and dark and full of soothing whale music and relaxing fish. I'm surprised people didn't just snuggle up next to the koi carp for a snooze. We saw rays ('Cool'), clown fish, aka Nemo ('Cool') and seals '(Very cool'). Cal got to hold a star fish. We also found a set of scales which for 20p would tell you which sea creature you weighed as much as. Callum weighed the same as something really boring, a trope, I think it was. I was a small grey seal and Al was a blue shark. Not a blue whale. I got told off for saying that.
It was sunny when we emerged which immediately made me panic as we had left Bridie in the landrover. What if she was dead! I ran back to the car going through nightmare scenarios in my head of how I would tell Fiona and Ailsa that I had roasted their dog to death whilst looking at cute seals. We'd had to park miles away because of the boring ladies British Open Golf Championships. But of course when I got there, Bridie was just enjoying a pleasant nap and spurned the water I poured for her and didn't seem to bothered about getting out of the car at all.
I took her back to the Aquarium to meet the boys and we went into town for ice cream. Callum pointed out every ice cream dispensary we went past on our way to Janetta's - which was a lot. I reassured him that the ten minute walk would be worth it as Janetta's would have hundreds, if not thousands of flavours to choose from and was anyway the pinnacle of human ice cream achievement in all ways. When we got there he chose chocolate and Al chose strawberry. Dear Lord, they are creatures of habit those two. I had turkish delight though, and very good it was too.
Bridie had a bit of the bottom of my cone.
We walked back via the cathedral, harbour and castle. I told Callum the myth that if you put your hand into a certain spooky hole in the cathedral wall only a good person would get their hand back, so of course we had to go and try that (not so effective on a bright sunny day). Then I pointed out the pier and told them about the pier walk, which Al embellished suitably ('And sometimes they fall off into the water and break their legs!'), and the traditions of swimming at castle sands and not treading on the martyrs' initials. We popped in to the quad, where Bridie peed on the lawn.
In fact, Bridie was having a whale of a time. With Baffie left at home because of her arthritis, the Dark One had all the compliments to herself. Many small children stopped to pat her. Many little old ladies admired 'him'. A man waiting outside the ice cream shop compared her behaviour favourably to his own dogs. Bridie lapped it up. Maybe she only seems evil in comparison to the Golden One. She also got very concerned that our pack stayed together and was particularly worried when Cal went out along the breakwater to play on a rock and Al and I sat on a bench instead. She wasn't happy till Cal was back safely with us.
When we got back we sat with Baffie in the garden for a bit to make up for her missing all the attention. All in all, a lovely day and I was sorry to have to head home.
Once I got home, I realised that I couldn't stuff any more clothing into my bottom drawer. This struck me as strange since it only contains my sports clothing. I still nurture the impression that I am not a very sporty person. So I pulled the drawer out to investigate and discovered:
Anyway, I had a day off booked to take Callum up to Fife where Al was busy dogsitting. Callum came prepared for the journey with a collection of Simpsons-related goodies (board game, notebook and comic) but in the end we spent most of the drive chatting. Subjects ranged from What Edinburgh Needs Most (Me: sunshine. Cal: a theme park) via Places We Would Live If We Had a Time Machine (Me: ancient Rome. Cal: ancient Rome and/or Asterix's village) to Does Rome Still Exist (Yes.).
We arrived to find a gorgeous sunny evening. Al had kept the dogs happy, losing only one shoe to Bridie, which he had finally located in the garden (where he had earlier saved a baby bunny from her Jaws of Death). He cooked me a burger and the boys then insisted I play Buzz, a game-show style playstation game. I didn't want to but they made me and then I beat them by 3,000 points, ha!
An early night and then a slightly less long lie-in than I had planned as the dogs were squeaking to be let out. Bridie proudly brought the previous day's bunny to the back door - clearly it had not been as unharmed as Al had thought, so I made him go and finish it off while I had a shower.
It was a bit rainy so we headed for the aquarium at St Andrews, which was very informative, though it made me sleepy by being extremely warm and dark and full of soothing whale music and relaxing fish. I'm surprised people didn't just snuggle up next to the koi carp for a snooze. We saw rays ('Cool'), clown fish, aka Nemo ('Cool') and seals '(Very cool'). Cal got to hold a star fish. We also found a set of scales which for 20p would tell you which sea creature you weighed as much as. Callum weighed the same as something really boring, a trope, I think it was. I was a small grey seal and Al was a blue shark. Not a blue whale. I got told off for saying that.
It was sunny when we emerged which immediately made me panic as we had left Bridie in the landrover. What if she was dead! I ran back to the car going through nightmare scenarios in my head of how I would tell Fiona and Ailsa that I had roasted their dog to death whilst looking at cute seals. We'd had to park miles away because of the boring ladies British Open Golf Championships. But of course when I got there, Bridie was just enjoying a pleasant nap and spurned the water I poured for her and didn't seem to bothered about getting out of the car at all.
I took her back to the Aquarium to meet the boys and we went into town for ice cream. Callum pointed out every ice cream dispensary we went past on our way to Janetta's - which was a lot. I reassured him that the ten minute walk would be worth it as Janetta's would have hundreds, if not thousands of flavours to choose from and was anyway the pinnacle of human ice cream achievement in all ways. When we got there he chose chocolate and Al chose strawberry. Dear Lord, they are creatures of habit those two. I had turkish delight though, and very good it was too.
Bridie had a bit of the bottom of my cone.
We walked back via the cathedral, harbour and castle. I told Callum the myth that if you put your hand into a certain spooky hole in the cathedral wall only a good person would get their hand back, so of course we had to go and try that (not so effective on a bright sunny day). Then I pointed out the pier and told them about the pier walk, which Al embellished suitably ('And sometimes they fall off into the water and break their legs!'), and the traditions of swimming at castle sands and not treading on the martyrs' initials. We popped in to the quad, where Bridie peed on the lawn.
In fact, Bridie was having a whale of a time. With Baffie left at home because of her arthritis, the Dark One had all the compliments to herself. Many small children stopped to pat her. Many little old ladies admired 'him'. A man waiting outside the ice cream shop compared her behaviour favourably to his own dogs. Bridie lapped it up. Maybe she only seems evil in comparison to the Golden One. She also got very concerned that our pack stayed together and was particularly worried when Cal went out along the breakwater to play on a rock and Al and I sat on a bench instead. She wasn't happy till Cal was back safely with us.
When we got back we sat with Baffie in the garden for a bit to make up for her missing all the attention. All in all, a lovely day and I was sorry to have to head home.
Once I got home, I realised that I couldn't stuff any more clothing into my bottom drawer. This struck me as strange since it only contains my sports clothing. I still nurture the impression that I am not a very sporty person. So I pulled the drawer out to investigate and discovered:
- A pair of running shorts
- Two pairs of running leggings
- A thermal running/ski-ing vest
- Thermal running/ski-ing long-johns
- An elasticated knee bandage
- A pair of jodphurs
- Four running tops with wicking
- Three bandannas
- Three charity run t-shirts
- Four bikinis
- A swimsuit
- A pair of tracksuit bottoms
- Padded cycling shorts
- A gym bag
- A running cap
- A pair of hiking trousers with zip-off bottoms
- and a travel towel.
Blimey! And that doesn't even include things like my wetsuit, riding boots and chaps, cycling and riding helmets and sports bras and running and hiking socks that reside elsewhere. Maybe I am quite sporty after all. I managed to fit everything back in by discarding a bikini that was held together by a safety pin (Jenny says I am not allowed to wear clothes held together by safety pins), the bandannas and the charity t-shirts, all of which will go in the charity clothes bin soon. In the meantime, maybe I should do some exercise.
Wednesday, 25 July 2007
A good cause
Those of you who have read the full race report on the Rat Race website will know that we missed out the section where we would have had to slide down Hillend (an artificial ski slope) in inner tubes. Too bad! It looked like a lot of fun, and we could have used the ski-lift to cut out some climbing too...
But if you want to check out someone taking on a real challenge, take a look at what Jamie Andrew is up to. An acquaintance of Al's, he's taking on the equivalent of an iron man: a full on triathlon, including a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile cycle and 26.2 mile marathon-length run. A tough race for anyone.
Now imagine doing it with no hands or feet.
Now go to Jamie's fundraising site to sponsor his amputees' charity, 500 Miles.
But if you want to check out someone taking on a real challenge, take a look at what Jamie Andrew is up to. An acquaintance of Al's, he's taking on the equivalent of an iron man: a full on triathlon, including a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile cycle and 26.2 mile marathon-length run. A tough race for anyone.
Now imagine doing it with no hands or feet.
Now go to Jamie's fundraising site to sponsor his amputees' charity, 500 Miles.
Tuesday, 24 July 2007
Results
Just to say, the official results are out. We came a fairly inglorious 133rd out of 183 teams, or 9th out of 13 all-female teams. Something to better next year, anyway! Can't find any photos of our team, though there were lots of photographers around the course. So if anyone comes across some, do let me know. We were team number 172 and had big yellow feathers on our bags. I was wearing a pink cycling helmet.
Spent a quiet week relaxing and not being sure what to do with myself now that I have nothing to train for. There was no surf and plenty of rain. Went out to dinner on Saturday at Daniel's in Leith, which I'd been meaning to go to for ages. Unfortunately it was a bit of a disappointment. I choose poorly from the menu (on the grounds that I could make tartiflette myself at home) and ended up with a cassoulet so salty that I was gulping water and couldn't finish it. A shame as the meat itself was beautifully cooked. Luckily Al was there to polish it off. And then my floating island was clearly cut from a big block and spongy with gelatin. Not really worth £40 a head.
More interesting was the film we went to see beforehand, 'Shut Up and Sing'. This was a documentary about country rock band the Dixie Chicks and the reaction in the States after they spoke out about the war in Iraq. The Chicks came over very well: intelligent, articulate and with great eye make-up. It also gave an insight into what life in a band is like and the sort of business decisions they had to make.
Had a good stretch out at aquafit yesterday with a new French instructor (or at least, she sounded French) which was good for the arms as we did lots of work wearing big webbed gloves to increase resistance in the water. If the weather holds tonight I'm hoping to persuade Hilary to walk up Arthur's Seat with me - we've done no training for Skye since the Pentlands walk weeks ago.
Spent a quiet week relaxing and not being sure what to do with myself now that I have nothing to train for. There was no surf and plenty of rain. Went out to dinner on Saturday at Daniel's in Leith, which I'd been meaning to go to for ages. Unfortunately it was a bit of a disappointment. I choose poorly from the menu (on the grounds that I could make tartiflette myself at home) and ended up with a cassoulet so salty that I was gulping water and couldn't finish it. A shame as the meat itself was beautifully cooked. Luckily Al was there to polish it off. And then my floating island was clearly cut from a big block and spongy with gelatin. Not really worth £40 a head.
More interesting was the film we went to see beforehand, 'Shut Up and Sing'. This was a documentary about country rock band the Dixie Chicks and the reaction in the States after they spoke out about the war in Iraq. The Chicks came over very well: intelligent, articulate and with great eye make-up. It also gave an insight into what life in a band is like and the sort of business decisions they had to make.
Had a good stretch out at aquafit yesterday with a new French instructor (or at least, she sounded French) which was good for the arms as we did lots of work wearing big webbed gloves to increase resistance in the water. If the weather holds tonight I'm hoping to persuade Hilary to walk up Arthur's Seat with me - we've done no training for Skye since the Pentlands walk weeks ago.
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