Astronomically we have had the 1% crescent moon with earthshine, saturn in the Beehives and we are approaching the longest day on the 21st June. Midsummers Night Eve or Litha Summer Solstice is the official start, rather than the middle, of summer – so we are hoping the 28kt winds go somewhere else). Pagans rush down to Stonehenge to worship the wrong solstice (it was designed for the winter one but running around stones naked in winter takes a bit more dedication).
See this site in glorious colours as a sitegraph
Taking advantage of an estate supplier closing down sale (he makes most of his money off chauffeur and butler suits for high staff turnover posh folk in London – instead of the hunting-fishing-shooting crowd) I was equipped with a Guatanamo Bay orange boiler suit (in case the Tango man job ever comes up), a high visibilty vest for landing at Carlisle airport (they insist on pilots wearing them) and a green hard hat (for protection when developing software and for when Kim throws a frozen chicken at me again).
I have adopted a pet Lime called Emily, named after my invisible daughter, who the kids are trying to liberate into a margarita at any given opportunity. I also managed to get wife, son wrapped in a duvet and a neighbour all chatting in the kitchen whilst standing on one leg – if only I had placed a bet with someone before that.
I had forgotten the amount of fun one could have on a pub crawl in Kelso – first there was a London bus in the square totally out of place, then the KOSB (Kings Own Scottish Borderers) were marching in their tartan troos followed by a disparate band of hangers on of all ages. The pubs were then filled with the aforementioned KOSB soldiers free to drink with no desert sand blowing into the beer. There then followed an amazing sequence of an increasingly drunker blonde wearing KOSB uniform parts and then disappearing into the graveyard with individual soldiers. The buggered blonde then dissolved in a flood of tears, squonking outside the pub in a moving performance but possibly because she had simply run out of soldiers.
I was now a KSOB groupie and saw them in Berwick playing (their instruments and not blondes), following my sunny pier walk and the Berwick walls walk (perhaps a little unwise balancing on MBTs on a slippy undulating grass surface whilst taking photographs of a precipitous drop in a strong wind). It was always nice visiting the Baltic gallery and the treat this time was a video of David Beckham snoring, a man tap dancing with a duck on his head and lots of photos of famous folk crying. There was also a tunnel filled with TVs with different channels showing and a rickety surface which was particularly good with MBTs on and the piece de resistance was a slide at the end which I threw myself down (or perhaps I tripped) and ended up at high speed leaving the end of the slide and careering across the floor. On seeing this one lady decided to go back through the tunnel rather than follow me.
I followed my tour of North Northumberland with a trip through South Shields and the lighthouse there which was surrounded by hairy bikers having a rock concert and then on to delightful Durham (which is of course not in Northumberland) to listen to choirboys singing in the cloisters in the 5:30 service and returned via the torturous but beautiful Northumberland coastal route munching burning hot Seahouse haddock and chips whilst negotiating bends. From Berwick to Durham there was a plague of Engerland flags and I was glad to see the Angel of the North free of it. My tour finished and I unloaded my rucksack which consisted of the Lonely planet guide to Scotland, a GPS with flat batteries and a raincoat – none of which I used but had to carry the bloody thing around everywhere for some reason.
I flew over the Northumberland coastal route down to Amble on the Sunday the view over Holy Island to Bamburgh with low tide and the sands all exposed was brilliant. Typically my camera was back in the car.
Blood letting time again – this time I was allowed to give blood, after a false hurdle with my blood test for Haemoglobin/Iron treading Copper Sulphate solution like a true Gutbuster. They take less than a pint and in exchange there is orange juice and as many chocolate biscuits as you can handle before the volunteers stop filling up the plates. If I go again I get a badge which I can only assume is a ‘Fuck Me I am a blood donor’ badge, since folk who wear it have had blood tests and have answered the I haven’t slept with anyone for money (my question about bartering was treated with derision), been an intravenous blood donor or been buggered question in the rhesus negative. Whilst lying being drained fantasising about the pretty blonde nurse (helps the blood flow apparently) the only thing to listen to was Radio Borders (they should just put on a Numbers Station which might be more lucid, and the yelping of the girl in the next bed as someone missed her vein.
We went out to the Border Hotel for dinner, where Stuart for some reason best known to himself pocketed a packet of Mayonnaise – it was obviously the ‘Lucky Mayonnaise’ because the 18th century hotel sadly burnt down the next morning – its delightful thatched roof now sadly missed.
The Elie Chain Walk (from Earlsferry beach around the coastal cliffs at Kinscraig Point is a great way to spend an afternoon – it has to be done at ebbing tide in case you get caught by the tide (we reached there after a tour of the Fife coastal route in high wind just after high tide). There are chains stretched over difficult parts of the cliffs both horizontally (more difficult as you sway outward over a drop) and vertically – both climbing and descending.
The chains date back to 1920 but were thankfully renewed recently, the rocks date back millions of years and are magnificent – we couldn’t see much of a view southward as it was very misty but all other points of the compass were just great. We rewarded ourselves with the obligatory hour long queue at the Anstruther fish shop where I spent the time reading Basho Haiku before tucking into delicious haddock and chips.
With the weather stabilising it was off flying down to the Eildon hills, avoiding the RAF tornado that flew through our airfield circuit on the way back to Leuchars, and a downwind landing at Midlem airfield to pick up Adrian to do some aerial photography – Adrian was laden with three cameras around his neck which was doing a good job of strangling him inflight. The evening was relatively still although the hills around Peebles were throwing us around a bit the most dangerous part of the day was driving to the airfield (lost the back end of the TT on a bend to find another car at the side having done the same) and driving back (a sheep running around Soutra and a car swerving onto my side of the road to miss a rabbit!)
Alasdair’s school bus driver is a stage hypnotist which might explain the better behaviour on the bus.
A weekend at Harrietfield near Perth meant good food, fine wine and malt whisky, drunken fireworks for the queens birthday, a rolls royce, drinkies with a london opera producer and supporting the use of terrorism against wind farms, a woman feeling everyones hands to check their temperature before devouring all the brie. We also discovered ‘Stuartisms’ – expressions used by my son to reveal he doesn’t really know everything after all.
Lammermuir Langoustines – he thought Langoustines were lamb
Clitoral Damage – the movie is Collateral Damage
CarbonDated Water – for Carbonated Water
Its 6 of one and 2 dozen of the other – showing a misunderstanding of predecimal terms
It’s an ovulating road to Wooler – undulating, please
I finally got hold of a Shortwave/SSB PLL Synthesized Receiver (world time radio) so along with enjoying Radio 3 during the day (listening to Hammer’s The Abominable Snowman theme music after Holsts Saturn to see the Summer Solstice in) and radio stations from Brazil, China, North Korea and Antarctica, Number Stations and the police in the evenings – actually only kidding about the police because in the UK it is ILLEGAL to LISTEN to broadcasts that you are not licenced for.
Of course the initial 3 point business plan (in the style of the underwear gnomes of South Park) was to
merge together random shortwave broadcasts into a musical offering
???
Profit!
But then a host of Stockhausens have done it already. And so to bed with bluetooth blinking headphones, a wife with ear plugs and Late Junction, which must be a major reason for buying a radio, and certainly not the Radio 3 mashup with ‘Blue Peter on acid’ childrens show ‘Making Tracks’ which played (for kids) ‘Whip and Spur’ and fast fingering brass Romanians to an audience of middle class children forced from their xbox to playing the piano and sitting in front of a radio for proper entertainment. And then they redeem themselves by playing Stockhausen’s Helicopter Quartet – each player in a different helicopter – I am not sure where else one could hear that.
Kim’s Xmas pressie (a flight from Edinburgh Flying Club in a Piper) had to wait until end of June due to the appalling weather conditions (and the Flying Club fuel bowser breaking down). She taxied along the beach (the yellow line on the taxiway) and took off in between a couple of passenger jets for a trip around Falkirk, Stirling, the Forth Bridges and meandering Forth. Not the adrenaline rush one gets from flexwing microlighting but it was nice and warm for the passengers.
A day trip to Carlisle which was fortunately no longer flooded, but it was raining continually lending an air of threat, led to a trip to Mayburgh Henge and King Arthur’s Table, Long Meg and her 69 lovers (christianised as daughters) and little meg an the delightful Cumbiran countryside. To start the day off well a car hit us from behind whilst waiting at a roundabout near Carlisle, perhaps that Curse of Carlisle is true after all. North West England is of course filled with smoke filled pubs and England flags littering otherwise delightful villages.
And to the end the month I was planning a reconaissance trip to Cornwall and the Lesbian/Gay capital of the UK (Brighton, whose nudist beaches I might give a miss). However to end this month of madness my son Alasdair decided to clean some grass off his bikes front wheel (whilst riding at speed) and fell off (at speed). The doctors reckon on a compressed fracture of the face bone along with the more obvious scrapes and scars – he was lucky not to lose an eye. He wasn’t wearing a cycle helmet and whilst out to get the dentist to work out if his teeth are going to fall out or not yet, he, off his own bat, visited his old primary school to shock them into wearing cycle helmets.
Cornwall can wait until next month (instead Stuart and I lunched at the Black Bull in Wooler [not so far to drive] where he beat me at pool again, although my several pints of ‘Secret Kingdom’ worked in his favour. We licked our Stormin’ Norman Mr Whippies around the Wooler Graveyard spotting the earliest graves (1771 was the winner) and admiring the stained glass in that church.
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June Poem – Horatius by Lord Macaulay
June Book – Hydra and the Bananas of Leonard Cohen [great for reading in the sun whilst munching the wonder food - a banana] and a gateway book to lead onto Basho Haiku and Angels. Hydra is both my favourite Greek island and a moon around Pluto.
June Short Story – Borges, Labyrinth,Orbis Tertius difficult to even describe this one just a complete joy to read and unravel using the wikipedia guide afterwards (they missed out Hume who is my philosopher of the month) – although Wikipedia can stand ashamed at having an entry for the nonexistant land of Aqbar for quite a long time.
