After Edinburgh, Newcastle, Stirling and Glasgow had cancelled their firework shows I was pushed out before midnight into the howling gale with a metal box full of explosives and a wheelbarrow full of manure. With my climbing head torch and a flame thrower lighter I did a passing impersonation of a demented dalek. The wind was so bad that the lighter couldn’t light the fuses so we used our creme brulee blowtorch to set off the roman candles, sparkling rainbows and rockets. The latter made considerable progress against the 70 knot wind but on exploding the display tended to drift downwind. I was amazed that neither the neighbour’s bush nor the manure exploded, and especially the metal box full of fireworks placed downwind and surrounded by sparks and bits of firework that couldn’t make it against the prevailing wind. Coincidentally a nearby barn burnt down a few days later, roasting 4,500 chickens.
A refreshing trudge up Humbleton Hill, near Wooler, resulted in great views of the Wolf Moon and muddy trousers when I slipped down with my camera tumbling down ahead of me. There were signs saying “no dogs” with a qualifing date “until 2010″ (whatever happens then is anyone’s guess) followed by signs saying your non-existant dog has to be on a lead together with a dog stile to let that pesky non-existant dog through – and people think that the countryside rules are confusing… since our springer spaniel cannot read she ignored them but we kept her on a lead in case she snuck off for a reading lesson.
Flu, of the non-avian variety, swept across the South of Scotland and naturally paid a visit to us. What a welcome start to the year, but at least gave me a chance to catch up on my reading (frozen water trade and the fascinating book of Eels being highlights)
Fantastic exhibition of Douglas Gordon superhumanatural work in Edinburgh, including his 24 hour Psycho (the Hitchcock movie slowed down to play over 24 hours), followed by a delicious feast at The Green Door – fillet steak followed by Chocolate Fondant certainly filled the gap. A pint at Bennetts Bar and a nostalgic drive around the places we lived in Edinburgh before getting hopelessly lost in some housing estate that has been built since then…
Burns Suppers tend to bracket Robert Burns birthday by weeks (sometimes skidding into March) and their popularity can be demonstrated by the Kelso Curling Club Burns Supper at the Ice Rink (yes, I managed to get Burns and Ice in the same sentence). The combination of bagpipes, haggis, lots of whisky, ritualistic dismembering of a haggis, readings of Burns poetry and singing of his songs, a lecture on his visit to the Borders and an 18 minute recital of Tam O’Shanter from memory was interspersed with jovial speeches at the expense of members of the club. Curling is a sort of extreme Bowling and is even an olympic sport rivalling synchronised swimming for sports the Greeks never thought their Gods would do.
A visit to a client in Edinburgh is always a good excuse for lunch and a visit to the modern art galleries. Lunch in an art gallery would, you would think, be safe, and it was, until the cappachino arrived, whereupon I dipped my newly dry-cleaned jacket sleeve in the gloopy chocolate floating on the creamy top, transferring the aforesaid chocolate goop to my trousers, shirt, watch, and other parts of the now not so dry-clean jacket. Then a young mother hit me with a baby high chair in passing. The Dean gallery had Ian Fleming, no not the James Bond dude, with his controversial ‘Christ in trousers’ – although one would have thought that Christ with no trousers would have been more controversial. The main gallery had an ‘Off The Walls’ exhibition, where unsurprisingly none of the exhibits were on the walls. A psychedelic floor, giant egg slicer, crumpled piece of paper in the corner, bleached leaves hanging in glass jars from the ceiling, a room filled with 286 cardboard architectural models of Edinburgh churches listed in the Yellow Pages. The video taken from a parcel shelf of a car whilst waiting at traffic lights, of the car drivers behind – picking his nose, talking expressively on mobiles, cleaning her teeth and girning were a joy to behold.
Curling Club Pub Quiz should have been a walkover to us graduates, but we came 5th, albeit the aged population did have a better go at the 30’s photos and questions and one senses that the team who got the Marie Celeste and Zeppelin first flight pre 1900’s question correct, were actually there. The young blonde waitress was a joy to order from, which might explain the large number of empty bottles surrounding our table… it was also bizarre to see so many wheelchair bound players there – I said earlier that curling looked like extreme bowling but I hadn’t realised it was that dangerous. A good night was had by all and we can thankful that we didn’t win the Lambrusco.
My birthday was fuelled by champagne, a nice rioja and stilton crusted fillet steak at the Cross Inn, whilst enjoying the tale of our neighbour driving through brightly lit diversion signs on the A7 to avoid the delay and driving in the dark up a closed road and through the diversion sign at the other end in her small car. My birthday haircut was a Number 2, the gal asked if I wanted it all over, but I reassured her it was only my head that needed done – she should win salesgirl of the year though in that after shearing me down to very little hair she then sold me a large bottle of RedKen shampoo for my hair… I always find it difficult to say no to pretty blondes though. Birthday kayaking meant donning a spraydeck like a skirt and attaching oneself to the kayak, capsize it and see how many of us reach the surface. Along with stabilising the kayak using the paddle in a monkey pose and whirling on the spot whilst taking out any swimmers who were stupid enough to be near us.
My ‘fitball’ arrived and I was exhausted enough opening the packaging then pumping it up, in fact so exhausted that I let Kim pump up the rest of the ball to regulation height (marked on hte wall along with the kids height marks). Sitting on it is a moving experience and the exercises had me jettisoned on the floor in quick time. I thought it would be unpack ball and get fit – but no, I have to achieve ‘torso stabilization’ first by contracting my anatomical girdle musculature (the transversus abdominis internal/external obliques and the deep spinal muscles) – woo yay!
It is interesting to compare the UK post-apocalyptic tale Survivors, where Brits form communities, inter trade outwith their country and (in parallel with Verne’s Mysterious Island) start civilisation again through rudimentary technologies and science, with the US post-apocalyptic tale Jericho, where Yanks sit in a bar or attend teen parties and let a MyGyver figure rescue them from the crisises that come day to day in between their marital dischord and dodging radioactive rain showers.
Geology revision for Alasdair called upon some home made play dough and all of our hands coloured blue and red with food colouring. With a bicarbonate of soda and vinegar volcano erupting and Stuart playing God, fun was had by all.
Mythbusters confirmed the myth that the pirate eye-patch was actually used to adjust one eye to the dark for celestial navigation or moving constantly from light exterior to bright interior. There was a 25 minute difference between the exposed eye and the covered eye using an opthamologist testing the eyes. Nice trick I can try for astronomy this year. Avast!
