I DREAM OF HAGGIS

2012-01-25T16:40:00.001Z

ON HOLIDAY (and it's freezing)

2012-01-17T21:03:00.002Z

I Swear Some Stuff You Just See Better From Further Away/ And I Think I Communicate Best Now, the Less I Say

I've written and re-written a post now for the last 30 minutes. I don't really know what to say or how or indeed, where to even begin. Maybe this...?

It's been one year since I left my ex-boyfriend.

I hate that I even mark it as an event; something that once happened to me. In a way, I've been dreading the yearly "anniversary" because it almost feels as if it should be some celebratory outing; my release into freedom and redemption - or some shit like that. When really, I hate that it forces me to even think about it and all the time I spent (or wasted)...

The truth is, I don't even really think about it that often. As the date approached, I felt as if somehow, I should have been thinking about it more. You know, life lessons and youth misspent...

I can't imagine going back but on the other hand, I can't imagine being who I am today if I hadn't gone through it all.

2012-01-05T22:11:00.003Z

2011 - My Year in Numbers

Number of whisky distilleries visited - 4

Number of trips to Berlin - 2

Number of times I moved house - 2

Number of lock-in sessions - 1 (my one and only!)

Number of back-wheel punctures sustained - about 8

Number of times I fell off my bike - 2

Number of times I swore I was through with Scottish men - about half a dozen

Number of times I actually followed through with my threats - 0

Number of times I drunkenly proclaimed my love of Scotland - too many

What a year, huh?

2011-12-28T11:55:00.002Z

CHRISTMAS IN PICTURES

Hope you all had a lovely Christmas.

2011-12-13T21:42:00.001Z

WEEKEND IN PICTURES

Lately I've been feeling homesick; but it's ok, it happens a couple times a year and after living in Scotland for almost six years now, I'm used to it. Actually, it might just be general malaise rather than actual longing for Canada. I mean, damn, especially after waking up this morning to find that Canada has pulled out of the Kyoto Protocol. Forget the USA and the dark days of George W. Bush - Canada might just well be on its way to becoming the shameful nation that inhabits North America. No longer is it the country that I recognise or the best part of North America. What the hell, Canada?!

So, yes, perhaps it is just a case of the Single-During-the-Holidays-Sads rather than actual homesickness itself. Although, I do love the snow and seeing as it's been raining since Friday over here, I'm probably more than a little depressed for the snow and crisp winter sunshine.

Also? My lovely friend, Lauren, performed in an orchestra (she plays violin) on Sunday night at City Halls and my motley crew of friends and I went along to support her. They even performed a beautiful rendition of The Pogues, Fairytale of New York. I'm not embarrassed to admit that I even got a little choked up at one point (I think it was during Bach...)

Now, before moving along to the photographs, I have one question for my fellow weegies. One that has alluded me for years....

1. Where is an awesome place to go dancing in Glasgow? N.B. Not skanky clubs but actual somewhat-cool joints that play wicked music so you can properly shake yo' ass.

Suggestions in the comments!

Can you spot Lauren? See the bottom of this post for additional video!

You guys? We need to talk about Aldi. Yes, you know? The German discount grocery store. I am seriously in love with it- not to mention a little addicted. Remember when I was a Fresh off the Boat Immigrant and all about Tesco? HOW COME NO ONE TOLD ME ABOUT ALDI!? It's even cheaper and better than Tesco. Sure, it doesn't have all the organic stuff that I love nor middle-class cooking ingredients like walnut oil but it does have DISCO BISCUITS! (Non-UK people: "disco biscuit" is slang for the drug of choice from the late 90s: Ecstasy). Hilarious, right?

Seriously though, Aldi is great. It's cheap but the quality of the food isn't. Besides, all my fellow immigrants seem to shop there too and we all give each other the look of approval. You know the one right? Kinda like, "yeah, we got this" one?

And what's a weekend without hockey? Not a very Canadian one, eh? Lauren and Erica (who are now fully-fledged puck bunnies) came along and we made a night of it. Beer, heckling, laughing and teddy-tossing (doin' it for the kids).

Later that night, Erica and I attempted to go dancing - we hit up Nice N Sleazy and Blackfriars but never ACTUALLY danced. Nice N Sleazy seemed to play "bleepy bloopy" music that tried SO hard to be obscure. I don't mind bleepy bloopy obscure music but please don't play it for the sake of being obscure; we came to dance, not to sit in the corner and nod our heads along to the beat. And I'm not going to discredit my argument by saying, "I guess I'm just old" because: (a) I'm not (fuck you. 32 is not old) and (b) I'm super immature and usually like bleepy bloopy music.

Blackfriars just seemed to play sped-up disco tunes. Again, we wanted to dance; not be in awe of a DJ speeding up vinyl. Although, to be fair, DJs using old-school vinyl is nice.

So, are we eternally damned to dance in the basement of Oran Mor? Or, if in town, The Flying Duck? Suggestions? Thoughts? A telling off? Email me! Jennifer@idreamofhaggis.com

Back to the hockey....

TOSSED TEDDIES!

And now? Behold! Lauren and the Merchant City Sinfonia, performing Handel.

2011-12-05T21:08:00.000Z

WEEKEND IN PICTURES. BUT FIRST, A FORTHRIGHT, STRAIGHTFORWARD RANT (OF SORTS)

Sometimes I underestimate just how much of a cultural difference there can be between Scottish people and Canadian folks. Or, at the very least, Torontonians (and maybe the rest of the world?) The problem is, such differences can be quite subtle and not necessarily apparent on the surface of things. Indeed, even after residing in Scotland for almost six years now, I still find there are collective cultural experiences that many Glasgwegians refer to (for example, the 1988 Glasgow Garden Festival), that I have never heard of. Nor fully appreciate the significance of.

On numerous occasions, I have had work colleagues and friends tell me how straight-forward and forthright I am. One of my fellow colleagues even admitted to being intimidated when she first met me. It was only after working together for a few months, that she realised I was just a bit odd and...well, Canadian? In fact, she recently went on holiday to Canada, and when she came back to Scotland, she said, "Jen. I totally get you now! And I get where you're from. Canadians are so damn honest, friendly and nosey!" Indeed, she couldn't believe how forward Canadian men were - asking her to her face, if she was single - gasp! I mean, can you imagine that happening in Scotland?! (No).

Side note: I am such a nosey bitch too. Whenever I go round to my friend, Claire's house, she always warns me not to go through her kitchen cupboards. It's such a bad habit. Not to mention weird. See? That's me being TOO DAMN HONEST. Whatever. I just wanna know what y'all are eating and if I can have some.

Then again, maybe it isn't entirely a Canadian thing? I remember in high school (back in Canada), one of my teachers asking me if I was of German heritage as I had a tendency to "march" up to him, state my intentions ("I will be late to your class tomorrow and I hated our homework assignment!") and marching away again. So, maybe it's just me?

Speaking of German, I am in the midst of learning it. Or trying to, anyway. (ICH LIEBE DEUTSCH!) And it is hard y'all. Anyone who is fluent in another language besides their mother tongue? Much. Damn. Respect.

The British love nothing more than sitting down at the pub for a good banter and pint. Brits and Scots also love word play, wit and puns. And after six years of living here, I've learned that they also love panel shows comprised of comedians, participating in meaningless games for points that don't really matter. Take, for example, the very popular BBC panel show, QI. Personally, I don't really like panel shows because - and here is where our cultural differences comes in - I just get frustrated and think, "just shut up with your stupid witticisms and ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION!" When, really, it doesn't matter what the answer is - that's the point. It's a mere vehicle for said comedians to wax their comedic skills.

And maybe, that's what is at the heart of it all: British/ Scottish people want to talk about EVERYTHING BUT the issue to hand, and I just want to cut to the chase. Does that make me Canadian? Or just impatient when it comes to small talk?

In short: subtle cultural differences; my forthright Canadian-ism; and shy Scottish men do not make for a successful mix when dating. Actually, that sounds like I'm actively dating when, in reality, I'm not. You see, despite my straightforwardness, I am actually quite shy. And Scottish/ British men are notoriously shy. What's a brash North American bitch to do?

Go to hockey and drink beer with girlfriends, of course!

Best seats in the house!

Look! It snowed in Glasgow today! I love the snow and wintertime!

You know what I don't like? Glasgow City Council's inability to salt/grit cycle lanes. Each year I wake up after the first snow fall and each year I think, "maybe this will be the year that Glasgow City Council salts the bike lanes and I won't have to fear wiping out on my way to work!" I am an eternal optimist. WHEN WILL I LEARN?! Look at that!

2011-11-20T19:43:00.002Z

WEEKEND IN PICTURES: The Sound of Settling

Oh, man. What a concert...I went to see Death Cab For Cutie in concert at Glasgow's O2 Academy; I have loved Death Cab For Cutie for about 10 years now but only managed to see them live for the first time ever last night. It was one of the best concerts I have been to for a long time - they are such talented musicians live! I especially loved the duelling drums on We Looked Liked Giants - both Jason, the drummer - and Ben, the lead singer - totally rocked out for a good solid 5 minutes on their own individual drum sets.

They even finished the night with Transatlanticism (one of my favourite songs and albums).

Whilst they played one of their other songs from Transatlanticism (A Lack of Colour), I heard a girl behind me say to her friend, "I LOVE THIS SONG! I first heard it when I was 14!!"

You guys? That album came out in 2003. And I was 24 at the time.

I suddenly felt so old. Yet, I don't feel it. I don't think I look it. And I certainly don't act it. Those adults that we all talk about? I'm not one of them, am I?

And then said girl screeched, "Ben is SO FUCKING HOT!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE HIM!!!!!!!!"

And then I thought to myself, "yeah, I guess I am an adult now 'cause that youthful enthusiasm for lusting after rock stars seems to have deflated when you get older and wiser and damn, if indie rock legends like Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore can't work it after 27 years of marriage, well then, count me out."

I'll take a decent, down-to-earth, intelligent, thoughtful, respectful and kind dude over Ben Gibbard anyway (if such a thing exists in Glasgow?!) Although, apparently poor Ben Gibbard is also divorcing Zooey Deschanel too. What is the world of indie rock coming to!?

Besides rocking out with tweenagers and their parents last night at the concert, during the day I partook in one of my new favourite weekend past times: cycling out to Clydebank with my friend, Claire.

Bike parking at the canal in Clydebank

enroute with father and son ahead

Claire - geared up and ready to go!

This time, however, I took my tank of a Dutch bike, as it would be able to withstand the broken glass that seems to populate the route. Besides, it was a beautiful day to leisurely pedal along the banks of the canal, gossiping with one of the most brilliant Weegies around.

Clydebank, despite what you may have heard/read, isn't that bad. In fact, it's pretty awesome. They even have a Costa Coffee - which, by Scottish standards - is pretty cosmopolitan.

Cycling out to Clydebank even makes the torturous activity, known as "shopping", more tolerable; knowing that - at the very least - you won't be stuck in traffic and afterwards, you can hop on your bike and cycle home. Seriously, I am suspicious of anyone who claims to love shopping; what's the allure!? Online shopping/ browsing, doesn't count, obviously; I love nothing more than doing my essential shopping (food, books, Nespresso coffee) and then having it delivered directly to my work. Now that is progress.

2011-11-14T22:59:00.000Z

WEEKEND IN PICTURES

Some of the best weekends I've had in Glasgow, are the ones where you're without plans or direction and then suddenly, you find yourself out on the town with near-strangers, having an awesome time; a true testament to the friendliness of weegies and most folks that live here. Indeed, even this morning, I was struggling with my bike lock at the grocery store, and a lovely older man came over and helped me unlock it (it's gone a bit rusty and tends to stick when unlocking). I've had countless friendly run-ins with the locals.

On Friday night, a woman from my work was leaving and so, to celebrate, we had a couple drinks at our work. Which then turned into a couple more drinks with more colleagues at a local pub. Which then turned into ending the night by eating at an AMAZING Malaysian-Chinese restaurant: Asia Style. Seriously. How have I lived in Glasgow for almost six years and have never eaten here?! And really, I have no excuse when they're open until 2.30am - it was almost like being back home in Toronto, in Chinatown!

Ohmygawd. That is spicy Kang Kung with shrimp (or, "king prawn", if you're of the British persuasion). Side order of coconut rice. AMAZING! Albeit spicy but you know me, I'm a pro when it comes to eating.

Some work colleagues had congee (advertised as porridge on the menu. Hey, this is Scotland; we love our porridge). Not pictured: Malaysian pancakes 'cause we inhaled them too quickly. Highly recommended.

To burn off all the Malaysian/ Chinese food I inhaled on the previous night, I cycled out to Lennoxtown on Saturday to visit my friend, Erica, who had surgery on her right ear. Poor Erica has had more surgery than most people I know (apart from my best friend in Toronto, Bob - a.k.a. Coco/ Cocobaby/Bombo/ Seymourbeast - who has had countless chemo/ bone-breaking operations than I care to recall and bitch hasn't even had cosmetic surgery! yet). Anyway. Every time I cycle out to and around Lennoxtown, I am endlessly blown-away by the scenery and reminded just how luck Erica (and her husband, Mike) are to live out that way.

This is one of my favourite stretches of road on the way out to Lennoxtown. On a good day you can see Ben Nevis (I think?) in the distance.

The campsies

Sheep!

What a place, eh? Not pictured? The highland cows I saw roaming by the road. Damn. Next time.

2011-11-10T00:22:00.000Z

Regardless of whatever they're selling, every word of this video is true and my personal anthem. Maybe it should be yours too?

2011-11-06T22:15:00.003Z

It's Been a Long, Long, Long Time Running/ It's Well Worth The Wait

What a beautiful (and all too rare) weekend in Glasgow; both yesterday and today were those sunny, crisp but cool winter days that are so commonplace, back in Toronto. I love those bright and cold winter days where you finally pull your scarf, gloves and tuque out of storage and bundle up before heading outside.

Yesterday my friend, Claire, and I had every intention of setting off early to cycle along the Kelvin river to Bowling. I arrived at Claire's flat in Queen's Cross in the morning and after adjusting Claire's bike and a strong cup of coffee, we headed off into the sunny winter day. Not even 15 minutes into our ride along the canal and I got the Dreaded But All Too Ubiquitous Back Wheel Puncture.

For the last two weeks, you see, I have been riding around with a large gash in my back wheel - which most likely occurred whilst I cycled through the Clyde Tunnel (a.k.a. Rape City) early one morning on my way to an appointment. As such, I've had to do about 3 puncture repairs in the last two weeks, as stray pebbles and broken glass (which seem to proliferate the streets of Glasgow), worked their way through the huge slash in my tire and pop my inner tube. Luckily we were only in Maryhill, so we pushed our bikes all the way along Byres Road - where I spotted Grant Morrison (the famous Scottish comic book writer) and his wife - to West End Cycles, where I finally caved and got a brand-new back wheel tire right then and there (normally I'd buy such a thing online). The dude in West End Cycles was so nice - not to mention knowledgeable - and swapped my back tire in a mere 5 minutes. Unbelievable.

And then we were off! As we made our way back to the canal, Claire took me on a cycling tour of the area she grew up in (Knightswood) and regaled me with hilarious stories from her childhood.

As we cycled along the canal pathway to Clydebank - avoiding the pot holes - I couldn't help but feel optimistic; cycling in Glasgow (and to an extent, Scotland) has such potential! If Glasgow Council only invested a little bit more and took more of an initiative into creating proper cycling infrastructure within the city, we could have such great cycling routes - and not just token second-class cycle paths. It is entirely possible to cycle to grocery store (as Claire and I did) and get your weekly shopping and cycle home. Next time, however, I think I'll do it on my Dutch bike and not my practical (but lovely) road bike.

Speaking of cycling infrastructure, one thing that I hear over and over again from people who wish to cycle in Glasgow is, "I would love to but I would be terrified of riding a bike on the road!" And you know what? I can understand their fear because it would seem to me, that an otherwise decent person, completely transforms into a raging abusive beast when they get behind a car wheel. Why is that? However, I refuse to be intimated off the road and you know, this is EUROPE, after all; deal with bikes, people. To a ride a bike is one of the most simple and beautiful pleasures I can think of. Also, the more people who cycle, the more motorists and the city will have to accommodate; strength in numbers!

Anyway, we never did make it to Bowling because once in Cyldebank, we were distracted by cake, coffee and gossip. After stocking up on some groceries (again, next time I'll need to take my tank of a Dutch bike), we headed back home. Seriously. What a civilised way to do your shopping - along the canal, away from cars, catching up with a friend while you experience the cool winter air. Heaven.

And again, today was crisp and cool - without a cloud in the sky - so I took the opportunity to go for a run.

Through Kelvingrove Park

Honestly, how can you not love Glasgow when it's sunny out?! On days like today, I am reminded over and over again why I love this city and its people.

As I was out running today, I realised that I'm often running in other aspects as well - whether it be away from something (a predictable and unconvincing life in Toronto) or towards something (an attempt at happiness and control over my own life). I guess I've gotten pretty good at running. I'm not entirely sure why but I've never been one for planning ahead and indeed, I've often lived my life (especially in the last 6 years), as if each day were my last. Obviously this has its positive aspects but also a lot of detrimental effects too (I can't imagine what or where I'll be in one year; I'm totally shit at saving money and would rather blow it all travelling; I'm way too enthusiastic about mundane things and that makes me inherently unhip).

Anyway, at one point I stopped running and looked up. I saw a wee Scottish thistle engraved in the street lamp above and was totally blown away. How on earth have I lived here for 6 years and failed to notice?! See what happens when you stop running and look up?

I also made a wee pal along my route.

You often see this around Glasgow - tuques, hats, mittens and the odd baby sock that has been accidentally dropped/ left behind by its owner - only to be picked up by a stranger and placed on the nearest fence/ pole. I can't recall seeing this whilst I lived in Toronto, but maybe I was too busy running away to notice?

2011-10-31T22:32:00.004Z

WEEKEND IN PICTURES

Firstly. And most importantly. I passed! I passed your stupid Life in the UK Test!

I took the test on Thursday morning and after showing documentation, ID and confirming my birth date and address, I was escorted to a computer where I - once again - had to show my passport and photo ID to another UK Border agent. I was then informed that if I ever discussed the Life in the UK test after sitting it, I would be immediately disqualified. I replied, "like ever? I can't talk about it EVER?" Mouth agape; eyes widened. HOW WOULD THEY EVER KNOW?!

"Yes, I suppose not ever," the UK Border agent replied.

Woah. That is some serious shit right there.

Needless to say, all those long nights of memorising dates, figures, and percentages paid off because I passed! Do I feel anymore "British" for knowing that 8% of children in the UK attend independent schools? No, I do not. However, I have now been granted the right to pay £870 and start my application for Indefinite Leave to Remain in the UK. That means that I can live here for like, EVER!

So, it's Halloween today and that means most kids in the UK tonight, are becoming more and more Americanised. Er, sorry, no. I mean, most kids in the UK tonight went trick or treating or "guising", if you're lucky enough to live in Scotland (I am!)

On Saturday, my friend Robert and his wife, Claire, had a Halloween party. After the initial feasting of homemade pumpkin soup, I proceeded to eat pretty much an ENTIRE bowl of Robert's homemade salsa. It was AMAZING salsa (obviously) however, I was left an aching stomach afterwards. I guess it's a bad idea to eat spicy salsa and little else after cycling 25miles around the outer skirts of Glasgow.

Speaking of which, I went for a cycle on Saturday morning out to Lennoxtown where I discovered an amazing bike store/place called, Wheelcraft. It's run by a lovely man called "Big Al" who is renowned for his handmade bike wheels. We (my bike group and I) rolled up and Al was so lovely and friendly, he offered us all free coffee and cookies. While I chatted away to Al about Canada, I couldn't help but notice another cyclist sitting quietly in the shop, fixing his bike wheel. While Al and I discussed Canada and our mutual disgust for instant coffee (if I come to your house and that's all you have to offer, don't bother. There are few things in life I am snobby about but coffee is one of them. Sure, I dig Tim Hortons but I draw the line there), the quiet cyclist continued to fix his bike wheel, barely even bothering to look up from his work. I wish I was cool enough to say that his dashing and handsome looks barely phased me but to be honest, I'm not. And of course, being the mature adult that I am, I pretty much ignored the hot cyclist and avoided all eye contact with him.

(By the way, apparently his name is Philip and I wish I had paid more attention to what kind of bike he was riding but you know, avoidance of him and all that...)

Right, Halloween party. Too much salsa. Lots of dancing to Prince (of course) and The Smiths.

Can you guess who I went as?

This past weekend I decided that I am pretty much a bike goddess (sorry, but it's true) and finally got around to cleaning and tweaking my bike. For some ridiculous reason, I also decided that it was a good idea to clean my bike IN MY BATHTUB. I think I spent more time degreasing my tub and porcelain than my actual bike. Ugh, the one drawback of living in a tenement (apartment) building on the top floor; where the hell are you meant to obsessively scrub and hose down your bike and chain?!

I've also pretty much mastered changing my own inner tube after getting two punctures this past weekend. Also? my expensive handmade German Continental Grand Prix 4000 back wheel has a big ol' gash in it. Despite the fact that I only bought the wheels in July, I'm gonna have to buy a new one because it is FUBAR, y'all. Goddamn.

2011-10-24T20:56:00.004+01:00

(WOULD BE) WEEKEND IN PICTURES

I don't really know why but lately, I haven't really been feeling it. And what it is, I'm not entirely sure of that either.

Normally I'm a pretty enthusiastic person and a happy-go-lucky kinda gal. In fact, you may have noticed that I don't really plan; I don't have a life plan and I tend to just live for the day (or week, depending on the mood). In fact, moving to Glasgow, almost six years ago, was most likely the only conscious "life-decision" I ever really made. All those years of university (not to mention student debt)? Yep, didn't have a plan then either - I just picked majors that interested me (art and film).

Obviously living such a bohemian and "unsettled" life has it positive and negative aspects: I don't feel too rooted to one place and ultimately, I feel fairly free and in control of what I want in life (or on that day/ week, depending). On the flip side, I live paycheque to paycheque - something which, I know, is pretty foolish for a woman of my age (*ahem*) and I have a lot of trouble anticipating what lies ahead. Indeed, I simply can't envision it AT ALL. And somedays that troubles me.

And so as of late, I have this feeling that I just can't seem to shake - perhaps it's the change in the weather (it's getting darker earlier now); perhaps after almost a year of unsettled living, I've fallen back into a routine of being (mostly) single; perhaps I need a change of sorts; perhaps it's just all sinking in.

You see, I'm at that age where a lot of my friends are settled/ married/ coupled whereas I, in turn, walked out of a Serious Four Year Relationship back in January. And now, almost 10 months on, where am I? Kinda back to where I was before I ever met my ex - single and just a little bit wiser and a little more jaded. And when you're in the minority, you can't help but compare yourself to the majority and therein lies the ruse. You think, "maybe if I was in a relationship and settled, then I wouldn't be feeling this way." The thing is though, being single can be difficult, and being in a relationship can be equally - if not more so - difficult.

Societal pressure to be married/ coupled is real but the older you get, the less you give a shit (one of the great things about getting older). Another brilliant thing about getting older is that you learn more about yourself (hopefully. Therapy helps) and the world we live in. If we're lucky we may even figure some stuff out along the way - like what really matters in life (hint: not big houses or cars but rather, health, altruism, happiness and fulfilling interpersonal relationships)

Mostly though, I am happy. Joyous. Just wanting to burst out into a fucking musical number. No, honestly. And so this feeling of not feeling it, is somewhat frightening. I've been very fortunate in my life to not suffer blights of depression (I seem to know a number of people whose lives it seems to bear a lot of weight), so I don't think this is depression. Perhaps just a change in the weather?

Anyway, this past weekend I mostly studied for my upcoming Life in the UK test - what a drag. On Sunday, I met my friend, Erica, for a long boozy lunch at Number 16. Wow. What a meal. What a restaurant. I live just around the corner and yet, I've only been once in my six years of living here - criminal! It was such a fantastic meal that I ended up taking pictures - much to the embarrassment of Erica. "You're like a tourist!" she exclaimed. What can I say, I love good food porn. Alas, my crappy first generation iPhone seemed to erase the pictures I took apart from this one of Erica's fishcake.

Afterwards we headed to the Ubiquitous Chip in Ashton Lane for a glass of wine before heading off to see.....

MARGARET FUCKING CHO!

Oh my god. You guys? I fucking LOVE Margaret Cho. I've seen her twice before in Toronto and she sells out HUGE theatres. So to see her in Glasgow at a small venue was an opportunity I could not miss! I was so pleased to also share the opportunity with Erica, who had never heard of Margaret (like most British people).

I love Margaret because well, obviously she is funny, but more importantly she puts it all out there. What she says and represents (humour from a uniquely feminist perspective) - you don't tend to see a lot of that in mainstream culture. And I guess that's why a lot of people haven't heard of her. Seeing her last night definitely brought me back to where I should be.

2011-10-16T20:32:00.000+01:00

WEEKEND IN PICTURES

After last weekend of doing very little (apart from read an entire novel and study for my upcoming Life in the UK test), this weekend was action-packed! But first! For the first time in about oh, two weeks, the sun managed to come out today. As such, I went for a run this afternoon to take full advantage of what feels like limited sunshine these days.

I mean, how can you not love this city? LOOK AT IT.

On Friday night, Claire was due to come over to my flat for some of Tesco's finest Vina Mara Rioja (yeah, that's right). However, we decided that despite being absolutely broke, with about £20 between us until payday, we would hit the town. In fact, we took it as a challenge: just how awesome a night can you have with about £20 between two awesome bitches. Well, a lot actually.

Initially we went to Curlers Rest on Byres Road and nursed two pints each. Not only did we manage to savour those pints, but we also caught up on our gossip since we hadn't seen each other for about two weeks.

After our two pints each, we decided to raise the bar: we were to go dancing with only about £10 between us. Bring it!

And so, we staggered off to Sauchiehall Street. And since Claire knows half the city (as well as all the juiciest gossip about Scottish soccer/ footballer players; she's brilliant like that), we bumped into someone she knew. Someone who could get us into Nice N Sleazys, front of the line and without paying cover. YAAAAAAAS! That's about £4 saved right there.

Nice N Sleazy is a Glasgow institution: it's open until 3.00am every night and plays some pretty awesome music. Although I seem to remember it being a bit more sleazy/ grungy when I went there as a student. Anyway, after Claire and I had some pints upstairs (£10 for a HUGE pitcher of Fosters beer), we went downstairs to dance. We ended up out on the tiles until 3.00am. And because we were both skint, we ended up walking home - which was brilliant because Glasgow at about 4.00am (we stopped in at a 24-hour grocery store and got distracted by all the junk food), is a whole other city. A mainly deserted one. So, I walked home at 4.00am, documenting my trip in photos.

Avenue G, one of the few joints in this city that does great coffee. Admittedly however, Glasgow is getting better for coffee. I'm such a snob. Whatever.

A good Munchy Box gone to waste.

If you don't know what a Munchy Box is (and I'm sure that most people outside of Scotland don't), it's essentially every disgusting but oh-so-delicious fast food item you can think of deep-fried and invariably covered in various sauces. French fries, pakora, kebab meat, onion rings, coleslaw and naan bread - it's all in there. Glasgow - it's not for pussies.

Deserted town.

What kind of take-away place is this?! Why is it even called "Decent Sweets" when it sells pizza, kebabs and no doubt, munchy boxes. What the hell?!

On Saturday, Lauren, Linzi, Erica and I headed to our Saturday ritual: to watch the Braehead Clan in action!

It was an intense game as the Braehead Clan took on Coventry Blaze. There was lots of body-chucking, people being sent to the sin bin, and would-be fights. The Clan ended up winning though: 4-2!

Ahhh, the good ol' hockey game. Nothing like a bit of violence and beer to rectify a somewhat shitty week. Until next time.

2011-10-10T18:59:00.002+01:00

Sorry, no weekend in pictures today. Mainly because this past weekend I did next to nothing. Well, that's not entirely true. I managed to go for a long run yesterday; read an entire novel over the weekend (as well as the Saturday edition of the Guardian); and catch up on some film viewings. In fact, apart from the check-out girls at my local Morrisons, I don't think I spoke to another person this whole weekend. It wasn't intentional; ever since returning from Berlin, I've been out every weekend and I just needed a weekend of doing well, sweet fuck all, you know? I have to admit, I do enjoy my own company and don't get lonely very often. That is - except for today.

Today, I am feeling particularly lonely and homesick for Canada because it's Canadian Thanksgiving. Although I don't eat turkey, I do love some good Thanksgiving grub: homemade pumpkin pie, stuffing, and squash (covered in roasted marshmallows). There's nothing like it - except Christmas dinner, I suppose. Also, it's this time of year when all the leaves on the trees are changing colours and the air has a crisp coolness to it. I absolutely love this time of year in Canada and this is when I miss it the most...

2011-10-02T22:41:00.000+01:00

WEEKEND IN PICTURES

While there was a heatwave in London this past weekend, true to form Glasgow maintained the status quo and continued to dump drizzly humid rain on its inhabitants.

After work on Friday, some colleagues and I decided to get a pint at the new(ish) bar, BrewDog. While BrewDog do indeed brew some decent beer, the interiors of the pub (bar?) always leave me feeling unsure of its intentions; I never know whether I'm meant to feel as if I'm in a Swiss chalet (no, not THE Canadian chain restaurant) or an upmarket student-y type drinking establishment? Or maybe that's just my own Canadian confusion - I always feel like I want to go snowboarding after sitting amongst the woody interiors.

Anyway. Of course one pint turned into two and then three and then a work colleague and I went for dinner. We walked further along to Partick and went to what is quickly becoming my "local" - Criterion - for some grub. (Side Note/ Appreciation: I really like Criterion - it's never too busy that you can't get a seat; the food is good and not overly priced (it has a great three course lunch menu); and they always seem to play Prince at some point in the evening. )

After dinner, I walked my friend/ work colleague home to her house in Dowanhill. Although she has lived there for a few months now, I felt uneasy letting her walk home alone. Being gangsta' and living in Partick myself, I felt more comfortable walking her home and then walking back alone (besides, people don't mess with me; guess they take one look at me and realise I'm not "right").

So, after departing from my friend's, I started walking down her street back to Partick. As I strolled past one huge flat on the prominent street, a couple guys were sitting in the windowsill, drinking beer. Walking past, they called to me and in usual fashion, asked how my night was. And in my usual fashion, I grunted a response and continued on. Before stopping in my tracks.

Now, being the nosey bitch I am, I (of course) scanned the inside of their flat and spotted a fierce looking road bike leaning against the wall in the living room. I asked whose bike it was and one of the dudes in the window replied it was his. And so we got to chatting about cycling (what kind of bike he had, what kind of bike I had, where we went cycling, and so on). Eventually they invited me to their massive flat but I declined. Instead, I stood on the sidewalk for another 15 minutes chatting, before I asked if I could use their washroom (WHAT?! I really needed to pee?!) One of the dudes in the window jumped up and went through their massive flat before arriving at their front door about five minutes later and ushered me into their living room.

The Cute Cyclist met me in his living room and showed me downstairs to their washroom - which had a bidet (so Euro! I'm so easily impressed!) Weird.

Afterwards, Cute Cyclist and I talked some more and he introduced me to his cat, which he had rescued a couple months ago. Well. Be still my cat-loving, bike-riding heart! We chatted some more before he asked to kiss me. Now, I don't really make a habit of gatecrashing parties in the west end nor - despite appearances - do I make it a habit of kissing (nearly) random dudes. So, I declined. Which isn't to say I'm not interested - and I told him as much - I just didn't feel like kissing someone whom I LITERALLY met on the street and whose washroom I just barged into.

Nevertheless, we chatted some more and I realised, "hang on a minute, he looks kinda young," so I asked Cute Cyclist how old he was.

"Twenty-six", he cheerfully replied.

Gulp.

"Huh. I'm Thirty-two", I offered.

Cute Cyclist just smiled blankly at me. He shrugged. "you don't look it".

"Well, I certainly don't act it either!!!!" I almost screamed like a maniac.

We stood there for a minute before I announced I was leaving (god, I'm such a weirdo). As he opened his palatial front door, I realised it was now raining (OF COURSE). I asked Cute Cyclist if I could borrow an umbrella. "Oh," he said, looking at the floor, "I don't have one."

WHAAAAAAAT? THIS IS GLASGOW???!!!

"Yeah, I know. I'm a guy, I guess. Wait a minute. I have a jacket you can borrow!" He said, before he dashed off.

So, that is how I ended up borrowing a stranger's rain jacket, using his washroom and then exchanging numbers with a twenty-six year old whose name is the most poshest thing I've ever heard. We'll see.

Saturday night, I went to what is quickly becoming another ritual: (ice) hockey with girlfriends!

Left to right: Erica, who loves body checking and the sound of flesh hitting glass panels; Linzi (who was attending for the first time ever and reassured me she understood the rules because she "had seen, The Mighty Ducks" film); and Lauren. Pure reprobates, man.

The Braehead Clan vs. Cardiff Devils. The Clan won: 3-1! As someone with immediate Welsh connections (my Grandmother is from Cardiff), I almost felt obliged to support Cardiff. Eh, who cares? Almost all the players are Canadian on both teams anyway.

Speaking of Welsh grandparents, here's what I will be studying for the next wee while: the Life in the UK test book! Yep, because knowing what percentage of the British population are Roman Catholic (Answer: 10%), is what it means to be British and to have assimilated into British society.

I am going to be applying for Indefinite Leave to Remain (Settlement) soon so in order to do so, I need to sit a test that was created to ~~appease knee-jerk reactionary racist bastards who mostly inhabitant middle and southern England so they didn't feel like this country was letting just anyone in.~~ Oh, sorry. I meant, to help assimilate immigrants into the fabric of British culture and society. Aye, that.

Cycled past the new Transport Museum on the Clyde late at night. It was warm outside and so quiet. What a sight.

And here's another sight I saw this past week - something I don't usually see! Someone commuting their baby/ child to daycare ON A BIKE!!! Woah, you would almost think WE WERE IN EUROPE, Y'ALL!!

Seriously. It was a lovely sight and you know what? He totally smoked my ass! Respect.

2011-09-25T22:21:00.002+01:00

WEEKEND IN PICTURES

Saturday evening marked the first game of the season for the local hockey team, Braehead Clan and Lauren, Erica and I attended. We must be lucky puck bunnies because they won against the Dundee Stars: 6 - 0! Afterwards, we headed to the bar in the mall (gross - so North American to drink in a mall!) for some drinks.

Trouble.

Erica, totally getting into hockey and lovin' the body checks. She loves the sound of flesh being battered against the glass protector of the arena.

Lauren and I relishing the ability to drink at a sporting match in Scotland.

(L-R) Erica, me, and Lauren. I had "WoooOOOooo" in stereo Saturday night. Brilliant photo.

Hockey! In Scotland!

Saturday morning/ afternoon, before the hockey game, I cycled up to Aberfoyle, up Duke's Pass, and back to Glasgow. It seemed all the more difficult because the gears on my bike are fucked; I can't seem to shift down to my granny gear (yeah, that's right!) This is when I either need to become a female bike guru (so hot) or snag a cyclist boyfriend to help me with my bike (which, ultimately, I do love but lately I kinda feel like doing this to it - love that David Millar!)

Gorgeous.

Oh man, I love this country.

2011-09-23T20:12:00.006+01:00

WEEK IN PICTURES

I love Berlin. I really love it. I feel totally at home there.

Plaque at Sachenhausen Concentration camp.

I miss it already.

2011-09-15T23:20:00.001+01:00

After a break up, I like to take the healthy approach and run away from it all. After I left my ex-boyfriend at the start of the year, I took off to Berlin for a few days to cycle around the city and hang out alone in jazz bars drinking beer.

Fittingly, after getting dumped last month, I'm about to head back to Berlin for another break. This time, however, I am going with my friend, Sally, and we have rented an apartment in Prenzlauer Berg.

I love Berlin and I'm really looking forward to just doing what the heartbroken might do whilst on holiday: drinking coffee in bohemian cafes, wallowing in their own dreariness; propping up the bar at some dingy jazz club; and going a bit mental.

2011-09-12T22:05:00.000+01:00

WEEKEND IN PICTURES

Oh, god. I don't even know how I am still alive after this past weekend. Even worse, I'm not sure whether I'll be able to ever drink whisky again. Well, I say that now; give me a week.

On Saturday morning, I went for a run through Kelvingrove Park and noticed that the leaves have started changing colours. Alas. It's the end of summer, isn't it? Although I do love this time of year, it always makes me homesick. In fact, it's often this time of year that I head back home to Canada for my annual visit. Sadly, not this year. Although I do hope to be home for Christmas - the first time in four years!
And here stands the sad empty shell of 18 Park Terrace, where I lived as an exchange student whilst studying at Glasgow University in 1999 - 2000. What a beautiful building it was.

Saturday night, my friend Erica hosted a whisky tasting night at her home in Lennoxtown. Well, I say "whisky tasting" but really, it was just an excuse to drink ridiculously good whisky. And for those that didn't like whisky (if you can believe it!) there was awesome rum (courtesy of South African John) or beer. Or gin. Basically, there was a lot of alcohol. And even MORE whisky. Pictured above was my contribution.

Oh. My. God. Heaven in a bottle.

As I mentioned, my friend Erica (whose husband, Mike, is in Jakarta on business), lives in Lennoxtown, which is about 21km from my house. And because I am mentally ill (for the time being, anyway) I decided to cycle out to her house. On my bike. With an overnight bag and £65 bottle of whisky on my back.

Although it was a beautiful ride out to Erica's late Saturday afternoon, I hadn't really thought out my plan. I didn't consider that I might be hung over the next day (to be honest, I wasn't really planning on drinking that much whisky) nor did I even bother to look at the weather reports for Sunday; this is Scotland - I just assume that it will rain EVERY DAY. No, I am not being hyperbolic.

So, Saturday night was going great: great chat, even greater friends and as usual, Tim was holding court and making us all laugh. And then South African John pulled this whisky out of his bag. A South African single grain whisky. Who knew? Anyway, I had one taste and damn, that was it. It's very caramel-y, with hints of vanilla. Doesn't that sound amazing? Well, it was. So of course, I had to drink A LOT of it. The thing is, with whisky, I always feel fine and completely sober and then I'm suddenly paraplegic and I've lost my pants (trousers). What happened?!

Great chat; great pals. I wish I had taken an "After" picture. There was dancing, iPod wars, Motown, drunken tweeting and the ubiquitous playing of Deacon Blue's, Dignity (apparently there is a Glaswegian tradition to play this song at the end of the night?)

I don't even know how I managed to get to bed. When I woke up in the morning, I could barely move. I came downstairs to find blood on the staircase, Erica had lost her vision (somewhat scary), and there were numerous incidences of people being sick. Oh, god.

How nice is Mike and Erica's house? It's lovely. Too bad she allowed all us filthy animals to stay overnight.

This is serious damage.

As I said, I woke on Sunday morning and I could barely move. Why?! How?! I swear, I only had a few drams of whisky! And where are MY PANTS!?

And then I remembered I had to cycle home.

I managed to get up and eat some toast but promptly had to go back to bed. As did Erica. I'm not sure where the rest of my friends went but when I came back downstairs at 5.00pm, everyone had gone. Except Erica, of course, because she lives there. She was awake though and surprised to still see me in my pajamas. In her house. At 5.00pm.

I looked outside and of course, it was pissing down with rain and the wind was howling. Of course. OF COURSE! However, I had no other option but to cycle home. Hungover to epic proportions and in the howling wind and rain. I suppose I could have taken the bus but really, I've come this far, haven't I? What's another 1 hour and 15 minutes of torture and dry-heavin' in the freezing rain, coughing up god knows what between fits of dizzy spells along the side of the road as asshole drivers whizz past at alarming speeds!? Bring it, I say.

And so, I set off at around 6.00pm and cycled home, shamefully at a snail's pace lest I fainted, in the wind and rain. And when I got home just after 7.00pm, I vowed to never EVER drink more than two units of booze in one night ever again. Who knows if I will stick to that or not.

More importantly however, I can safely say that my ride home last night was the most miserable and sad experiences of my life thus far and if that doesn't swear me off guzzling gallons of liquor again, well, I'm more mentally ill than I thought.

2011-09-09T22:45:00.001+01:00

Nothing is Black and White

One of the things that I love about being back in the west end again, is that I can walk pretty much anywhere in the city - that is, if I'm not riding my bike. This past week, I've been doing a lot of walking - whether it be going into town to meet friends or to work and back. Weather wise, it hasn't been too bad a week. It's been great to just walk for long periods of time, listening to music, taking in the sights of my beloved adopted city and of course, letting my thoughts tick over (and over and over and over).

As I mentioned in my previous post, I've been slowly re-adjusting to who I am (or maybe who I was?), since leaving my ex-boyfriend in January. It's so strange (and refreshing!) after four years of being with someone in a foreign country, to be all on your own again. The thing is though, I moved here on my own - without a job, apartment or boyfriend - so I KNOW that I can manage. However, it's what happens between then and the "managing" bit that you can't really prepare for; because no matter how strong you think you are, you just DON'T KNOW. You just don't know how you will cope or (re)adjust and that's what makes us who we are, I suppose.

Something that I've come to realise is that I've been in mourning for what could have been. Despite all the horrible things that happened with my ex, on some level I was saddened by the failure of our relationship. Or rather, I was saddened by the potential of it all: his potential, the potential of us and what could have been. And that's what - perhaps- upsets me the most: the potential of what could have been.

Even with G, I think I've been more upset about what COULD have been then what was.

I want to see the good in everything and believe it or not, I would describe myself as an eternal optimist. Nevertheless, I always seem to try and talk myself back from the ledge of positivism - which, more than likely, is probably to do with self-esteem and self-believe (yeah, I know, psychobabble. Sorry.) More than ever now though, I find myself torn between two realms: what I want and what I need. I guess that's what it means to be an adult, huh?

BON IVER "Holocene" from nabil elderkin on Vimeo.

2011-09-06T21:46:00.005+01:00

How I Kinda Lost It and Why I Love the NHS

Lately I've been thinking a lot about coping or rather, coping mechanisms. When confronted with stress, trauma (of any sort, really) or emotional torment, how do we cope? Apparently I use humour (or so I'm told BY PROFESSIONALS, no less). Others may turn to self-abuse: vices such as booze, drugs or porn. Or maybe depression. Or worse - they don't cope: they simply deny. Others may simply avoid any such situations that may provoke anxiety.

The thing is, when you're not coping - and here's the beauty of the human brain - you don't actually know that you're not coping. And it isn't until something goes spectacularly awry, that you may even realise that you're not actually coping. If you realise at all, of course!

I've been thinking about it because it wasn't until only recently that I realised myself that hey, maybe I hadn't really coped with the trauma of leaving my ex-boyfriend. Or rather, hadn't coped in an entirely healthy way. You see, after breaking-up with him, I immediately thought, "I NEED TO DATE AS MANY MEN AS POSSIBLE NOW!" Why? Avoidance of the real issues at hand (that shit was intense). And avoidance of my emotions and what was happening (basically no one gets me and I'm going to die alone, surrounded by cats). And I was terrified that maybe dudes would never be attracted to me again (nah, they still are - LOOK AT ME!)

I know I haven't written about the break-up of my four year relationship with my ex and that's for a number of reasons.

1. Are people really that interested? I know I would be but that's because I'm a nosey bitch.

2. Despite everything that went down, I do need to respect people's privacy, even if they don't deserve it. So, it's difficult when people ask, "what happened?" because I can't actually say what happened (I mean, I can. You got 30 minutes? Problem is - I just don't want to get into it). He and I will always know what happened and I suppose in a way, that's enough. I usually give some generic response which almost always leads people to assume that someone cheated or was done wrong. Folks, don't assume that because we're not cheaters - maybe just fraudsters.

3. I'm still coping.

You see, this past weekend my friend, Erica, confirmed as much. She said to me, laden with meaning, "people don't realise when they're not coping." Indeed, it wasn't until only recently that Claire, one of my best pals, said to me - on numerous occasions - that for those first few months following the breakup, I was not well. And she's right, I wasn't. At the time, of course, I thought that I was. I thought that it was perfectly acceptable to go out on a date with FOUR DIFFERENT MEN in SEVEN DAYS (hey, just dates!) I thought that it was perfectly healthy to not eat for days on end and sleep limited hours. I thought that it was normal to go to Berlin for a long weekend and drink in jazz bars alone (actually, that was awesome). When clearly, I was avoiding the real situation - you know, realising that my entire four-year relationship wasn't what I thought it was; that I was in love with someone who was incapable of loving himself; that I had been emotionally supporting both of us with no one to support me. And so on. I could go on but damn, that's what the NHS psychiatrist is for.

So, in two words: NOT COPING. Looking back, it is evident to me now that I was not well. At the time, of course, I kept repeating my personal mantra that I was "fine, everything is great, I am doing exactly what I want!!!" Now, I'm better but still healing. Actually, no; I'm great.

Although I feel like an entirely different person to who I was six months ago or even a year ago, I actually feel more like myself again. And for that, I'm grateful - to my amazing friends, to the NHS and to this blog; it's been cathartic ranting and raving on here so, thanks for sticking round. Even if you just tried googling, "date scottish men" and somehow ended up here.

2011-09-04T20:05:00.001+01:00

WEEKEND IN PICTURES

This morning I went for a bike ride out to Strathblane/ Kilearn / Balfron and the inevitable happened: I fell off my bike. I had to make a sudden stop and I couldn't get my shoes unclipped in time and fell onto my right thigh and elbow. I think I suffered more from embarrassment than the actual fall itself, truth be told. Nevertheless, the day started out cloudy but ended up being absolutely gorgeous. Whilst I was out for my ride, I couldn't help but think of Jack Layton's quote, "You could wait forever for perfect conditions, or you can make the best of what you got now."

On Friday, we had some drinks at my work as some people were leaving our department. I was due to meet some friends for a drink in Partick, so I only managed to stay for one before dashing off. I then left work at about 5.30pm - didn't get home until after 4.00am. For me, that is pretty epic in time and pacing.

In those 11 hours (of mayhem), I managed to meet friends for drinks and dinner in Partick, followed by more drinks in town before ending the night (somehow) at The Flying Duck. Or the Dying Fuck, as some people call it. It was an incredible night with good tunes, dancing and Claire and I hijacking some poor soul's birthday party.

Pre-Flying Duck escapade war path / Drinks at the Variety Bar.

I really love The Variety Bar because it seems that whenever I'm there, the DJ plays Prince at some point. That's my sliding scale of awesomeness: if the bar plays Prince (and not just the main hits), then it might just be the most amazing joint in this amazing city.

(L-R) Cute Scottish dude, me screechin' in a shrill Canadian accent, and Claire

Once Variety Bar closed, Claire and I decided to check out the Flying Duck. We wanted someone to take our photo so we asked some poor Scottish dude to oblige us. He was so wasted and/or a technophobe, he couldn't figure out how to use my iPhone. And he kept getting his finger in the picture (top right hand corner). As he was trying to figure out how to take a photo, I was giving a running commentary: "OHMIGAWD, it's 2011; haven't you seen an iPhone before? My friend, Claire - the biggest Luddite this side of the Atlantic - just figured out how to use eBay so come ON already!!!!!!"

I was cracking everyone up - apart from the poor dude taking the picture (he eventually figured it out). He handed me back my phone and told me to piss off. Quite right; I deserved it but COME ON! It was funny.

After the Flying Duck closed (we were one of the last to leave), Claire and I hit up Sauchiehall Street for an impromptu concert. Glasgow on a Friday or Saturday night, is a lot like Martin Scorsese's 1985 film, After Hours. Only without the murderous mob - unless the Old Firm are playing that weekend obviously.

2011-08-31T21:30:00.003+01:00

Don't Think Twice, It's Alright

I have an uncanny ability to write about a new relationship, right before it spontaneously deteriorates before me. It would appear that as soon as I dare to blog about my dating experiences (and mishaps) in Scotland, my all too new relationships suddenly fail spectacularly. And once again, my all too new relationship did just that, this past weekend.

You see, after writing about G, my friend that I was dating, I got dumped. Again.

I could regale you with the minute details of all the events that unfolded this past weekend but to be honest, I don't really know entirely myself what happened and why. And although I love nothing more than to analyse and deconstruct human behaviour, there is simply little point in doing so in this instance. Because whatever his reasoning - however true or false they may be - G decided that he could not be in a relationship with me. Or rather, he choose not to be. As such, I can only accept his ~~mistake~~ (err, sorry) - his DECISION. Or maybe I can only accept his word as gospel truth and you know what? Maybe it is as simple as it just not being enough for him. Oops, see? There I go analysing.

The thing is (and I realise this is SUCH a cliche and I shudder at typing it) above all else, I just want G to be happy. Even as a friend, I just wanted him to be happy but on some level, I wondered whether or not he is capable of it; G is quite a complicated person and I suppose in some way, that is what attracted me to him.

The saddest element to this entire affair is that I will actually miss his friendship; which isn't to imply that we can't be friends in the future. At the moment, however, I suppose we need distance. I'm writing like I have any semblance of an idea as to how to manoeuvre in this instance because the truth is, I don't.

What I do know, is that despite everything that has happened to me in the last six months (e.g. leaving my partner of four years and the house I loved) and despite having my heart broken on various occasions, I'm still optimistic and I don't even have to try at it. I'm actually somewhat surprised at my own resilience because if I'm honest, I wasn't expecting it at all.

In the end, it's easy to be cynical and it's even easier to retreat than it is to experience. And I guess that's where I'm awesome: I fucking love an adventure and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let fear get in my way.

2011-08-29T22:55:00.000+01:00

(Long) Weekend in Pictures

I had an epic weekend (ohhhhh guuurl, that is another story) however, today Claire and I went to Edinburgh for lunch, dinner and a spot of theatre. We went to Ruby Wax's, Losing It, as it was the last day of the show at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Despite living in Scotland for the last five years, today was my first time at the Fringe. People are surprised when I tell them that I've never been to any festival - ever - in Edinburgh. "Jennifer, you've never been to the Festival?! Why?!" they ask, pulling a concerned face.

Why!?

BECAUSE IT IS HELL OF EARTH. OHMIFUCKINGGAWD.

Tourists, people handing out flyers, media-types, tv-types, tourists, more tourists, kitschy Scottish overpriced crap, £2.50 for a cup of coffee, TOURISTS IN FANNY PACKS (bum bags), students having animated conversations about "conceptional performance art" in confined spaces and me amidst all the chaos, feeling like a walking mental illness.

So, in a way, I guess it was fitting that Claire and I went to the see Losing It, a musical theatre performance about mental illness and well, losing it.

It was a touching, haunting, brilliant and honest performance. And in some respects, it was quite close to home.

After the play, we went for some dinner in Auld Reekie, before getting the train back to Glasgow. Whilst we were on the train, Claire and I - as usual - were making each other howl with laughter and causing a scene. I seriously had to stop myself from laughing so much as I was beginning to think that I would be met at Queen Street Train Station, by men in white uniforms and be handcuffed to a stretcher, before being wheeled away. "Ohhhh, honey," I said to Claire, "I ain't far off from that....."

2011-08-22T14:18:00.002+01:00

R.I.P. JACK LAYTON

Absolutely shocked and devastated to read the news this morning that Jack Layton has died at the age of 61.

When I lived in Toronto, I was a card-carrying member of the NDP (a political party founded by a Scot, and Grandfather of Keifer Sutherland, Tommy Douglas.) Jack Layton, a fellow cycling enthusiast is what Canada is all about: progressive, honest, and positive.

R.I.P. Jack Layton