Life of a Wastrel

2010-11-11T10:54:00.002+00:00

I can be found at:

http://www.seshat-bethechange.blogspot.com/

The End of Things

2010-10-13T20:32:00.005+00:00

Dear all.

This is the end of Life of a Wastrel. I'm starting afresh and anew. Thanks to those who read, and those who followed, and those who commented.

If anyone would like to follow my new blog, feel free to email me at:

and I'll give you a link.

Ta and goodnight.

xxx

Mallorca Fun

2010-09-07T09:27:00.003+00:00

Hey all. I'm in Mallorca, sitting in the piazza in Santanyi with Yesh and her friend, and her friend's partner. I don't have names for them yet because I only met them yesterday. Yesh's pal is German, her partner Italian, but they both speak good English. Not good enough to understand my sense of humour, but I'm sure we'll overcome that by the end of the week.

Yesterday we arrived. Yesh came from Geneva, because she's been to her step-brother's wedding in Zurich. Madly, she'd managed to think it was in Geneva - because that's where the cheap flights to Mallorca flew from - so she had to get a train from Geneva to Zurich. Then back to Geneva to fly to Mallorca. Anyway, I'd missed her like mad, and it was fantastic meeting up with her in the airport.

Then we had to get a bus from Palma airport into Palma, then a bus from Palma to Santanyi. This all went without a hitch, and we were met in Santanyi by Yesh's friends. They took us to the house - a traditional Mediterranean town house. Cool dark, with a little courtyard out back. There's no air conditioning, which is fine by me. Air conditioning always gives me a rotten cold. No fans, either though ... which might be a bit more problematic.

Anyway, we unpacked and then were taken to the beach for a swim and a sunbathe. Yesh and I swam out to an offshore rock and back again, before clambering out and joining the nudests in sunbathing. I must say, I ain't no prude but it is a bit of a shock to be introduced to a complete stranger's labia when she bends down to pick up her towel. A towel, incidentally, that she has no intention of wearing. Yesh was very excited to have seen her first sunburned cock and sunburned 'fandango' in the same day. It's always good when you have new experiences.

Then to the supermarket to buy provisions (a relatively hideous experience) and home for dinner. Yesh and I were dropping with death-tiredness by the end of supper so went straight to bed and were soon snoring.

This morning was delightfully lazy. We lay in bed and talked, then I made scrambled eggs and we had them in the courtyard. The others had just left as we emerged, off to get some espresso at the piazza, so after we ate we came here and joined them.

And that's that. Hm. This isn't really a particularly interesting post. But there we go. I've been so lax for so long, I'd be surprised if anyone's reading it any more. Pretty egotistical to stick this stuff on the internet anyway. Wonder why I do it? Thought for another day.

Hope cyberflowers in the cyberworld are blooming for anyone who stops by.

xx

More Good Things

2010-07-14T20:43:00.000+00:00

Yeah. Good things. There are a lot of them. To go into mote detail, when Geordie Maple was here & I was driving about the place I gelt the first stirrings of love for Bute. Yes, there's very little potential for a job and there are still moments when I wonder what the hell I'm doing here, but now - on this upswing - the world's a beautiful place.

Another good thing: Suvari.

I've been emailing her on and off for a few
months now. She's in the UK from South Africa and we struck up a real rapport on email and MSN. There are some rare people you just connect with. Meet their mind. Her sense of humour, her darkness, her touch of oddity are all so similar to mine it's almost like meeting a reflection. Only nicer.

She came up for a visit and I took her for a jaunt about the countryside in truly shitty weather. She made me laugh - a lot. And I appreciate that more than I can possibly say, right now. We also talked several hind legs off several donkeys, ate with gusto at the Loch Fyne Oyster Bar, and laughed our heads off at the Inveraray jail. No, we didn't get arrested. It's a tourist attraction, complete with compulsory poor-bastard-actors who have to pretend to be inmates and end up being mocked by South African lesbians.

After lunch we went to Benmore and walked through the gardens in a downpour until we sought shelter under a beech tree and lay on our backs listening to the rain pattering on the leaves. We were (almost) perfectly dry. The smell from the earth was dark and warm, and the grey light was almost luminous. One of those moments where you don't want to be anywhere else, with anyone else. It was just lovely.

So, yes. Suvari. She is a very good thing.

Bute-opia

2010-07-14T16:40:00.002+00:00

It's been a while since blogging, and it seems wise to get some thoughts down on the blogosphere. Recent events have made me feel a bit more settled, and I'm feeling more positive than I have in a while. This isn't to say it won't all plummet to a miserable low in another 12 seconds - but hey, that's living, eh?

First off - the negatives. I still don't have a job. I got fucked around something chronic by Mount Stuart. I went to them for two different jobs - a catering assistant in their restaurant, and an admin assistant in their estate offices. Unfortunately, the head chef, in a bid to be helpful, told the admin woman that I was a historian and would be useful in the house. She meant it as a 'strong recommendation' but actually what happened was that the admin woman just took my name out of the running for the admin job and palmed my CV off to the woman in charge of the house - doing guided tours and whatnot. I never wanted to do guided tours of the house, but beggars can't be choosers after all. Unfortunately, when I got there, it turned out the job they were offering was 'room steward.' This didn't even involve talking to people about the house. It was a job mostly given to students in need of petty cash, on a call-in basis, and involves standing in rooms making sure people don't nick stuff, break stuff, or defecate in corners. The woman was pretty embarrassed about the mix-up, and I was fucked off. I couldn't go for the admin job because the interviews were happening on the same day. But the woman promised to hand my CV in to the office and, if something came up, I might be given a call.

Lo and behold, yesterday I missed a telephone call from Mount Stuart offices, asking me to call them back. So I did - this morning. I couldn't get hold of the right woman, so she was supposed to call back. She didn't, so I called again. Not in. Then she called me - and I missed her. So I called her. Out to lunch. Fuck's SAKE!! But eventually she got hold of me ... only to tell me that there were no jobs available, but thank you for coming for the interview.

Son of a BITCH. Like I didn't already fucking KNOW that. I knew that on the day, when we looked at each other and said "this job really isn't for you/me." And it was stupid to feel upset, but I tend to feel my hopes running away with me. I'm looking for some ideas of what's going to happen to my life - where it's going to be, what I'm going to be doing - and any sign of a plan fills me with reassurance. So to raise my hopes even a little only to have them dashed is a bit of a kick in the teeth. And it's happened twice with Mount Stuart now. Bastardos.

BUT ... let's look at some positives.

1. Yesh is lovely.
2. I've had wonderful visits from friends - including Lime Basil and her ex, and from Geordie Maple. Geordie was particularly fun - we went up to Inveraray, climbed to the monument, had lunch at Loch Fyne, wandered the ruins of St Blanes on Bute, got pissed in the Anchor, and talked. A lot. She was brilliant company. As was Savuri - but more about her later. In fact - more about everything later. I have to go catch a ferry.

Anyway ... things are good right now. I'm happy : )

Bute-iful

2010-06-08T18:08:00.002+00:00

So here I am, on Bute. Except I'm not, I'm at Yesh's place. I only got electricity and gas today because the previous tenant had left a big debt on the meter and it needed to be wiped before I could get a new meter key. Yawn. Still, it was relatively painless in the end.

Ok, I'm feeling a bit daunted. I think it'll be better once I'm properly settled in and starting to make a routine for myself, but so far it's been a bit ... up in the air. Plus I have to go back to the east coast for this interview on Monday, and to Edinburgh and Dollar for fun & frolicks next weekend. I'm really looking forward to the fun, but it isn't allowing me time to really get settled. Ach. It'll be grand.

The flat, in fact, is lovely. It's suffered a bit from being empty for a while, but a bit of a spring clean and it'll be grand. Maybe some paint. But it's light and airy and there's a wonderful view over the bay. Alas, no broadband and practically no mobile reception as yet. I'm writing this from my iPhone while Yesh cooks, and it's a bit of a tortuous process. The blogging, not the cooking.

The old digestive troubles are back, alas. It's just the stress. It'll pass as soon as I chill out.

A small blog just to stay up to date. More when cilvilisation comes to Bute.

Movin' On.

2010-06-04T09:30:00.004+00:00

Well, it's been a while, eh?

Life moves on at its own pace, and I can't say I really know what's going on all the time. I'm still a bit emotionally fragile and find myself struggling at random times - but I'm moving upwards and onwards. Well, ok - I'm moving. The direction is a little ambiguous.

I've been spending a lot of time on the West coast with Yesh, and now I'm moving to Bute for 3 months. I'll be a lot closer to her, but she's not the only reason I'm going. Firstly there's the fact that, if I want to salvage a relationship with Fisher - and I do - I really don't think living with her is a good idea. Secondly, I want to think about the rest of my life and what I'm going to do with it. I run over and over things, but what I come back to every time is writing. So I'm finding a quiet spot in the world where I can concentrate on finishing a novel, and if I can't manage to get something finished then it's a good sign I never will.

Of course, sod's law strikes at the most inopportune times. Having decided to head to Bute for 3 months I received a letter from Historic Scotland regarding a job I applied for months ago. I'd figured they'd put me on the discard pile ages ago - but no. I've got an interview on the 15th June. It's for a position as a monument manager for St Vigeans up near Arbroath. It would be 4 days a week, still leaving me time to write and massage. But it's over an hour's commute from my house every day ... and then there's the fact I don't really know where things are going with Yesh. I don't fancy the idea of seeing her only at the weekends. But it's only for a year's contract, so I could probably cope. More distressing is the thought they'll want me to start before I've come back from Bute. I really, really want these 3 months. I really want to see if I can live alone, and write a book, and what's happening with Yesh.

Still - no point in panicking over what might be. I need to get the interview under my belt before I even have to worry about what to do if I actually get the job. And I don't really think I will, to be honest. It's not like I've got any experience at managing anything at all - and couple that with how ridiculously far away I live, I don't think I'm the ideal candidate. Never mind. It was nice to get an interview. Makes me feel less unemployable.

Everything's happened fast, hasn't it? Fisher and I are both moving on, physically and emotionally - and the future doesn't seem quite as terrifying. I mean ... it's pretty terrifying. Just not as terrifying as it was.

I hope anyone reading this is feeling happy and wholesome, fulfilled and with bright plans on the horizon.

Short Story: Dysmorphia

2010-05-06T13:27:00.002+00:00

Dysmorphia

I’m looking down at myself and coming to an uncomfortable conclusion. Can it be true? Surely it can’t. But no, there’s no doubt about it. I’m dead. My soul is leaving the building. I am in the process of becoming the dearly departed.

It’s deeply disappointing, it really is. I was on my way to a party. I’ve been looking forward to it forever. I even bought myself a new dress. It’s a wrap dress from Monsoon, and I can’t afford it, but it’s been years since I bought new clothes. It’s ruined now. The story of my life. The story of my death.

Janine is throwing the party. I love Janine. She has the telephone next to mine at work, and when she talks down it she sounds like Margaret Thatcher. She’s from Bradford. I don’t know why she thinks sounding like Margaret Thatcher is a good idea, but she always does it. Good arf-ternoon. Might I trouble you for a moment of your time? Thanks awf’ly. She swears people are less likely to put the phone down on her. She does get fewer hang-ups than the rest of us.

Hang-ups. I had plenty of those in life. Body dysmorphia, Janine calls it. I see fat everywhere: face, tits, belly, arse, thighs. Look at me, lying there. There isn’t a part of me that isn’t covered in a thick layer of blubber, like a beached whale.

I wonder when they’ll find me? I wonder if they’ll find me? They must do. I’m not particularly well hidden, here behind the Maharaja of India. And when they do, I guess they’ll take me to the hospital morgue and lay me out on a slab and take off my Monsoon dress and wash the blood off. I won’t be clean. My dirt is too deeply ingrained. You’d need more than a bit of soap and water. What is it they do to whales? Flensing. I should be flensed. Peel off layers of skin until I’m as clean and white as a fresh maggot. All the marks and bruises gone, left on the foul old skins that are dropped in the corner like a wrinkled pile of used condoms.

It wasn’t only body dysmorphia. You could say I have – had – mind dysmorphia, too. Too stupid, too slow, too ignorant. Couldn’t even learn how to fold laundry, or lay a table, or cook a blue steak. Thirty seconds each side, was that so hard? But every time I lose count and it’s not right. It’s always overdone and Michael has to show me again. He likes showing me what a stupid tart I am. Stupid tart, he’ll say, and show me. Show me how to fold laundry, cook a steak, wash dishes. How to take it, how to give it, how to suck, blow, come, go. Very controlling. Very controlling indeed, come to think of it.

Never mind. It’s all over now. It doesn’t matter that I’m lying with my legs spread like slabs of beef, my eyes glazed, unmoving. Frigid as a nun. As exciting as a tax return. A dead horse, a useless lump, enough to turn anyone off, like touching an iceberg, fat cow, dog, minger, troll, stupid piece of shit, not fit for the gutter. He was wrong about that. I look quite at home in the gutter; quite peaceful, actually, with my hair spread out in a chestnut halo and my palms raised in surrender.

Life dysmorphia. Is there such a thing? Shouldn’t I know, now I’m dead? Shouldn’t there be a blinding flash of enlightenment? It seems unfair that I’m still confused. Still, since when did fairness have anything to do with anything?

Christ, maybe that was it. Maybe that was my blinding flash of enlightenment. I really hope not. I really hope there’s more to the meaning of life than what my mother used to tell me: Life’s not fair. Get over it.

Look at me. Look how small I am. What endless misery there was, bound up in so small a vessel. My misery seemed like a world in itself: vast and inescapable. And there I dwelt. There I wallowed. There I rotted. And in the end I’m just a little thing, taking up barely any space at all behind the blue skip full of wasted Indian food. My feet and hands are especially small. When we first met, Michael used to kiss my fingers; light kisses, like butterfly wings. He called them ‘delicate’. He said I smelled of petals. That’s what he called me. Petal. He didn’t specify which petals. He wouldn’t know anything about flowers. He ripped up my Sea Holly and composted it. I cried to see it all uprooted, rotting away. He told me it made sense I’d like something that ugly and prickly. I did like it because of its prickliness, but I don’t understand how he could think it ugly. At dusk, it glows. It’s jagged and rough, but nothing dims that luminescence.

I don’t know when Michael kissed my fingers for the last time. I don’t know whether it was a conscious decision, or if he just gradually lost the desire. Probably, one day, he went to take my hand and saw fingers like fat grubs, wriggling and reaching and wanting. It would put anyone off. I was so greedy. I wanted things all the time. I learned not to ask after I went dress shopping and Michael slammed my fingers in the car door. He was sweet afterwards; sat with me in the hospital waiting room, held my other hand. He even said I could keep the dress, but it made me look fat so I took it back. It didn’t make me look fat. Fat made me look fat.

Of course! That was the last time. We were sitting in the waiting room and he lifted my broken hand to his lips. He kissed the fingers, even though they were all twisted and blue and had blood under the nails. He didn’t say it, but I knew he was sorry. I don’t know what was wrong with me when I was alive. I don’t know why I couldn’t learn how not to make him angry. Then again, I couldn’t even count to thirty. I couldn’t do anything, really. I couldn’t cook, clean, or lose weight. How hard is it to lose weight? It’s just laziness and greed. Better off dead.

No. Don’t think I’m glad I’m dead. I’m not. I’m truly, deeply pissed off about it, because it’s all been for nothing. I’ve done nothing. My life is nothing. There it is, splayed out in the gutter amongst the blood and filth, and there’s nothing more I can do about it. All that sorrow and struggle, all that desperation over such a little thing. What does it matter? Does anything matter? Why don’t I know? Where’s my enlightenment? This really isn’t fair.

And now everything’s getting a little hazy. Nothing’s been made clear to me and now it’s all disappearing. I’m still looking at my body, looking at the scarlet mess of my chest and the whiteness of my skin, but I’m starting to change. To separate. To dysmorph. I’m becoming something else. I don’t know what. I don’t know whether I want to, but I don’t suppose it has anything to do with me.

God, is this it? Is this really all I’m leaving the world: a shattered body and a bloody Monsoon dress? I should never have said I’d go to Janine’s party. Michael was right. In the end, I couldn’t survive on my own. The streets are dangerous for women like me. There are maniacs on the loose. Maniacs with kitchen knives you bought them for Christmas. That fucker. I’d be furious if I wasn’t dysmorphing.

I wonder what they’ll say at my funeral? Dearly departed, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses to celebrate the death of

I think I’m confused.

I’m floating. Light as a feather at last.

I’m going. This is really it. I’m getting thinner and thinner. Departing. And I can see, I can see everything: the sloppy Indian food in the skip and the body behind the skip and the blood running and mixing with the dirt and rain water and the young Indian waiter in the white shirt opening the door and his cigarette and his beautiful hand and the curling white smoke as soft and insubstantial as me, as me, as whatever I am, and the turn of his head, and it doesn’t matter if he sees because it’s beautiful it’s all so beautifully pointless and I was alive and that’s enough and I’m leaving and I’m clean. I’m clean. I’m so clean.

Merry Meribel

2010-04-12T11:32:00.003+00:00

Greetings all. I'm in Meribel. I'm here with Phid, Wheeler, Castor, Epona, and two of Wheeler's pals. I shall call them Fiddler and Biker. We arrived on Saturday, after flying into Geneva and then transferring by minibus. All went smoothly. The chalet is basic, with small bedrooms, but with everything we could possibly need. There are chalet girls who cook and clean for us, which feels ridiculously decadent, and even if the snow isn't great it's not so bad there isn't a lot of fun to be had.

First morning, I skied mostly on my own. Fiddler and Biker went off together, Wheeler and Castor faffed about with Castor's new ski boots and then skied together, and Epona took Phid for some gentle runs and a lesson. I was very happy to be pootling about, finding my feet again, and by the time I met everyone for a little break at noon, I was starting to feel a bit more confident. I do love skiing: the mountains, all sharp and jagged; the snow so white; the sky so clear blue; the sun so warm and yet the air so cold. And then the speed, slipping smoothly over the ground as the wind bites your skin. Of course, that's only when it all goes right. When you fall on your arse like a tit, everything's a bit frustrating - but I managed to only fall over once yesterday. On a green run. Quite embarrassing.

In the afternoon, Phid, Fiddler and I did a few fun runs and then Phid had a lesson. Fiddler and I did lots of the runs I'd done in the morning, then a few more a bit lower down where the snow was slushy and totally knackering. We were all done in by 3pm, but we started at about 10, so it was a pretty good stint for our first day. Especially as I'd drunk too much whisky with Wheeler the night before, and he'd scolded me roundly for being such a fuck-up and made me cry, and I felt a bit drained the next morning. Luckily his hangover was much worse. Karma's a bitch, Wheeler. Heh heh.

This morning I went off with Phid and Epona. We did a couple of easy runs for an hour or so, and then Phid decided to head back to the chalet and rest before our afternoon lesson. I went off with Epona, and we went to the top of the mountain and skied some reds and blues. It was great. Snow's much better today, after a very light snowfall to soften the ice, but still quite hard. My legs are holding up - a bit tired, but not too bad. Epona's a very good skier - much, much better than me. But as I said, we're having a lesson this afternoon and I plan on being absolutely brilliant by the end of it. Brilliant, I tells ya.

I daresay I'll blog again. This is a lazy holiday, with lots of down time as well as skiing, so I've plenty of time on my hands. Catch you later, dudes.

Big News

2010-03-24T15:57:00.005+00:00

Things move apace. Today, Fisher and I were in Edinburgh looking at a flat she'd spotted. Actually, I think Koi saw it in a paper and passed it on. Anyway, I was away at the time, and when I came back I was sort of sideswiped by the news that she'd not only found a flat she liked, but was hoping to put an offer in.

I know this is all my idea, but the sudden overwhelming fear this inspired was almost breathtaking. I saw myself in this house without her and it became so real, so unbelievably solitary, that I went cold. And she kept talking about it, and I just shrank into myself, all the while knowing I had no right to feel this way. She wanted me to come and see the place with her, give my opinion, and I just nodded and kept saying 'yes'. I'm not sure I heard most of it. But after a while the feeling sort of solidified into a little section of my mind and I was able to cope.

So, today, bright and early, we headed into Reekie and looked at the flat. It's grand. Spacious, full of potential for development, and with a view of Arthur's Seat. There's a park for Baffie, who's going to live with Fisher, and room for Fisher's work space as well as a 3rd bedroom, after development. Perfect. So out in the car, she put her offer in, and all that was left was to wait.

We were pretty starving, so we went to Urban Angels off Broughton Street. See Scran for details.

After that, I wanted to visit Waterstones and get a book on Leonardo da Vinci, with whom I am recently enamoured. Thence to the National Gallery, where I gazed on the self portrait of Rembrandt with genuine awe.

Rembrandt van Rijn, Self-Portrait Aged 51
The moment I saw it, I said to Fisher how sad he looked. And she told me how he'd been suffering great personal and financial loss at the time. This is what I love about Rembrandt. All his people speak. You can hear them. Their faces are full of words. Upstairs in the Italian section I looked at Raphael and was just left cold. His faces don't seem real at all; they're like air-brushed models posing with expressions of grace and tranquility, but feeling nothing. Still, I'm not going to base any sort of opinion of Raphael on the couple of paintings hanging in the National Galleries in Edinburgh. I'll just have to go to Florence and see more.

Fisher, by this time, was wandering around with her phone in front of her face, desperate not to miss any call from her solicitor. But it wasn't until we were on the way home that the call came.

She got the flat.

I was really, genuinely happy for her. It's such an exciting prospect, and so good that she's moving on. Of course it will be hard, and of course it will take adjustment - but it's progress. We must both remember that. And I must remember that I chose this, and I think it's right, and that the first priority with me is to sort my life out. For me. For no other reason, and in light of no other people - relationships or not. My loch-swimmer is so far from a safe bet I can't even think of more than the next time I see her. I fully expect to end up with my heart ripped in two - but if that's the case, then I'll put it back together with duct tape and go on enjoying the life I've made.

Now I just have to make a life. I'm thinking a job would be a good idea. Maybe just 2 or 3 days a week to start with. Maybe something in the food world - host at a restaurant, perhaps? Anyway - I'll wait and see what's out there. Considering my criteria of 2/3 days a week, I'm thinking I'll have to take what I can get!

That's all from me for now. Hope all are well.

2010. The Year That Sucked.

2010-03-15T20:21:00.003+00:00

Location: In the library, on my lonesome.
Mood: Fucking depressed.
Listening to: Won't Lie
Reading: Beyond Good and Evil

Right, so, this is tricky.

Unfortunately, Fisher and I are no longer a couple. It seems harsh to post this on the blogosphere, but it's fact. I'm not going to go into details, and everything is extremely raw and painful, but things are progressing. I don't know whether they're progressing for better or worse, but they go on - as does life. Which is a shame, as I'd quite like it to take a break for a while, then wake up and have all this shit over with. I'm to blame. Fisher did nothing. All things changed in me.

At the moment, Fisher is in a mysterious location, leaving me alone at home. This is only right and proper. I've been doing enough darting about, so it's her turn to try and get some perspective. Of course, the problem of what to do next is first and foremost in our minds. How do we live? Together, in a platonic relationship? Or separately? What about the house? The dogs? Fisher's workshop?

So hard. Fuck. So, so hard.

I will keep blogging. I shouldn't have stopped, really. It's such a help in organising my thoughts, and I can write without getting too personal. So look out for more blogs coming this way.

Love to all.

Officially. Never. Drinking. Again.

2010-02-07T21:25:00.003+00:00

Urrrrrrhh.

Had a lovely night with the neighbours last night. I asked Fisher to help stop me drinking too much - which she did not do in any way. We drank until 3am, including me and Kai consuming a bottle of whisky between us. This was not big or clever. I am still unwell and it's 9.30pm the next day. Officially and completely, I am OFF THE BOOZE.

Great night. Horrid day after.

Accursed Snow

2010-02-04T11:40:00.002+00:00

Location: Home
Mood: Antsy
Listening to: Radio 4 (programme about Henry Moore)
Reading: 4-4-2

Our sleep patterns are all screwed up. We weren't asleep until 4.30am last night, and now it's half eleven and I'm barely awake. The whole day gets lost this way and I loathe it.

On a more positive note, we at last managed to visit Andrew Fairlie's on Tuesday. It was supposed to be a surprise for Fisher - her last birthday present - but Fairlie's phoned earlier on Tuesday and left a message on the phone asking us to confirm the table that night. Naturally, she listened to it. She still got a surprise when Kai and Ina turned up as our 'cab', and another one when Wheeler and Phid were sitting at our table.

The food was excellent, although I can't say it blew me away. To start with I had crispy egg with truffle oil and artichoke salad. I wanted to compare it to the similar dish I've eaten at Devonshire Gardens, and it wasn't as good. The coating was much more of a generic batter than the crispy shell at DG. The salad was delicious - full of little cubes of flavour, and the truffle oil was superb.
My main course was lamb: a roast loin, a kidney, and confit neck. It was lovely, but again, not particularly innovative. The loin was a small roundel, and Ina - who had the same - was slightly disappointed that hers was tough. I didn't find mine tough, but I wasn't impressed with the confit, which I thought slightly underflavoured and a little dry. The kidney, though, was delicious. And to finish I had an extremely good cheese plate, with Artisanal cheeses from France. There were about 9 small slices on the plate, which is an excellent and if there could be any complaint it was that there were too few accompanying crackers. But only by one or two, so I managed.

The highlight of the evening, food wise, was probably Fisher's dessert. She had a chocolate brownie with brambles and basil & thyme ice cream. The brownie was a small sphere served in a case of chocolate - over which was poured hot chocolate sauce. The hot sauce slowly melted the chocolate coating, revealing the brownie and ice cream inside. Clever! It was the first sign of real innovation, and we all appreciated it very much.

So, while I don't come out of Fairlie's thinking I've experienced something new and different, we did all come away having thoroughly enjoyed our meals and having had a very lovely night. Especially enjoyable was the wine: Felton Road's pinot noir from New Zealand. Deliciously easy to slip down - so we had 2 bottles. Mmm.

Of course, all this did nothing for my calorie count - but I had a small lunch, and it doesn't seem to have knocked me off course. Yesterday I consumed about 1300 and burned off 400 at a half hour gym session. If my BMR is around 1700, that means I burned at least 2100 during the day - 800 more calories than I consumed. Which is ok - especially as it'll be a little more than that owing to a mile walk with the dogs.

Alas, we are now sitting under a good few inches of snow again - so it's back to slippery roads, running inside, instantly soaking dogs, and general irritation. Grrr. Feeding Epona and Shah tonight, too, and we need to go shopping. So I must start getting the day underway.

Adio'.

New Regime

2010-02-01T23:43:00.004+00:00

Location: In ma bed.
Mood: Bit headachey, but content.
Listening to: Love, Where is Your Fire (preeetty)

Greetings all.

At long last I feel like 2010 has begun. Frankly, January has been shittier than a cow's backside, and it's about time things turned round. We've decided that the heating is just too unreliable to ... well, rely on, frankly, so are looking into getting a stove put into the sitting room. We had a fella round today who was very pleasant, young and enthusiastic, who turned up on time (in the evening, no less) with no need of directions. The news wasn't great, in that it's going to involve widening the hearth and taking the mantel off, but we'll just have to wait and see what the price will be.

This post is really about my new targets exercise wise. I'm a bit fed up of constantly falling short of my goals, so I reckon it may be wise to think of new goals rather than keep stabbing away at the old ones. So I'm having a rethink of my gym targets, and general attitude to weight loss.

1. I will be counting calories, which is terribly dull, but probably suits me better. I can eat what I like as long as I don't overshoot my target. I know the number of calories I burn, so I have to consume AT LEAST 500 calories fewer. Ideally I'd like it to be closer to the 1000 mark, and even more than that if poss.
2. My gym workout will involve calorie targets. Weights do not count.
3. I must burn at least 1500 calories a week at the gym. I don't know whether that's too little, so we'll see how it goes. If I need to up the target I shall.

Today I presume was a good day, but let's just see, shall we? (I promise all my blogs won't be like this - I'm more thinking aloud right now).

Eaten:
1 bowl oxtail soup = 98 calories
1 baked potato = 245 calories
Butter = 74 calories
Tuna = 75 calories
Mayo = 70 calories
Salad = Should I bother?
Salad cream = 45 calories
Pudding = 200 calories
Total = 807 calories.

Burned:
27 minute run = 363 calories
15 minutes on cross trainer = 210 calories (websites say 270, but it's so easy I don't believe them)
20 mins on static bike = 150 calories - so says the bike. But looking online, this is incredibly conservative. I always thought it was shonky, too - a low return for high effort. So I'm going with 200 calories. All the websites say 230 odd, so this seems fair. 10 calories per minute.
Total = 773 calories.

Holy crap on a stick!! Can this be in any way accurate? From this calculation, I'm running on 34 calories!

Well ... put it this way. I'm well, well, WELL below my 500 calorie target. I'm wracking my brains to try and think of things I've forgotten. Did I consume a small ox and forget about it? No, don't think so. That was yesterday.

Just joking.

It was a sheep.

The only other thing I've consumed is coffee - which, ok, had milk and sugar in it. Even so ... if I can keep this up I'll be larfin'. And the weird thing is - I had a cracking headache earlier, but I think that was from muscle tension in my neck - I don't feel hungry. At all.

Ok. This is all good. I had a choccie treat for pudding, butter on my potato, mayo in my tuna, and still seem to be coming in well under target. I treat this with suspicion, but I can't seem to think how I've gypped myself, so ... y'know. Good.

Quite excited now. Roll on the weight loss!

Poached Salmon, Colds, Birthdays and Fury.

2010-01-25T15:19:00.009+00:00

Location: Library, huddled by the fire to keep warm
Mood: Cold, ill, but determined not to buckle
Listening to: Lately (not convinced. One minute they're like a poor man's Arcade Fire, the next like a drunk Bruce Springsteen. I don't think they know who they are either.)
Reading: Drood (second attempt after losing it the first time), Dan Simmons.
Playing: Haven't been near the PS3 in days. It's too cold in there.

It was Fisher's 31st birthday yesterday, and to celebrate we had the Cheeseboard and Cheeseboys up for the weekend. On Friday night we went up to East Haugh Hotel and had a pleasant pub supper. I was feeling pretty grotty with a cold and sore throat, but it didn't stop me enjoying every mouthful of excellent fish 'n' chips. I was also more than happy to be designated driver, as staying with Phid and Wheeler throughout the week led me to get utterly knocked sideways with a 5 hour drinking session with Wheeler, and being off the booze for a few days seemed sensible to me.

And why were we staying with Phid and Wheeler? Yes, it's our wonderful heating system again. It went off last Monday, and because the inept company has laid of the second engineer for Scotland it means we've had to wait a full week before getting someone in to fix it. And what happened this afternoon? The engineer who said he'd be here this afternoon phoned to say that, no, it'll be tomorrow before he can make it. Look away now if you're offended by filthy language.

Cunts.

Anyway, Phid and Wheels let us stay at the cottage, and very grateful we were too. But back to Fisher's birthday.

Saturday morning saw us tootle in to Perth for a 9 a.m start. We'd booked ourselves a curling lesson! An hour and a half's serious entertainment (who'da thought sliding stones on ice could be so much fun) brought in a bill for £54. That's £6 each. Where else in the world do you get 90 minutes of fun for that sort of price? We all agreed we'd do it again like a shot - so watch this space for a Cheeseboard Winter Olympic medal in a few years.

I left most of the clan to take a walk with the pooches up Kinnoull Hill, while I did some errands in town. Protagoras, who does NOT enjoy walking, chummed me, and we nipped into the fishmonger to pick up a vaaaast salmon and the baker to pick up a selection of French fancies for Fisher's birthday dinner. Then we pegged it back home, dropped off the food, and returned in time to meet the rest at Breizh for lunch.

After lunch we returned home and had an afternoon of arts and crafts. People painted, people drew, people wrote poetry, people stuck and printed and coloured ... it was brilliant. Highlights were definitely Badger's drawing of a Cheeseboard crest, Castor's excellent picture of a roaring fire, and Pro's poem.

Unfortunately, during the day I started feeling pretty terrible. My nose was so blocked I had no ability to either smell or - catastrophe - taste, I was aching, and my throat was all scratchy from having to breathe through my mouth. But I had a hot, hot shower and wallowed as long as I could in a desperate bid to get my senses back (didn't work), then went downstairs feeling refreshed. Luckily the only cooking I had to do was poaching the vaaaaaast salmon (4.5kg - 9.9lbs) which was easy as pie in the fish kettle. This is what I did, foodies:

Fish Kettle Salmon

Placed salmon in fish kettle.
Covered the fish in as much liquid as made the fish float. I used white wine, lemon vinegar, and the rest water.
In the water I added: 3 bay leaves, a handful of pink peppercorns, some lemon slices, and a sprinkling of oregano.
I brought the water to the boil and let it boil for 2 minutes only. Then I took the fish off the heat and let it cook in its own juices. This only took about half an hour, and then it was ready to serve.

We also had a whole host of things from the Deli in Dunkeld - ham, cheese, rosemary crackers, antipasti, ostrich paté, venison paté, aioli from the Really Garlicky Company (which was the only thing I could even vaguely taste), delicious stone baked bread from Breizh, and smoked salmon. It was a feast. We finished it off with the little French fancies - some in the shape of mice (timorous beasties), others in little haggises (it's Burns' Night tonight), some fairy cakes and some fondants, and all sweet, sweet, sweet. I didn't have any as there wasn't any point, but there have been more than enough left over for me to sample. Too sweet for my taste.

It was a lovely night. Fisher got lots of great loot from her pals, and I managed to stick it out until 3am with Pro, Badger, and - briefly - Wheeler, playing poker. Badger and I were the last ones standing, but he took the pot of £35 in the end. Ah well. Victoria Coren I ain't.

Sunday was lazy. Everyone but Phid left by noon, so we took the opportunity to take the dogs for a walk, have some lunch at Howie's in Dunkeld, then go to the gym. Yup, the gym. Fisher and Phid did some running, but as I was still feeling rough - though better than the day before - I only used the elliptical machine. Then home for a chill out before heading in for Fisher's final treat - a trip to the theatre to see Stephen K Amos being funny. And funny he was, even though it was pretty much the same show as last time we saw him at Birnam.

Due to a series of unbelievably bad luck incidents with Phid's car, which is currently broken down somewhere in Perth, I gave her a lift into Edinburgh after the show. And what did she learn as we drove into Reekie but that Wheels has just had his Land Rover stolen. Talk about bad car karma ...

Anyway, that brings us up to date. Here I am, huddled in the library, willing the fire to generate a bit more heat, still nursing a sodding cold and now badgered by a nasty cold sore as well, wishing ill upon the stupid geothermal heating company that can't even provide enough engineers to fix the number of busted heaters they've got. Tell me - do we think it's appropriate to leave someone in a house with no heating for over a week in January? Do we think I might just be about to give someone a serious bollocking down the phone? Yes. I think I might just.

Hey ho.

2010-01-17T04:26:00.002+00:00

It's 4.26am. No sign of sleep. It's that pesky insomnia again - which comes around now and again when it's least welcome. I've had a heavy couple of days, packed with fun, but not exactly healthy on the food or drink front.

First up was a truly terrific night out with the Cheeseboard ladies. We went to Hotel Mizzoni in Edinburgh and well and truly helped out with my New Year's resolution to be More Fabulous. There was a very chi-chi bar which we lounged over in our posh, frilly and sparkly frocks, and downed cocktails. Yes, we even had a round of cosmopolitans - and delicious they were, too. Then up to the restaurant for a slow but delicious supper, a bottle of champagne, 2 bottles of wine (one of each) and some dessert wine. The chat flowed free, the chuckles were many, and we all agreed that, while we will miss Janus hugely when she goes to Manchester with Badge, a new chapter of our lives has opened up. After all, Koi and Pro have got engaged, Janus is not only moving but getting married in a few short months, and I am feeling extremely itchy.

Change, you see, is a wonderful thing. And I have not changed in a while. I feel restless. Antsy. It's time for some va-va-voom, in one shape or another.

But back to the events of past days. We spent 5 hours at Hotel Mizzoni, had a fabulous time (hurrah) and then got a cab back to Blar's house in Nitten. There we collapsed into bed and rose on the morrow to take a jaunt into pretty North Berwick for lunch. The weather was filthy, the lunch itself only passable, but the company was excellent and I found a sweet travel handbag designed like an air mail letter ... to go with the hideously extravagant purchases I'd made in Harvey Nicks the day before - including a Marc Jacobs handbag, which some people might wish me to describe. Therefore - it's green.

After our leisurely sojourn, we headed back home with just enough time to enjoy a leisurely bath before being collected by our neighbours-but-one, Kai and Ina. They had invited us along to the Opening of the Tay dinner - which was rather fun. It took place in a baronial hall in a local hotel which had recently been renovated, but really only involved sitting at a table, chatting and drinking beer. Then a very good ceilidh band struck up a set, and it all went a bit tits up. I mean, the music was great - but the room wasn't big enough to warrant Glastonbury-esque amplification. After suffering our eardrums for another hour or so, we gladly headed home. A quick nightcap at ours, where Kai got down on his hands and knees and attempted to fix our cooker (he's a man who likes to be useful) and we chatted for a while, and then to bed.

Next day - today - I woke feeling ropey. But it was also the day Spar had promised to take me to see Aberdeen v St Johnstone's, and I was much looking forward to it. We were meeting at Gloagburn for lunch, then on to a nearby pub (gah!) for a pre-match pint, then on to the game. Then back home, then pub supper.

Alas, all our carefully laid plans went aglay. First, the match was cancelled. Boo. Then, when we decided to go and hit some golf balls on the Gleneagles driving range, we discovered the range was closed due to snow. So we went to Noah's Ark in Perth instead. But they had only 25 balls left - which we shared, with Spar giving me some good pointers on my swing. It was great fun - but not nearly as much fun as the crazy golf afterwards. We played 9 holes and were completely level pegging, so had to play another 3 holes to decide the outcome. Alas, on the third, I managed to fluff an 8 inch putt by failing to hit the ball hard enough (!!!!), and lost the day. Boooooo!!

Then back home. We watched Liverpool limp to a draw with Stoke - the reds of Merseyside are in serious trouble - and half way through, Fisher came back from walking the dogs to say a deer was caught in the fence above Kai & Ina's. She couldn't free it because of her wrist, and it was screaming. So Spar and I took the car up and managed to untangle its rear hoof from between a barbed wire line and a plain metal wire. Above the hoof was cut, and despite our best efforts, the deer wouldn't stand. The best we could do was get it onto its belly with its legs tucked under, and hope it just needed a rest. It had been caught for a while, and been scrabbling the earth with its front legs to no avail, so we think it was pretty exhausted. I'm not hopeful, but it might get to its feet after a rest, and if it's going to die, at least it won't die upside down with its leg caught in the top of a wire fence.

It was a bit chastening. We're pretty realistic about country life, but you never like to see an animal in distress, and if I do come across one I can't keep myself from trying to help - even if just to try and alleviate its misery. Of course, if I had real courage I'd have gone back late this evening to see how it was faring, and if it was dying I would have sent Kai to shoot it.

Back at the house we finished watching the footie, I had a shower to wash the deer off me, and we went out for supper. It was a gentle affair, involving steak, NO BOOZE, and pleasant chat - and we parted well pleased with our lot. I'd had a lovely day, despite the lack of live football, and I hope Spar enjoyed it too.

And now I'm wide awake, it's 5am, and I have nothing more to blog about. Oh well. I'd best try and get to sleep. Even Dotun Adebayo has gone to bed.

G'night all.

"I Would Go Straight For" No. 1

2010-01-14T00:47:00.002+00:00

Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes. Especially at the start of The Priory School when someone faints on his carpet and he looks like an excited schoolboy.
He's less attractive when he becomes very ill, but even then he's full of authority and intellect.

2010 - So Far So Challenging

2010-01-12T11:05:00.003+00:00

Location: Home
Mood: Not sure yet
Reading: Still getting through all the books I've mentioned.
Listening to: Buildings & Mountains
Playing: Bayonetta

It's not been the smoothest of rides so far this year. We've had broken heating, a frozen water pump, a rodent infestation, snow, ice, injuries - and barely time to draw breath before Sister and 2 youngest sons returned for another visit. They're always welcome, of course, but putting your feet up hasn't been a feature of the new year.

Fisher slipped on ice the other day and bashed her wrist nastily. It's fine, but sore, and she can't use it. Poor lamb. Didn't stop her from going for a run, naturally, but I don't think it did the wrist any favours.

So - yesterday we took a trip into Edinburgh to see if Sister couldn't get the tiles for her new house chosen and ordered. We dropped her off at the tile shop and took Wrecker and Tertius to Dynamic Earth for some educational fun. Unfortunately, it turned out DE was shut (be nice if that was prominently mentioned on the website) so we went to the Museum of Scotland instead. This had the bonus of being free, and there was plenty to entertain Wrecker for an hour and a half. We were supposed to be meeting up with Blarney for dim sum, but she couldn't get on the bus. According to herself, you can only take one buggy per bus and she waited for 2 buses - each of which had a buggy on them already so she couldn't get on.

I don't get this. It's a nonsense! If you fold up a buggy, how much room does it take up? Although, come to think of it, Blarney's buggy is vast and I'm not sure it can be folded very easily, so it must be an issue of space and safety. Still, it seems very harsh to make a woman with a baby miss the bus because you won't let more than one buggy on. She was most cross, and I felt the full force of her wrath when I dared ask after the wellfare of her car. It's got a flat battery, apparently, and has done since before Christmas. Hey ho. Nitten doesn't seem to be the paradise we all expected.

So that was disappointing - but we had a good lunch at Saigon Saigon anyway. Love dim sum, me - and so does Wrecker. He filled his 4 year old (to the day) face with 4 custard bao, as well as noodle soup, deep fried squid, and sundry other Chinese goodies. I don't think I've ever seen him eat so much. Tertius, at the princely age of 1, was pretty impressive on the gluttony front, too. Definitely my kin.

After lunch we all went back to the tile shop to see if we could help Sister choose. It transpired she had shedloads still to do, so I offered to drive the boys home, leaving Fisher with Sister to offer design input and catch the train when they were done. This agreed, I set off.

Unfortunately, it was only when pulling into the drive that I realised ... I'd left the house keys with Fisher. I called Epona to see if she had a spare key. She didn't. So I smashed the summer room window ... and discovered the inner door to the house was also locked. There was no hope for it. I had to take the cold, cross boys to Epona's and wait it out. Luckily it was only about an hour and a half before Sister and Fisher returned to let us in, and Epona was great - played snap with Wrecker, and provided a basket of wood off-cuts for them to play with. Thus did we while away the time. But I was supposed to be cooking slow roast pork for everyone - including neighbours - that night, and there was precious little time left to slow roast anything.

However, the evening did end well. I whacked the pork in the oven as soon as I got in the house, and Epona and Shah agreed to make it a late supper. They arrived at around 9.30pm, so the pork had 3 hours before we ate it, and if it wasn't as good as it was at New Year, it was very tasty all the same. If we hadn't had enough blimmin' Chinese food at lunch, we served it with rice, and steamed broccoli & pak choi with oyster sauce.

I've been getting a few hits from foodies, so I'm going to start listing recipes. Here's my recipe for Chinese slow roast pork shoulder:

Mix together: 125ml each of soy sauce and dry sherry, 70ml water, 2 spring onions (chopped), 2 crushed cloves of garlic, some grated ginger (about an inch?).
Rub a pork shoulder with Chinese 5 spice and place it in a covered, close-fitting roasting dish.
Pour the liquid around the pork, put the lid on, and place in the oven at 150 degrees C (that's 300F).
Cook for 4-5 hours.

I didn't have 4-5 hours, so I actually whacked the heat up to 220C for 20 minutes to give it a start, then down to 150C for the rest of the time. It wasn't as tender as at New Year, when I gave it the full amount of time, but it was still flavoursome and juicy.

I've decided I'm also going to include a quick review of the things I'm reading/listening to/playing. So:

The Republic Tigers (link at top) are ... well, ok so far. I've not listened to them very much yet, so the jury's still out. They're quite MOR, despite considering themselves experimental indie. I find their music pleasant, rolling along in the background type stuff. They remind me of a Scottish band called Dogs Die in Hot Cars, only much more serious minded and lacking a sense of humour. It's the same mix of pop, tune-based music with electronica thrown in for good measure. I like it - I'm just not sure I like it enough to give it my full attention. The Nerve is a cracker, though, and I'll rate the album - Keep Color - at 6.5/10. A pleasing, if unexciting, buy.

Bayonetta is, I'm afraid, one of those games that drives me nuts. It's all about button-mashing sequences, over the top blood, puerile masculine sexual fantasy (to a ridiculous, pretty offensive degree in this case) and fighting, fighting, fighting. Don't get me wrong, I'm the first person to complain if there aren't enough battles in a game, but the best games, for me, have a good mix of battling, puzzles and story. Take God of War, for example - a fantastically beautiful game with a clever story, an interesting anti-hero, a good variety of moves and weapons, and excellent satisfaction on completion. Bayonetta, alas, doesn't have half GoW's charisma. The heroine is preposterous, the battles repetitive and all too frequent, the action moves too fast for appreciation, there are too many things to think about at once ... No, I'm just not a fan. I daresay this has a lot to do with the fact I'm just not very good at button mashing, but surely a game should have a bit more substance than endless battles? As for the sexual aspect - I like foxy women heroes, and appreciate a witch who uses her clothes as part of her spells, thereby showing considerable flesh - but touching herself inappropriately is a bit much. The whole leg-spreading thing is tiresome, too. I'll give the game 5/10.

That's it for now. Oh - one bit of exciting news is that Janus has been offered a job in Sheffield. This is great news! Badger has a job in Manchester, so it means they can both move down south together and not be apart. We'll miss her loads, but I can't wait to visit and explore a new city. It's the end of an era, and the start of something brand new. Hurrah.

Skiing

2010-01-05T22:38:00.003+00:00

Location: Snug and warm at home
Mood: Smug and warm. Also tired.
Listening to: The Story (can't seem to get enough of Leddra at the moment)
Reading: Look, Taste is quite a long book, orright?
Playing: 3D monopoly.

Today I went skiing. The last time I went was last year, when the sun shone o-so brightly. The sun, alas, was not shining at all today and it was very cold. I think a -17C wind chill is cold in anyone's book. Horizontal snow that cut the eyelids completes the picture - although, to be fair, this was only at the end of the day.

Epona gave me a lift up to Glenshee as Keith the Land Rover had a flat tyre - again. We met up with Phid and scooted down merrily down Sunnyside - the green run just above the café. I say merrily, but it really wasn't, for me. Much to my disgust and disappointment, I seem to suffer from excruciating pain in my Achilles tendons when I ski. My feet also feel like the bones are being crushed and wrung like an old dishcloth. This happened last year, and I thought it might be my boots so I went back to the wonderful Banks in Perth and got them lengthened. Unfortunately, it appears there's nothing wrong with the boots at all. It's just my feet. My Achilles tendons are pretty short, my calves are enooooormous, I'm not skiing fit, and my feet naturally turn outwards, which means they don't like being straightened. I get terrible pins and needles when doing the elliptical machine at the gym, so it's no wonder they don't like ski boots. Anyway, despite all this I managed to work out a way of enjoying my skiing. It meant poor Phid and Epona had to wait for me a few times, but, basically, I'd just do a run, take my boots off and stretch out, then re-boot and off I'd go. A faff, but much better than causing myself agony. And it really is painful. Basically, it feels like crap. Cramp, I mean. Crap cramp. Even now, at 11pm, my Achilles tendons are still sore to the touch.

But enough. There's always something wrong with me, physically, and either you let it stop you or you suck it up, make the best of it and carry on. I hate having anything that affects me cause issues with others, but Phid and Epona were very patient. Also, Phid helped me out a lot by falling off a button lift 4 times, giving me loads of time to de-boot and stretch as I waited at the top. Very decent of her.*

I had 2 falls. The first was just due to poor visibility, my carelessness and my ski hitting something under the snow (which, I have a suspicion, was more snow). No big deal. The second was more fun. Epona went over a little jump, landed, then fell over. I decided it would be one hell of a coup if I managed to land the jump and no shame if I fell like she had - so over I went. Yeeee-eeeees ... I didn't exactly land it. And I discovered my knees are nearly as flexible as they were when I was 21. Ouch.

It was a fun day. In total we did about 3 hours skiing, which was just about perfect for me. I'm hoping to do more skiing this year than last. My Achilleses definitely eased up a bit after I'd been skiing for a while, suggesting it's more a case of tight and shortened tendons than a boot issue, so the more I do it the better.

Back at home, Fisher had a mug of tea ready for Epona and me. I had a wonderful hot bath, then she cooked me penne and cheese with pancetta and peas (serious lack of veg in my diet today!), which was exactly what I wanted. She is great. So is Baffie, who is curled up at my feet right now.

Happy today.

*The lift was a bastard. It shot out of the trap, down a steep hill, dragging you out like Ben Hur behind a runaway chariot. Then it stopped at the bottom, so you sailed into the pole face first. Then it shot off again, lifting you clear off the ground (if you're Epona's size) or causing you to wobble violently and fall down. This happened to me, but I managed to snow plough adequately on my second attempt. Credit to Phid for plugging away. I'm not sure I would have tried it 4 times.

Happy New Year People!

2010-01-03T12:26:00.003+00:00

Location: In bed, wrapped up in a duvet, with the old electric heater on.
Mood: Slightly despairing.
Listening to: Picking Oranges
Reading: Taste: The Story of Britain Through Its Cooking
Playing: Revisiting TimeSplitters 2 on PS2

Fuck. Ing. Hell.

Woke the morning to a very miserable Fisher, who'd gone downstairs to discover the heating isn't working. This happened at exactly the same time last year, again on a public holiday, and again meaning we had to wait 3 or 4 days before getting someone in to fix it. We have to freeze until Tuesday. Is this reasonable? I think not. And when I say freeze ... it's currently -2 degrees C outside, at 12.35, so I can only predict that the temperature will get considerably less balmy as the day progresses. The night should see a drop to at least -7. For those on the other side of the pond, the conversion to silly fahrenheit is as follows:
-2C is 28.4F
-7C is 19.4F

This may not seem all that bad, in comparison to the -40 I've heard tell can hit certain parts, but I'd like to point out that most of you lot seem to follow the example of the second little pig and build your houses out of twigs, with rooms that are easy to heat and installed with heating systems that were created a mere few decades ago. Beautifully warm and functional (despite your dodgy electric circuits and bafflingly rubbish dishwashers), with sizable rooms and modern luxuries such as electric light switches that don't spark alarmingly each time you switch them on. I, on the other hand, am the proud and loving possessor of a house built some time in the 18th century by people who had no problem combatting the cold by setting fire to each other and sharing small spaces with cattle. If you're a little more fastidious than this, it turns out the house is quite hard to heat. Not only that, but if you bought the house from some eco-friendly Buddhists who, though pleasant, are not very bright, you may discover they've installed geo-thermal heating ... which is both unreliable and expensive. At least, this system seems to be. When faced with low temperatures outside it goes into a dizzy panic, believes the whole world must surely be in the throes of a nuclear winter and that we're all going to die, then faints in terror. It takes a degree of expertise to be able to know just where to thrust the smelling salts - expertise that I certainly don't have (I've only just mastered switching it on), and that even clever Fisher can't deal with. At least she has an idea of what might be wrong. She says it's probably the thermostat, which we had replaced this time last year, and is obviously shite. If it is - and if it's broken within a year - she's going to have a little stroppy-strop and tell the engineers it's bloody not good enough and it was clearly a faulty part. Meanwhile, I'm huddled in bed, she's pootling about resembling a bright pink Michelin man in her 18 layers (the top one of which is a bright pink fluffy jumper), and I'm busy contemplating alternatives to shivering it out. We have 3 days to wait. We could throw ourselves on the mercy of our friends, which I am very loath to do. They've all just finished their holidays, are going back to work feeling crabby and depressed, and have only just got rid of us anyway. Also, we have Baffie and Bridie, who aren't welcome in certain flats (owing to landlords - not friends) and cause allergies to other pals. So friends aren't a very comfortable option.

We could throw up our hands and head off to some flashy pants hotel. This would surely be the most fun option, but Christmas has placed a strain on the coffers - as usual - and I don't want to go all budget at this time of year. Budget hotels are rarely pleasant in sunny weather. When escaping the freezing wastes they're a definite no-no. Also, Fisher and I agree that we've overindulged to a ridiculous extent this year. My attempts at weight loss have been larfable, and with New Year providing no excuse not to be resolved, it seems foolhardy to head off to a swanky establishment with lavish meals provided as part of the package. So, on the whole, this is a tempting but inadvisable option.

It seems our only recourse is to stick it out. Gah! Unfortunately, because the coldest part of the whole house is the kitchen, neither of us is going to want to cook - so we'll probably end up going out anyway, getting fat and dying of a heart attack. Or is that overly pessimistic? Sorry - must be the hypothermia setting in. Even wrapped up in bed I'm starting to feel my face getting numb.

But this is a sad opening entry of the new decade - especially as the last one ended so merrily. Let me give you a run down.

We had the whole family come for Christmas. Fabulous to see everyone, and there were a lot of laughs. Of course it was hectic, with lots of meals to prepare and plan, but everyone pitched in and it was a lot less frantic than it could have been.

Once everyone had gone back to their homes we began preparing for the second wave. Hogmanay would see us host 11 for a sit down Chinese banquet. Guests were: Epona, Shah, Kai and Ina from the Glen, Janus, Badger, Pro, Koi, and Champaign Charlie - who was over for the Christmas holidays and cadged a lift up from Dumfries with Epona and Shah.

This is what I cooked:

Starters:
Bao - stuffed with haggis, for that Scottish touch. I don't think they worked as they were meant to as they weren't nearly fluffy enough - but I had good reports.
Gyoza - courtesy of the lovely marvellous Badger, who made them with his usual expertise.
Prawn toast - courtesy of Ken Hom and Tesco. Cop out - but tasty.

Main Courses:
Peking Duck - with wild duck shot by Shah, homemade pancakes (not great. Too thick and tough) and homemade plum sauce (tart!).
Slow roast Chinese pork - delicious! Rubbed with salt and 5 spice, then roasted in a tight, covered dish while steeped in sherry, soy sauce, spring onions, ginger, spot of sugar, garlic, for 5 hours at 150. Mmmm. So good.
Stir fry prawns with squid rings in ginger and sherry - not sure I tasted this one!
Chinese beef stew - brisket in soy sauce, star anise, sherry, spring onions, lots of water and simmered for 2 hours - excellent! The brisket was much more tender than I imagined, and even if it produced a lot of fat, it wasn't hard to skim off and the taste was wonderful. We had a lot of this left over and had it last night for supper. Yumster.
This was all served with boiled rice and stir fry veg.

Pudding:
Lemongrass sorbet, made by Fisher, and ginger tuille biscuits made by me.

We finished it all off with a very un-Chinese cheese board, and accompanied it all with shedloads of booze. I have to say, I was horrified with how much I drank over the course of the night. We didn't get into bed until 4am and I was very much hammered. I think this had something to do with how quickly I was drinking. There was a lot of getting up and down for all the different dishes, and in between I'd just neck back whatever glass was in front of me. So - yeah - the following day was somewhat painful, and it was a good lesson. From now on I shall try and drink more slowly.

New Year's Day was spent in painful, lazy fashion. We did all manage to drag ourselves out into the snow to walk the pooches - and were promptly caught by Shah and invited in for a dram. I'd just started to feel less hungover, so accepted a "very weak" G&T ... which was so far from weak it wasn't even funny. I had to empty a full can of tonic into it to make it drinkable. As for the boys - they asked for small, very small, drams of whisky, and got triples. We drank incredibly slowly, drawing our drinks out for at least an hour and enjoying the chat, then went home and collapsed in front of Dr Who.

Everyone left yesterday, leaving Fisher and me to revel in our quiet house. We went to the gym in the evening, where I ran 5k then did 20 minutes on the elliptical machine, ensuring I burned at least 500 calories. My knees are feeling a bit ropey at the moment, but I'm ignoring them and hoping their complaints go away. Always a sound solution, I feel.

And now we have no heating, and I think 1.52pm is probably pushing it for being in bed - no matter how much I tell myself it's a heat-conserving exercise. So I shall leave you, wishing everyone who reads these words a very happy new year and hopes for greatness to come.

The Onslaught

2009-12-22T17:26:00.002+00:00

Location: Upstairs, grabbing some quality time with Fisher
Mood: Like a kudu who's just caught a whiff of Cheetah on the wind
Listening to: John Williams' Spanish Guitar
Reading: Drood
Playing: Buzz! Junior Monster Rumble (ad nauseum)

Just a quick note to say it's all kicked off - and so far so good. Sister and sons arrived on Sunday while we were at a very chilled party at Phid and Wheeler's - as did the snow. We've got a pleasant few inches thus far, making driving cautious but nothing to be particularly concerned about. MaPa arrived about an hour ago, much to Gemmill's delight (he couldn't stop hugging his Granu), and we only await the arrival of Brother and Gaura tomorrow - weather permitting - to have a full complement. I've got all the pressies I'm going to get, I've wrapped them, and all that remains is for me to discover (horror of horror) on the day that I've forgotten someone.

Shit! I've forgotten Islander!

No, not forgotten, but haven't actually collected his present from the appropriate place. Shag a duck. I'll have to do that tomorrow.

Yesterday we went to the gym and I managed to fit in a sneaky 50 mins on various machines. I did a mile in 9.13 on the running machine, 6.55 miles on the static bike, and 150 calories on the elliptical machine. I swear there's something amiss with that thing. How can 10 minutes on the elliptical burn more calories than the same time running? Running is horribly hard in comparison. And the fact that the static bike burns about half as many is a constant source of fury. I work hard on the bike, always on cross country setting, and yet I never burn as many calories as I think I deserve. Woe. O woe is me. Anyway, I finished off with a few stomach crunches and proper press-ups, then went home and ate burgers and chunky chips. Good stuff.

Tomorrow I'm due to go into Edinburgh and meet up with Champaign Charlie, who is - hurrah! - over for the festive period. I haven't actually broken this news to the family yet, but it may be quite a good move as it could mean Ma coming in to Reekie to do some Xmas shopping.

Gah. Have bored myself.

See you later peeps. Keep your fingers crossed for my brother and Gaura tomorrow will you?

Run Report

2009-12-14T17:49:00.003+00:00

Quick bit of dullness for my own records:

Ran for 1 hour from P.O in Dunkeld to the bridge crossing the Tay path, then back to the gym and round about a bit to top it up to an hour. Map My Run claims this is 5 miles.

In the gym did:

3 sets 12 chest presses on 37.5
25 sit ups
3 sets 12 lat pull downs on 25
50 bicep curls with the elastic twangy thing (official name) number 2
10 evil leg lifts (on back with knees at 90 degrees, stretch out one leg and opposing arm until abs threaten to twang like the elastic twangy thing) on each side.

I still feel fat and overindulgent, but this goes some way to easing my conscience. And I'm very pleased I can still run for an hour without stopping.

Feeling chuffed.

'Tis the Season to get Trollied, la la la la laaaaaa etc ...

2009-12-14T12:08:00.002+00:00

Location: Bed! Huzzah.
Mood: Tranquil, but likely to turn at any minute.
Listening to: Nothing.
Reading: Seven Years in Tibet
Playing: Ratchet & Clank: A Crack in Time

What a few weeks it has been, my loyal and patient reader. Much has occurred of a jolly nature, involving neighbours, Cheeseboarders and family, and I am now feeling much like a drained sponge (and of similar rotund shape).

After the visit of Sister and Tertius, Fisher and I went down to see Brother and Gaura. First we stopped at their country house in Staffordshire. It's a beautiful part of the world, with rocky ridges like dragons' teeth, dramatic glacial peaks, and pretty country towns dotting the area. We had a great time (mostly eating in pubs) and, after a couple of days, went on down to London. There, I met up with Koios who had kindly included me in a visit to the O2 arena where the world ATP championships were being held. We saw Davydenko beat Soderling in 3 sets, and I was impressed with the O2 as a venue. Koi also stayed at Brother's so we went out for dinner at the Painted Heron in Chelsea. This is one of the nicest modern Indian restaurants I've been to - giving the Cinnamon Club a run for its money - and even if we did have to wait until 10pm for a table, it was a great evening.

London was great, actually. As well as doing some fine dining, seeing the tennis and catching up with everyone, Gaura, Fisher and I also went to an exhibition at the V&A on the Maharajas. Indian history is something I know shamefully little about, so I was delighted with the whole experience. I was particularly interested in the warrior queen Chand Bibi, even though the only information was a single picture of her hunting with her attendants. Basically she acted as regent, and defended her realm against the Mughals. She came to an unpleasant end when her own troops turned on her, following rumours of her treachery with the Mughals. Anyway - she was one of a number of fascinating characters. It was also fascinating to see how times changed under British rule. I should emphasize that this exhibition displayed the treasures of the Maharajas - it didn't go into detailed political history - so the major changes witnessed were in terms of costume and treasure. It was truly fascinating to see the dichotomy that occurred: young Maharajas being educated at Eton and Harrow, dressing in western costume, and then returning to India and adorning themselves in the traditional dress of their home. And the dress itself changed, too - adopting some of the western style, such as trousers for men rather than full skirts, but staying true to itself. On a superficial level it told quite an interesting tale. India clearly never lost itself beneath colonialism; it adopted and learned western ways, but beneath Britain's ruling head beat a powerful Indian heart.

More disappointingly was a visit to Fortnum's for afternoon tea. We turned up at 5, had to wait and age to get a table, and then discovered that the traditional tea spread had been whittled down to the choice of 2 cakes. Not only that, but everything was extortionately expensive, very tourist-minded ... and there was a 12 % optional service charge added that incorporated bank charges and other costs into it. Outrageous! A service charge should be for service! We removed the charge and left a cash tip instead.

So all in all it was a terrific trip.

I'm afraid in my weakened state I'm rather hazy about dates of events, so I'm just going to chuck down all the things we've done in any old order. These include:

A trip out on the Tay with Kai to do a spot of out-of-season fishing. This means you throw back every cock salmon you catch, and take any hens up to the holding tanks to be milked for conservation purposes. Kai was after the hens, and we managed to catch 3 before a very welcome lunch of soup (home cooked by Ina) and a sarnie. By golly it was cold on the river! It started off fine, and with the catching of fish we managed to keep warm enough. Then the ice started to creep into our feet, and by 1 pm we were just about rattling the rivets out of the gunwales. Still we were game enough, once warm, to have another hour on the water. We didn't catch anything else, but floating on the water is so blissfully calm and beautiful it didn't matter. Plus, we weren't out long enough to get really cold again.

To say thanks for the trip we invited Kai and Ina round for Sunday supper, along with Epona and Shah to help make merry. I decided to cook something different - and when we discovered buffalo was on sale at the Perth market we snapped up a hearty rib roast. As a starter I served 3 different types of salmon (in honour of our 3 catches): traditional smoked, hot smoked, and a walnut and lemon paté with oatcakes. I did a horseradish cream to go with the hot smoked, and accompanied the traditionally smoked with a tiny shot of Caol Ila whisky. I recommended people dip a knife into the whisky and spread a little of it onto the salmon. Try it - it's lovely.

The main course was very exciting. As Shah is a cattle expert I was interested to find out whether he could recognise the breed. When I said it was buffalo, the news was greeted with great interest and excitement. Much comment flowed. "It's so fine-grained," said Ina. "It tastes like really well hung beef," I burbled, through an enormous mouthful. "It's like a Highland," Epona judged. Kai just ate. Shah then told me it was water buffalo, which I thought was wrong. I thought the picture had showed a bison, and said so. He politely demurred. I reiterated my belief. Then I thought I was probably being a bit of a tool, arguing with the King of Cattle, and ceded the point. But my curiosity was roused.

For the final course we served cheese and a "mouthful" of apple & prune crumble. The mouthful was because Kai had told us he doesn't have a sweet tooth and will eat only a "mouthful of crumble - nothing more." However, when we explained the egg-cup size servings, Ina promptly choked on her wine.

"So why did he eat two enormous meringues this lunchtime?" she squeaked.

Kai promptly turned bright red and fell off his chair laughing. Utterly, totally busted. Epona, who also professes not to have a sweet tooth and also to have been "full to bursting" and unable to eat another mouthful, promptly complained that the only thing wrong with the crumble was that there was "not enough of it." So I had to bring out the rest of the crumble I'd made - and it didn't last long.

As we cleared the dishes, I decided to settle the matter of the water buffalo/bison. So I dived into the 'bin and unearthed the meat wrapper. An interested Shah and Ina watched as I looked at the information. I read it. Gulped. And hid the wrapper behind my back.

It was Angus beef.

The man selling it had clearly got his beef and buffalo joints a bit mingled and just plucked something the right size without looking at it. I'd asked for buffalo, so I just presumed I was getting what I asked for. Alas, I was left looking a bit of a tit. Still - at least none of us went off on a rant about how utterly different it was to beef. That would really have been embarrassing.

Shah and Epona stayed until 11, which was pretty late for them on a school night - but Ina and Kai stayed until 1.30am and made good inroads on the wine. It was a terrific night - very entertaining, and lovely to spend some more time with our neighbours-but-one.

A couple of days later we continued our closer relations with Ina by taking a trip to Reekie for some Christmas shopping. We didn't end up buying much in the way of presents, except for Gemmill's and Wrecker's and some Christmas wine, but it was a very civilised day. We had lunch at Harvey Nick's, wandered the food courts of Jenners' and Harvey Nicks', pootled about the toy departments, checked for some carpets for the hall (no luck) and generally wandered happily. Then home. No fuss, no muss, no stress. Good shopping.

What else? Ah yes ...

Wheeler and Spartan have birthdays that are very close together, so I offered to throw them a join party. I was going to do a murder-mystery for New Year, but because so few people were available we decided to have one for the boys' birthday instead. I got stuck in, writing characters and having fun tangling a multitude of webs. It all got rather confusing, but it was - eventually and somewhat tardily - done. I sent it all off via the wonderful email, including, at the last minute, Wheeler's son Castor.

Briefly, this was the basic plot:

Two rival circuses meet at the behest of a mysterious Italian, who wishes to take the finest circus in Britain back to Rome. Which will it be: Daily's Phenomenal Spectacular, or Knightly's Circus of Stars?

Of course, there were stories within stories, alter egos, evil machinations and - naturally - murders. Each character had a list of tasks to complete by the end of the evening, which they should do by any means possible, and points were awarded for each completed task. In the end, the story itself was less important than the fact everyone just enjoyed getting dressed up and playing a different character for the evening. My favourite couple were definitely Tonta the Clown (Blarney) and Isabella de Barba the bearded lady (Spartan, resplendently repulsive in blue satin and enormous blond beard, complete with naked hairy back). It was great. People were killing, stealing, bribing and lying left right and centre. It was like a night out in Paisley.

The game was complete in an hour and a half or so, with twists and surprises along the way, meaning we could dine at a reasonable hour - then spend the rest of the night playing poker. Fisher was almost entirely to thank for the food. She did a glazed ham, baked potatoes, potato salad, coleslaw, salad ... it was all delicious. She also provided fairground style nibbles - popcorn, mini fajitas, peanuts, that sort of thing. Triffic stuff. This meant that, instead of rushing around like a frantic thing on Friday, I was able to accompany Wheeler on an off-roading jaunt at the Scotting Offroad Centre. This ended badly, with his Land Rover stuck, nose first, in a massive rut with its left back wheel off the ground. We had to call out a rescue tractor ... which couldn't help. So he had to leave it overnight and get it hauled out the next day by a visiting off-road club.

I should mention here that this was very much a joint effort. Yes, Wheeler was driving, but I was guiding him up the red run we were supposed to be going down. He was doing fine, wheels on track - and then the back wheels just slipped and dumped him in the ditch. We've decided that the main problem is that Wheeler and I aren't a good mix. We're both too gung ho. If we'd had either Fisher or Phid with us they would have acted as a tempering agent and stopped us from even attempting it.

Anyway, we both survived, which is a bonus.

On Sunday I had a pretty horrid hangover, although not as bad as Janus's, and was glad that everyone seemed inclined to be lazy. I wanted to take a walk up the hill and was joined by only 2.5 others - Spar and Janus, with Baby Belle making up the .5. Everyone else was happy watching TV or playing cards. They all left by 4pm, at which point my hangover returned with a vengeance in the form of a headache. Shah and Epona were taking us out to dinner at Breizh, which was lovely, but I fear I was in less than sparkling form. Nevertheless, it was most pleasant and ended at an early enough time for me to watch the BBC Sports Personality of the Year awards that I'd recorded. Ryan Giggs won. I'd rather hoped Beth Tweddle would at least get into the top 3, seeing as she's a bit of a ground-breaker in the UK, but there we go. Even more outrageous was the fact the England men's cricket team won best team, simply because they won the Ashes. Meanwhile, the England Women's team romped to every victory there is to win. You can't even blame an ignorant public, as this was voted for by a team of 30 sporting 'experts'. The England cricket team is, frankly, pretty frustrating at the best of times and loses as often as it wins. The women had a run of astonishing victory - but no, they're not better than the boys.

Twats.

And on that note, and despite the fact I'm sure I've not mentioned many occurrences over the last month, I'm stopping. It's time to shift some of the accumulated lard and go to the gym.

Tata.

2009-11-16T18:35:00.002+00:00

Location: Upstairs, listening to the parrot-squawks of Tertius from downstairs
Mood: Headachey
Listening to: Pit of Goodbyes
Reading: The Canon: The Beautiful Basics of Science
Playing: Killzone 2

I am fat I am fat I am fat. This is not news, but it's not something I feel every day. However, after a stonking week previously, where I lost a few pounds and thought myself INVINCIBLE I've promptly stuffed myself more stuffy than Mr Stuffy the stuffed pig. First there was dinner at Blarney's - which we survived! Huzzah! But only just ...

Then Fisher and I went to The Four Seasons with Wheeler and Phid, where they were doing a 6 course meal and wine tasting evening. Yum.

Now sister is here, with Tertius, and we've done nothing but feed her (and neighbours). We had Sunday supper of:

Starter: tomato, goat's cheese, thyme and garlic puff pastry tart.
Main: fruit stuffed lamb (the fruit being figs, prunes and apricots - all dried - with some walnuts), fruity gravy (made with the lamb juices and apple juice, in which I'd marinated the afformentioned fruits), roast potatoes, butter fried carrots and steamed courgettes (in a vain attempt at health ... snort).
Pudding: chocolate ice cream (organic, but not made by me).

Today I told myself I needed to get back on track with a salad for lunch and some chicken noodle soup for supper. Well, I had the salad. A salad Paysane from Breizh in Perth, no less. This is not a salad. This is an excuse to rest chicken, lardons, croutons, and a poached egg on about 3 lettuce leaves. Bah! So my only hopes rest on my having a small bowl of chicken noodle soup for supper and resisting the temptation to say "feck it" and eat everything in the house. You know - to 'get rid of it' and thus remove it from temptation.

But more about our previous fun. Can I gloss over Blarney's first dinner party (cooked by her) in so cavalier a manner? Well, yes, but not if I ever want her to speak to me again. Hmm ... tempting.

No. Obviously, it was a triumph. She sensibly stuck to simple fare and did them very well. First up was a massive shepherd's pie, which I'd predicted (with glee - one of my fave things in the world). This was followed with a delicious and really very well made cheesecake, topped with blueberries. Wait ... I think it was blueberries. It could have been blackcurrants. But how could I have forgotten? Quite easily, actually, as I proceeded to get completely blindsided by alcohol. I thought I was being relatively sensible, but 3am saw me bellowing out tunes with Spartan accompanying on the guitar, whisky sloshing as I waved my tumbler to and fro. I swear, I have no idea how I managed to nurture such a hangover, but nurture it I did. Next day we were supposed to go to North Berwick for a romp on the beach with the pooches, but I sobbed quietly in my bed all morning instead and only managed to drag myself out to meet Fisher and Blar for lunch at Dobbies garden centre. Ugh. I was furious with myself for being so careless, and for being so rude to Blar (who, to be fair, didn't really seem to give a shit as she and Fisher managed to find the best TK Maxx in the world ever - entertainment I could never have bested), and also for potentially destroying the wine tasting that night. My hangovers can last for days - but luckily this one cleared by about 2pm and I was very happy to get stuck into the Four Seasons' offerings.

We arrived at St Fillan's to discover that Wheeler and Phid, to say thanks for the outing, had ordered some champagne to be put in our room. Fabulous! So, when they arrived, we got them to join us and sipped a couple of glasses of fizz to put us in the mood. Funnily enough, I'd asked Brother via text if he knew any good hangover cures, and his suggestion was 'white wine', so I was happy to test it out.

The meal was great fun. 6 good courses, including smoked eel to start with, which is my new favourite thing. The wines were well matched, and we had a little introduction to each one before the course from the bloke from Tanners, who'd provided the wine. He was quite amusing, inadvertently, because every time he kind of bitched about the food, and how hard he'd found it to match the courses up. ("Soup? Who drinks wine with soup? They're both ... well ... wet!") Instead of a great fanfare you ended up just feeling as if he'd had to settle for doing the best he could with such a shit choice. But some of the wines were really lovely. I still maintain that Reisling is unpleasantly sweet, no matter what everyone says nowadays.

After the meal we chatted 'til after midnight with a whisky each, then retired to our rooms. Fisher and I had a chalet, where the dogs were curled up quite happily awaiting us, and we drifted off to sleep to the sound of torrential rain on the wooden roof. Lovely.

Next morning, we took Baffie, Bridie, and Wheeler 'n' Phid's dog Dougal for a walk up the hill behind the hotel. It was delightful, despite the continuing rain. We got really quite wet, but there were streams, little waterfalls, woodland and a pretty view over Loch Earn at the top. Back at the car we dithered over whether to part ways, then decided that we could stop in Comrie for some lunch (for me - I only had some toast and pastries for breakfast, whilst everyone else tucked into cooked brekkie of various sizes) and a cuppa. This we did. I had a vast prawn baguette ... and then everyone else decided they were hungry after their terribly, terribly exhausting walk of 250 metres (or so) and ordered baked potatoes.

This pleasant interlude over, we decided that, instead of parting, Fisher and I would go back to Wheeler & Phid's new pad and help out. Fisher's skills with constructing flat-pack furniture were called upon, while Phid helped her and Wheeler did some other construction elsewhere. Making myself useful entailed going into Dollar, picking up some food, and cooking a beef stew on their aga for W and P to eat that night. Frankly, I just wanted to try cooking on an aga. It was ok, but hotter than I anticipated. I hope the end result was palatable, and not just a small bucket of salt and tough meat. Phid assured me, after I sent a worried text, that it was 'delicious' - but then she would say that, wouldn't she?

We left the new lovely cottage at 4, as Sister was possibly arriving around 5, and made it back just in time to warm up the house a bit before she and Tertius arrived. We cooked steak and baked potato with salad (a light option!) and collapsed into bed. All the carousing had fair taken it out of me. But could I sleep? I could not. The 5 am news came and went before I slipped into unconsciousness.

Sister is here to do housey-type shopping, and Fisher accompanied her to Edinburgh yesterday. We were all up at around 8.30, as I discovered the newsletter I edit was in a bit of a state of disarray and needed my attention. I managed to get it in order by 1.3o, and gave the dogs a bit of a wander up the hill. Then I went to Tesco, bought some provisions for Sunday supper, left a message for Shah and Epona asking them to join us, then got cooking. I prepared and stuffed the lamb, which was a leg and therefore needed boning (I only cut myself once, which is some sort of record for me), then decided I was going to take a break. I played some Uncharted 2 (hugely entertaining game, by the way - best thing since Tomb Raider, and much longer than the original. Naughty Dog rocks!), and as I was just zoning out around 6pm, Sister and Fisher returned, Shah phoned to say yes, he and Epona would be able to come to dinner, and I launched into dinner mode.

Put like that, it all sounds a bit frantic, but it wasn't. It was very pleasant - relaxed and friendly, with only a small amount of alcohol consumed - and I was able to get a reasonably early night (for us), being asleep by 1.30am.

That brings me up to today, when I've finished off the newsletter bumf, gone into Perth for lunch with Sister and Fish, given the dogs a walk up the hill, and written my blog. I've been fighting a headache for the past couple of days, no doubt brought on by alcohol, dodgy sleep, and the weather, but I'm sure it'll be better tomorrow.

Right. I've dribbled on for far too long. Just a note on last blog's book - it's a very good read about an unlikely TV star. She speaks extremely poignantly about alcoholism and her abusive relationship with her father, as well as being quite colourful in her opinions about the countryside. I recommend it if you fancy a quick, entertaining read.

Adios for now tho'.

Swimming with Polar Bears

2009-11-12T13:07:00.002+00:00

Location: In bed
Mood: Buoyant
Listening to: Soldier
Reading: Spilling the Beans, Clarissa Dickson-Wright
Playing: Uncharted 2

Ok, so I wasn't actually swimming with polar bears.

On Tuesday I went to the gym but simply couldn't face doing any more sodding running, or cycling, or getting hot and sweaty. Sometimes I just reach an impasse and can't go on. So instead I went for a swim, which I haven't done in yonks. I recognise that 1km front crawl isn't really enough exercise, so I decided to do a bit more. I always divide my swim into sets of four lengths, which not only gives me 'baby steps' to help psychologically, but helps me keep count. Basically, I recommend this practice to anyone who struggles with boredom during exercise. If you divide your workout into manageable sets, it keeps you from giving up. If I start a swim saying "I'm going to swim 60 lengths, it can seem interminable. But saying "fifteen sets of 4" works much better. As for the counting, I find "1 of 1, 2 of 1, 3 of 1 etc" is more likely to keep me from losing count. (The first number is the length, the second is the set number - obviously).

It was a crowded pool. There was a kiddies' swimming lesson going on behind a cordon, which was no problem at all and is always something I'm glad to see. On the other hand, it did mean that any kiddies who just wanted a swim were doing so in the section I was trying to do my lengths in. In actual fact, the kids weren't a problem at all. They tried hard to keep out of my way. The adults, on the other hand ...

First there was a woman who insisted on having a conversation with her friend, who was sitting on a sunbed at the side of the pool. No issue there - but I'd purposely put myself in a corner, out of the way of everyone, right next to the rope that was dividing the pool. So where does she decide to stand? Yep - right at the end, next to the rope. I kept ploughing up and down, figuring that after the first couple of times I'd had to swerve to avoid her before touching the end she'd decide it was courteous to move. But no. She continued to stand right in my path, and this time hung on to the rope. I was damned if I was altering my path, so, as I was approaching, I grabbed the rope myself and gave it a tug. She turned, startled, and apologised. I gave her the ghost of a smile but otherwise ignored her, continuing on my painful way. At last she got the message and moved. But for the love of God - why did she decide to be there in the first place? All she had to do was move a couple of feet to her left. I know, I could have moved too, but the pool was pretty crowded. There were 2 other people doing lengths, and the person nearest me was doing breaststroke, which always takes up more room. Also, for Christ's sake, I was there first! I was plodding up and down the same strip, well out of the way of everyone, trying to make life easy for all - and why she had to stand directly in front of me was anyone's guess.

And that wasn't the only example of poor adult behaviour. I've often found that women are quite unobservant when it comes to someone doing proper exercise, while men are more likely to give you your space ... until it comes to the kiddies. I've never been in a pool with a man in charge of children without him glaring at me like I shouldn't be there. This time a guy got in with two boys, one of whom immediately swam as fast as he could after me, trying to beat me to the end. That was no problem at all, as far as I was concerned. I kept my same steady pace, hoping he'd prove speedy enough to overtake, as I approve highly of children pitting their skills against a target. He didn't, but put up a good show, continuing his determined crawl for a second length before deciding he wasn't going to come off better. His brother, meanwhile, was enjoying a game of splash and wrestle with his father. Again, no problem there - except that the kid was getting perilously close to me. I kept my line. By this time, all the other swimmers had got out and there was a large space to occupy in the 'adult' area. I was still trying to keep to one side. The father and his sons had the whole rest of the pool to play in - so why, I ask you, WHY, was it necessary to thrash about in my path? And each time I passed the father gave me a glare, as if to say "my children, my children, how dare you obstruct my children?" I ignored him for several lengths, but I was getting really fed up with having to keep such a vigilant eye out, and often having to slow or speed up to avoid their little game. So I moved to the other side of the pool, which is annoying because there the corners slope inwards, meaning I have to take a few strokes to the left at each end to ensure I swim the right distance. But, you know, whatever. Pretty soon, two other men got into the pool to do laps, and lo and behold, the man and his sons immediately started playing in a very small area, vigilantly keeping out of their way. Perhaps he thought that, because they were men, their right to exercise was a serious matter, whereas some woman doing lengths was just a silly bint flapping about. I hope I'm being ridiculous.

Anyway, I did my front crawl click in just under half an hour, which is incredibly slow. I was trying to take it steadily, as I've not swum for ages, but it's a pathetic speed. The pool is 17m long, which means I have to turn more often, and I try not to kick off too much, but a decent time for 1k (in a pool) is about half that speed. In the sea, elite women do 1km in 15 minutes or so. But why beat myself up about speed? I know I should swim faster, but at least this time I did another 5 sets - or 20 lengths. 340 metres. I did them breaststroke, in 12 minutes. 36 seconds a length. Again, so slow it's daft - but the distance was an improvement, so I was quite pleased overall. And it's only when you get out of the pool that you realise how tired you are. It's nothing like as immediately satisfying as running, or any of the other out of water activities, but it gives you a slow burn and gets rid of a satisfying amount of calories.

Enough of exercise. Yesterday Fisher decided she wanted to go and see the polar bear from Edinburgh zoo, who's been re-housed near Aviemore. We were both distressed at seeing her when we took Gemmill to the zoo a few years ago. She was walking mindlessly backwards and forwards, obviously distressed by her small enclosure. I was horrified to think such a thing was happening in our country, in a prominent zoo, where the welfare of animals is considered a point of moral pride. It transpired that the zoo was well aware of the animal's distress and that steps were being taken to amend her condition. Those steps led her to the Highland Wildlife Park near Kingussie, where the colder climate and 'tundra like' environment is more suited to her. She was rescued from Canada where she was scheduled to be shot, after making a nuisance of herself raiding bins and scaring the populace. I think she had a mate in Edinburgh who died, and she pined for him (but this is information from Fisher, so don't quote me on accuracy), which didn't help her mental condition.

So, anyway, off we hopped. We stopped at Bruar for some lunch (disappointing) and arrived at the park about an hour before they closed. It was just enough time to drive round the open park, nervously avoiding herds of wild horses who can damage cars, meeting an enooooormous moose (elk) and various deer-like creatures, before heading to the enclosure where you can follow an on-foot trail and peer at other beasts. A delight for me was red pandas, one of whom climbed up a tall tree, then down again, then across the walkway above our heads, stopping and posing for photos like America's Next Top Panda. Fie-rce! as Ms Banks would annoyingly say. They really are about the cutest things you ever will see, with their fluffy fat faces and rusty red fur. We also saw tigers and their cubs, who are proud and beautiful and not a little terrifying. The mere sight of those massive shoulders and ferocious heads puts you bang splat in your evolutionary place. Meeting a tiger in the wild is not something I have on my wish list.

It was a very pleasant hour or so, and seeing the polar bear made the long(ish) trip worthwhile. Before, she'd been pacing, rocking, shaking her head. Now, our first sight of her was a mound of dirty white fur cuddling a branch as she snoozed contentedly. She continued to nap until the last minutes of our stay when, approaching kicking-out time, we watched a keeper come by to start the slow process of feeding her. Hearing his arrival, Mercedes the bear got langorously to her feet and started padding her way down to the water. She moved slowly, comfortably, and was a totally different bear, obviously content. Unfortunately we didn't get to stay long enough to see her feed, or see if she went for a swim, as the park was closing, but it was great just to reassure ourselves she was better off.

So that was yesterday. Tonight we're off for a Cheeseboard meet, sans Koios, who has a work do. Most excitingly, it's going to be a meal cooked by Blarney. So, if this is my last ever blog, let it be known that I've had a good life.

Goodbye.