Finding Al Alvarez

A couple of weeks ago I was in London. A sweltering, tourist crowded, sweaty, dirty London.  I jumped on the number 24 bus at the bottom of Tottenham Court Road and within thirty minutes I reached Hampstead Heath. I have never been before, had only see it on films and TV – Notting Hill, Smiley’s People.  I expected it to be like the other London Parks, manicured and prim but it's not, Hampstead Heath is wild.

I began my walk at Hampstead Railway Station and scuffed by feet uphill through rough stubble and newly cut grass.  Benches perched randomly on the hillside,  left for anyone willing to climb the slope to take in the breadth and beauty of the trees and the odd glimpse of the city.

Two competent dog walkers with twelve dogs between them seemed comfortable with the surroundings so I followed them for a bit then swung low to meet a well-made path. This took me to a causeway where two boys fished in a pond. Notices advised against disturbing the water in respect of the swimmers.

Swimmers?   

At the far end of the pool was a jetty behind which wooden huts huddled.  In the water I noticed a bald head heading toward a string of buoys about twenty five metres from the jetty.  An elderly gentleman, the only one in the water, reached the barrier and hugged it, taking in great whoops of breath. Bravo, I thought and before I had the chance to take out my camera, he was thrashing back the way he came.    This was the Mixed Pool.

The Mixed Pool with old man swimming

From here I climbed Parliament Hill where I was rewarded with the iconic view of London only previously seen on the small screen but I was then saddened to see a dejected English football supporter, draped in his flag, gazing with awe at his green and pleasant land; wondering, no doubt, where all his World Cup dreams had gone.

A poor wee soul on Parliament Hill

I followed the path down to Highgate, toyed with the idea of looking for Karl Marx's grave but in the end caught a bus back to Kings Cross.

Walking is hungry work so I stopped off at The Quakers’ Friends House café for lunch. This decision was impulsive. I had been passing the place every morning for the past week, it was close to my hotel and the menu on the board outside looked tempting.   And they had a bookshop!

The lunch can only be described as OK. A dry scotch egg with salad.  The bookshop was more interesting.  I am not religious but am interested in the different philosophies religions explore. This bookshop had many on offer but one book caught my eye.

Pondlife by Al Alvarez.   

I have been familiar with Al Alvarez’s work for a number of years.  I always believed he was an American climber who was also an excellent writer. I have enjoyed many of his articles, stories and poems in various climbing magazines through the years. He wrote the introduction to the iconic short story collection The GamesClimbers Play.  I vaguely remembered he played poker.

I read the blurb about his previous publications, it turns out he is British and a writer and critic who climbs, how could I have got that so wrong?  The book was subtitled A Swimmers Journal;  he had added another activity to his already full portfolio.

I almost fainted with shock when I read the author’s profile and saw his photo.  The book journals the last few years of the author's swims in pools at Hampstead Heath and charts his slow decline into old age. The photo shows an old man, bald head, and grey moustache above a rather pained smile.  I was convinced the man I saw only an hour before in the mixed pool was Al Alvarez.

The coincidence made me giddy. What made me go to those pools? I had no idea they were there. What made me go to the Quaker House? The only reason I picked up that particular book was I knew the name – I thought he was an American climber!   It was weirder than weird.

Of course I had to buy the book. 

The journals begin in 2002 and charts Alvarez as he stumbles from his home near the Heath to the ponds for his swim. He swims all year round and along with a daily water temperature he lists the birds and the blossom, the changing seasons.  There is a real sense and love of the place. The shifting cast of characters are wonderful, fellow swimmers (mostly ex-athletes) and lifeguards. It is like an old boys club and very companionable. The author is pained by a bad ankle that plagues his walking and as the years spread over the pages he becomes more and more debilitated, suffering a stroke and many falls.  His frustration is heart breaking but I shy from feeling sorry for him because that is what he loathes most. By the end of the book his life is a constant battle against pain and his declining years.  This is an amazing insight into what we all must face one day; this man’s struggles should give us the courage to face it with dignity.

The book only chronicles up to 2011 and by the end I began to doubt whether it was Al Alvarez I saw that day. I hope it was because it means he is still winning.

The hills are alive with the sound of coughing

Morning Sun on the Mont Blanc Massif













Relaxed and refreshed after the holiday - No.

Today is the first day since I came home that I have enough energy to post a blog.

I developed a sore throat and cough just before setting off on a trekking holiday which would take us over passes and through the valleys of the Pays de Mont Blanc. What should have been an action filled, spirits lifting, weight dropping fortnight, turned into a barking trudge up hillsides; sometimes to as high as 2500 meters where I would collapse into hacking, gut ripping, coughing fits.

I had looked forward to meeting fellow travellers of different nationalities. But at the end of each day when I wheezed into the refuges, my fellow walkers eyed me with dread, knowing I would keep them off their well earned sleep. I tried in vain to muffle my coughs by burying my head in my sleeping bag, but the only relief I got was the night an elderly man two spaces down kept the whole valley awake with his apnea.

Despite my disability I managed to enjoy the trip. The refuges were clean and the wardens fed us well and soothed my throat with fresh lemon and honey. The mountains and scenery were stunning and the meadow flowers would make Jeremy Clarkson feel guilty about the Mont Blanc Tunnel.





Chamonix in the shadow of the Mont Blanc Summit





Why I Like Chamonix

The big surprise of the holiday was how much I enjoyed visiting Chamonix. My expectations of this tourist trap was of fat hoards splodging about on dog poo covered streets. There are tourists, but they are there for a reason - the mountains.

The hulk of Mont Blanc follows you round every corner of the village. A cool grey glacial river runs between the pristine streets. Everyone looks healthy, there is no smell of chips, no pubs doors decorated with smokers. Beers are served ice cold in small glasses, coffee comes black in even smaller cups and there is not a drop of mayonnaise in sight. Missing is fat men with bellies on proud display, despite the scorching weather. Men and women with defined muscles eat crepes and appropriately dressed salads while they pour over guide books and maps.

Of course there is the climbing poser brigade who jingle jangle off the Aiguille du Midi cable car, exuberant at their morning's climb, but I am assured by Colin that often these poor alpinists just manage to catch a car and may not have time to take the gear off on the way down.

Above the clouds













When we arrived home to Scotland we finished off the holiday with a meal in a local restaurant. We walked along a litter strewn pathway to reach the pub that was bursting with wobbly bellied bodied, glugging down pints and stuffing their faces with grease and sugar laden muck. It's great to be home.




What a difference 14 days makes

My garden was well tended while I was away, but what a sight met me on my return. The New Zealand Flax, which has been cursed as a waste of space by our household's chief grass cutter (not me) has been busy producing flowers. I took this photo last week, I think it has grown another two feet since then. The flowers are burgundy, almost black and the bees and butterflies are having a nectar feeding frenzy; apparently this plant is packed full of the stuff. I wonder if global warming will bring humming birds to Scotland?



New Zealand Flax - The Grass Cutter's Bane

Glittering Prizes

The Proof - Monty Halls' Wilderness on the left, the MOD on the right

A visit to Applecross last week was a welcome break. We found a few changes since last there. The pub, always busy, is over stretched with the increase in traffic since the BBC invasion. What hasn't changed is the MOD's proximity to Monty Halls wilderness paradise and the stunning scenery.

We will go back in November for the unedited local weather, a decent seat in the pub and a chance to chat with the locals once they emerge from their summer hideout.




Food Miles

At the beginning of this year I claimed I would reduce my food miles and I now realise that I haven’t reported any of the things I have been doing.

I am lucky to live in Scotland. Here I have almost all I need within our borders. And Europe is so close that I can almost get away with buying the rest from there.

Here is a list of all the things I have changed this year;

All flour from Aberfeldy Mills
All honey from Dalmiur
All eggs local
All cows milk local
All meat local
All fish Scottish (our local butcher sells fish purchased weekly from Pittenweem)

I now buy only Scottish cheddar, soft cheese I make myself but I have still to get into the practice of doing this weekly. Parmesan from Italy.

I try to only buy Scottish fruit and vegetable, preferably from the farmers market. The big exceptions are bananas and lemons, I can’t do without bananas, but I qualify this by buying only Fair Trade – the lemons I’m still working on.


My garden is now beginning to bear produce so I am buying less and less as summer progresses. All my herbs are home grown.

The wine we drink is either home made or French.


One acquisition to the garden is Champion the Bean. The Centre for Contemporary Arts in Glasgow are currently running an exhibition called This Land is your Land. Part of that project is to give plants away to anyone happy to look after them. I took Champion. They also gave me two chilli plants which I called Cayenne and Abel. The bean was unhappy in its pot but is now thriving in a whisky barrel in the company of an Italian bean and a butternut squash.







Champion the Bean on the right of the barrel. The plastic tub is the beer trap I put out to give the slugs a happy time and keep then off the beans.





Glittering Prizes

Congratulation to James Kelman on winning the Scottish Book of the Year for Kieron Smith,boy. I finished the book last night and can confirm it as a worthy winner.

This novel uses a unique voice to chart the life of a small boy through the ages of five to twelve in post war Glasgow. I heard James Kelman discuss the book a couple of months ago where he stated that this is a book for women to discover how fraught with danger a little boy's life is. The story is touching, heroic and funny. It has been described as Kelman's best book yet.

Capercaillie and Cateran

It isn't every weekend that you share a stage with an international supergroup and then follow in the footsteps of marauding clans and cattle thieves. Not to mention the realisations that I am becoming addicted to Britain's Got Talent.

The weekend began at the Fintry Music Festival. The traditional music group I am a member of, Get Reel, was asked a while ago if we could support Capercaille. Unlikely you would think but a fact. Under the able instruction of our tutors Mike (Malinky) Vass and Barry (Spad)Reid we learned three sets to perform. This was our fifteen minute happening.

Karen Matheson passed through our rehearsal area back stage a couple of times and gave us smiles and hellos. I think she probably felt sorry for us as we screeched and droned.
At 8.00pm on Friday night we walked out into the stage in front of the packed hall of Fintry Sports Club and played our wee hearts out. The audience clapped along and gave us a massive applause. The Capercaille show was pretty fine too.

I have heard the bookings are now flooding in.


The Cateran Trail

I found a flyer in a magazine about a new walking trail in Perth and Angus. The circular trail starts and finishes in Blairgowrie. It follows the paths that the Caterans used and takes about five days to complete. Colin and I only had a couple of days so we opted for short sections.

The first section was from Bridge of Cally to Blairgowrie. The track takes a high route over the Cochrage Muir and give the walker wide landscapes of clean ploughed fields and up close and personal access to the many nestling birds in the area. At one point we were surrounded by lapwing mothers flapping over their youngsters, while the fledgling flustered round ground nests wondering what all the fuss was about.

We completed the section in a couple of hours and caught a taxi back to the Bridge of Cally Hotel where we enjoyed a well prepared and presented meal.

The Dalhenzean Lodge B&B, just up the road, was clean, comfortable and gave us the biggest cooked breakfast I have eaten in years. It was just the job to see us off on our next trip.

This time we opted for a variation on the Cateran trail so we could enjoy a circular route. This route took us past Loch Beanie where a fledgling oystercatcher was chirping and birlin in circles like one of those wind up toys you see in Chinese markets, the only difference was this little bird never ran out of spin.

Part of the walk took us on road but it didn't spoil the enjoyment too much. The thousands of lambs we encountered brought back to mind that age old puzzle - Why do such cute lambs turn into ugly sheep? It isn't right somehow.

One lamb made friends with us, I was tempted to stick him in my rucksack but in the end sent him back to his mother.

One lamb trying to make his escape

Chill out time

Eilean Shona - Scotland in miniature

Colin and I have just come back from a week’s holiday on Eilean Shona, a wee island off the west coast of Scotland. The ferry (small rubber dingy) picked us off the mainland at 5.00pm on Saturday, we were walked to our cottage and left to enjoy the peace. We had enough food, drink and books for a week.
Eilean Shona is a sort of mini Scotland. It has some reasonable hills to climb, a diverse international forest, lochs, fine walking, history, wildlife and a fabulous white sandy beach.




The Perfect Red Cottage

The island has a number of holiday cottages. We were staying in Red Cottage which was up a hill on the edge of a forest. There was so much storm damaged dead wood lying around we were encouraged to have a camp fire, which we delighted in doing most evenings.



Afternoon tea at the cottage

Being a mad recycler I was keen to keep the rubbish we produced and left behind to a minimum. The new estate managers, Rose and Ali, had told me that they hoped to create a vegetable garden. I asked if they had a compost heap for my vegetable scrapes, not yet but they had something better. Three pigs who were employed as environmental rotivators, churning up the vegetable patch and grateful for anything you threw at them.



The Three Composters


We failed to see the promised wildlife of pine martin, otter and sea eagle, but we did manage to see deer and grey seals and plenty birds. And we brought some wildlife back with us; the walk to the beach had us wading through some pretty long heather. As a result of this heather bashing both Colin and I have been plucking tics out of our skin ever since. I thought April would have been too early for Scotland’s nasties, but apparently not.



The sun sparkled beach - was it really April? Yes, that's why I still wore my hillwalking boots on the sand


WWF Earth Hour

Just because I was on holiday did not mean I forgot a very important appointment. At 8.30pm on Saturday the 28th of March, Colin and I sat in our wee Red Cottage and watched our wood burning stove glow while we turn off the lights for an hour.


Earth hour - check out how the rest of the country spent the hour

Monty Halls’ Great big illusion-delusion

Sand Beach on the Applecross Peninsula - like Monty Halls, Colin left the MOD submarine base out of the picture.(photo Colin Baird)


It is no secret that one of my favourite places in the world is Applecross in the North West of Scotland. Colin and I had a house there for four years and know the area well. Imagine our delight on finding a programme made there. We watched it with interest last week and again this week. However after the first week my enjoyment was derived not only from the scenery and seeing old pals but also trying to spot how many distortions the BBC can cram into the show.

For anyone who hasn’t seen the show, Monty Hall has moved to a derelict shed on a deserted beach in the wilderness of Applecross, with the desire to live like a crofter. He was able to entice the local population into helping make the shed habitable, this included a guy who was impossible to get hold of when we were there. What the programme fails to point out is that the beach, Sand, is the busiest beach on the Applecross Peninsula and the ‘remote shed’ is only about 200 metres from a MOD submarine base. Like some alien movie the existence of this base has been evaporated and erased from the world of Monty Halls. Those are the most obvious fibs, there are loads of others. I will never believe another thing on the telly again. The programme is worth watch despite Monty Halls believing real life crofters have solar panels to power their iPods and seems to be incapable of catching mackerel with a full kit of high tech fishing gear. Maybe the friendly locals omitted to mention to him that if he drove his landrover four miles down the road to Toscaig Pier and stood with a rod for a couple of hour he would catch loads of mackerel.

Books for a Better World

Being a writer I have to be careful not to annoy anyone who might help sell my book once it is published. Being a reader I can not help being frustrated by the way a certain online bookseller does its business.

Last year I heard that publishers were being manipulated by this bookseller in the same way large supermarkets treat our farmers. Margins were being squeezed so tight the profit was turning from black to red. One publisher stood their ground and refused to reduce their rates. The consequence was the seller removed the BUY NEW button from their site, denying the publisher the sale.

I was enraged and vowed to use my library more and only buy books from the High Street.

Last week I was looking for a book called The Hidden History of Glasgow's Women by the eminent Elspeth King. I tried the Mitchell Library first but they only had a copy in a secured shelf. I would have to locker my bag and sit in a secure room to read it. No good. They could order it for me, but I might have to wait a while.

Being of an impatient nature I tried both the large High Street bookstores. Despite the shelves heaving with 3 for 2 offers of American and UK easy Lit I found no joy when looking for this influential piece of Glasgow history.

I had no option but to turn to my old pals the second hand online seller ABE Books. This reliable portal site puts the shopper in touch with many seller across the country.

But each time I use this option I am faced with a dilemma. The poor old publisher and author still miss out on the sale but the recycling aspect of it appeals. This time the seller I found gave me added bonuses.

Bonus One. They were based in Dunfermline, my home town. Income for the Fifers!

Bonus Two. They are called Better World Books, an organisation that helps literacy across the world and saves books from landfill sites.

Bonus Three. I found two books I was looking for at a low price and they arrived on my doorstep within two working days of being ordered.

The result.

A Better World 3 - Greed 0

Busy, Busy, Busy

The paid work

It has been a while since I last posted a blog but I have a genuine excuse. Before Christmas I punted a couple of ideas round some learning establishments in Glasgow. I had outlines for two courses I thought would be perfect to deliver into the community; A Guide to Successful Living and How to Survive the Credit Crunch. I figured I would have a couple of months’ breathing space to develop the course before anyone organised themselves and booked me. Wrong! A college in North Glasgow booked me to deliver the Credit Crunch course to three separate groups of women. I am now into the fourth week of a ten week course and am just beginning pull the last pieces of the development work together.

The course looks at budgets, debt, money saving tips, smart shopping and even some microwave cooking. It has been a fantastic learning experience for me and I have turned into a fanatic light switcher-offer and standby plug puller.

The novel

If all this teaching isn’t enough to keep me away from my blog I am delighted to report that I still find at least one half day a week to work on my second novel. It can be frustrating to commit to paid work (the course) and to find it is the perfect catalyst for shifting writers block and leaving you yearning to complete the non paid work (the novel). I now miss my main character Ellie when I don’t spend quality time with her in the week. I am halfway through the first draft of the story and want to finish that by July.

The seeds, the seeds

It is seed time again. My carbon footprint project is also ongoing and even though I haven’t spent a huge amount of time on it I do live the ethos daily. One of my main objectives is to step up the food production in the garden. I planted the first of my seeds yesterday and will gradually increase that as the spring arrives.

A new trial for me is using the inside tubes of toilet rolls to make seed pods. I have been collecting them for ages and I am relieved to get them out the way and in use.



You can see the snow in the barrels outside. I hope my November planted garlic will be OK.

A Well Kept Secret

Gartocharn Farmers Market

I heard a rumour that the small village of Gartoharm held a farmers market every Friday. I had passed through the village many times on Fridays and caught no sign of life, but last week I was determined to seek out and find. I drove over at 9.30am. No homemade signs hammered into the verge alerting passers by to this fabled event, nothing. The car in front signalled right and tuned off the main road so I followed. Some police cones lined the pavement, things were looking hopeful. I spotted two elderly men leaving the Village Hall car park carrying shopping bags, but the Village Hall door was open; something was going down in there.

'Where is the farmers market? I shouted out the car at a passing women. She pointed down the road to where droves of people now headed, where did they come from? 'It's just along that lane, follow the crowd.

Result! I parked and headed along a tree lined avenue reminiscent of the boulevards of France. White farm buildings dominated the skyline almost hiding the stunning backdrop of Loch Lomond. Rows of fresh local and imported fruit and vegetables burst from trestle tables. It was indeed just like the French market I stumble upon whenever I visit Paris (but without the fish and cheese). I jostled with the crowds, tripped over pushchairs and rummaged for the best of the fine selection. I loaded my bag with as much as I could carry and went into a shed to pay. Inside the shed there was more to choose from, including at least eight varieties of potatoes.

The other customers greeted each other like old friend and I suspected that the market is not advertised because the locals prefer it that way. Well I am a local too (almost) and I felt privileged to be able to shop here.

I envied the wee woman who trundled her trolley bag back up the avenue. Next week I would be sure to be better prepared.




I didn't have my camera with me on Friday - the craft market is held in the same hall as my Pilate's class

But what was happening in the hall? A weekly craft market, thats what. I enjoyed the luxury of sauntering round the hall, taking a 25p shot at the tombola and not winning, then paying £1.40 for a mug of (not bad) coffee and an indulgent chocolate brownie. I sat and enjoyed the view from the hall window and reflected on life in the country. It is a bit like being thrown into the set of the Archers and realising that it is an enjoyable experience. I can't wait until next week.

Goodbye 2008 - Hello 2009

2008

This Christmas, with the economic recession foremost in all our minds, I decided consumable home made goods would be a good bet as presents. I was a bit worried about the reaction but was amazed that everyone loved the idea and the gifts. The gifts ranged from small goodie bags to large hampers. I filled these with a selection of home made country wines, sloe gin, rowanberry liqueur, ginger wine, chutney, marmalade, pecan and maple tablet, rum and raisin fudge, brandy truffles, shortbread and cake. The best thing about these hampers is that everything in them can be recycled!







Glen Affric - Above the clouds




My year of firsts finished with a visit to a new Hostel just outside Drumnadrochit where I celebrated the arrival of 2009 with friends. The Loch Ness Hostel at Bearnock was luxurious compared to some of the places I have visited in the past. Warm, clean and accessible to the many nearby hills is just what is needed for a winter break.


I have not made a definitive list of first but know that I have surpassed the fifty mark. The highlights for me was my fabulous birthday treat to the Three Chimneys in Skye, the Connect Festival and reading out my poetry in public. It was a memorable way to celebrate my fiftieth birthday year and I know that I will continue to celebrate each new experience in 2009.





A spooky Glen Affric below the clouds










2009

For me every New Year starts with bags of enthusiasm for my over ambitious plans. This year is going to be particularly special for me because I am due to become a grandmother for the first time in May. I also have loads of projects planned.

Here are a few;

Novels

I plan to finish my second novel, working title THE OOTLINS. I have been nibbling away at this story for the past year and although I know what needs to be written I find it hard to motivate myself whilst searching for a publisher for my first novel Torque. No more procrastination. The book will be finished this year.

Community Courses

I have recently been developing two courses to deliver into the community. The one that is attracting most interest is Surviving the Credit Crunch for Families. This can be tailored to any group. I use my past life experience of surviving the Miners Strike in 1984 but I also use day to day home crafts and all round canny practices.

The second course is the Guide to Successful Living which covers all aspects of health, wealth and happiness.

To find out more about these courses visit the website at www.moiramcpartlin.com

Carbon Footprint

My personal project for 2009 is to reduce my carbon footprint. Last year I made a good start on this but I think that with all this financial gloom around just now the time is ripe to push further to reduce the air miles on food and live on local produce.

I had a first stab at this yesterday.



Ta-Dah

As threatened last year I bought a cheese making kit. This first batch of cheese was produced from one litre of locally produced milk. It took ages but it is good fun.

The result of climate change or the return of winter?

Alpine glow on Bidien Shuish


On Friday we drove through scattered snow showers to reach Fort William before the big freeze happened. Our weekend with the Ochil Mountaineers had begun in seasonal style. The Àite Cruinnichidh bunk house at Roy Bridge was the perfect doss for a trip into the abundance of hills nearby. Saturday morning broke through with every drop of precipitation in evidence frozen white. Colin and I and one other OM decided the small Binnein Shuas (746) was a perfect excursion for our winter gear. It was so, so, so cold. What’s going on, November is normally the wet month? This was phenomenal, or maybe I had just forgotten. I certainly can’t remember the last time I donned my balaclava at the car park. We were like puppies let out in the snow for the first time. The three hours to the summit gave us plenty time to dawdle and snap the light.

Our return home on Sunday was just as incredible. At the summit of Rannoch Moor the car told us it was -8.5 outside. The landscape looked like a Christmas cake iced too early. It looked alien. Is this the beginning of the ice age we have been warned about or is it just that we have been due a good hard winter?

Judging from the number of businesses closed down in Fort William (not counting the troubled Woolies), it feels like the Fort could do with a bumper skiing season to pull the town back in full swing. Let’s hope this is the year.



Recipe for the birds

We arrived home with a bump from the dizzy clear heights of the high country to the fog bound Central Belt. The garden birds were down to their last few peanuts so I made then a special treat - Home made bird cake. This counts as a first because I made it first only a couple of weeks ago.

In a large pot melt half a packet of vegetable suet over a slow heat
Add a general wild bird food mix until the suet has been absorbed and all the seeds coated
Pack the crumbly mixture into half coconut shells or any other suitable container. It only takes a couple of minutes to cool and harden. Take outside and sit back to watch your afternoon entertainment; a feeding frenzy and a few spats too.


As I put the food out I couldn’t help worrying about the deer herd I saw down at road level hunting for some food. I hope they will not suffer too much with this early winter.

Just Read Barbara Kingsolver Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Barbara Kingsolver, author of the Poisonwood Bible, is famous for her novel writing but I suspect she is about to become the Al Gore of the literary world. This book chronicle the project she embarked on with her husband and two daughters; to live for a year eating only food sourced within a hundred mile radius of their home in Virginia. This fascinated me because it seemed impossible and I continually searched for holes in their theory. How would they manage without resorting to living through the winter months eating turnip and brussels sprout soup. They achieved it in style.

They did have the benefit of living on a farm and flexible jobs but it could not be denied that they worked hard at making this work.

I loved reading the book. At first I wished that I read it in February because I was itching to grow things but half way thorough I decided November is the perfect time because I now have time to plan how I can make a dent in our food miles.

While reading the book I dragged up a memory of someone trying this in Fife. Google brought me to the Fife Diet. I know Fife isn’t as exotic as Virginia but it is only fifty miles from me and I have to travel there anyway to visit my family so I found their resources most helpful.

Even if you don’t agree with Barbara’s view the book is worth a read for the exquisite and humorous writing.

I’m now off to order my cheese making kit. Thanks for the idea Barbara.

Remembrance

Last week I trailed round my village with a red can and a bag of plastic poppys to try to persuade people to part with their money for the Scottish Poppy Appeal. The week before all the poppy volunteers gathered in the village hall to watch this video.

It should be shared with everyone; the statistics are shocking.

Please watch this and give to the Scottish Poppy Appeal if you are as moved by it as I was.



Let us hope Obama and Brown can sort this out.

Joan Baez wows Glasgow

Another first for me. Last night I witnessed the hard men of Glasgow simper under the hypnotic vocals of legend Joan Baez. The show at the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall was special for me because having just learned the rudiments of guitar I have a renewed love of all things folk.

Joan Baez was a huge draw when I was a child and to have the chance to see her singing live was a privilege.

This lady, who has shorn her hippy hair, now looks stunning with a trendy silver crop. She retains the crisp vocals and astounding range of early Joan. However she did admit last night, after forgetting lyrics for a second time, that her brain cells are not what they were. Her band played a little out of sync with her; this was explained when she introduced them as having met her only a week and a half ago. Because of this I enjoyed her solo set best, just Joan and her guitar.

It is a testament of our time, that her signature protests songs have now been reintroduced into the set. Dylan's God On Our Side was particularly telling.

The humor was provided by the guy in the first row who persisted in shouting out requests, despite Joan's plea for a translator. The affection the crowd poured towards Lady Joan was touching. I suspect she has a long career ahead of her.


Just Read The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver



In my quest to read more African books in 2008 than I have in my previous fifty years, it was a delight to stumble upon Poisonwood Bible in the Bibliocafe. The book is a former Oprah book club choice but, having now peeked into the list, with some exceptions, I am beginning to think that is no bad thing.

Set in the Belgian Congo at the time of Independence, this novel tells the tale of an evangelical minister who drags his wife and four daughters into the jungle to convert the natives. Told through the five very distinctive female voices, this is a masterpiece in character, plot and sentiment. With the exception of War and Peace it is the best book I have read this year.

Food for Free but no vitamin D

One of my few sunflowers not felled under the weight of August's rain.

Experts said on the radio yesterday that the people of Scotland suffer from a vitamin D deficiency because the sun's rays refuse to shine here. Looking at the weather today I can see their point but there is so much more going for us that we forget to look beyond what the experts tell us.

Last night's full moon could not been seen through the rain clouds, but I knew it was there. I am inclined to call this the Harvest Moon although that technically is not correct; the Harvest Moon is the moon after the first frost and miraculously we haven’t had a frost yet. But harvesting is what I did most of the weekend. The wet summer means the hedgerows are dripping with produce and there is enough for me and the birds. The day was dry and bright on Sunday and Colin and I stepped just outside our door and foraged for sloe berries, rowan berries and brambles. The hawthorn is in abundance too but we had run out of bags when we reached them. I also collected some beechnuts which I intend to roast.

And like last year I collected pounds of plums and damsons from my neighbours’ trees. Yesterday while the rain poured down and the sun refused to gift the Scots with their necessary dose of vitamin D, I spend the afternoon in the warm company of the radio making compote, jam, chutney, wine, sloe gin and rowan berry liqueur. I think we now have more than enough sugar and alcohol in that batch to see us through the wet winter.

I just need to find my own herring stock and then the vitamin D problem will be sorted.



My barrel garden

More firsts

The harvest in the garden has also been a bumper. In keeping with my Fifty First Timers here is a list of all the vegetables and fruit I grew successfully for the first time this year;
Peppers, cucumber, cauliflower, leeks, celery, asparagus pea, red onion, tomatillo and Brussel sprouts. I am also attempting to grow aubergine but as yet they have to bear fruit. Rhubarb, gooseberry and blackberry, have also been planted this year although the birds had the feast of the harvest there. I grew marigolds from seed and used these as a companion plant for the greenhouse plants. It was amazing to watch them being shredded by tiny beasts while the veg plants were left to grew in peace.

If the food prices continue to rise at their present rate I may have to put in even more effort next year to reduce my food air miles and the strain on my budget.

to be admired

Congratulations Team GB! Nineteen Olympic gold medals and a shed load of others. I am please that the Olympics were such a success. The British reporters on the ground in Beijing were heaping praise on the organisation and the friendliness of the volunteers. Well done Beijing.

And come on London - you have a lot to live up to now.


Leave the girl alone

I was stunned at the weekend to hear normally egalitarian friends slagging off Madonna,

What is she like?
She should act her age
Why can’t she grow old gracefully?
She should be at home knitting

Kntting!

This woman is a dancer by profession, why can’t she be allowed to do her job. I have never heard anyone saying that Mike Jagger should grow old gracefully, they say of him ‘Isn’t it great he still rocks.’

I reminded these so called liberal thinkers that Dame Margot Fonteyn did not start dancing with Nureyev until she was forty three and she did not retire until she was sixty.

If fifty is the new forty then I think Madonna has a few years left before she needs to pick up her knitting needles.

Rant

Be Nice

Some B*****d has hijacked my email. I was first alerted to this yesterday by a friend and am still trying to resolve the problem with Google.

What amazes me is the various reactions to the spam blast that was sent out from my mail. Most people are concerned and let me know, while others send nasty requests for me not to send such mails to them ever again. Why oh why do people find it so easy to be nasty on email.

Come on guys; let’s be civil to each other out there in cyber space. It wasn’t my fault, honest.


TV and Newspaper reports

I was fed up with the BBC coverage of the lead up to the Olympics. They appeared to be obsessed with the pollution in Bejing, but I was appalled my Kirsty Wark’s biased discussion about the opening ceremony on Newsnight on Friday. The report stressed that there was no reference to Mao in the celebrations and that China seems to have conveniently forgotten its past. When a young Chinese guy in the studio tried to point out that London would probably not dwell on slavery, colonialism and Northern Ireland when their time came, he was dismissed and the debate was handed back to a North American journalist who rubbished the whole games. This happened several times during the debate, was blatant and embarrassing to watch.

Kirsty was not finished, she then went on deliver another bias report on the situation on Georgia, leaving the interviewee visibly bemused by her slanted attitude. I don’t know the full story of this dispute because she was too busy trying to score anti Russian points to allow the story to emerge. I only watched Newsnight becasue it followed QI and I thought it might have shown highlights of the opening ceromany. I will remember to switch off in future.

I gave up reading newspapers a long time ago because their biased views and reports are dictated by the fat cats that own them.

They say their reports are in the public interest, but the public I speak to are sick of it.

I read the Metro which gives the facts; that after all is what I am looking for, not hidden agendas. The rest I can pick off the internet.

Phew, I feel better now.

Five Firsts on my Fifty Week

Three Chimneys, Skye


What a fantastic time I had. I was amazed that I managed five first. A couple were expected but not five.

Fifty First Timer No. 22
Stay and eat that the Three Chimney’s on Skye

This has been on my wish list for year. The Three Chimneys is reputed to be one of the best restaurants in the world. I didn’t realise they also had accommodation, so imagine my surprise when I discovered my birthday treat was two nights dinner, bed and breakfast at this exclusive establishment.

The drive up through Glen Coe and The Great Glen was dramatic with sun and sheet rain. We arrived at the House Over-by at 5.30 with just enough time to gaze in wonder at the view, experience the luxury of the room and dress for 7.30pm dinner.

That first glass of chilled champagne fair went doon a treat.

My starter was succulent scallops this was followed by the freshest oysters I have ever slurped, they were juicy and ripe and perfect. My main course included a first (see below) - Lamb with heart, sweetbread and kidney. Yummy.

We were too full for pudding because every course seemed to be preceded by an appetiser - pan fried mackeral on goosberry puree was about five mouthfuls too small - we settled for coffee, some dinky little cakes and a dram to finish off. I could see beads of relief wave off Colin’s brow when we were informed the 25 year old Talisker was finished, I had to settle for a 10 year old.



Fifty First Timer No. 23
Eat Sweetbread

I am conscious that a number of these first include eating weird food, but I am a foodie, I have to try everything at least once.

When I was younger and lived in Fife I bought all my meat from a travelling butcher’s van – Bert The Butcher. He came every Wednesday and Saturday and I always bought the same thing, mince, bacon, beef, square sausage for Sunday Breakfast. Ladies would flock to the van. ‘ony sweet breads the day Bert?’ they would ask. I was always curious as to what the elusive and desirable sweet breads were

I later found to my horror that it was testicle. And I still did until I checked before posting this blog.

I thought I had no desire to try this but couldn’t resist when it was offered with the lamb dish. It was delicious fried but not as nice as the heart, which I think I have tried before.

How naive was I? I now find out that sweet bread is a gland near the heart.

There you go, another urban (or Fife) myth bites the dust.

Fifty First Timer No. 24
See a Minke Whale

After a luxurious nights sleep we ate our fill at the House Over-by breakfast table. Homemade muffins, breads, pancakes, oatcakes Scones and applesauce, marmalade, jam. There was also smoked salmon, fish pate, cheese, fruit and a smoked salmon omelette on offer. We had to at least attempt to walk some of this off.

The Three Chimneys is located in the south west portion of Skye, an area we had never explored before. We drove round tiny single track roads to Neist Point where a well laid out path took us to a light house which can be rented as holiday accommodation. Loads of sea bird activity just off the shore alerted us. Some children were screaming with delight and jumping up and down. We rushed down to see what was happening.

I stared at the sea for about ten minutes watching the gulls dive bomb the waves and was rewarded with the sight of a small black fin and then the sweep of a black curled back arching out of the sea and sinking below the depth before I could take the camera out of its case. There was no doubt with that shape and size I had just encountered my first Minke Whale, out for a spot of fishing. We hung around for ages hoping for another glimpse but we only saw a few black fins. I felt privileged.



Sunset over Taransay from Horgabost camp site

Fifty First Timer No. 25
Visit Lewis and Harris

We left Uig in Skye on a CalMac ferry bound for Tarbert, Harris on Monday afternoon. We left the unusual sunshine on Skye for a murky Harris, where the clouds skiffed the roads. The missel soaked us during the ten minutes it took us to pitch our tent and carry our gear from the car to the pitch which was high on machair on a beach side site at Horgabost.
The campsite proved to be idylic so we stayed all week. White sand, bird watching, and the creaking gate call of the corncrake merged with the sound of crashing waves to lull you to sleep.

The next morning proved no better weather wise so we plumped to explore Lewis.
After reading Stornoway Way by Kevin MacNeil I expected a grim town, but Stornoway turned out to be a pretty little fishing town with fine brick buildings, an excellent art centre featuring local artists and crafts and a few good cafes. There were loads of pubs though and this is maybe where the tarred reputation of Stornoway stems from.

While we could still see the road from the mist we headed south to the Callanish Standing Stones.
These are described as the most spectacular megalithic standing stones in Scotland. They are impressive standing tall and fast against the western storms. There is something very touching about the fact that people gathered together and took such care 4000 years ago to erect these stones. I wonder then if they realised the fuss folks would make all these years later.

It was a good day to see the stones, not too many people milling around spoiling photo shots and quite dramatic backdrops.



Callanish Standing Stones





Fifty First Timer No. 26
Have a drink in an inflatable pub

I am pleased to say the weather improved. So much so we were forced to go for a drink in a pub. The main hotel in Tarbert is being renovated; the bar is out of commission for months, what could they do? They took a bouncy castle approach and erected an inflatable bar. It would have been perfect had it not been made out of plastic and had real window instead of painted on ones. Inside the bar on this hot day was like being inside the inside of a wellie. Everyone preferred to sit outside in the 24°heat.



Inflatable Pub, Tarbert






Back to auld claes and porridge



View from Skoon Art Cafe, Harris - The best plum and oatmeal muffins ever.

A trip doon the water

Wemyss Bay Station

Fifty First Timer No.13
Didn’t we have a lovely time the day we went to Rothesay.

Rothesay - one time holiday destination for almost everyone living in the west of Scotland. The town nestles on the eastern shore of the small Isle of Bute in the Clyde Estuary. And I have never been there!

Two of my writing cohorts from our group The Mitchell Sisters agreed to accompany me even thought they are both seasoned Rothesayites. The transport is straightforward. One return ticket covers the train to Weymss Bay, ferry to Rothesay, bus and entrance fee to Mount Stuart house.

The Victorian style station at Weymss Bay is a give away for what is in store. On the island’s grand sea-front, houses big enough for family and servants, tell of rich Glasgow merchants escaping the grime of the city to this gentler shores. Later the working classes cottoned on to this gem in the Clyde and paddle steamers transported hoards ‘doon the water’ to spend the Glasgow Trades fortnight at the seaside.

Sadly this trend died out with the advent of cheap packages to Spain and the town became the tired seaside haunt that is evident up and down the coasts of the UK. But there is work afoot to change that. Building work at the ferry terminal hints at a turning tide for the tired old lady of the Clyde and the town is close enough to Glasgow to be a desirable weekend bolthole.




The Mitchell Sisters

Our destination is >Mount Stuart House, the ancestral home of the present Marquis of Bute, racing driver Johnny Dumfries.

I had heard that a Mark Neville exhibition is being staged there and was keen to see his latest project. Mark Neville is the photographer who took photos of working class people in Port Glasgow, a depressed shipbuilding town and gifted each resident exclusive copies of the resultant coffee table book.

The Mount Stuart exhibition focuses on the rural, agricultural classes and with the use of different lighting techniques he captures stunning images of these hard working folk which is evocative of Russian portraits.

The guided tour of Mount Stuart House lasts an hour. Two memorable sights from that visit are the black calcified marble on the stairs, where fossilised sea creatures are captured for eternity and the discovery of more striking photos; a quick trip to the toilets reveals a hidden set of photos taken during the Great War when the house was used as a Naval Hospital. The setting for the hospital is grand and unique but the suffering is captured in the wounded sailor’s eyes.



Mount Stuart Gardens

The power of good writing

A Play, a Pie and a Pint

On Friday I bussed it into Glasgow to watch some lunchtime theatre at Oran Mhor. I may have featured A Play, A Pie and A Pint before but it is always worth a plug. I made an extra effort last week because the play was written by Denise Mina so it was sure to be a winner. I saw her first play Ida Tamson performed there last year and was gripped by the story of a granny squaring up to a Glasgow hard man.

Last week’s play was A Drunk Woman Looks at the Thistle which is an adaptation of Hugh MacDairmid’s poem A Drunk Man Looks at the Thistle.
When I arrived at Oran Mhor half an hour before the box office door opened, I was stunned to see a growing queue. I was informed that the play’s star was Karen Dunbar, a popular Scottish comic actress and that The Herald had awarded the play five stars.

It lived up to its reputation. Karen gave a virtuoso performance of this epic poem which analyses the Scottish identity and psyche and put a few hypocritical noses in the audience out of joint. It is a piece of Scottish writing that is well overdue and I applaud not only Karen Dunbar for performing it with such energy and fun, but Denise Mina for having the guts to write it in the first place.

A mention should also be made of Alison Peebles who directed the play. Every Alison Peebles play I have had the pleasure to watch has been executed with perfection.

You can read the script here, but be warned the language is strong and it is not for the faint hearted.


Just read

It’s been yonks since I featured a ‘Just Read’. That isn’t because I haven’t been reading; it is because either the book hasn’t been worth mentioning or because I have been reading tons of research material that no one else would be bothered about.


Brazzaville Charms




One research book is however worth a mention. It is Brazzaville Charms by Cassie Knight, subtitled ‘Magic and Rebellion in The Republic of Congo’.

I was fascinated by this book, firstly because, I am ashamed to admit, I knew nothing about The Congo and didn’t realise there was Belgium Congo and French Congo, which is pretty dim of me because I have stamps from both colonies.

The second major aspect about this book was that it made me angry and the more I read the angrier I became and will remain. Angry about Colonialism; angry about how oil and power seem more important than people; angry about poorly managed forestry and the destruction of the second largest rainforest in the world.
Angry that the world can sit back and watch oil, and forestry companies conspire with the Congolese government to allow a resource rich country remain one of the poorest in the world.

The writer may exert a certain amount of bias in this book but the facts are staggering in their simplicity. She uses a clear and unpretentious style to make her case of exploitation of a people and country she is passionate about.

Read it and feel as enraged as I was. Everyone needs to feel this anger before something positive is achieved here.


Cat’s Eyes by Margaret Atwood was also a research book but I would probably have worked my way round to reading it eventually.



Cat’s Eyes is a story of girls bullying girls and how this situation can affect all parties’ life choices. The story swaps back and forth in the life of one of the girls, Elaine. As an adult she returns to Toronto where she grew up and was tortured by her little class mate Cordelia. Although Elaine is now a successful artist she is still haunted by Cordelia, and this visit peels open old wounds.

The descriptions of the bullying are as subtle as real life girl bullying is, but there are a few episodes that bordered on criminal behaviour and I feel might have been better left out.

As always Atwood spins a good story with solid, well crafted prose. Every time I read one of her books I learn something about my own writing. She is a master.

Old and New

Fifty First Timer No.12

Visit the Smith Institute, Stirling. (Now named Stirling Smith Museum)

It has been my ambition to visit this unique local museum ever since I attended a lecture by its Director Dr Elspeth King. That was twelve years ago, but it was worth the wait. The museum is housed in what looks like a Greek temple, a style much favoured in the eighteen hundreds. It was gifted to the city by Thomas Stuart Smith, whose family story is so similar to that of Kidnapped’s David Balfour, it is believed that Robert Louis Stevenson was inspired whist visiting the institute and dealt himself a ‘truth is stranger than fiction’ card.

There are three exhibit rooms in the museum. The first, small room, is adjacent to the one café I failed to try on my travels. This room houses a painting exhibition by Greer Ralston. All paintings are of horses and although I am not partial to animal paintings, I couldn't help be impressed with the emotions captured in each subject’s eyes, it is chilling.

The next exhibit is my favourite, the history of publishing in Scotland, how lucky. There is particular emphasis on Stirling Printers Eneas MacKay, who published many works by SRL and MacDiarmid, among others.

The last exhibit appears to be a permanent feature, with local archives reaching back to the Bronze Age. I was enthralled by a short film explaining the demise of the mining industry in the area.

Twelve years is a long time to put off a visit, but now I have witnessed what is on offer I will be pop in on the passing.

Planted

One lilac tree and buddleia; to encourage the birds and the bees and the butterflies into the garden.

One kerria and saxifrage, planted in an painted old fireplace. I saw a kerria while visiting my brother in hospital and fell in love with its delicate apricot flowers.

Two broom bushes beside the grasses. I love broom, the hedgerows sparkle with it at the moment. I suppose I could have gone out and dug a clump but if everyone did that there would be no hedgerows left.

One rowan tree. A friend gave me a tiny sapling in a plastic bottle. I planted it yesterday and already it looks at home. It is widely believed in Scotland that no home should be without a rowan tree. We left one behind when we moved here. Now I feel our home is complete.