Country Life

The winners along with a peely wally bottle of Sloe Gin that didn't stand a chance. Now I know.




There are a few drawback to living in the country but not many. I was brought up in a small village in Fife so I embrace country life. When I moved into this area four years ago I was determined to try to join the community. This is hard if, like me, you are not a member of the church or have children at school. The Annual Village Show, is a great way to support your village and see the natives at play.

I have never shown vegetables before but I do know it is a deadly serious business. This was my first year at the show and I treated it as a vegetable reccy. I had however entered into Women's Rural Shows before, so I know the score with jam and scones. I entered seven exhibits into the Preserves and Wine categories. Imagine my surprise when I found I had won two firsts, a second and a third. The locals must have wondered who this incomer was.

I took my time doing the rounds of the vegetable exhibits, noting the style of presentation and the winners' good points. Next year I will enter my vegetables but judging from the monumental size of some of the onion and leek exhibits I doubt if my efforts will raise much excitement among the seasoned winners.









My new raised bed will help my chances at next year's show.
The jungle between the bed and the green house is a crop of sweet corn and butternut squash. They are both first timers in my garden. The sweetcorn is a great success, the butternut squash, I am still waiting to see.













A Lovely Thing

Today while walking home along the West Highland Way I met a young lad of about nineteen or twenty. He wore cheap, obviously new, waterproofs similar to the type I had when I first started walking. He was grinning from ear to ear.
'There's a calf just been born, just back there,' he said in a strong Glasgow accent.
'What a way to start my week's holiday,' he continued before marching off with pride.

His joy was infectious and I hope he sees many more wondrous sights on his way to Fort William.

I walked only a few feet further on and watched the mother finish licking her baby and the little one take its first shoogly steps on this fine earth.

The Importance of Being Moira

I did two significant things today.

First I posted off my application for a writer's bursary. If I am lucky enough to be selected for this I will receive money to continue the research for my novel and further the development of my creative writing courses.

The second was to go to Glasgow's Western Infirmary for a chest Xray. My doctor suggested this because she is not happy with my persistent cough. While I was sitting in the waiting room I finished the excellent book, My Year Off by Robert McCrum, which is an honest account of the author's recovery from a stroke he had when he was only forty two years old. This may not have been the best book to read in a hospital waiting room but a loved one recently suffered a similar fate and I wanted to understand the condition.




As I walked out onto Church Street I thought about the fragility of our lives and how, in seconds, our futures can drastically change course. I thought about the possible outcomes of my application and my Xray. One I hope is positive, the other negative, no guesses as to which outcome goes with which event.

Such ponderings could have led to low spirits, but they didn't. They provided me with a startling clarity of what is important in my life. My spirits lifted, I treated myself to a delicious lunch at Peter's Restaurant, Hyndland Street, I tried on expensive dresses I couldn't afford in Hyndland Road and I found and bought the handbag I have been seeking for almost two years. This seems very indulgent and it was, but I also had fun haggling with the fruit seller in Bryes Road and selecting fish for the freezer from the fish monger.

Now I am at home, when I should be somewhere else.

I am sitting in a cosy kitchen, sipping a glass of my home made wine, listening to the radio and admiring the ruby red pots of plum jam and plum compote I have just made for Colin and my lovely family who I am going to visit tomorrow.

A Reflective Post

Enough of gardening, persistent coughs and bad weather. I heard this song on the radio the other day and couldn't believe I had never come across it before. Where have I been?





It is like a musical version of Desiderata by Max Ehrmann which was written almost ninety years ago and runs like this:

"Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass.

Take kindly to the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy."

But don't forget the sunscreen

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

The difference between the English and the Scots is...

While the English commentators were happily comparing Andy Murray's expected win to 1966, we Scots were hiding behind our sofas, scared to look in case our interest might hex the boy and make him lose. Why are we like this? We have had it beaten into us since the cradle - "don't get too big for your boots now!"

Today Andy shook off the national curse, and played his wee heart out. Next year he will win for sure.


More Firsts





Someone asked me the other day if I am still collecting Firsts. In a way I am and always will. One first this week was the harvest of my first time growing beans. They were delicious steamed and served with local venison stew and redcurrant sauce (another first - last years redcurrants were enjoyed by the crows).

Unfortunately my garden is dripping with produce waiting to be picked and I am off on holiday for two weeks. My house sitters and garden waterers will have a great feast while I am way.


Classic moment of the day

Just spotted - a car with driver and passenger who looked as though they had eaten all the pies and were searching for more. Emblazoned on the car side "Want to loose weight? Contact us" I think not!

The Good, The Bad and The Privileged

The story of Molendinar Family Learning Centre.



The Eco Flag flies above flowers donated earlier in the day by a local gardener.


I have been working this year with a group of mothers at the Molindinar Family Centre. The Centre is situated in Blackhill in the East End of Glasgow. Wikipedia describe Blackhill as "developed as a council housing estate in the 1930s. Most of the new development was designated Rehousing, the lowest grade of council housing intended for those cleared from Glasgow's 19th century slums". In the last decade the estate has been rejuvenated and the Molendinar Centre is one of the many success stories of that rejuvenation.

The Centre has a three large nurseries and a parents room. In the past year they have successfully worked for, and been awarded with their Eco Flag. I have been working with the parents to grow vegetables and herbs and the nurseries have been growing flowers. Tyres and boxes have been painted by the parents and a couple of weeks ago we planted them up.

When I arrived last week I found the lot had been vandalised. I was told that some youths had rampaged the outside area and thought it would be fun to destroy this hard work. The children and the mothers had cried when they saw the damage.

The Evening Times reported the incident on Monday. When I arrived yesterday the scene had transformed. Flowers bloomed from every corner of the Centre. Local residents had turned out in force to donate money and flowers to repair the damage.

This is an example of how the actions of a few callous youths can be overturned by the kindness of the community. I have no doubt that community will win in the end.

It has been a privilege for me to work in Blackhill and I am looking forward to working with them again in the future.