Dear Readers!

Hey, Just a quick note to let you all know….that if you read my recent blog entry sometime before today, you might want to check back here and re-read that post….I inadvertently posted a draft on Friday, OOPS! But, after a lovely weekend hiking and biking in the highlands, I posted the completed blog (complete with photo links from my most recent trip to Spain and Morocco!)  today. I think you will find it is a much better read!

I guess, that’s what you get for leaving three months between blogs – you forget what you’re doing! Anyway, sorry for the confusion!

 

Helloooooooo, Again!

Some of you have been asking, “What gives, Stookie? Why haven’t you been blogging?” While I could concoct a widely creative excuse, the truth of the matter is that I am someone with a terrific penchant for over-reaching and underperforming. I am also a terrible time manager. These personal truths were brought into acute focus for me over the course of this past year – My “gap year” as they call it.

Now in the last month of my gap year, I realize that despite having no job and really no responsibilities to speak of whatsoever, I still have not done nearly a quarter of the things I thought I would do during this year off.  I haven’t, for example, awoken each morning to go for a jog and do yoga, as I had imagined myself doing. I kid you not when I say, I did yoga one morning this entire year. It was on July 13^th. I haven’t bagged even one Munroe, let alone the “well, not all of them, but most of them”, that I had imagined bragging about upon my return. I did not develop a thriving, busy and wildly profitable cottage industry making jewellery, as I had hoped (still, thanks Kevin and Ingrid for your purchases).  I haven’t written a novel, or even blogged weekly like I said I would.  I have not met the man of my dreams.  In fact, I only went on two dates this entire year, which I suppose is at least better than my yoga efforts.

Maybe this is what a gap year gives you – with nothing else to get in your way but yourself, it gives you a chance to become intimately familiar with your weaknesses and personal failings.  It is a chance to stare those little bastards in the face, size them up, dance around them, poke and pull at them, and really get to know them.

Having said that, and this is a terrible thing to admit as a social worker, and perhaps another personal failing, quite probably a major one, but I have never been a big fan of self-awareness.  I mean what do you do with it? Maybe others do something with it, but not me. I never really have. It’s kinda of like when my friend Sandra’s cat got frostbite on her ear and it dried up and fell off, and she batted it around on the floor, meowed at it, and looked at it kind of strangely, not sure where it had come from, or why, or what to do with it.  That’s how I feel about self-awareness when I have it.  So I’ve got these faults, eh? Hunh….interesting….., and then that’s it.

Of course, all of this probably makes me sound horrifically ungrateful for this year abroad, but this is something I am most assuredly not. If anything this year has given me an even greater sense of gratitude for the life I do have, and the opportunities it provides, and particularly for all those people in my life, who love me despite my many, many failings.

I am also making it sound like I haven’t been doing anything at all, which is patently untrue. In case you are wondering, yes, minimizing my own experiences is indeed one of my personal failings.  It’s a BIG one. In fact, since my last blog entry I have:

- waitressed at the Edinburgh Conference Centre for several award events that have hosted the likes of Bob Geldof and Princess Margaret, and at a posh event at Murrayfield Stadium during the 6 Nation Rugby matches, that Daniel Craig attended.  That’s right – Bond. James Bond.

           – made two trips to London – which I LOVED.

- had a golf lesson at the Longniddry Golf Club, in the middle of February just for the experience of it, and really quite liked it, though it was blowing a snell wind

- learned a little more Scottish, like, “snell wind”.

- made more pretty (I think) jewellery – (see my shop at Etsy – OiseauDesigns)

- after 26 years, made my return to ballet with adult classes at Dance Base in Edinburgh….not pretty….but way more enjoyable than I anticipated.  Started attending swimming and Pilates regularly again too. I cannot tell you how grateful my body is! Well, was…

- AND…..spent 6 weeks traveling around Spain and Morocco! Yep, it involved camels. Click on these photo links to see more:

So, not so bad, eh?  Really, quite, quite excellent.  And, I guess if it comes with a little self-awareness in the process, so be it.  It’s not like I’ll do anything with it anyway.

Tags: Bob Geldof, Daniel Craig, Edinburgh, Gap year, James Bond, London, Morocco, Murrayfield Stadium, RBS 6 Nations Rugby

Robbie Burns Night

January is a bleak month in Scotland. There is very little daylight, with the sun only half-heartedly glancing at Scotland from around 8 am to 3pm. The weather doesn’t help. It is mostly rainy and drizzly, most of the time (Yes, two ‘mosts’. It’s a sentiment that requires it).  Dreich days as the Scots would say.  It isn’t particularly cold, but at the same time it is the worst cold I have ever experienced. So, it is no surprise that January 25^th, the national celebration of Scottish poet Robbie Burns’ birth is met with great relief by Scottish people across the country.  Here is an opportunity to cozy up to a fire, eat warming traditional Scottish food, drink good whiskey, sing songs, play music, recite poetry, and essentially let the frost that has settled on your bones thaw for a while.

Though Robbie Burns Nights happen worldwide and wherever Scottish people have settled (which is really everywhere – intrepid Scots!), this was my first Robbie Burns celebration and I felt very excited to be celebrating it right here in Scotland – The motherland.

Always wanting to contribute, I offered yet again to make haggis from scratch.   This was met with silence and a rather pained looking eye twitch from Finlay (my Scottish host).  So, I let pass another haggis making opportunity for the sake of my relationship with my hosts, and opted instead to make Cranachan, a traditional Scottish dessert made with cream, whiskey, toasted oats and fresh fruit (traditionally raspberries).  This also seemed like a good opportunity to learn to make Meringues, a distinctly more prevalent dessert in these parts, and something I had been wanting to learn how to make.  Finlay and Kirsten agreed with this plan wholeheartedly.

The menu at a Burns Supper is pretty straight forward and given no one in Scotland actually makes haggis themselves anymore, a pretty easy meal to prepare.  There is the haggis, of course, which is a kind of jumbo-sized sausage made from the offal (innards) of a sheep, oatmeal, and pepper.  This is served with neeps and tatties (or mashed turnip and potatoes), and all of it is followed by a traditional Scottish dessert, most often Cranachan, and lots of good single malt whiskey.

Besides the food, which is very traditional, The Burns Supper is perhaps the most Scottish event of the year.  It is filled with singing, music, and poetry and it celebrates the life of a man who himself embodies the self-made, from lowly beginnings to fame and wealth character, which is so very Scottish (think: Carnegie, Alexander Mackenzie ,David Livingstone, Billy Conolly…). Robbie Burns was a ploughboy born in a two-room thatched cottage that his father had built. A family that, like many Scottish families, valued education above almost anything else, Burns’ father worked hard to provide his sons with their own tutor. An avid reader, much of Burns’ education, would later come through his own reading.  Burns went on to great fame and fortune through the publication of his poetry.  His most famous poems include: Auld Lang Syne; Tam O’ Shanter; and A Red, Red Rose.

The Burns Supper at Northfield House did not disappoint.  After a glass of champagne by the fire in the drawing-room, the 18 other guests and I were escorted to the dining room where a long table was set with porcelain, glass, and silver, all shimmering in candlelight. After we were seated, next on the night’s agenda was The Presentation of the Haggis.  It inspired awe and child-like excitement around the room, as the haggis was traditionally piped in, and rather untraditionally topped with two roman candles spurting light into the room.  Before we all dug in, the haggis was well and truly honoured by Finlay’s dramatic and  energetic (verging on manic but in a good way) recitation of the Address to A Haggis.  Red wine and heaping spoonfuls of haggis, neeps and tatties, made the rounds amongst jovial, excited chatter. And my Cranachan and Meringues were a hit! Also for dessert we had another creamed, boozy pudding called Dean’s Cream, brought by another guest.

It is traditional that guests should perform at a Burns Supper. In my excitement to participate as fully as I could in the experience, I had decided I would take this opportunity to do my first public performance of a song on my ukulele.  I chose the song, Lester the Lobster, a song that I felt was on one hand, a fun little song, representative of my family’s Prince Edward Island roots, a place predominantly settled by the Scottish and Irish, and on the other hand, only had three chords and an easy tune.  Only a few hours before the dinner, however, I came to my sense and decided not to perform.  THANK GOD, I came to my senses!

The performances at this Burns Supper were perfectly executed readings of poetry and prose that were either clever and witty, or breathtakingly beautiful.  There were heartbreaking (and not the achy breaky kind) songs, some sung in Gaelic, and brilliant personal creations.  Had I sung Lester the Lobster by Stevedore Steve, which would have been neither, clever, nor heartbreakingly beautiful, let alone perfectly performed, I fear I would have been left sitting there, red-faced and feeling like the bottom feeding crustacean the song is about.

Usually, deciding not to participate (which is frequent) leaves me feeling regretful and disappointed in myself. But, on this night, I felt very chuffed (a Scottish word for proud of oneself) about my wonderfully insightful decision.  Stevedore Steve’s Lester the Lobster is a song that still holds a dear place in my heart, with memories of family bonfire sing-alongs on the beach in Prince Edward Island.  It’s best not to tarnish these kind of memories by performing them badly internationally. Had I not had my eleventh-hour epiphany, it could have been one of those horrifically shame-filled nights that still make your stomach hurt when you recall them, like ten years later. Instead, it was a great, great night.

Tags: Auld Lang Syne, Burns Supper, Cranachan, David Livingstone, Edinburgh, haggis, Lester the Lobster, Prince Edward Island, Red Rose, Robbie Burns, Robert Burns, Scotland, Scottish

Christmas in Edinburgh

I had only one piece of shortbread during the entire holiday season in Edinburgh.  Only one…..In Scotland!!  Shocking and disappointing as this was, there was plenty of magic in Edinburgh’s festive season events to make up for it.

Each year, the city of Edinburgh turns on the Christmas cheer, drawing tourists in from around the world with the strange and wonderful.  This includes:  an ice rink surrounded by green grass and an open air water park; a giant neon lit Ferris wheel and amusement park at the foot of the iconic and historic Scott Monument; a German market; a parade of fire; and the awe-inspiring combination of tack and charm that is the Panto.  All of this then culminates with arguably the best New Year’s fireworks in the world.

I began to feel the warmth of the holiday season in earnest when I went into town with my friend Louise to do some Christmas shopping.  We had lunch at Henderson’s on Hanover Street – a favourite family run vegetarian restaurant that has been around since the 60’s.  With our bellies warmed with good homemade soup and bread, we set off shopping.  We sampled every hand cream on offer at Crabtree and Evelyn, bought Christmas craft supplies, oohed and ahhed at a little boutique selling local jewellery and gifts, and visited the haberdashery at John Lewis to pick up the yarn needed for my various Christmas knit projects.  We ended with a visit to Armstrong’s, a long-standing second-hand clothing shop in the Grassmarket area  of Edinburgh, where I was very excited to discover a whole wall of women’s second-hand cashmere sweaters – a whole wall! I bought a sweater and Louise bought a funky blue velvet jacket.  A good, cheery day.

Another pre-Christmas trip into Edinburgh with my friend Margaret to explore the German Market also contributed to my pre-Christmas festive mood. Most people go to the German Market for a mug of warmed german wine, but we were beside ourselves with glee to discover a vendor selling Danish Hotdogs – complete with sweet pickles and the little fried crispy onions – Heaven! We then had fun together shopping for the wee ones in our lives at Jenner’s toy shop, which is one of the cornerstone department stores of Prince’s Street, Edinburgh’s primary shopping strip. Carried away with the festive atmosphere surrounding the Market and the amusement park at the Scott Monument, both Margaret and I went a little snap happy with our cameras.  Here are some of my photos from that day(see slide show at the bottom for more photos):

 Finally, Christmas Eve was upon us. Finlay’s family began to arrive which set Northfield House into a bustle of festive activity.  There was food to cook, and a tree, as well as the rest of the house to decorate with candles, holly, ivy and sprays of yew branches.  I also made decorative hearts out of cranberries and wire, and Gisela, Finlay’s lovely sister, made a beautiful wreath.   A traditional Scottish fish pie dinner with some gift opening in the evening, and the lighting of the candles on the tree (Finlay’s mother is Dutch) marked the official start of Christmas at Northfield House.

Christmas Day was filled with more of the same, but culminated in a mid-day Christmas feast of roast chicken and ham and…Cumberland Sauce – Oh! Cumberland Sauce, how I love you!  Feeling satisfied  and satiated, we languidly lounged on the couches in the drawing-room, and at the appointed hour we, like every other British household, tuned in to watch the Downton Abbey Christmas Special and joined our voices to the collective sigh of relief heard across the UK, when Matthew and Mary finally agreed to marry.

While Christmas is special, it doesn’t hold a candle to the importance of the New Year in Scotland. Referred to in Scotland as Hogmanay, this is perhaps the most important public holiday in Scotland.  As a result, people come from all over the world to celebrate the New Year in Edinburgh.  Festivities last all weekend, and run the gamut from a candlelight concerts at St. Giles Cathedral to a plunge in the Firth of Forth called the Loony Dook.  There are Ceilidhs and concerts, and the New Year’s Games. All topped off with a massive street party and an incredible fireworks display set off over the spectacular Edinburgh Castle.

My favourite Hogmanay event however, was the Torchlight Parade up to Calton Hill on December 30th. What an incredible sight to see thousands of men, women and children, with torches ablaze, walking up Prince’s Street to the top of Calton Hill. The air was rich with the smell of wax, and the heat and light from so many torches replaced the damp, dark evening with a warming glow.  It was incredibly beautiful and such a special way to mark the end of one year and the beginning of a new year.  A show of fireworks and the burning of a giant wicker effigy to 2012 greeted the crowd at the top of Calton Hill. I am embarrassed to admit it but it was so beautiful, I actually cried, and these weren’t even the official fireworks!

While the fireworks on New Year’s Eve proper were incredible, and I was so glad I went to see them, it was this quieter and more subdued event of the torchlight parade on Dec. 30^th that I will remember.  Here are some photos (see slide show at the bottom for more photos):

 Memorable would be an understatement in describing the Panto, the current incarnation of the British tradition of the Christmas Pantomime, which dates back to the 1800′s in England, but originated in Ancient Greece. Referred to as “The Panto”, it is a Christmas tradition particularly enjoyed in Scotland. For some reason, Scottish people in particular go batty over what is essentially a kid-friendly drag show musical, filled with boob and fart jokes, midgets, audience participation (“oh, yes it is!” and “he’s behind you”), and frighteningly tacky tributes to other musicals – And I loved it too!

My friend Ryann, a former Broadway employed writer of musicals herself, agreed to attend the Panto with me.  We chose the King’s Theatre production of Cinderella which considered the gold standard of all Christmas Pantomimes, promised to be the best Panto available.  In this particular version, Cinderella’s stepfather dies after losing everything including his house in a poker game to the evil twin sisters Gobina McPhlegm and Hocktoo McPhlegm

from "The List"

Under the new rule of these two, Cinderella, her drag queen mother, and Buttons their man-servant have a hard time, until Cinderella meets a Prince in the woods and gets help from a Fairy Godmother.  The rest of the plot is pretty much what you would expect, but at the same time not like anything you’ve seen before. It is hard to describe the magic of the Panto, and even harder to understand how it possibly could be described as magical, and yet still somehow it is.

And that, my friends, is Christmas in Edinburgh.  Happy New Year, Everyone!

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Tags: Armstrong's, Calton Hill, Christmas, Cinderella, Edinburgh, fire festivals, Henderson's, Hogmanay, King's Theatre, New Year, New Year's Eve, Scotland, Shortbread, St Giles' Cathedral, The Panto

Staying Fit in Prestonpans

 

Sadly my electric blue, super-fast running shoes seem to be struggling with a bout of depression just at the moment, and sit dusty and dull in a corner of my room.  What they need probably is some good old-fashioned fresh air and exercise, but they just aren’t up for it.  Such a catch-22. So, knowing I can’t force the issue with my runners (I am a social worker after all), I made my way to the Prestonpans’ leisure centre and pool, to partake in my first Aquafit class. Not surprisingly, given it was mid morning, the pool quickly filled with pensioners who like me also clearly like their scotch pies and Bridies. “God help me and my love meat-stuffed pastry!” I thought to myself.

 

Awaiting the start of the Aquafit class, the grey haired, big bosomed matrons of Prestonpans encouragingly “och,ayed” each other as they chatted and bobbed effortlessly, with only the merest, occasional wave of a hand across the surface of the pool, (how do they do that anyway?). The instructor, surprisingly sporting a shaved head and full-body tattoos, appeared on deck to the thumping noises of his favorite club songs, and looked more the part of the rehabilitated bad boy come home to start again.

 

Prestonpans, or “The Pans”, as it has come to be known, is still considered by many to be nothing more than a rough and tumble, council house dominated tow, and negative stereotypes about the town and its people continue to abound. In truth, none of the stereotypes I have heard about “The Pans” reflect my own experience here. Welcoming and friendly, with a proud history, the town is filled, for the most part, with hard-working, community-oriented families that value humour, good conversation, and looking out for each other -Values born out of the town’s history of coal mining and it’s struggle against the ensueing poverty, when the mine was shut down.

 

                                                                                                         http://www.europealacarte.co.uk/scotland/eastlothian

 

Having said that, if all you had seen of Prestonpans was this Aquafit class you might have left with your misconceptions intack!  Still, I had a great time, and the instructor, with a cheery twinkle in his eyes, and a few jokes about ensuring our bathing suits were properly secured, put us through our paces. I am not sure what those paces were, as given his accent, the blaring/jarring dance music and the splash of water around me, I could not make out a word he said. Never the less, I diligently splashed around the pool, trying to keep up with the Women of the Pans, who can really move when they want to, and wished my runners were with me. They’d have enjoyed the class I think.

 

I was supposed to blog about Christmas and New Year’s Eve – Next time!

 

Tags: Aquafit, East Lothian, living abroad, Prestonpans, Scotland

Crash Course – How to master the family road trip…in England

Recently I took a 10 day road trip across Northern England with my parents.  The last time we did such a thing, I was 16 years old.  Much, much, much time has passed, but little has changed.  For any family, be it a young family, or one made up of a middle-aged youngest child and her two senior parents, family road trips present their own unique challenges. For any of you considering such an adventure, here are some basic rules  that will help you master the family road trip:

Rule #1: When driving on the opposite side of the road it takes some getting used.  It is not uncommon to drift toward the shoulder to avoid the oncoming traffic.  A friend of mine warned me about this before the trip.  She’s Scottish (where they drive on the left hand side) and she relayed a story about how one day in France (where they drive on the right hand side), she borrowed a friend’s car and inadvertently drifted toward the curb, mounted it, and tore the side right off the car.  No one needs that while they are on vacation. So, it’s important to ensure that your dad keeps the car on the road when he is driving.  It’s probably fine when you are driving. So, to help your dad out, try yelling out at regular intervals things like – “Shoulder!”, or “Wall!” , or “Soft Verges, Soft Verges, the sign says Soft Verges!”

Rule #2: Don’t tell anyone a story like the one mentioned above before they embark on this kind of trip.

Rule #3: Always have snacks on hand in the car.  Some people, not mentioning any names, can become a big, old  grumpy Papa Bear when he gets hungry. My parents have been married for 50 years, with as many if not more road trips under their belts, but my mom only figured this important rule out on this trip. Learn this one early on.

Rule #4: It’s best just to let the person yelling “Shoulder!” “Wall” and “Soft Verges, Soft Verges!” to drive.  This way everyone wins!

Rule # 5: When you reach a roundabout, it’s important to yield. “YIELD!!” Again, don’t be afraid to shout this out to the driver.  It is a necessary evil. If you can’t yell, because you are so overwhelmed by the possibility that this time you might really die, try taking in one or two sudden, sharp inhales of breath, loud enough for the driver to hear.  These  act as a wonderful tonic to your adrenal glands, and also alert the driver at the same time.  You kill two birds with one stone with this technique!

Rule # 6:  Some roundabouts are poorly marked.  In this case, just run right through the middle of them.  These substandard roundabouts should be ashamed of themselves, and they don’t deserve your due diligence.

Rule #7 – Practice my brother’s cure for back seat driving – when you feel like saying something to the driver, look out the side window.  When that fails, return to back seat driving until the driver gives up and lets you take over.

Rule #8:  At an intersection, always look to your right first.  Except when you shouldn’t.  Wait, is this an intersection?

Rule #9:  Ensure that at least someone in the car can read a map.

Rule #10: Expect to get lost A LOT. This is part of the fun of a road trip.  No, really it is, but you may need to remind yourself of this over and over again.

Rule #11: Take time out for yourself.  If you are in the North of England, try walking Hadrian’s Wall.  It goes one for miles and miles and miles.

Rule #12:  Finish every day off with a meal in a pub and a pint of something. Look over your photos from the day together and have a good ol’ chuckle at what a day you’ve just had together.  If it’s necessary, this is a good time to apologize.

Rule #13:  When you get home, invite your friends and family over for a slide show highlighting all the best parts of your trip and none of the family histrionics.  They will love it and so will you.  Here’s a slide show of our trip – ENJOY!

Here you will see a small selection of our many photos:  The Edinburgh Castle; Views across the Firth of Forth from North Berwick; Rye Hill Farm - Our B and B in Hexham; The Traveller’s Rest – Our favourite pub!; Hadrian’s Wall and several examples of the many roman ruins in the area; Durham Cathedral; The City of York; The majestic York Minster; The Harbour of Whitby and Whitby Abbey; Our B and B in the Lake District; and standing stones outside of Keswick in the Lake District. – We saw some amazing things together!

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Potato

There are many things I should write about in this post. There is, for instance, my increasingly ridiculous (or should I say my ridiculously increasing) bedtime attire.  With no central heating, I am currently writing this post from my bed, as it is the warmest place in my 17th century attic apartment.  I am wearing merino wool long johns, a sweater, handmade wool leg warmers and socks and a lovely cashmere hat (which might be the only excessive item I have on).  I am lying semi prone (so I can still type), under a duvet, a quilt and a wool blanket, with an electric under blanket and two hot water bottles to keep me warm.   There is the risk of electrocution to worry about, but I suspect the risk of suffocation is even higher, what with the weight of all my blankets, and the number of woolly items that I might get tangled up in, during my sleep.  It is October 20th, what on earth will I be wearing to bed in January?

But I will leave this, and other important and gripping topics for future posts, and focus instead on the thing that has recently most captivated me, mind and body – The Beguiling Potato.

Last week, after returning back to Northfield House, following a two-week road trip with my parents across Northern England (yes, another future post), I decided after months of unemployed loafing, to put my back into it a bit.  I grabbed some wellies, a pitchfork and the wheelbarrow and set myself to the task of digging up the last of Finlay’s garden (with his approval, of course!).  No small task given the garden stretches 90 feet in length and 15 feet wide.

One of the more strenuous tasks was to harvest the potatoes that were still buried beneath soil that was made heavy and wet with rain.  This proved, however, to be one of the most satisfying gardening experiences I have ever had (yes, it’s true my forays into the realm of gardening have been minimal). On the surface there was nothing left but wilted dying plants and black soil, but place your pitchfork in the dark earth, at just the right spot and turn it gently,  and it’s like Easter morning! And what an awful lot of potatoes I found!

It got me thinking about The Potato.  It’s a dirty, ugly, boring looking thing but what an important role it has played in our lives! Can you imagine though what the women folk from around the world must have thought the first time their husbands banged open the door of their tiny shared hovel, threw a handful of dirty, warty potatoes down on the table and said, “Here, for dinner.”   In case you have forgotten how ugly they are, here are a couple of photos:

                                                Image from – http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/allotment/2007/feb/06/onepotatotwopotato

And this one that a farmer in Lebanon found is particularly ugly:

                                                                      Image from – http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=worlds-biggest-potato

Despite its woeful lack of physical attractiveness, the Potato has become a world leader in crops, a sort of Abe Lincoln of the agricultural world. The Potato’s significant role and influence is hard to measure, not least in my family’s homeland, Prince Edward Island (P.E.I.), Canada, which is arguably the home of the best tasting potatoes (yes, ‘others’ HAVE said this), and where it is said that if you dig deep enough, what lies at the heart of P.E.I is a beating potato (okay, only I say this).

Prince Edward Island is a small island, a spec of place that most people haven’t heard of outside of Canada, unless they are lovers of Lucy Maud Montgomery‘s iconic story Anne of Green Gables, or lovers of The Potato. The P.E.I government reports that though P.E.I has only an area of 1.4 million acres, 97,000 of those acres (in 2006 anyway) were dedicated to The Potato.  WOW! That’s a lot of potatoes! It is in fact, a little over 30% of Canada’s total potato production! The Potato is P.E.I.’s main bread-winner and without it, well, it’s just unthinkable.

Over the years, The Potato has become so important in P.E.I, they have even dedicated a museum to it, The Prince Edward Island Potato Museum.  It is the only museum of its kind in the world, and when you think about how important The Potato has been all over the world, that is kind of surprising.  I mean, just here in East Lothian, Scotland there are TWO coal mining museums and The Potato is just as important as coal.  YES, it is!

The Industrial Revolution and the development of the New World (North America) into the superpower it is now (fading as it may be), arguably wouldn’t have happened without The Potato.  The Potato, which is originally from the Andes, and dates back as a food source some 8000 years, was brought to Europe following the Spanish Conquest of South America in the 16th century.  Bringing the potato home from their journey to South America instead of gold must have been a horrible wound to the macho egos of the Spanish Conquistadors, but they sucked it up and did it anyway, and in the process changed the course of history.

The introduction of the potato to Europe lead to a 19th century population boom which provided the labour needed for the Industrial Revolution to take root (so to speak!). The Potato was a particularly important crop in Ireland and Scotland.  Over-reliance and a lack of genetic variability however, led to massive potato famines in both these countries during the 19th century, which killed millions and led to mass immigration to North America.  Approximately 1.25 Irish people emigrated from Ireland at this time. While in Scotland, the famine led to the Highland Clearances, the brutal eviction of tenant farmers from their land when they could no longer pay their rent to their landlords.  As a result, approximately 140,000 Scottish people emigrated, or were shipped by their landlords to North America.  Many of these Irish and Scottish immigrants settled in Prince Edward Island and brought, ironically enough, The Potato, the source of their survival and demise, with them.

So, as you see, The Potato links my life in Canada with my life in Scotland in some pretty, mind-blowingly significant ways, and every time I bite into a potato now, I can’t help but think about it all.  And right now, that means I am thinking about The Potato almost constantly. I dug up so many potatoes from Finlay’s garden that we have been eating potatoes morning, noon and night. 

The number of uses and recipes for The Potato are, thankfully, infinite.  Here’s my latest favourite from the website Big Oven :

Ingredients

	8 cumberland sausages
	115 gram Unsalted butter
	2 large onions; finely sliced
	175 gram bacon lardons
	225 grams avoy cabbage; finely shredded
	1 3/10 kg floury potatoes; chopped
	2 tbsp soft thyme leaves
	570 ml double cream
	425 ml fresh beef stock
	2 Bay Leaves
	salt & pepper

Calories Per Serving: 780
Want detailed nutrition information?

How to Prepare Irish Sausage and Potato Pie

1. Preheat oven to 170C/325F/Gas 3.

2. Heat a non-stick frying pan. Add the sausages and gently fry until they are about three quarters cooked and golden brown. Remove from the pan and slice. Parboil the potatoes then thinly slice.

3. Meanwhile heat a large frying pan. Add the 55g/2oz of the butter and once melted add the onions. Cook the onions gently for 10 minutes or until soft and translucent. Remove from the pan and set aside.

4. Add the bacon lardons to the frying pan and cook for 3-4 minutes until golden and crispy. Add the cabbage with 2 tablespoons of water. Cook for 2-3 minutes or until the cabbage is soft, but still holding a little texture. Drain off any fat, remove from the pan and set aside.

5. Rub a large gratin dish (30x21x6cms/12x8x2in) liberally with 25g/1oz butter.

Place a layer of sliced potatoes in the bottom of the dish season with salt and pepper and a sprinkling of the thyme.

Top with a layer of sliced sausage, then a layer of cooked onion.

Top with another layer of sliced potato and season with salt, pepper and thyme.

Spoon over the cooked cabbage and bacon.

Top with another layer of potato slices and season again with salt, pepper and thyme.

Top with a layer of sliced sausage, then a layer of cooked onion and finally a layer of sliced potato.

Season once again with salt, pepper and thyme.

6. Pour the cream and stock into a pan and add the bay leaves. Place over a gently heat and bring to just below boiling point. Pour over the sausage and potato pie. You want the liquid to just cover the top layer of potatoes. Dot over the remaining butter and cover with foil. Place the dish on a baking sheet. Place in the oven and cook for 1? hours.

7. Remove the foil from the dish and increase the oven temperature to 200C/400F/Gas 6 and cook for a further 15 minutes or until the top is golden. Serve immediately with garlic bread.

Tags: Anne of Green Gables, Garden, Highland Clearances, Potato, Prince Edward Island

Stockholm, Copenhagen and Gothenberg – Oh,my!

While in Stockholm, Copenhagen and Gothenburg, without my trusty laptop by my side, I developed a techy-technique that I quite like. Whenever there was something interesting (well, interesting to me) that I would normally share with a traveling partner, I would instead jot it down under “memos” in my cellphone.  This is a particularly useful technique when your memory is as shite as mine is. It also came in useful during those moments when I felt ill at ease with my solo traveling status.  It gave the illusion to others and even to me a little, that I did actually have someone to tell about my experiences, even though, at least at that moment, it was only a memo to me.  So, I thought in order to transform these little memos from mere pretenders into real and genuine conduits of information, I would share them with you all now.  Get a cup of tea and a biscuit – She be a long one!

September 4th –

“Just arrived in Stockholm – beautiful! All pastels and canals. I am excited to start exploring tomorrow!”

September 5th -A visit to Gamla Stan (Old Town) and the Royal Palace

“I’ve never seen so many cyclists before!”

“A distinctly more attractive group of royals here in Sweden than in Scotland“  – Well if you don’t believe me see for yourself -

Scottish Monarchs/Swedish Monarchs

“Lunch at Cafe Nero in Gamla Stan- budget lunch of $20! For quiche, a salad and latte, but Delicious!”

“Things are expensive in Sweden.  Even when they aren’t that expensive they seem expensive – 35 krona for a jar of instant coffee sounds like a lot. It’s not really. Swedish meatballs from the Hemkop deli counter with free hostel pasta for dinner tonight (Courtesy of City Lodge Hostel), and a slice of princess cake to try for dessert.”

September 6th – Museum Marathon with the Stockholm Tourist Card

“Oh, God! Acid Wash is back!”

“A beautiful day! My favourite kind – Windy and Sunny. Visiting museums by boat today. Been to the Vasa Museum so far, and The Nordic Museum. The folk art exhibit at the Nordiska was spectacular and inspiring. Made me wish I had Swedish ancestry. Off to the Museum of Modern Art next, and if I am still able to hold myself upright, the National Museum of Art to finish.”

“I love Carl Larsson and Bruno Liljefors!”

“Remember to ask Stephen – Rembrandt or Reubens.“  (I say Rembrandt!)

“Phew! Museum Marathon day is done! In an effort to make the most of my Stockholm Card I went to five museums today. FIVE! Doing so saved me about $30.  I ache all over and yearn for a bath which the hostel doesn’t have.  A shower will have to do. While right now I am questioning the sanity of seeing five museums in one day, if I hadn’t of had the card I would have probably only picked one or two and never seen the rest.  So I am glad I did it.  I liked all but one museum – Skansen – a touristy living history museum kind of place.  I just don’t like museums where you are forced to interact with people pretending to be living in a different century.  It’s creepy, weird and awkward.  Maybe my feelings are a result of built up resentment resulting from my failed attempt during my university days, to get one of the lucrative summer jobs at Upper Canada Village. I mistook an apple corer for a can opener during my interview.  I was about a century off with that guess. Either way, I just don’t like living history museums. Tomorrow off to Vauxholm, an island in Sweden’s Archipelago region.“

September 7th – A day in Sodermalm, one of Stockholm’s trendiest neighbourhoods.

“In Sodermalm today instead of Vauxholm, due to the weather. Earlier today I made a visit to the Thielska Art Gallery which showcases a wonderful collection of Nordic artists.  It was amazing!  I discovered I love Edvard Munch, especially his lithographs, wood cuts and sketches. Until now, I only knew of his painting, “The Scream”, which I never really liked all that much.”

“I love Sodermalm – It feels like Stockholm’s heart centre.”

“Stockholm makes me want to earn a living again.  So many things here that I want to buy! Favourite new store – Monki.”

“If it wasn’t for slight smell of must emanating off my handbag, purchased on sale in Edinburgh, I might actually fit in among these Swedish hipsters. I might get at least a pass, but one wiff of me by a Stockholm fashionista and I am betrayed.”

“I discovered an apparently Canadian literary cult classic here in Stockholm. Andrew Kaufman – they sell all his published books here, and I have never heard of him before.  I felt obliged to find out what the Swedes knew about this Canadian author that I had missed out on so far, and purchased Kaufman’s book “All my friends are superheroes”. It’s such an interesting experience to peruse the English books available in a foreign land; a small shelf containing a synthesized collection of some real gems and a few surprises like Andrew Kaufman.”

“Always a challenge to pick the right spot for dinner. There is my cheapness, and my shyness at being a solo traveller, at play. I need to strike the right balance between anonymity and sociability.  Landed at a place called ‘Mest’ for dinner tonight.”

“Yum, Mariestad beer!”

September 8th – Vauxholm and Sweden’s Archipelago

“Waiting for the boat to Vauxholm.  It is cloudy and threatening rain again, but today is my last day in Stockholm. I don’t think it will be my last visit to Sweden though! At 40 pounds for airfare from Edinburgh, why not?? It would be fun to come here in the winter (that’s probably the Canadian in me), plus, I haven’t done an ABBA tour yet.”

“I am beginning to figure out why Sweden is considered a model country.  They have a lot figured out about how to live life well.  The Archipelago region, were Swede’s retreat for their holidays, is beautiful.  It reminds me a lot of the Muskoka region in Canada.  Cottages perched on little rocky islands.“

“My handbag will never recover from its musty smell! Caught out in a deluge in Vauxholm, it is soaked through.”

“A rainbow over Vauxholm just as the boat is pulling away from the dock.  Perfect!”

September 9th – Leaving Stockholm and arriving in Copenhagen

“I have arrived too early at the train station, but this has given me the chance to confirm my theory.  All swedes are beautiful.  They are not, contrary to popular belief, all blonde (although if the primary school I visited yesterday is any indication, they all start out that way).  They are all different, but all beautiful; especially the men.”

“On the train to Copenhagen, I am struck once again by how much Sweden looks like Ontario – Tall pines, rocky outcrops, and lots of rivers and lakes….oh, story idea…involving the Russian man sitting across from me and the Danish mother and her adoptive five-year old daughter sitting in front of me, and an abduction. I like train drama stories. Something about being in a confined space, with all kinds of doors and nooks and crannies, that’s streaking through country side and across borders, a world unto its own.”

“Serves me right, moments after my Pulitzer story idea came to me, the woman sitting in front of me asked if I would lower my blind so that her daughter could nap. You can’t really say no, can you; it’s so a little girl can sleep.  I hate that.  The Swedish countryside is now shut away from me, also, I need to pee and the woman sitting beside me is sound asleep, and blocking my exit. Torture!  I can’t see anything and I need to pee and can’t!”

“It’s an hour later.  I woke up the woman sitting beside me and went to the washroom. Feeling lighter and freer after my pee, I thought, ‘fuck it’ and also opened my window’s blind. Too bad for you, little girl!”

“Crossing the Baltic Sea (?) into Denmark – a huge windmill farm.”

“How can I not love Copenhagen! I do not not love Copenhagen.  That’s definite! I ordered a hot chocolate and was provided with a steaming cup of milk and two stir sticks covered in chocolate, one with milk chocolate and the other with dark chocolate.”

“In Copenhagen, you are immediately struck by what a very, very hip, young town this is.  Definitely the most fashion forward city I have been too, including New York.  I am glad I packed my little pinstriped blazer, and may wear it tomorrow! Who knows, I may even be inspired to wear a little makeup again for the first time in years!”

“Even more cyclists here!”

“My hostel is massive but brand new (just completed in June, 2011).  The Generator Hostel is located in a wonderful part of town just off of Gothergade and near the Rosenborg Park and palace. But, it has no guest kitchen and they won’t let you eat in your room!! What kind of hostel doesn’t have a guest kitchen? Infuriating and it will cost me extra for food now!”

September 10th – Hop on Hop off bus tour and the Statens Museum for Kunst

“Copenhagen seems to be a city of love.  Everywhere you turn there are couples who have just stopped where they are, seemingly compelled by some invisible power to embrace lovingly; long sumptuous embraces.  Nice. Want one. Too bad for me.  I will go eat something instead.”

“I love this time of year.  Sunny days, crisp evenings, in golden, fading light. A smell of smoke and curling, shriveling leaves. Not unlike the work by Danish artist Hammershoi, who I discovered today at the Danish National Museum of Art. “

“”In tribute to my polish days (I spent a year there in 1993), I have landed at an Eastern European restaurant for dinner tonight, located around the corner from my hostel.  It is called Gold Prag.  Delicious smelling and a really lovely server!  She is like a blond Danish version of my friend Sharon.  If my new crush, Tim Key, were here, and it were winter, I would bring him to dine with me at this restaurant, for a cozy, warming meal.  Then we would go for a skate at the nearby square that is famous for its skating rink in the winter, followed by one of those nice, long Copenhagen embraces.”

“Hmm… may go to see one of my favourite films, ‘Lars and the Real Girl’ which is playing tonight at the local film house. Hard to tell how much it will cost though – the guide says it is either 40kr for ‘medlemmer’ or 65 kr for ‘ikke – medlemmer’.  I wonder which it will be??”

September 11th – National Museum, Fredricksberg and Christiania

“I am exhausted.  I walked around more than I should have but I felt compelled to do so instead of taking the bus; all the way from Fredricksberg to Christiania and back to the hostel.  I started out at the National Museum as it was raining.  An amazing Prehistoric exhibit filled with interesting information about early Vikings and their customs and rituals. The gardens at Fredricksberg were beautiful. Fredricksberg, the neighbourhood had a nice Sunday slow down feel to it.  The sun came out and I had a lovely street side patio lunch with a great sandwich and latte. Christiania was fascinating.  An alternative community that I first learned about when I was studying Tent City in Toronto, Christiania is considered a model squatting community within the squatting movement. It was great to see and experience it firsthand. It is very well established and larger than I expected. Which, I imagine is partly what makes it so hard for those politicians who are wishing to eradicate it.  I don’t believe it will be going anywhere, anytime soon.  I saw a wonderful jazz band playing outside of a bar on one of the main streets of Christiania.  There was a great vibe there.  Wished I could have stayed longer but was feeling exhausted so returned to the hostel.”

September 12th – Copenhagen Card day – Palaces, Canals and Tivoli

“Started the day with a latte and croissant at a nearby cafe on Gottergade, with a table full of quintessentially Danish men to look at. They were all tall and fit, with a powerfully attractive energy.  Nice. I accidentally picked up one of their lattes at the bar and one of them (the cutest one) came rushing over to claim it, in hurried Danish. It could have been a romantic moment.  But it wasn’t, and he was gone. So, off to salvage what I can of my last day in Copenhagen!”

“I have been a distinctly more unsuccessful tourist here in Copenhagen – for some reason I find it harder to plan and get around here, compared to Stockholm.  I bought the Copenhagen Tourist Card here, but this is proving a waste of money, as many of the museums here are free, or (stupid planning on my part!) closed today, it being a Monday.  Today is my last day in Copenhagen and so, I will sadly leave Copenhagen without seeing the Resistance Museum and the National Museum of Design, two museums I really wanted to get to.  Ah, well.  I can go to palaces today.  They seem to be open. But, to be frank, if you have seen one palace you have seen them all. Most of these royals seem to me to be a rather unimaginative lot.  They seem more concerned with keeping up with their royal equivalent of the Jones, the gang at Versailles.  So, most palaces just seem to me like opulent grabs at status. Pretty with little substance, like prize show dogs, they say little else about the real personalities that built these homes.”

“Okay that was pretty special.  I just visited Rosenborg Castle, used as a royal residence until 1710, but showcasing royal belongings dating from the 16th to the 19th century.  I think it is my favorite castle so far – Spectacular, unique and livable.  Grumpiness about castles and palaces is subsiding.”

“I am having a weirdly proud Canadian moment -  I am standing in Kongens Nytorv (new square) eating a fabulous Copenhagen hot dog (and they really are fabulous – topped with deep-fried onion bits, sweet pickles, a mild curry sauce and mustards -truly delicious!), and listening to Canadian Leonard Cohen’s hallelujah being played by Peruvian flutists…and now Celine Dion’s Titanic theme song!….So Proud!”

“The cruise along the Copenhagen canals is a highlight, what a nice way to spend an afternoon. Almost makes the Copenhagen Card worth it…almost.”

“Danish design is so exciting and inspiring!”

“The Danes are style gods. Yes, they are. I think quite possibly, everything they touch ends up being beautiful.  Even what should have been the tackiest place in town – The Tivoli Gardens, the city’s old amusement park, is perfection; a perfect balance between aesthetic and amusement. It is full of beautiful design features everywhere you look. I LOVED it! And while I knew I would like it, as I have always had a particular affection for old amusement parks, I was surprised how much I loved it.”

September 13th – Leaving Copenhagen for Gothenberg – The final stretch (meaning – hang in there, we are almost done!)

“Well, I am off to Gothenberg today.  I am having a latte and what would be I guess, the original danish. I felt like a fool when I ordered it and said, ‘I’ll try the danish there.’  I don’t know what it is called in Denmark, but I am pretty sure it isn’t called a danish.  Sipping my coffee and watching people go by, I am struck again by how great the footwear is in this country. If I had more money, this is definitely where I would buy a new pair of boots. Also, many of the Danes are wearing my favourite sneaker – the retro New Balance.  This makes me feel trendy and hip even though I don’t actually own a pair of these shoes myself.”

“The trains in Denmark and Sweden are amazingly efficient, fast and comfortable. My train this morning departed at 9:33am.  It arrived in the station at 9:31am, we boarded and were off, on time. “

“So many windmills in Denmark and Sweden.  Also, despite what a lot of right wingers would say about the welfare state being a failure, I have seen only one person panhandling here in the 10 days I have been here.  This was in Copenhagen. I wouldn’t be able to count the number of panhandlers that I would see over of the course of 10 days in Toronto.  Given Sweden and Denmark have some of the most comprehensive and progressive social policies in the world, it seems to be working here.  Maybe, go figure, you do really get more when you spend more. Why wouldn’t the principle be the same whether you are buying a nice business suit or a social service?”

“I like Sweden.  They have great words for things, like, ‘hiss’ for elevator and ‘kuckling’ for chicken.  You don’t need to speak Swedish to understand these words!”

” Another stellar hostel – The Slottsskogen Hostel.  This hostel has a cafe and a very convivial kitchen lounge area where you can cook your own food (Thank goodness! Back to normal!).  I have my own room tonight.”

“I had my only language mishap of the trip today.  The Scandinavian countries are basically bilingual, with the Danes (and this is just my perception) being the only ones to show even a whisper of resentment about it. So my mishap – I was checking into my hostel and I asked the young guy at reception if there was a washroom I could use (my room wasn’t ready yet).  He said, yes, but it would cost me 40kr! ‘But I am a guest here’, I blurted out, shocked at this blatant monetary grab. ‘Yes, well of course, but everyone has to pay for this’, he said, looking at me like I was the crazy one. ‘Do you still want to use the washroom?’ he asked. ‘Well, yes! When you got to, you got to, right?’  I said, feeling very confused and flustered. Then he advised me that I should use the dryer down the hall as it is hotter and asked me if I needed soap. DING, DING, DING!!  Comprehension came to me, and I  explained that by ‘washroom’ I meant ‘toilet’. ‘Ah, really?’ he asked with a smile. He thought I wanted to launder my clothes.  I had forgotten that no one, not even the Scots, seem familiar with the term ‘washroom’ and instead use the term ‘toilet’. We had a good laugh about it and then I went and had a pee.“

“They seem to like their pillows square in Scandinavia.”

“Cute Swedish man! He’s sweet-dish! – Ha! I just made that up! He runs a lovely little shop in the old part of town.  He was charming and friendly, and so I left his shop just as soon as I could. Duh!  This is why I am still single! Many years ago, my friend Kristin (of Swedish decent I might add, though it is completely irrelevant) once suggested that I take this class she had read about. It was called “How to have a Conversation Properly”, or something like that.  I was taken aback. ‘I can carry on a conversation, just fine’, I thought to myself. Though I knew even then on some level, that she was probably right, still, I didn’t sign up.  Probably I should have. I am after all writing memos to myself right now.”

“I should add, as you have probably already figured out for yourselves, that I tend to develop crushes exclusively on waiters or men in shops and cafes.  This is because these are really the only men I encounter, and certainly the only men who are lovely and chatty with me. They feign interest in what I have to say because it is a requirement of their job, and I fall for it every time.  And then, just like that I have a crush on a guy I know nothing about.  Often I don’t even know his first name. “

“It is 2am and I am lying here in my single bed in my hot shoebox of a room, with no windows, and not for the first time this year, I am wondering, ‘what am I doing here?’  This isn’t how I pictured my life at…my age; in a tiny, windowless shoebox, by myself. I know I am blessed with many wonderful friends and a loving, fun family, but where’s my own family? Why am I roaming around Europe by myself at…my age? “

September 14th – Last day of Trip!

” Ha! Tram #9 is destined for ‘Angered’!” (So apparently does the #9 and the #8)

“I went back to the cute man’s store again, ostensibly to buy a piece of pottery I saw yesterday, but he didn’t recognize me.  It was only yesterday that we had our lovely chat!  So, I didn’t buy anything.”

“Went to the Gothenberg fish market.  Well worth the visit! Beautiful looking fish and seafood and it smelled wonderful, helped along by a couple of nice looking restaurants. Bought my first shrimp sandwich – a Swedish classic! Can’t wait to try it!”

“Picked up a Moomin book for my niece.  Hope she likes it!”

“Other Swedish words I like:  ‘fika’: the term used for afternoon cake and coffee; and ‘hygge’: the Swedish term for a cozy and convivial atmosphere. ‘Liten’ meaning small and ‘stor’ meaning big are pretty great words too.”

“Wow! I think it really is true that the Swedes are a happier lot than the rest of us.  On the flight home to Edinburgh, the cheery Swedish chatter was overwhelming and distracting. I have never heard such a jovial bunch of travellers!”

“Still, upon arriving at Waverley station in Edinburgh (took the airport shuttle to the train station), I think Edinburgh is the more beautiful city, with its dramatic and majestic castle on the hill.”

Tags: Copenhagen, solo travel, Stockholm

A Quick Note…

“….Super Trouper, Lights are going to find me, shining like the sun, smiling having fun, feeling like a number one…”

Hi Everyone,

This is just a quick note to say that I am off to Stockholm, Copenhagen and Gothenberg tomorrow.  I will be gone for ten days.  I likely will not get a chance to write while I am away, but fear not, I will write about my Scandinavian adventures as soon as I get home!

Montage Etrange

For those that know me best, it won’t come as a surprise that as soon as I committed to writing every Monday, I stopped writing altogether.  But, I have a good reason – Honest!  I have been fighting a terrible cold (as mentioned in my previous blog) for the past three weeks now!  Zapped of energy, it was more effort than I could muster to lift my fingers to this keyboard and type (don’t panic – I am exaggerating a lot here – a lovely salve for my guilty conscience!)

After finally getting myself registered at the local clinic, I was seen by a doctor yesterday.  His name, no word of a lie, was Dr. Scott.  After much negotiating, I walked out of his office with a prescription for anti-biotics (which I felt I needed) and an inhaler (which he thought I needed). Today I am feeling much better and believe that though I have had some false starts in the recuperation process over the course of the past three weeks, surely this time I must be on the road to recovery.  And so I write.  But what to write about?? I haven’t really gotten up to very much. I can’t however abide forfeitting another week without writing a blog entry, so here is a montage of all that has occupied my waking hours, few as they have been, over the last two weeks  – And I’ve done it in third person for some reason!:

“Oh God! I’m blind!”  Heather rubbed her eyes as she awoke in panic. Wiping crusty bits out of her eyes and slowly unglueing her blurry, bloodshot eyes, Heather greeted another mucous drenched day with relief, again.  At least she wasn’t blind today.  Just as it was the day before, and the day before that.

Later, Heather laments: “Poor Agnes is losing her mind, and Sugar is losing herself.”

“For an instant [Agnes] shuts her eyes, and in that instant the world turns upside-down, earth and sky changing places.  The ground above her now securely woven against its great warm belly so she won’t plummet into nothingness. She hangs suspended from the topsy-turvy terra firma like a moth on a ceiling, gazing down into a vast formless void of brilliant blue. She goggles, half-blinded, into the face of the deep. If the ground loosed its bonds and let her go, she would fall for all eternity, a rag doll plunging down a bottomless well.”

“‘I am no longer your friend!’ sobs Sugar, the words muffled inside her palms. ‘I’ve become a stranger to you, and I hate this place, I hate it.  Oh, Caddie, how can you stand to see me? You’re poor; I live in luxury.  You’re trapped; I’m free.  You’re open-hearted; I’m full of secrets.  I’m so full of schemes and plots, nothing interests me if it doesn’t concern the Rackhams. Every word I speak I look up and down twice before it leaves my mouth. Nothing I say comes from my heart…’ Her palms roll into fists and she knuckles her rage into her wet cheeks. ‘Even these tears are false.  I choose to shed them, to make myself feel better.  I’m false! False! False to the bone.’” - Michel Faber, The Crimson Petal and the White.

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With her jaw clenched tight, and more adrenaline coursing through her veins than she’s felt in weeks, Heather asks her laptop, “Is it Rama?  The Teacher? Really??”    The laptop doesn’t answer, at least not this week.   This exhausted Heather.

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I should get dressed now, Heather thought as she glanced at her clock and registered that it was 4pm.

“You fucked up rabbit with no ears!” “Rubber dinghy rapids bro.”

“Maybe I should go outside today,” Heather said, as she noticed the sun was setting.

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“Tony went to the shops and bought everything he needed for the rest of his life.

 The carrier bags were so heavy.

 He got chatting with Mrs. York on the way home and, after twenty minutes or so, the handles sliced his fingers off.”   

“Kirsten, I think I am in love with Tim Key,” said Heather.  “Mmmm, me too,” said Kirsten.  “Mmmm, me three,” said Finlay.

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Ally Bally, Ally Bally Bee

Sittin on yer mammy’s knee

Greetin for a wee Bawbie

To buy some Coulter’s Candy…

Drumsticks – Yum!

Chips….yummm!

“Sausage Savoury? Sausage Roll?  What’s the difference?” Heather wondered as she polished off another one.

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Heather wondered, “How come I can fly direct from Edinburgh to Stockholm, Gothenburg and Oslo but not Copenhagen?” Overcome with incredulity, and worries about the cultural dissonance she may encounter on her upcoming trip, Heather exclaimed, “30 Pounds for one stinking night in 6 bed hostel dorm, are they off their rockers in Scandinavia?”

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“These little sheep are killing me!” cried Heather, feeling altogether too sorry for herself as she undid yet another row of painstaking knitting. She popped a Halls into her mouth and sucked hard. This gave her enough energy and eucalyptus to push on through and get those little fluffy white fuckers knit dammit!

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“Oh, don’t give away your baby, Gee“, sobbed Heather, her teardrops falling onto the faces of those damnable little sheep nestled in her lap.

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“Drugs,” said Heather, “what I need are drugs”.

Tags: antibiotics, cold, Michel Faber, Tim Key