So, I’ve been very busy of late, since I decided to go away again, mostly putting things in boxes and other things in the skip. This has taken up a considerable amount of time. I think when I decided to let the flat I hadn’t realised it effectively meant me moving house, which has been a royal pain in de ass. Still, my lovely friends the Strachans and the Mathesons have put up all my stuff in garages and lofts, thus saving me both worry and expense. Thanks guys.
Meanwhile I fitted in a visit to Copenhagen to see Steve, Alex and the kids. On the Saturday we went to a sort of village green fete thing in town where we entered a ‘guess the weight of the cake’ competition. We were all miles out, except for Sunday who guessed 1.835 Kg for a cake that weighed 1.836 Kg:
She and Alex duly went out to collect their winnings, a large Dundee cake that we spent the rest of the weekend demolishing. Very nice it was too.
The day after I got back I went to see Rachael Harrington play (again) at the Leith Folk Club, and mighty fine she was too. She was aided and abetted by Rod Clements, formerly of Lindisfarne, on slide guitar. An ace evening’s entertainment, albeit a little, erm, solo.
The next night myself and the Mathesons went to see Miles Jupp in his show ‘Fibber In The Heat’, which details the account of his attempt to blag his way into the apparently quite noxious world of cricket journalism via the offices of BBC Scotland and the Western Mail. Hilarious, especially if you know anything about cricket, and the only thing I managed to see at the Fringe this year.
Also I’ve gone through the slightly traumatic experience of renting out my flat. This was fairly weird as it made me realise how attached I’d become to the place, probably quite good for me for precisely the same reason, and a lot of hard work involved in packing up, chucking out, and generally getting the place ship-shape. My thanks for this has been a rather ungrateful email from my agents to say the oven was too dirty for them. So after eight hours cleaning, they’re still getting a cleaner in. Good luck with the oven (after I’d already done it once…) by the way. Tossers. What odds it comes back in anything like the condition I left it? Quite…
And so, the point of all this, is that during a run round Arthur’s Seat about six weeks ago or so, I decided that, since I had the time and the money, I might as well take the chance to go away again while I still could. On Monday, then, I fly down to London and thence to Montreal to visit the Monkberts, the start of a 10-month long catch up with various far-flung friends in Canada, NZ, Oz and India (where I hope to do a bit more exploring than before). After that, who knows? Still working on fettling the book, and may start another, so we’ll see. At the moment, though, it all feels quite liberating and I hope to do a number of things I’ve always wanted to and never have. Woo, and indeed, hoo.
]]>Indeed. We (the Mathesons and I) arrived in Banbury on Wednesday afternoon, making our leisurely way to Cropredy 2010. We stayed in a lovely little B&B. We drank beer in the early evening sunshine. We ate Thai food that evoked sensations of lazing about on a sun-soaked meadow, warming our bones and inhaling the sweet, sweet 6X.
Except it pissed it down. A lot. The use of the word ‘Biblical’ as a superlative is about as hackneyed as the use of the word ‘hackneyed’ to describe something that is, well, a bit, umm, hackneyed. Anyway, we didn’t expect quite the amount of rain we got. We didn’t expect it to hurt our heads as much as it did. But one doesn’t always get what one expects at festivals, and that’s part of the fun. And this was a weekend, my friends, when nothing sounded like Bruce Springsteen. Not even the things that were.
As usual Cropredy was a fine mixture of all sorts of people, music, food and meteorological extremes. Highlights for me musically were Leatherat and teh Mighty Quo on Thursday, Mabon (who arrived in bits, and mostly late, from Wales), The Dixie Bee-Liners and the truly awesome Bellowhead, about whom I previously knew absolutely nothing, on the Friday, and ahab (though maybe a little too much Eagles-lite at times), Martyn Joseph (an extremely annoyed man from Wales, once described as making Leonard Cohen sound like Julie Andrews) and of course the ever-fabulous Fairport themselves, who included a good segment of Excalibur, their Anglo-French Arthurian concept collaboration (man), in their set. Marvellous stuff.
Even in the rain it’s a great place to be, and the atmosphere was as enjoyable as ever. Truly an escape. Not much photography this year partly on account of the weather, but here’s a pic of FC in full flow:
Favourite moment of Fairport’s set had to be (just edging the always emotional Who Knows Where the Time Goes? and Meet on the Ledge) when Dave Swarbrick, watching from the wings and having sworn not to play this year, jumped on and grabbed Ric’s violin, then declared he wanted to play Sir Patrick Spens, a song I’ve never heard them do live and which Simon cheerfully admitted they hadn’t rehearsed. One short consultation about keys later, and they launched into a raucous, rollicking version which sounded pretty spot on to me. Joyous stuff.
Anyway, suffice to say we drove home on Sunday in blazing sunshine and hot, hot heat. Apparently the fields are drying out nicely. Hmm. Ah well. Bound to be nice next year, eh?
Gotta go – off to Copenhagen early in the morning (hooray and up he rises etc etc). It’s all go round here you know.
]]>Everyone except me, that is. Why? Well, the thing I can’t handle is having to choose who gets the thing I’m giving away. I feel guilty about all the people who don’t get it, especially if one of them later seems more ‘worthy’ than the others. Should the firs person to respond get it? Maybe, but in this instance (I was getting rid of my old PS1 console and kit – and Donald, Dave, before you say anything I promised your wives I wouldn’t tell you…) it turned out that they couldn’t pick it up till the weekend, and I wanted rid of it today before I go away. So then I get several other requests and I decide to wait till morning to see what turns up. Sure enough, one very worthy candidate appears – the mum of a games software student who couldn’t afford consoles for her son when he was a kid, and who is now trying to catch up in terms of what other people have had as formative experiences to inform his work. Sounds great, so I tell her she can have it if she can pick it up today.
I don’t hear back this morning. By this afternoon someone’s offered to pick it up there and then, so I tell him he can have it. Five minutes after he’s picked it up she replies telling me she’s thrilled and so will her son be, and sure she can pick it up this evening. And now I feel really quite depressed by the whole thing – I feel like I’ve done it completely wrong. I sent a grovelling apology but I still feel really awful about it. I feel like I deserve to be struck by lightning or something.
I almost wish I’d chucked it in the skip 
Anyway, as the heading implies, my hard-won tan is gradually being worn away by the feeble sun and not-so-feeble rain in this country. After some prevarication I decided the other week to cut through the whole problem and go away again. This has given me a lot of work to do in a short space of time, which will at least help keep me busy for the next few weeks.
The other thing that’s been occupying my time has been that tricky first novel. Well, last Friday I wrote the last chapter of what is, admittedly, very much a first draft. Still, it feels good to have it in one whole piece, something I can now go to work on shaping into a status that might one day be regarded as ‘finished’. What I do with it after that, or even before that, I frankly have no idea. Anybody know any decent agents?
I had a ticket to go and see Peter Green next Monday at the HMV Picture House here in town. I’ve always fancied seeing him since he re-surfaced a few years ago. I suppose it didn’t come as too much of a surprise to hear the other day that it has been cancelled, though it was a disappointment nonetheless. Still, given what the man’s been through over the years I can’t be too critical. I have much sympathy (if indeed he’s not well – it might be something else altogether) and the ‘flaky’ thing is just a little joke 
So, other than going back to the beginning of the novel, and sorting out everything to do with the flat and such, and packing a bag at some stage, August has, by way of entertainment, Cropredy Festival, a long weekend in Copenhagen and a ticket to see Rachel Harrington at the local folk club in Leith.
All that and New Year’s Eve by the Indian Ocean to look forward to. Unemployment, eh?
]]>Anyway, in the past few weeks I’ve had a week-long visit from Claire, which was great. In a distinct contrast to our earlier days we ate healthily, went for a hike in the Pentlands:
and did a couple of laps of Arthur’s Seat. She was keen for a swim in the lake, myself, less so. Still found time to visit the Edinburgh CAMRA beer festival, mind. Noice. And she brought the sun with her, as usual, which was excellent. No idea how she does that.
After that I did some overdue and (partly) profitable Access work, and then I went to see my folks for a few days, during the course of which I spent a day in Eastbourne visiting an old school friend of mine, Tracy. This isn’t the sort of thing I’d normally do, but I made an exception here, since we were good friends a long time ago. One of those days that passes in a flash.
On the way back from Sussex I stopped over in London to say bon voyage to JJ, who is beginning his new life as an engaged man in Canada even as we speak. We had a fine evening in South London Pacific, apart from the bit where someone crunched my toe into a bleeding mess. Ow. Next day we cleared out JJ’s loft and played a little street hockey. I took the train home (first class, mind – cheaper than standard, and very civilised) along with a few things I nabbed from his charity shop pile, and I am now the proud owner of a lava lamp:
I’ve sort of always wanted one but never owned one. Till now. It’s ace. Man.
Once I got back I had a few tweaks on the Access front to sort out. On Saturday I won the lottery (not that I’ll be retiring on a tenner). On Sunday I was distracted by the awfulness of the world cup final. Yesterday I achieved an ambition by getting a contribution posted on the Grauniad’s Over-By-Over commentary, on the deciding England v Bangladesh ODI (see 26th over of Bangladesh’s innings for context, 31st for my tuppence worth).
With all that lot going on I haven’t got as far as I’d have liked recently with the book, but work resumed properly today, and I have several clear weeks ahead, during which the only other thing to do is plot where to escape to next…
]]>Still, I don’t imagine I’ll get much sympathy for wittering on about how cold it is here, so given that there’s really not an awful lot to report, why not have a look at some of the photos I’ve uploaded. I haven’t got round to putting titles or anything on most of them, nor done much weeding, but it’ll give you something to look at till the footy comes on again.
]]>Anyway, I’m here in my room at the Yes pondering final preparations for the return trip. I’ve done all my chores and am now hiding from the heat in air-conditioned comfort. I’m not a big fan of A/C, and think it’s over-used in the UK, but honestly, you’d be mad not to pay for a room with it here just now. I’ve just read a story in the Grauniad about how many people are dying from heat stroke in what is apparently the hottest summer since records began in 1800. Can’t say I’m surprised.
In fact, I came over a little unwell myself last night. I don’t know whether it was a touch of heat stroke (not that I was out for that long yesterday) or something I ate at lunch, but I felt, and indeed was, sick late on, then slept for hours, missing the wickets I had waited for during Bangladesh’s sturdy fightback after the follow-on. Typical. Anyway, I feel fine today, and am keeping out of the sun and eating carefully just in case.
So I leave here for the airport at 22:30 and, thanks to the BA strike, have an 8.5 hour wait for my connecting flight in London. Barstages. Still, at least I’m actually getting home, fingers crossed. Drop you a line when I get there.
]]>Anyway, yesterday I sadly had to leave the mountains and head back down to Delhi, since my flight leaves on Tuesday and my visa expires on Thursday. The BA strike has left me with an eight-and-a-half hour layover in Heathrow, but at least I can still get home. The trip down to Delhi was not without incident mainly on account of my somewhat inaccurate answer to the question “Do you have yout tickets/passport/money?” The rail ticket I had looked at while packing turned out to be my old one from March and I hadn’t printed out the new one. Attempts to locate an internet cafe in Haldwani proved difficult, since it seemed to be school exam results day and every cafe was swamped with a million kids getting their results online. Eventually I managed to find a place, dump myself rather rudely at the front of the queue and throw myself upon the mercy of the owner. Then his printer decided to start playing up… Eventually we got to Lal Kuan Station with eight minutes to spare and I made it to the train. Phew.
I’d decided, since it’s the end of a long trip, to treat myself on the way home. Thus it was that I travelled First Class on the train (for a gargantuan £13 or so), and I am now holed up at the fabulously named Hotel Cottage Yes Please. The Yes (as it shall henceforth be known) is a cut above my usual lodgings in Pahar Ganj, but worth it. It’s clean, the service is good, it has air con (requisite when it’s 45 degrees outside), a fridge (which I have had stocked up with beer), a TV on which I can watch the cricket later, wifi so I can catch up with all this malarkey, and is nicely located near some good eateries.
On the way up the main bazaar last night I nearly got run over by a cycle rickshaw, which added a nice new scar to my satchel, and which nicked my hand, unbeknown to me until I started bleeding on the hotel register. Pahar Ganj’s main bazaar itself is the subject of some ongoing Commonwealth Games beautification and as such is completely unrecognisable. It’s actually hard to find some things, and other buildings have reappeared that I had no idea existed. The road is full of rubble and bricks and the place in general looks like a war zone. As if anyone coming for the CWG is going to care? Afterwards it will, doubtless, quickly resume its former character anyway. La la.
Right. I’m going to do a bit of work before lunch, see if I can’t get some stuff posted, find an ATM and then try out the restaurant down the street that Im and Nar recommended. See you later.
]]>Happy Birthday mate – have a good one
One contributing factor in my recovery has so far, shamefully, gone unrecognised, and I feel I ought to correct that right now. You see Amul, purveryors of ice-cream to the sub-contintent, make these:
As you can see, the health benefits of the Amul Chocobar are many and varied. Not only is it Probiotic, it has other, more specific, benefits too:
These would be foolish to ignore, as I’m sure any doctor would agree. I have, therefore, over the past few days, been aiding my recovery in the areas of immune system, osteopathy and, not least, making my brain bigger, by eating at least one of these a day. Having lost a bit of weight I can afford the fat and calories, discreetly tucked away on a (very small) panel on the back. All this and it’s political, too: see, it’s pro-life? Well, everyone has a right to choose I guess. And I choose Amul Chocobar – it’s good for you!
In other news, we’ve been having some fairly spectacular thunderstorms here, with more rain, which is welcome. Last night’s lightning show was pretty special, even if it did blow all the fuses. Again. Great entertainment, assuming one isn’t standing under a large pylon or something daft. With or without an ice-cream.
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