Tales from the Gael

I’ve been thinking a lot about obituaries since the New Year. It was triggered during the dinner at New Year’s Eve, when someone was talking about a sport or hobby and said, ‘at least that’s something they can put in the obit.’ Since then I’ve paid attention to some of the things people write…the forty years of hard day-to-day drudgery of life seems unimportant. Instead it’s his ‘good works,’ his dedication to the boy scouts or his impressive low handicap that seems to ‘mark the man’.

I was saddened to hear of the death of a brilliant actor in Leith Theatre whom I was really lucky to have been in plays with. His name was Alex Purves. He was funny, dedicated and always ‘there’. Imagine my surprise when I read his obituary, and learnt that he had been a bank manager until he retired, and then his REAL life took off. He gave his all to his first love, acting, and got an equity card and appeared in Taggart and other Scottish productions as well as being one of the main characters in Leith Theatre.

John is all fired up after meeting a new crowd of people last night at Marion’s. A retired dentist was the highlight of the evening as he enthused about his passion for skiing. I kept quiet, not wishing to discuss my demotion to the remedial class on my first ever trip to Austria. Anyway John is all zippy and is enquiring about trains to Aviemore and sprung out of bed this morning and went jogging round the Meadows. Oh good grief…I was a bit alarmed, as the snow is still thick on the ground, and I vaguely wondered what I should write on his obit. Anyway he bounced back in, full of exhilaration and has now bounced back out to buy me an Observer which I intend to read, snuggled up on my comfy blue sofa.

Nick and I went marching on Thursday and called in to the Calton Cemetery where the great David Hume, hero and philosopher of the Enlightenment is resting under a massive memorial that marks the city skyline.

 He was a great sceptic, and believed that passion is more important than reason, and that humans have knowledge only of things they directly experience. There is also a grand classical statue of him that sits outside the High Court and where students think it is the funniest thing in the world to crown his lofty head with a traffic cone. Ah well, I couldn’t help wondering what his peers thought of him…did he dance an elegant quadrille or was he a great supporter for raising money for the less fortunate…who knows?

I wonder if it’s too late to take up ballet? That could be my great achievement. Anna Pavlova has been my pin up since I was about 9, and for years I used to walk, pointing my toes and imagining dying swans and other romantic notions. This year (so far) I have bought two ballet posters, one of the said dying swan and the other of a grande jete,  and I also bought the Lavery print of Pavlova, who actually posed for him.

Tonight I might start with a couple of plies whilst I wait for the bath to run!

What a whirlwind of a holiday. From the dramas of the BIG SNOW to all the glittery nonsense of the holiday season. Panic buying, even though I thought I was prepared…asked John for a ladle, which he kindly got for me (I was black affronted having to serve up soup with a coffee mug) and it looked quite quaint amongst all the chocs and socks and so on. I like it…a good ladle!

Took this picture of Gerry in Glasgow, after going to the Kelvingrove Art Gallery…Don’t know why it caught my eye!

Loved having my girrils back, and was appalled how the newly decorated bedroom was suddenly blitzed with make up, jewels, and clothes within seconds of them arriving. Then the boyfriends arrived and I was glad to have Delia and Nigella close at hand.

One of the highlights for me was a lesson of ‘Sushi-making for beginners’ run by Tasha…Gerry and I were the sous-chefs made to do all the menial stuff like chopping and rolling but the end product was deeeelicious.

We went for a night out to see Acoustic Dave in The Scotsman Lounge, just off the Royal Mile…it was all very busy and friendly and the beer was flowing as was the vodka and everything else. I captured Gerry with a viking, who just wandered in off the street!

Good atmosphere and reminiscent of nights out in the Glenelg Inn, with the live singer and the general camaraderie. Gerry seemed to think she knew ALL the words of EVERY song… Natasha and I were not convinced.

We walked home at about 1 in the morning, full of the joys, (plus a pizza bought from a late night take away) through the Meadows, forgetting the advice of never walking there at night without a cricket bat….It was ominous as the fog descended, as thick as London Fog, and suddenly Natasha and Leo were gobbled up…I remember a horrid movie that has scared me all my life –‘Mrs Preston, Mrs Preston, you have only one month to live’ (footsteps grow louder) Eeeeks. Anyway John and I just galloped on regardless!!! (Leo is a big lad).

New Year was celebrated around a beautiful table with a candelabra and a flower arrangement from the Balmoral. My first kiss of the New Year came from Scotland’s leading criminal barrister, followed by two judges, then an elderly lady of 96 who had just returned from a trip to Tahiti. She had sort of backpacked, and travelled to some native village in a post van. She was cool. Fun evening, and then at 3.30 am John and I changed into our wellies and trudged home…passing remnants of the drunken revels, seeing the city sights. One girl was wandering alone, across the Dean Bridge in a sparkly silver dress, bare foot, without tights. She was a sad picture. I would have offered her a cricket bat, if I’d had one.

And finally the Messiah. Oh my! We popped our champagne and ate posh pate sandwiches and listened to the choir sing their hearts out…The Usher Hall was packed and the conductor led his orchestra and singers by singing every word himself. It was quite a feat…he mouthed the words, nodded, jumped and beckoned. The only thing was he looked a little like Richard Wilson, from ‘One Foot in the Grave’… and the bass singer had the look of Mr Bean. I was probably a little tipsy by that time…but I did restrain myself and didn’t join in with the Hallelujah chorus. (Memories of wearing ear muffs in a tourist shop, singing along with a Robert Burns song, and John coming over and telling me to be quiet, or just sing in my head….aaaagh the shame).

So, it’s a new year, and everyone has gone, the world is back at work, and now we have to hope that something good will turn up for us. I still have to pull the wish bone on the turkey…so will have to save up my wishes for that.

In the meantime, it’s onwards and upwards, the laundry is done, the rooms are vacuumed, and as my mum used to say. ‘Don’t let the New Year dawn on last year’s dirt.’

Walking along the Royal Mile I saw a chilly tiger, just what you would expect to see on a snowy Scottish street!

So far so good, I’ve stepped on the scales and although I haven’t lost my ‘Doha’ stone, the little needle hasn’t shot up too much…so I can still enjoy the Creole Christmas cake and stollens (bought in German market) and all the other delights that haunt the kitchen at this time of the year.

I am suitably impressed with daughter Gerry who has lost so much weight by following some French regime, that only takes 2 months…she is just a sylph and the whole programme is just so delicious.  Oat pancakes and days of protein and days of protein and vedg. The big thing is the farewell to carbs, and sweets which might be a little painful for more mortal souls such as moi. Today I am making Pad Thai noodles with left over turkey -a very spicy and zingy dish from my cookery classes that I did before I left.

The other excitement is I now possess a PINK massage bed! I have Natasha and Gerry and John lined up as clients…so I will have to prepare a bowl of floating foliage for them to study through the peep hole. I will play Davy Spillane, and of course my notes will be close by…just wish teacher, Chris was at hand as well.

It has been lovely having all my kids back…Natasha made it from Wales, and she is full of the joys of her life as a puppet maker and dresser. Rastamouse should appear on our screens at the end of January. I was very impressed when she gave me a full run through of her Tai Chi routine…seems to be very good for you, very disciplined. Might be good for my absentee muscles!

Nick came and joined us for THE DAY…and ate and drank and was merry. He and John feel a little overwhelmed by all the mess and clutter that has suddenly taken over the house (make up, clothes, magazines, and just STUFF) John keeps talking wistfully of joining his son Matt who is skiing in Spain…hmmm. Now what does he mean???

Gerry and I have been shopping, and she bought me the most luxurious cashmere gloves for Christmas….I just love them. They are bright blue and go so well with my new green cashmere socks! Today I am having a day off the colour and am draped in grey.

I felt a little low this morning, waking up to the rain. No matter I will perk up as the day goes on. Maybe it’s because I have just finished Marilyn French’s ‘Her Mother’s Daughter’. Don’t know if you ever read ‘The Woman’s  Room’ that came out in the 1970s…it was quite disturbing and feminist…Dave said I was so awful whilst reading it, he saw me empathising with all the characters that he just wanted to burn it. This one was less forceful, until the end…then it was all pretty gloomy. I need a happy book as an antidote. Maybe I should write another chapter of ‘my rocks’…that usually cheers me up, even though I haven’t sorted out the aftermath of Neal’s drowning!!! Too many distractions.

Have seen a fabulous pattern, to be knitted with Japanese wool in John Lewis…and I so crave it…I wonder if they put wool in the Sale???? But my ‘good’ conscience tells me I have my embroidery to finish first….and a book to write, massages to give, and a French Diet to follow and Tai Chi exercises to learn…Oh dear lord, the days are just not long enough!

Here is a cracker joke to leave you with,

‘What did the Scotsman do when he saw a trumpet planted in his garden?’

‘He rooted it oot!’

I’ve had such a sociable week, meeting up for lunches, sharing wine and stories and generally feeling happy. Saw some carol singers at the Farmers’ Market, just before the big snows came again.

John and I celebrated our 7^th anniversary yesterday. My goodness where has the time gone? We trudged through the snow which was falling in great feathers, and passed India Street, where I had a mental picture of us on our ‘happy day’.

I could just visualise Gerry, Natasha and me done up in our flimsy, silky Vietnamese ao dais, waving cheerily to the well wishers on the Tour Bus as it slowed down so that the nice people could shout to us. It was sunny, cold and crisp, and somehow we got away with wearing only satin shawls.

We got the train to Burntisland, (ever fearful of being marooned without a candle or a shovel) and had lunch with Jinti and Andy and friends. We sat around a round table in a kitchen decorated with Christmas lights and candles, eating Nigel Slater and a pie that was so lemony and decadent I wanted it never to end.

What I love are the stories people tell. On Thursday we heard of meetings with Maharajahs in India, where Derek and Dilly had gone and found the village where grandparents had once served as missionaries. Yesterday we heard of cries for help in the sea off Corfu where Jinti and Andy were asleep on their yacht. Jinti had finally been aroused from slumber and scrambled on deck to find a girl drowning near by. They got her in the dinghy and off to hospital. She was only 14 or so, and her foot was hanging off. All they could see was the severed bone. Ghastly. They think it was a suicide attempt. The father got in touch this week to say the girl is now out of intensive care, but they are not sure if she lost her foot. All these stories while I nodded and sipped fizzy wine.

I heard a lovely story this week, about a wonderful character who lived on the West Coast of Scotland, sadly dead now for many years. One night, way back when, he walked down to the jetty with a drunken poet, who was intent in ‘doing away with himself’ (again…for apparently it was quite a regular intention of his).  This man and another fellow tried to talk the drunken poet out of jumping off, but to no avail. They saw him floundering about, and our hero took pity on him and thought he should jump in after him and give him a ‘wee dram’ to send him off properly!!! Then he thought better of it, being a cold night, and said, ‘Ach he can just get on with it himself!’ Happily the poet sobered up, and managed to get to the shore, with no help from the two Samaritans at all!

More snow has fallen, and chaos reigns. I am now agitated for I have two daughters trying to get home to Edinburgh…will the airports stay open, will they make it?…I jolly well hope so…and then we can tell our own stories and catch up on all our different lives.

Happy Christmas to one and all. xxxxx

We’ve just got in from a walk up Blackford Hill. Saw what I thought was a fox sitting in a garden… and fluttered about trying to snap it with my phone, and was mortified to find it was a mere statue…(Didn’t notice the badger and pixie next to it.) Hope no one witnessed my attempts as a wild life photographer. We did manage to stay upright on the icy slopes, but it was a challenge….even in spite of the sturdy boots.

Snow has gone…but we are left with slushy, icy pavements that are a nightmare to traverse. I sometimes feel like Ralf Fiennes lugging my own weight in cans and groceries across the frozen waste grounds. Because of this I have taken to making soups galore…this week we had corn chowder, French onion, good old fashioned broth…and that’s just lunch. John is getting fed up with all this winter ‘good-for-you’ stuff…so today we reverted back to stilton and cheddar washed down with a couple of glasses of Port!

Local shops have been how I imagine it was ‘during the war’…the shelves empty, no bread, fruit or vedg and the cans reduced to just a few. Thank goodness, all is back to normal, and hopefully will stay that way till after the New Year.

Nick and I went to see ‘The Illusionist’ on Wednesday…it’s an animated film, set in Edinburgh. Very clever, funny and beautiful.

John has been painting and has worked wonders in the back bedroom, and I have been writing and living in my own made up world. My lunch date and coffee date both cancelled so I had no excuse…I wrote 6,000 words instead. I have ‘drowned’ Neal, and now have to sort out the consequences! That will be next week! Should Caroline continue her affair with Donnie, now that she has found out her husband is dead???!!!!

Hmmmm Will have to give it some thought.

What a week! Such high drama, with the snow and all the chaos it involved, and then the cloak and dagger innuendos of the football venue results. Well done to Qatar, I could just imagine the euphoria in Doha. I would love to visit again in 2022 and see all the amazing plans become reality. Here, England is smarting, and every single channel on the TV is spouting Panorama revelations etc…but really, they have a Royal Wedding next year, then the Olympics…quite enough of the spotlight I should think, and poor MI5 will be needing a holiday after all that.

I loved the snow, and all the clever and artistic designs that popped up around the city, the companionable camaraderie, and the smiles from strangers as we shared ‘a moment’.

Nick made me laugh when he recounted his friend Duggie’s Samaritan trip to his Grandad’s. The old guy was stuck in his house, and gave Duggie his shopping list….here is the ‘modern’ pensioner’s list:

2 tins of Heinz soup

1 tin of Corned Beef

1 tin Spam

1 pkt Benson and Hedges

1 pkt matches

1 60W light bulb

Cheapest and nastiest bottle of Whisky

I would say it sounds much like it would in 1945!

John has been fitting draft excluders…and I have been keeping well away from the kitchen…as with the door open it’s been freezing, they say -10 so I basked in the lounge working on the sequel to the Highland Games…this one is called The Highland Rocks…so far so good. Did ring Maggie (the literary agent), but she has been so stressed with schools closed, kids at home, cars stuck in snow drifts, she hasn’t been giving my great works the attention they deserve. Grrrrrrowl.

We did go for a brisk walk around Arthur’s Seat yesterday,

and saw sledgers, skiers, a lot of mad bouncy dogs and pretty scenes.

Had to laugh at a group of geese getting ready to emigrate. There was a lot of fuss as they got ready and into formation!

They were finally distracted when some Polish woman came and threw her scraps of bread to one and all.

Holiday plans were put on hold!

To keep with the new improved fireplace and blue sofa, we seem to be still in house improvement mode, and this week we went back to the antique shops and got a referral to a furniture restorer. We visited ‘Davey’ in his upstairs loft…WHAT a glory hole…covered in every kind of chisel, leg, handle, nut and screw you could imagine…I was full of trepidation as I couldn’t imagine how he could fit anything else in. Samples from all the ages lay about in varying states of repair. Well he is coming on Monday to uplift and ‘do’ the Georgian chest. He came round to give it an appraisal…and stood stooped in the snow wringing his hands, in his cut off woollen gloves. I thought I was face to face with Uriah Heep! BUT to be fair he was warm and shy and keen and obviously knows his stuff. I hope he does us proud.

John takes a break every now and then to send off his CV, and shouts at me to say he’s sent off to Korea or Kuwait or wherever. I just say, ‘fine’ and get on with whatever…imagine his horror when Serbia, Uzbekistan and Saudi Arabia came back to him….We scuttled off to peer at the World Map…and have a go at the Chinese Fortune sticks and maybe when Natasha comes for Christmas we’ll try the Tarot! Que sera, so they say, or at least Doris Day did.

Here is a picture of my hanging basket…late flowering lobelia caught in an ice cube! Beautiful!

I woke to a white out…a beautiful snowy scene, complete with little fir tree under inches of snow…Nice.

Yesterday was white, and we did venture out and it was all very jolly with kids sledging and people looking Christmassy and friendly. I felt very virtuous and made a big pot of split pea soup and John continued on his list of DIY. I am just exhausted watching him. He’s converted a cupboard for the linen and made shelves for all my shoes…(I was horrified, I had no idea I had that many, for I had cleverly squirreled them about the house, under coats and what not, but now they are all arranged and are easily counted…hmmm Mrs Marcos) He’s covered the fireplace tiles with slate, which is a big improvement…suits the blue room, and doesn’t detract from the Doha rug.

Today is Aunty Mary’s birthday…she is 90. She sits up in Dalwhinnie, which is described as a hamlet on the great north road, about 50 miles from Inverness. It has a railway station, a distillery, shop and hotel. It used to be quite a bustling place, and employed quite a lot of people, but now of course the whisky is made by computers, and that means man power is reduced to about five people…Not like in my day….I hope you can hear me sigh.

Anyway she is amazing, lives alone after suffering a stroke about 15 years ago, and manages to get about her house by zimmer. Always cheery, she welcomes neighbours and friends at any hour, and makes everyone welcome. She looked after me for a while, when I was in my ‘orphan Annie’ phase, after my grandmother died, and before my father and stepmother came to get me from Malaysia. She also looked after me during school holidays from Morrison’s. She also played foster mother to her brother’s children and all the children in Dalwhinnie grew up knowing her as ‘Mame’. She was a refuge where kids knew that there would always be a biscuit and a hug. Now at 90 she is celebrating her birthday…and has 40 cards to open and parcels and flowers.

I remember her granny,my great granny who lived to be 96 (or 7, can’t remember) also sat in a little house overlooking the Grampian mountains, and when she died there was a write-up about her in the Sunday Post… I learnt she had been a midwife…attending to mothers all over the district, on a bicycle in all weathers. They made women tough in those days. Sadly she had 8 children of her own, but only one son outlived her.

Aunty Mary told me her father was the Duke of Athol’s private piper and was considerably older than her mother. When they married, apparently he loved her so much he vowed ‘he would keep the winds from blowing on her’. Sadly after three children, he couldn’t save her and she died tragically young, leaving old granny to bring up the children with the bereaved Duke’s piper.

I remember the last time I visited Aunty Mary was talking about how busy Dalwhinnie station once was, what with hunting and shooting guests up for the season, and barrels of whisky to be taken down to Perth, and she said way back when, a man call Mr Kennedy came up for a 3 month trial on the Ben Alder estate…he was so unamused at the remoteness of the place, he left his belongings at the station saying he would collect them when he left…well, I  have a picture of his widow, Mrs Kennedy and you can see she was no spring chicken. The couple lived in Dalwhinnie for over 50 years and Mrs Kennedy herself lived to be 100.

To continue the ‘old folk’ theme…I had to laugh at the latest news of John’s mother, who is in a home in Evesham. When I saw her last she was very discontent, and not happy to be 95. The latest news is a new resident has come to live in the home…and his name is Lionel (the only man in the place). All the old women made a play for him, but happily Jessie won, and now the two sit together holding hands and are quite oblivious to everything else. Just as well as all the other old women are spitting!!!!

Anyway enough enough. The snow is falling thicker than ever and I must go and watch it.

First…the coat in all its glory!

I have hardly had it off, for the weather has been crisp and cold and it’s been perfect. I just love it. I wore it to see the literary agent who is looking at ‘the trapeze’, I left her with ‘the highland games’ and she wants to read the Banyan Tree…she says she wants to hear my ‘voice’ and it’s weird because in each book I sound completely different. I am just a confused person trying to get out. I think she was dazzled by my coat though.

My basal cell carcinoma was chopped out, by a jolly doctor with limited sewing skills….the plastic guy who did my face did 12 tiny stitches that left an almost invisible scar…this guy did 4 whoppers in blue thread. Hmmm. He also zapped another ‘old friend’ with just a quick slice…I nearly had a canary…it wasn’t even life threatening (as indeed the bcc isn’t either)…but a warning before he cuts is always good I would have thought!

Final humiliation this week was kneeling on a massage table in an outsize man’s running shorts, which reached nearly to my calves. I was being taught some mighty exercises to help my absentee core muscles to perform, so that they can begin supporting my spine, with all the dodgy discs. I see King Abdulla of Saudi Arabia is suffering a similar affliction. I leave all my vanity and self esteem on the dreich pavement, as I go in to meet my trendy young and very attractive physio. He exudes ripples of exuberance and health, as though he had just attacked the summit of Everest. Talking of which, I am very proud of Mike and Tod who have just had a brilliant expedition to the said mountain…big wows.

Friday night began as any other…full tummy and TV, curtains drawn, soft lights and the ‘channel changer’ at hand. Imagine the surprise to find Leonard Cohen in concert for nearly three hours. Unseen footage, gleaned from 4,000 cuts from his tour in 1971-2 and then followed with his world tour in 2009…I was in heaven…and I hummed to Suzanne, and remembered the angst of those growing up years with the Songs of Love and Hate. Seeing him now, aged 76, so classy, with trilby and suit and no tie, his back up singers in sedate waist coats and not a sequin in sight…his music has touched us all, his words echo many of our hopes and fears and I was so sad, seeing his progression to an ‘old’ guy yet I felt so proud of him. Yesterday I felt flat, maybe all those ‘Birds on a Wire’ or ‘Sisters of Mercy’ ‘So long, Marianne’ and the ‘Chelsea Hotel’ got to me…and the rain soaked my duffle coat and I felt lost in a world of  yesteryear. Sniff.

Like a bird on the wire
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free

BUT we have a royal wedding to lift us all! Oh the joys of it all, and our news is full of rings and dresses and venues. So sad to see the memorabilia from previous occasions…Fergie and Andrew’s thimbles are selling on ebay for 25p. WHO would buy them? Actually I find sewing with a thimble very constraining, not to mention annoying.

Bought the most beautiful sofa yesterday from an antique shop…its Victorian, and recently been refurbished, it even smells new with new feathers and horse hair or whatever (can’t imagine how they get a lot of hair from a horse…would it be the tail? It must need a lot of tails.)  It sat in all its blue glory amidst gilt mirrors and ancient clippers and schooners and a giant aeroplane propeller…the owners have their own passions it would seem. Well it’s to arrive on Monday evening, and I am very excited about that….I am now officially a BLUE person…I am going through my blue period, (as Jilly Cooper once stated. HA HA!)

Just a final thank you to daughter, Natasha.I found two of her pastel studies of apes that she did once upon a time. I popped them into frames…AWESOME!  Much more value than Fergie’s thimble I would say!

Now I think I will go and listen to ‘I’m your man’.

Sotto voce means intentionally lowering one’s voice for emphasis. The speaker gives the impression of uttering involuntarily a truth which may surprise, I love it…and have visions of various comics dressed in women’s clothing, mouthing words and rolling their eyes when bad mouthing a friend or referring to the gynaecologist.

It was not thus with John and I. We nearly came to blows as I lowered my tones and whispered some observation to him on the escalator in Frasers. I was referring to the nearly naked models strategically placed at the top of each floor obviously educating the public and granny generation how to wear itsy bitsy g-strings. He replied in a big loud voice, ‘how do you expect me to hear what you say if you whisper like that?’ the woman ahead of me turned around and looked at me very accusingly…I was mortified, and then to make things worse I was trapped by an old lady with a zimmer and John was trying to make me overtake her…that was when I lost it…and forgot all about sotto voce, and said VERY loudly, ‘what do you expect me to do…mow her down?’

Time for lunch.

Edinburgh on Saturday afternoon is vile…all the Fifers come marching over the bridge and all the folk from outlying fields and villages come and hog the pavements, the whole thing is a nightmare. We did persevere as we have to buy stuff to ‘dress’ the two bedrooms in the flat we are trying to sell. We successfully bought duvets and what not, nearly killing the tiny lady in charge of bed linen. She was only a little over a metre in height. Imagine the shame I felt when I pulled out a valence and the whole collection rained down on her head.

Time to move on.

Fell madly in love with a red duffle coat. So beautifully cut and cosy and so perfect. Sigh.

We moved on.

Today it is raining, and it is poppy day. I was chopping onions whilst listening to the radio and I’m not sure if it was the onions or the poem that made me cry. It was read in between verses of ‘Abide with me’. The poem is called Reconciliation by Siegfried Sassoon, and written here in Edinburgh in November 1918.

When you are standing at your hero’s grave,             
Or near some homeless village where he died,
Remember, through your heart’s rekindling pride,
The German soldiers who were loyal and brave.

Men fought like brutes; and hideous things were done;
And you have nourished hatred harsh and blind.
But in that Golgotha perhaps you’ll find
The mothers of the men who killed your son.  

And finally a thought to Burma, and the lady who represents so much to those people. She is free at last, and as I watched her battle to escape the crowds threatening to swamp her, I remembered our trip there a few years ago.

The hushed whispers in sotto voce by tour guides afraid to voice their political views, the wonderful friendliness of people we met, and Mr Diamond who perhaps changed our lives forever.

He brought it home to us in a dingy restaurant in Mandalay, that no matter how many people you may love in the world, or what may be important in another place, all that matters is NOW. You must live for now, forget the past and the future, treasure the life and the one you are with.

I think I should be treasured…with a lovely red duffle coat!

“The Autumn leaves pass by my window…the autumn leaves of red and gold”… I so love that song; I went to Yves Montand’s funeral in Paris, at Pere La Chaise cemetery along with Catherine Deneuve and Gerard Depardieu. That is all very well, but yesterday I spent all morning sweeping like a dervish, and had the front and back all spick and span, and then the big winds and rain that were forecast came in the night and now….I am MAD…it’s just all set to try me.

John and I went for a lovely walk along the Water of Leith on Saturday, ooohing and aaahing at the sunshine through the trees,

and the water and ducks and how Pre-Raphaelite everything looked, then suddenly we saw the most frightening tableau…it was as though Arcimboldo was alive and well and not the revered memory from 16^th Century Italy. Someone had

made life size models out of branches and leaves and they were just so life-like it was quite scary…almost as scary as the tree that had decided to ‘eat’ the wire fencing. 

Enjoyed a bacon roll…sitting outside on the pavement in Stockbridge…hard to believe it was November. We later went off to see an Art Exhibition in aid of the Macmillan nurses…the pictures were all very beautiful, and the wild windy beaches, croft houses and desolate broken down walls were much in evidence…but on the way we had called in to  a Chinese shop looking for a blue and white vase to lodge some sunflowers to ‘go’ with the Monet painting…when we saw a Vietnamese painting, that we had so admired in Hanoi, by an artist who specialised in painting lollipop style trees in bright primary colours…so guess what we bought…Ha! 

Our front room is a glory of bright happy things, must reflect my mood. Once, about 10 years ago a friend visited me and looked around my sombre Scots Pines in muted greens and smudgy drawings of Pictish brochs that I so admired and said, ‘Gosh, Gael, I didn’t know you were so unhappy!’

So…here we are in rainy Edinburgh, with more wild winds to come, no job, a flat that won’t sell, and yet I feel optimistic…even though I have another stupid basal cell carcinoma on my clavicle and have to see about that tonight, and 4 more slipped discs (thanks to the MRI in Doha) and have to go back to Steven, the physiotherapist…Oh the joys of Monday Monday!