I've had a good go at my website, converting it all to use cascading style sheets so it'll be all lean and mean. But while doing that I couldn't help but notice that a lot of my photos are badly scanned and need to be redone (my current scanner is much better than my old one); plus the general style is inconsistent; though I've tidied that up a lot. I should be able to upload the new site by the end of the week. The look won't be that different, it's just a technical upgrade.
I really enjoyed doing it, finally actually using the stuff I learned on the last computer course.
23 January 2003
20 January 2003
:: progress report
Cleaned the house - tick (well, you know, to my standards; it wouldn't pass the white glove test)
Cleaned the car - tick (cheated by going to the car wash; it's dirty again now)
Tidied the garden - no
Walked the dog - tick! He's had a good weekend & is exhausted. Today we went to one of my favourites, Elie. En route I decided to stop off at Wemyss, to check out some caves there I was told about. Turned out not to be a great idea. First of all, there was a giant sign by the path leading to the caves saying NO DOGS. Then there was the beach; no keep off signs, but they hardly needed them:
Yes, all this and the North Sea too! The wall is brand new, and the rocks looked brand new as well -- nice and sharp. I guess they thought red and grey would look nice together.
Very inviting, especially on a winter's afternoon. I can only assume there's some sand down there at low tide. Or maybe it's a shortcut in case you want to commit suicide.
So we pushed on to Elie, which is much nicer.
It's so bracing!
Bertie loves it at Elie. The second time we went there he jumped a fence and went frolicking around a field. I was furious and worried, but Anthea, who was with us, was doubled up with laughter -- he was pronking like a springbok, he was so delighted. It was pretty funny, in retrospect. But to get him out of the field (because of course he couldn't jump out -- what was the point?), I had to climb in and walk round the boundary looking for a gate. Couldn't find one, but eventually found a gap under the fence that was just big enough to squeeze a large, struggling greyhound through, with me pushing and Anthea pulling. He hasn't jumped the fence again.
I took a whole lot more photos but took them on my ye-olde SLR camera, with film and everything -- have to wait until I've had them developed. The film dates from before I got the digital camera, shows you how much I use the old one.
On the way back I stopped off at a charity book sale in Lundin Links and picked up a few foxed old classics, including Portrait of a Lady by Henry James and The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins. As I left I noticed a pile of old maps and travel brochures and picked out a few. They all dated from the 50s and 60s and have gorgeous graphics:
And one showed how far we've come, and why political correctness isn't a bad idea. It's a map of Lakewood, a suburb of Long Beach, California. The map was printed in 1956 by an estate agency flogging development housing, so on the back it has a checklist of "100+ reasons why you should live in beautiful Lakewood".
A lot of it sounds like stuff that would send anyone screaming in the opposite direction -- Patio Club anyone? -- but what really had my jaw dropping was this section:
So when they say "100% American" they mean 100% white. "Good Neighbours" are white neighbours. There are plenty of police to keep anyone else out. And just in case you couldn't add all that up, they drum it home with point 18: "Is Lakewood the 'White Spot' of Long Beach? Yes." Yikes. I'll have to email the city council a copy for their archives.
I haven't been to any films or anything, probably do that tomorrow night. I've been busy clearing out various cupboards, and doing lots of little DIY jobs that have been on my "to-do" list for long enough to make it disproportionately satisfying to get them done at last.
Cleaned the car - tick (cheated by going to the car wash; it's dirty again now)
Tidied the garden - no
Walked the dog - tick! He's had a good weekend & is exhausted. Today we went to one of my favourites, Elie. En route I decided to stop off at Wemyss, to check out some caves there I was told about. Turned out not to be a great idea. First of all, there was a giant sign by the path leading to the caves saying NO DOGS. Then there was the beach; no keep off signs, but they hardly needed them:
Yes, all this and the North Sea too! The wall is brand new, and the rocks looked brand new as well -- nice and sharp. I guess they thought red and grey would look nice together.
Very inviting, especially on a winter's afternoon. I can only assume there's some sand down there at low tide. Or maybe it's a shortcut in case you want to commit suicide.
So we pushed on to Elie, which is much nicer.
It's so bracing!
Bertie loves it at Elie. The second time we went there he jumped a fence and went frolicking around a field. I was furious and worried, but Anthea, who was with us, was doubled up with laughter -- he was pronking like a springbok, he was so delighted. It was pretty funny, in retrospect. But to get him out of the field (because of course he couldn't jump out -- what was the point?), I had to climb in and walk round the boundary looking for a gate. Couldn't find one, but eventually found a gap under the fence that was just big enough to squeeze a large, struggling greyhound through, with me pushing and Anthea pulling. He hasn't jumped the fence again.
I took a whole lot more photos but took them on my ye-olde SLR camera, with film and everything -- have to wait until I've had them developed. The film dates from before I got the digital camera, shows you how much I use the old one.
On the way back I stopped off at a charity book sale in Lundin Links and picked up a few foxed old classics, including Portrait of a Lady by Henry James and The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins. As I left I noticed a pile of old maps and travel brochures and picked out a few. They all dated from the 50s and 60s and have gorgeous graphics:
And one showed how far we've come, and why political correctness isn't a bad idea. It's a map of Lakewood, a suburb of Long Beach, California. The map was printed in 1956 by an estate agency flogging development housing, so on the back it has a checklist of "100+ reasons why you should live in beautiful Lakewood".
A lot of it sounds like stuff that would send anyone screaming in the opposite direction -- Patio Club anyone? -- but what really had my jaw dropping was this section:
So when they say "100% American" they mean 100% white. "Good Neighbours" are white neighbours. There are plenty of police to keep anyone else out. And just in case you couldn't add all that up, they drum it home with point 18: "Is Lakewood the 'White Spot' of Long Beach? Yes." Yikes. I'll have to email the city council a copy for their archives.
I haven't been to any films or anything, probably do that tomorrow night. I've been busy clearing out various cupboards, and doing lots of little DIY jobs that have been on my "to-do" list for long enough to make it disproportionately satisfying to get them done at last.
17 January 2003
:: time off
Blimey, where did that week go? It's Thursday night already. I had two days where I started work early, to learn the software upgrade they're working on, and an early start always throws me. But now I've got four days off, four in a row!
First thing on the list is cleaning: clean the house, clean the car, tidy the garden. The car is extremely filthy due to many weeks of salted roads and a grand finale circle in a muddy field today. As I drove off down the road, mud was spraying off the wheels, and the windows are spackled with it. Note to self: Peugeot 205 is not an off-road vehicle. Well, at least I didn't get my feet dirty.
I'd like to get on to some of my many DIY projects, but ... we'll see. Cleaning first. And then getting in touch with people I haven't talked to for ages but who sent me cards & letters at Christmas.
Bertie will be taken on at least one major expedition over the weekend. He thought he was going on one today, but to his disgust it was only to the pet supermarket. And even then he wasn't allowed to investigate the huge cage of birds he spotted. He's so badly treated, his life is just hell.
There are computer projects too -- rather a lot to do there -- but they'll be on the back burner I'm afraid. I'd much rather be out and about. There are a few films I'd like to see -- I haven't caught the latest Star Trek yet, and I'd like to go to 8 Mile and also 11'09''01 -September 11.
First thing on the list is cleaning: clean the house, clean the car, tidy the garden. The car is extremely filthy due to many weeks of salted roads and a grand finale circle in a muddy field today. As I drove off down the road, mud was spraying off the wheels, and the windows are spackled with it. Note to self: Peugeot 205 is not an off-road vehicle. Well, at least I didn't get my feet dirty.
I'd like to get on to some of my many DIY projects, but ... we'll see. Cleaning first. And then getting in touch with people I haven't talked to for ages but who sent me cards & letters at Christmas.
Bertie will be taken on at least one major expedition over the weekend. He thought he was going on one today, but to his disgust it was only to the pet supermarket. And even then he wasn't allowed to investigate the huge cage of birds he spotted. He's so badly treated, his life is just hell.
There are computer projects too -- rather a lot to do there -- but they'll be on the back burner I'm afraid. I'd much rather be out and about. There are a few films I'd like to see -- I haven't caught the latest Star Trek yet, and I'd like to go to 8 Mile and also 11'09''01 -September 11.
13 January 2003
:: bleuuuugggghhhh!!!!
I've been sick -- as in vomiting. It came on yesterday, all of a sudden, while I was at work. I'd felt a bit nauseous on the way to work, but just ignored it. Then suddenly I had to rush for the toilet. After a couple of trips I decided I'd probably better go home -- I was starting to feel shaky and feverish as well, plus I had diarrhoea. I had to sprint upstairs as soon as I got in, blaaargh, urrrrrgh. Once I was completely emptied out, I took myself off to bed with a hottie and slept a bit, then walked the poor dog and went back to bed with a cup of fennel tea. It was a horrible experience, I can't remember the last time I threw up.
This morning (at 8am, Bertie having decided I'd slept quite long enough) I felt a bit better and risked two slices of dry toast and some black coffee. I kept it down but have felt queasy all day. I had some soup and a roll tonight. Detoxing is de rigeur after Christmas/New Year, but this is a harsh way of going about it! I don't know what set it off, but it could be winter vomiting virus, which I had never heard of before this winter. My next door neighbour, Frances, and her entire family had it, all at once, Mum, Dad and the three kids.
Bertie's foot is totally better, and he's had some good times running around testing it to the max. I took him to Braid Hills as a special treat on Saturday, but didn't let him off the lead much. He went zooming around crazily with some other dogs, slipped on ice and fell on his arse in a defrosted cowpat! He loved every minute of it.
Speaking of ice, it's Bertie's latest craze. During the freezing weather recently, I was regularly dumping the birds' iced-up drinking water and replacing it. Every time, Bertie grabbed the big chunk of ice and gnawed bits off it. Mmm, yum! Crunchy!
I'm obsessing over Greece at the moment, I've wanted to go there for years and I'm probably going in June. I had been thinking of going earlier, but everything is shut until May, and the two colleagues I'm working with are taking their holidays in May, so June it is. I have to decide whether to go on a package holiday or just arrive and take a ferry somewhere; and I have to decide where that somewhere might be. I've got loads of brochures and a guidebook, and so far quite fancy Ikaria, Corfu, and Crete, all for different reasons. There are so many islands to choose from though! They all look gorgeous, but I'd prefer somewhere quiet. Or somewhere with interesting ruins to explore (Crete for example). The old backpacker in me wants to go footloose and fancy-free, following the breeze; the 50-year-old in me wants someone to collect her from the airport and deliver her to a nice clean studio apartment next to the beach. Who will win?
This morning (at 8am, Bertie having decided I'd slept quite long enough) I felt a bit better and risked two slices of dry toast and some black coffee. I kept it down but have felt queasy all day. I had some soup and a roll tonight. Detoxing is de rigeur after Christmas/New Year, but this is a harsh way of going about it! I don't know what set it off, but it could be winter vomiting virus, which I had never heard of before this winter. My next door neighbour, Frances, and her entire family had it, all at once, Mum, Dad and the three kids.
Bertie's foot is totally better, and he's had some good times running around testing it to the max. I took him to Braid Hills as a special treat on Saturday, but didn't let him off the lead much. He went zooming around crazily with some other dogs, slipped on ice and fell on his arse in a defrosted cowpat! He loved every minute of it.
Speaking of ice, it's Bertie's latest craze. During the freezing weather recently, I was regularly dumping the birds' iced-up drinking water and replacing it. Every time, Bertie grabbed the big chunk of ice and gnawed bits off it. Mmm, yum! Crunchy!
I'm obsessing over Greece at the moment, I've wanted to go there for years and I'm probably going in June. I had been thinking of going earlier, but everything is shut until May, and the two colleagues I'm working with are taking their holidays in May, so June it is. I have to decide whether to go on a package holiday or just arrive and take a ferry somewhere; and I have to decide where that somewhere might be. I've got loads of brochures and a guidebook, and so far quite fancy Ikaria, Corfu, and Crete, all for different reasons. There are so many islands to choose from though! They all look gorgeous, but I'd prefer somewhere quiet. Or somewhere with interesting ruins to explore (Crete for example). The old backpacker in me wants to go footloose and fancy-free, following the breeze; the 50-year-old in me wants someone to collect her from the airport and deliver her to a nice clean studio apartment next to the beach. Who will win?
2 January 2003
:: early cut
I was going to post something but I'm being allowed home early as a reward for working long hours the rest of the week, hurrah! So I'll just be brief.
Bertie's injury is healing up well, so of course didn't he go and cut another foot last night? Tsk. I blame myself -- we saw a fox, and Bertie was keen to snuffle around in the undergrowth where it had disappeared. Next thing he was holding up a front foot in a pathetic manner. Ow! Luckily it's not serious, more a scrape than a cut, so I should be able to deal with it without yet another trip to the vet.
Today we went on quite a long walk, given that it was raining and windy and cold. At the halfway point, his boot came off. It and the two socks inside it were sodden through and there didn't seem much point in struggling to get them back on, so I kept him on a short lead and hoped for the best. Seem to have gotten away with it, phew. I dread anything more happening to that foot, it's been such a nuisance. And the poor dog is dying for a fun run, he sick of mooching along on the lead.
Bertie's injury is healing up well, so of course didn't he go and cut another foot last night? Tsk. I blame myself -- we saw a fox, and Bertie was keen to snuffle around in the undergrowth where it had disappeared. Next thing he was holding up a front foot in a pathetic manner. Ow! Luckily it's not serious, more a scrape than a cut, so I should be able to deal with it without yet another trip to the vet.
Today we went on quite a long walk, given that it was raining and windy and cold. At the halfway point, his boot came off. It and the two socks inside it were sodden through and there didn't seem much point in struggling to get them back on, so I kept him on a short lead and hoped for the best. Seem to have gotten away with it, phew. I dread anything more happening to that foot, it's been such a nuisance. And the poor dog is dying for a fun run, he sick of mooching along on the lead.
1 January 2003
:: HAPPY 2003!!!
I'm at work right now, feeling hungover even though all I had to drink last night was half a plastic cup of warm champagne while I watched the Hogmanay fireworks from the balcony outside the staff canteen with the lads from IT. Faye's already gone back south, so I gave away her pass to a lucky soul who got out of work early. I was going to go up and see the fireworks from Princes St, but it was cold and no-one else wanted to go, so ... boo hoo!
Poor Bertie meanwhile was home alone. I'd pulled all the curtains I could and shut the doors of the rooms that had no curtains, and I left the radio on, but he was still pretty jittery when I got home. Rockets were still going off as I took him for his walk, but he was brave and managed to keep his head.
This morning I slept in, missed the Loony Dook and thus missed the possibility of meeting up with Richard and family, who are up from England for a few days. Sigh. I've never managed to get up in time to see the Loony Dook yet. Maybe next year ....
This New Year week is heavy-duty work-wise. On Monday, for example, I started at noon and finished at 9pm, working right through without a break. I was doing the New Year Honours List - the bloke who normally does them is in Jamaica, the lucky swine! I've been enjoying doing some of the other parts of his job, but not that one, it was sheer tedium. I'll get a day off on Saturday -- a million things to do, but I imagine I'll be concentrating on a) sleeping b) loafing and c) walking the dog.
Bertie is allowed out without his boot next Monday, hurrah! However, he's only allowed to walk -- not run -- and only on grass. For another week. He should get the all-clear by the end of the month, and I'll take him to one of his top spots for a sprint.
Poor Bertie meanwhile was home alone. I'd pulled all the curtains I could and shut the doors of the rooms that had no curtains, and I left the radio on, but he was still pretty jittery when I got home. Rockets were still going off as I took him for his walk, but he was brave and managed to keep his head.
This morning I slept in, missed the Loony Dook and thus missed the possibility of meeting up with Richard and family, who are up from England for a few days. Sigh. I've never managed to get up in time to see the Loony Dook yet. Maybe next year ....
This New Year week is heavy-duty work-wise. On Monday, for example, I started at noon and finished at 9pm, working right through without a break. I was doing the New Year Honours List - the bloke who normally does them is in Jamaica, the lucky swine! I've been enjoying doing some of the other parts of his job, but not that one, it was sheer tedium. I'll get a day off on Saturday -- a million things to do, but I imagine I'll be concentrating on a) sleeping b) loafing and c) walking the dog.
Bertie is allowed out without his boot next Monday, hurrah! However, he's only allowed to walk -- not run -- and only on grass. For another week. He should get the all-clear by the end of the month, and I'll take him to one of his top spots for a sprint.
26 December 2002
:: ho ho ho
Well it warmed up after the big frost and Christmas Day it was positively balmy. In fact, as Faye remarked, it was warmer than some Dunedin Christmases.
So here are a few festive snaps for you to look at:
On Christmas Eve we had dinner at the Rail Bridge cafe, and amused ourselves taking snaps of the bridge.
Afterwards we went in to the midnight carol service at the High Kirk of St Giles. It was lovely - the minister did a great anti-war sermon.
You can just about make out the banners in this shot - they have angels on them, done in applique.
My little Poundstretcher tree is still going strong - not as fab as the St Giles tree.
Bertie had an appointment at the vet's on Christmas Eve, and ended up with a new dressing. Sigh. He hates it. He's wearing one of my socks on it -- when he goes out he has the sock, then a plastic bag, then his lace-up boot, which is covered in three layers of gaffer tape. And sometimes the bandage still gets wet. Sigh.
We all got lovely presents. Faye gave Bertie a Marks & Spencer dog treat stocking, and he scoffed the lot! We were disappointed to discover that the pudding in the toe was a squeaky toy. He's scaredof squeaky toys.
Faye got a beautiful shawl.
My best pressie was the flame-thrower. It was meant to be a birthday present, but Faye couldn't send it through the mail because it includes a gas bottle. Way to go!
After opening the presents we went for a walk. Bertie wore his antlers, the ones Faye got him that have flashing lights and play "Silent Night". He was a huge hit, especially with children.
So here are a few festive snaps for you to look at:
On Christmas Eve we had dinner at the Rail Bridge cafe, and amused ourselves taking snaps of the bridge.
Afterwards we went in to the midnight carol service at the High Kirk of St Giles. It was lovely - the minister did a great anti-war sermon.
You can just about make out the banners in this shot - they have angels on them, done in applique.
My little Poundstretcher tree is still going strong - not as fab as the St Giles tree.
Bertie had an appointment at the vet's on Christmas Eve, and ended up with a new dressing. Sigh. He hates it. He's wearing one of my socks on it -- when he goes out he has the sock, then a plastic bag, then his lace-up boot, which is covered in three layers of gaffer tape. And sometimes the bandage still gets wet. Sigh.
We all got lovely presents. Faye gave Bertie a Marks & Spencer dog treat stocking, and he scoffed the lot! We were disappointed to discover that the pudding in the toe was a squeaky toy. He's scaredof squeaky toys.
Faye got a beautiful shawl.
My best pressie was the flame-thrower. It was meant to be a birthday present, but Faye couldn't send it through the mail because it includes a gas bottle. Way to go!
After opening the presents we went for a walk. Bertie wore his antlers, the ones Faye got him that have flashing lights and play "Silent Night". He was a huge hit, especially with children.
20 December 2002
:: more frost
Here's another picture I took the other day, frost crystals on the shed roof. See the slight sunset glow there? It was taken at noon.
:: stitched up
Bertie update: He got his stitches out all right, but still has a bandage, which he has to wear until Christmas Eve. He squealed while the vet took the stitches out and she chastised him - but then realised he was crying because the receptionist was holding his leg too tightly. Ow, ow, ow!
I got some partridges at the butcher's yesterday. I went to a real old-fashioned place in Stockbridge, which has a grand display of pheasants, rabbits etc, all with their clothes on, as it were. The other old-fashioned touch is that the butcher is a compulsive opinionator, like a classic taxi driver. As I went in, he was conversing with another customer.
Customer: Yes, I've always thought guinea pigs would be delicious.
Butcher: Aye, especially the young ones that haven't run around a lot. No reason not to eat them.
Customer: They eat them in South America.
A nice young assistant fetched the partridges out of the display cabinet for me.
Butcher: Those are grey partridges those, they're the best ones.
Customer: Better than French partridges.
Butcher: Aye, they're no good, French partridges. See those over there? [Indicates birds in display.] They're French partridges, don't buy those.
Customer [addressing me]: Do you know why they call them French partridges?
Me: Because they come from France?
Customer: No! It's because they run [makes running motion with fingers].
Butcher: She doesn't know, she's a townie. It's amazing what town folk don' t know. Country people know it all.
The partridges look awfully wee. I got four just in case.
I've got all next week off, hurrah. It's not actually such a bargain - Christmas Day is a non-publishing day, so everyone gets Christmas Eve off. Whereas there are no non-publishing days the following week, so I have to work six days, including New Year's Eve. I'm hoping to get off by 11:30pm that night so Faye and I can see in 2003 in Princes Street, with fireworks and a dram.
There's a lot of grumbling by those working on Christmas Day. Usually it's a very short shift - everyone comes in early, works hard to get the paper finished and are off home by 8pm or so. But this year The Powers That Be have decreed there shall be two editions, with almost normal off-times, 9:30pm and 11pm. Plus it isn't clear whether anyone has arranged for food to be laid on. The canteen is closed and all restaurants, cafes, shops etc are shut. Merry Christmas, wage slaves! You can be sure that none of the Powers will be working that day.
I got some partridges at the butcher's yesterday. I went to a real old-fashioned place in Stockbridge, which has a grand display of pheasants, rabbits etc, all with their clothes on, as it were. The other old-fashioned touch is that the butcher is a compulsive opinionator, like a classic taxi driver. As I went in, he was conversing with another customer.
Customer: Yes, I've always thought guinea pigs would be delicious.
Butcher: Aye, especially the young ones that haven't run around a lot. No reason not to eat them.
Customer: They eat them in South America.
A nice young assistant fetched the partridges out of the display cabinet for me.
Butcher: Those are grey partridges those, they're the best ones.
Customer: Better than French partridges.
Butcher: Aye, they're no good, French partridges. See those over there? [Indicates birds in display.] They're French partridges, don't buy those.
Customer [addressing me]: Do you know why they call them French partridges?
Me: Because they come from France?
Customer: No! It's because they run [makes running motion with fingers].
Butcher: She doesn't know, she's a townie. It's amazing what town folk don' t know. Country people know it all.
The partridges look awfully wee. I got four just in case.
I've got all next week off, hurrah. It's not actually such a bargain - Christmas Day is a non-publishing day, so everyone gets Christmas Eve off. Whereas there are no non-publishing days the following week, so I have to work six days, including New Year's Eve. I'm hoping to get off by 11:30pm that night so Faye and I can see in 2003 in Princes Street, with fireworks and a dram.
There's a lot of grumbling by those working on Christmas Day. Usually it's a very short shift - everyone comes in early, works hard to get the paper finished and are off home by 8pm or so. But this year The Powers That Be have decreed there shall be two editions, with almost normal off-times, 9:30pm and 11pm. Plus it isn't clear whether anyone has arranged for food to be laid on. The canteen is closed and all restaurants, cafes, shops etc are shut. Merry Christmas, wage slaves! You can be sure that none of the Powers will be working that day.
19 December 2002
:: update
Well yes, it's been a while since Bertie hurt his foot. Over a fortnight -- he gets the stitches out tomorrow morning.
He was very drunk the day I picked him up way back then. The vet had given him a shot to bring him round as I had to pick him up early (before work), but he wasn't "awake" in the full sense of the word. The lift was stopping about halfway up the building, so to speak. He recovered after a few days and now he's totally stir crazy from being kept on the lead all the time. I've been putting chew deterrent on his bandages, which has worked a treat, and he has a little boot to wear too. He's worn through the stitching on that, so it has to have a plastic bag inside.
I've been busy being organised for Christmas -- I'm doing very well, I have very little left to organise and there are still five days left!
Faye arrived a couple of days ahead of schedule -- her British colleagues had convinced her Scotland was far, far away so she'd planned on taking a couple of days to come up. In the event she did it in one hit! The house was filthy - I was leaving cleaning till the last minute - but she didn't mind. I dragged the tree down out of the attic and we dressed it together. She also brought Christmas decorations and I already had a pine wreath, so the place is looking reasonably festive. (Bertie is also looking very Christmassy -- Faye brought him some more antlers, and these ones not only have flashing lights, they play Away in a Manger as well! Not a happy puppy!)
And at least the windows are clean - I managed to snag one of the local window-cleaners as he was passing and get him to do them. Only a fiver, and he even did the front door! What a bargain. He's going to come regularly from now on.
As you can see from the picture above, it's quite cold at the moment. The back yard hasn't defrosted for days and in some places you'd think it had been snowing, the frost is that thick. Last night a fog came down as well, which is still lingering. That's why the trees are frosted right up to the tops. Jingle Bells!
One wonderful aspect of the weather is that the frost bounces white light into the house, making it much brighter inside than normal in winter. Especially with the windows being so squeaky clean.
He was very drunk the day I picked him up way back then. The vet had given him a shot to bring him round as I had to pick him up early (before work), but he wasn't "awake" in the full sense of the word. The lift was stopping about halfway up the building, so to speak. He recovered after a few days and now he's totally stir crazy from being kept on the lead all the time. I've been putting chew deterrent on his bandages, which has worked a treat, and he has a little boot to wear too. He's worn through the stitching on that, so it has to have a plastic bag inside.
I've been busy being organised for Christmas -- I'm doing very well, I have very little left to organise and there are still five days left!
Faye arrived a couple of days ahead of schedule -- her British colleagues had convinced her Scotland was far, far away so she'd planned on taking a couple of days to come up. In the event she did it in one hit! The house was filthy - I was leaving cleaning till the last minute - but she didn't mind. I dragged the tree down out of the attic and we dressed it together. She also brought Christmas decorations and I already had a pine wreath, so the place is looking reasonably festive. (Bertie is also looking very Christmassy -- Faye brought him some more antlers, and these ones not only have flashing lights, they play Away in a Manger as well! Not a happy puppy!)
And at least the windows are clean - I managed to snag one of the local window-cleaners as he was passing and get him to do them. Only a fiver, and he even did the front door! What a bargain. He's going to come regularly from now on.
As you can see from the picture above, it's quite cold at the moment. The back yard hasn't defrosted for days and in some places you'd think it had been snowing, the frost is that thick. Last night a fog came down as well, which is still lingering. That's why the trees are frosted right up to the tops. Jingle Bells!
One wonderful aspect of the weather is that the frost bounces white light into the house, making it much brighter inside than normal in winter. Especially with the windows being so squeaky clean.
6 December 2002
:: uh oh
As I write this, Bertie is in Linlithgow, coming round from an anaesthetic. He's got stitches in the cut on his paw, which apparently is a classic greyhound injury -- it's in the web between his toes. I took him to the vet this morning as the home medication didn't seem to be having much effect. So now he's strapped up with a fancy-pants bandage and has yet more antibiotics. The damage to me, so far: £136.30. Kaching!! Still to come: two bandage changes (at least) and stitch removal in a fortnight's time, plus more bandages after that. Kaching!!
Good news: he's insured! Hurrah!
Bad news: the excess is £80! Boo!
In five minutes I have to drive to Linlithgow (again) to pick up a groggy dog. I'll take him for a sedate (or is that sedated?) walk, then off to work for a 3pm start due to early deadlines.
5 December 2002
:: time flies
I never did get back and finish that, did I? And now it's nearly Thursday (ten minutes to go) and Bertie's on to his next injury (cut paw, ow! ow!). He's being home-medicated -- a thorough sluicing with salty water, followed by lavender oil (it's antiseptic and he hates the taste, so doesn't lick so much). The dew claw injury has just about healed up; I hope the antibiotics are still active!
Where did I get up to in the travelogue? Flodigarry. So we stayed overnight and it was lovely -- the breakfast was superb, stewed prunes and apricots, mmm, and good coffee. It was raining, so we didn't do too much more walking, just around the grounds with the dog. Who had his photo taken by a tourist.
Then we drove back to Barevan through the romantically soggy landscape -- collecting more dog biscuits at the bridge toll. The highlands and islands really do look good in the rain, and at this time of year there's more colour around than in the summer.
Jenny and John had been coping with the farm work all right, and after Andrew had been round the cattle we whizzed off to see the latest Harry Potter. It was ok, though pretty dark in parts. There's one character, Dobby the House Elf, who I found particularly disturbing. He has a thing of punishing himself for mistakes and misdeeds by beating his head against the wall. In one scene, he said, "Dobby's been very bad. Dobby had to iron his hands." He held up his hands and they were bandaged. It's enough to give me nightmares, let alone a sensitive ten-year-old. But the rest was fun, especially the flying car and the quidditch match.
I came back the next day, traffic was fairly heavy so I didn't make good time. I had intended to go out, but crashed on to the sofa instead. Holidays are so tiring!!
This new job I'm in is frantically busy some nights -- like tonight. As well as revising everything and subbing some things and checking the pages and doing little odds and sods, I'm a general trouble-shooter and liaison person. I have to hold about six tasks in my head at any one time, prioritising and reprioritising as new problems come up. This can wait, that is urgent, the other might seem urgent to the person whose problem it is but can go fourth on the list. Meanwhile there was a party going on upstairs and some of the partygoers were standing at the atrium railing, sipping their drinks and gazing down at us beavering away.
But it's fun, I enjoy it. There's lots of variety and the time speeds along when you're busy.
Nearly time to go home, phew. Tomorrow I'm going to finalise arrangements for a lunch for our old foreign desk team: that will be fun! Five angry, opinionated people get drunk in working hours! Whee! I'll have to get someone else to walk Bertie that night; in this job I don't get a break long enough to go home in, and there won't be time between lunch and starting work. I'll work something out. Maybe I'll bring Bertie to work with me -- he can sleep in the car and I can walk him in the park.
Where did I get up to in the travelogue? Flodigarry. So we stayed overnight and it was lovely -- the breakfast was superb, stewed prunes and apricots, mmm, and good coffee. It was raining, so we didn't do too much more walking, just around the grounds with the dog. Who had his photo taken by a tourist.
Then we drove back to Barevan through the romantically soggy landscape -- collecting more dog biscuits at the bridge toll. The highlands and islands really do look good in the rain, and at this time of year there's more colour around than in the summer.
Jenny and John had been coping with the farm work all right, and after Andrew had been round the cattle we whizzed off to see the latest Harry Potter. It was ok, though pretty dark in parts. There's one character, Dobby the House Elf, who I found particularly disturbing. He has a thing of punishing himself for mistakes and misdeeds by beating his head against the wall. In one scene, he said, "Dobby's been very bad. Dobby had to iron his hands." He held up his hands and they were bandaged. It's enough to give me nightmares, let alone a sensitive ten-year-old. But the rest was fun, especially the flying car and the quidditch match.
I came back the next day, traffic was fairly heavy so I didn't make good time. I had intended to go out, but crashed on to the sofa instead. Holidays are so tiring!!
This new job I'm in is frantically busy some nights -- like tonight. As well as revising everything and subbing some things and checking the pages and doing little odds and sods, I'm a general trouble-shooter and liaison person. I have to hold about six tasks in my head at any one time, prioritising and reprioritising as new problems come up. This can wait, that is urgent, the other might seem urgent to the person whose problem it is but can go fourth on the list. Meanwhile there was a party going on upstairs and some of the partygoers were standing at the atrium railing, sipping their drinks and gazing down at us beavering away.
But it's fun, I enjoy it. There's lots of variety and the time speeds along when you're busy.
Nearly time to go home, phew. Tomorrow I'm going to finalise arrangements for a lunch for our old foreign desk team: that will be fun! Five angry, opinionated people get drunk in working hours! Whee! I'll have to get someone else to walk Bertie that night; in this job I don't get a break long enough to go home in, and there won't be time between lunch and starting work. I'll work something out. Maybe I'll bring Bertie to work with me -- he can sleep in the car and I can walk him in the park.
30 November 2002
:: I'm baaaack!
I've been back for a couple of days but as usual have been flying around catching up with practical stuff and not sitting down and writing about my hols.
Which were great! We went up to the farm on Friday after Bertie got the all-clear from the vet (and more biscuits). Had a great few days on the farm, including a lovely dinner out with Andrew's folks and his aunt and uncle. I got lots of presents and so did Andrew, so we had a little opening session every day. There was also a small drama involving Andrew's other aunt and the Cawdor estate drama -- for a few ghastly minutes she thought she was to be evicted from her cottage, which the estate owns, but it was a misunderstanding. Phew.
Sunday we left for Skye, had a great drive there, stopping for a late lunch at the railway station cafe at Plockton. The bridge tolls have to be the friendliest anywhere -- the attendant sweetened the £4.70 charge with a handful of biscuits for Bertie!
Our first stop was the B&B at Eabost West -- very comfortable.
View from the lounge (same as from the bedrooms):
Tasty breakfast too!
We had a good walk to wear that off, to the Coral Beach near Dunvegan Castle. There was a "no dogs" sign, but we decided it really meant "no terriers". Bertie behaved himself perfectly, apart from eating sheep droppings (ewww!) After a quick cup of tea in Dunvegan, during which it rained, we headed south to um, er, a place near Carbost, long Gaelic name where we scrambled around on cliff tops in a cold wind. Brrr. Next port of call was the Talisker whiskey distillery, where we were disappointed to learn that the next tour wasn't until 4.30pm, too late for us. But a group of Norwegian submariners just happened to be there having a private tour, so we tagged along with them. Very interesting, lots of fascinating smells and sights. We weren't allowed to take photos because of the firefighters' strike.
Then it was back to Moira's B&B to wash and dress and walk the dog. Then, hurrah! We were off to the Three Chimneys for our birthday treat (a major treat for me, as Andrew picked up the tab!! What a guy!)
It was the most extraordinary route to an award-winning restaurant, driving for miles down a single-track road keeping an eye out for straying sheep. But well worth the effort -- the food was divine. Here are some snaps:
My starter: Skye seafood croustade with scallops and lobster, mmmmmmm
Andrew's starter: black pudding with mushrooms and apple. It looks odd but he says it tasted sensational.
My main course: lamb, perfectly cooked, on leek mash with roasted root veg and a port wine sauce.
Andrew's main course: Scallops and monkfish, luscious.
We also had half a dozen raw Skye oysters each, fresh and delicious. First time I've had raw oysters for a long time.
I didn't take photos of the deserts because by then other diners had arrived, but I had a dreamy chocolate tart, which managed to be creamy, rich and light all at the same time, and Andrew had marmalade steamed pud and drambuie custard. The wine was a German sauterne, just off dry, very nice.
We were full as ticks after all that! It was the best restaurant meal I've ever had, wonderful.
Andrew was falling over, he drank so much ... no, he's trying to be artistic. "There's something wrong with your chin," he said. Yes, the famous family chin, glowing away roundly.
The next day we moved to our next accommodation, at Flodigarry, but first we went off down to Elgol, another looooong single-track road. At one point it was guarded by a fierce highland cow. We had to shout at her to get her to move. Bertie was very impressed by her horns and didn't even THINK about barking at her.
Then black north to Flodigarry, stopping for lunch at the Aros Experience at Portree and for a steep walk at the Old Man of Storr. I stopped before the top -- ran out of steam -- but Bertie and Andrew pushed on up to the Old Man. It was a rush because it gets dark at about 3.45.
The hotel was great, a real treat. It's quite expensive in season, but at this time of year it's almost cheap -- £35 each. There's a vast lounge with several sofas, a grand piano and a roaring log fire, a swanky dining room and a fairly scuzzy bar. There were hardly any other guests, so we got to have our bar meals in the dining room and had the lounge to ourselves. Bertie wasn't allowed down there, but he was exhausted so didn't mind too much.
Pics:
The hotel was built as a private house by a descendent of Flora Macdonald -- she used to live in a cottage nearby.
These were everywhere -- big mice, dressed up. Bertie was creeped out by them. So was I.
The bar is in the battlemented white bit you can see in the view of the house, on the right. It has a Moroccan theme -- the original owner lived there -- but the hotel owners haven't let that influence the decor.
Meanwhile, back in the lounge...
It was comfortable in a tatty, well-worn way.
Well it's 6pm and I've got to have a shower and walk the dog before I go out. I'll finish this later on ... maybe tomorrow night at work. Sigh.
Which were great! We went up to the farm on Friday after Bertie got the all-clear from the vet (and more biscuits). Had a great few days on the farm, including a lovely dinner out with Andrew's folks and his aunt and uncle. I got lots of presents and so did Andrew, so we had a little opening session every day. There was also a small drama involving Andrew's other aunt and the Cawdor estate drama -- for a few ghastly minutes she thought she was to be evicted from her cottage, which the estate owns, but it was a misunderstanding. Phew.
Sunday we left for Skye, had a great drive there, stopping for a late lunch at the railway station cafe at Plockton. The bridge tolls have to be the friendliest anywhere -- the attendant sweetened the £4.70 charge with a handful of biscuits for Bertie!
Our first stop was the B&B at Eabost West -- very comfortable.
View from the lounge (same as from the bedrooms):
Tasty breakfast too!
We had a good walk to wear that off, to the Coral Beach near Dunvegan Castle. There was a "no dogs" sign, but we decided it really meant "no terriers". Bertie behaved himself perfectly, apart from eating sheep droppings (ewww!) After a quick cup of tea in Dunvegan, during which it rained, we headed south to um, er, a place near Carbost, long Gaelic name where we scrambled around on cliff tops in a cold wind. Brrr. Next port of call was the Talisker whiskey distillery, where we were disappointed to learn that the next tour wasn't until 4.30pm, too late for us. But a group of Norwegian submariners just happened to be there having a private tour, so we tagged along with them. Very interesting, lots of fascinating smells and sights. We weren't allowed to take photos because of the firefighters' strike.
Then it was back to Moira's B&B to wash and dress and walk the dog. Then, hurrah! We were off to the Three Chimneys for our birthday treat (a major treat for me, as Andrew picked up the tab!! What a guy!)
It was the most extraordinary route to an award-winning restaurant, driving for miles down a single-track road keeping an eye out for straying sheep. But well worth the effort -- the food was divine. Here are some snaps:
My starter: Skye seafood croustade with scallops and lobster, mmmmmmm
Andrew's starter: black pudding with mushrooms and apple. It looks odd but he says it tasted sensational.
My main course: lamb, perfectly cooked, on leek mash with roasted root veg and a port wine sauce.
Andrew's main course: Scallops and monkfish, luscious.
We also had half a dozen raw Skye oysters each, fresh and delicious. First time I've had raw oysters for a long time.
I didn't take photos of the deserts because by then other diners had arrived, but I had a dreamy chocolate tart, which managed to be creamy, rich and light all at the same time, and Andrew had marmalade steamed pud and drambuie custard. The wine was a German sauterne, just off dry, very nice.
We were full as ticks after all that! It was the best restaurant meal I've ever had, wonderful.
Andrew was falling over, he drank so much ... no, he's trying to be artistic. "There's something wrong with your chin," he said. Yes, the famous family chin, glowing away roundly.
The next day we moved to our next accommodation, at Flodigarry, but first we went off down to Elgol, another looooong single-track road. At one point it was guarded by a fierce highland cow. We had to shout at her to get her to move. Bertie was very impressed by her horns and didn't even THINK about barking at her.
Then black north to Flodigarry, stopping for lunch at the Aros Experience at Portree and for a steep walk at the Old Man of Storr. I stopped before the top -- ran out of steam -- but Bertie and Andrew pushed on up to the Old Man. It was a rush because it gets dark at about 3.45.
The hotel was great, a real treat. It's quite expensive in season, but at this time of year it's almost cheap -- £35 each. There's a vast lounge with several sofas, a grand piano and a roaring log fire, a swanky dining room and a fairly scuzzy bar. There were hardly any other guests, so we got to have our bar meals in the dining room and had the lounge to ourselves. Bertie wasn't allowed down there, but he was exhausted so didn't mind too much.
Pics:
The hotel was built as a private house by a descendent of Flora Macdonald -- she used to live in a cottage nearby.
These were everywhere -- big mice, dressed up. Bertie was creeped out by them. So was I.
The bar is in the battlemented white bit you can see in the view of the house, on the right. It has a Moroccan theme -- the original owner lived there -- but the hotel owners haven't let that influence the decor.
Meanwhile, back in the lounge...
It was comfortable in a tatty, well-worn way.
Well it's 6pm and I've got to have a shower and walk the dog before I go out. I'll finish this later on ... maybe tomorrow night at work. Sigh.
20 November 2002
:: ouch
That's what it says on Bertie's new bandage, in several languages. Autsch! Aiee!! That's pretty much what Bertie was saying when the vet snipped off his broken dew claw. She made him a little muzzle out of a bandage in case he bit her, but I don't think he would have. He was really shocked that she hurt him though -- his pal! His chum! And I was in trouble too for taking him in there and not smacking her when she hurt him.
He came round after a lot of cuddles and biscuits -- at one point the vet was hugging him and crooning: "You're just misunderstood, yes, you're so unloved and no-one understands you, poor dog,"
"No-one feeds him either," I added.
"Noooo! You're starving and unloved and misunderstood, poor, poor Bertie," she said as he crushed up against her, trembling. I think it was a Vulcan mind-meld.
I don't know how Bertie managed to break his claw, but he probably caught it on something while running around manically on this morning's walk. We were at Blackness for the first time in ages, and he was really excited. We were just going into the woods when I noticed there was blood on his leg. He was very put out when I marched him back to the car.
Right now, full of biscuits, painkillers and antibiotics, he's conked out on the floor behind me. I have to take him back to the vet on Friday morning, before we go north, to have his leg checked out. It should be ok -- it doesn't seem to bother him too much to walk on it, it was just horribly painful to the touch.
Here are pictures:
That lovely bandage in full -- it's still reasonably pristine because I sprayed chew deterrent on it. Ewwww, yuck.
Injured dog writhes in pain while owner callously takes his picture. Actually he's zonked out on painkillers and waiting for me to carry on scratching his chest.
Otherwise, we're good to go! We're staying at a B&B at Struan, south of Dunvegan, for two nights, then one night at the Flodigarry country house hotel. Both my first choices were closed and it was tricky finding somewhere that's open and takes dogs. I'm leaving on Friday, after the vet visit. Friday night we're going to see the latest Harry Potter film, Saturday night we're going out with Andrew's aunt and uncle, then Sunday (after feeding the cattle) we leave for Skye. We head back to the farm on Wednesday, and I go back to Edinburgh on Thursday.
I'm really looking forward to the whole thing.
He came round after a lot of cuddles and biscuits -- at one point the vet was hugging him and crooning: "You're just misunderstood, yes, you're so unloved and no-one understands you, poor dog,"
"No-one feeds him either," I added.
"Noooo! You're starving and unloved and misunderstood, poor, poor Bertie," she said as he crushed up against her, trembling. I think it was a Vulcan mind-meld.
I don't know how Bertie managed to break his claw, but he probably caught it on something while running around manically on this morning's walk. We were at Blackness for the first time in ages, and he was really excited. We were just going into the woods when I noticed there was blood on his leg. He was very put out when I marched him back to the car.
Right now, full of biscuits, painkillers and antibiotics, he's conked out on the floor behind me. I have to take him back to the vet on Friday morning, before we go north, to have his leg checked out. It should be ok -- it doesn't seem to bother him too much to walk on it, it was just horribly painful to the touch.
Here are pictures:
That lovely bandage in full -- it's still reasonably pristine because I sprayed chew deterrent on it. Ewwww, yuck.
Injured dog writhes in pain while owner callously takes his picture. Actually he's zonked out on painkillers and waiting for me to carry on scratching his chest.
Otherwise, we're good to go! We're staying at a B&B at Struan, south of Dunvegan, for two nights, then one night at the Flodigarry country house hotel. Both my first choices were closed and it was tricky finding somewhere that's open and takes dogs. I'm leaving on Friday, after the vet visit. Friday night we're going to see the latest Harry Potter film, Saturday night we're going out with Andrew's aunt and uncle, then Sunday (after feeding the cattle) we leave for Skye. We head back to the farm on Wednesday, and I go back to Edinburgh on Thursday.
I'm really looking forward to the whole thing.
14 November 2002
:: flat tack
This new job certainly has the hours whizzing past. I start half an hour earlier, so for a start I'm having to alter my routine. Then I'm busy from when I sit down until now ... my break. I do prefer to be busy right through, and it's varied work. I'm beginning to learn some of the system's internal workings, which is most interesting.
Tomorrow is my last night on before I go on holiday for a fortnight. I've been pondering how to celebrate my half-century (how can I possibly be that old?) and it's taking shape -- I'll make bookings tomorrow. For a while there I feared it might be a misery-fest, what with the work crisis, but now that's sorted I feel fine about it all.
I'm going up to the farm, probably next Friday, then Andrew and I will go to Skye for a few days. We're going to stay at Dunvegan, hopefully in this B&B and have our joint birthday dinner at the Three Chimneys restaurant. Then we move to Glen Eynort, in a remote corner of the island for another night, then head back to the farm. Fingers crossed it all works out.
My cold is nearly all gone -- it was just an annoying sniffling one, nothing serious. Bertie cut his foot the other night charging around after rabbits, but that's healing up well too. He was beaten up by a staffordshire bull terrier the other day but wasn't injured -- apart from severely dented ego and bruised pride. The staffie's owner had to sit on it to subdue it. Meanwhile his other dog, also a staffie, was ignoring the boys' antics and trying to get me to thrown her "stick" -- a great big log. They really are strong dogs, eh!
I'm thoroughly enjoying my new sofa. It's sooo comfy! I can stretch right out on it and my feet don't touch the other end. It's a more tomatoey red than I remember from the shop, but that's ok.
Back to work again now...
Tomorrow is my last night on before I go on holiday for a fortnight. I've been pondering how to celebrate my half-century (how can I possibly be that old?) and it's taking shape -- I'll make bookings tomorrow. For a while there I feared it might be a misery-fest, what with the work crisis, but now that's sorted I feel fine about it all.
I'm going up to the farm, probably next Friday, then Andrew and I will go to Skye for a few days. We're going to stay at Dunvegan, hopefully in this B&B and have our joint birthday dinner at the Three Chimneys restaurant. Then we move to Glen Eynort, in a remote corner of the island for another night, then head back to the farm. Fingers crossed it all works out.
My cold is nearly all gone -- it was just an annoying sniffling one, nothing serious. Bertie cut his foot the other night charging around after rabbits, but that's healing up well too. He was beaten up by a staffordshire bull terrier the other day but wasn't injured -- apart from severely dented ego and bruised pride. The staffie's owner had to sit on it to subdue it. Meanwhile his other dog, also a staffie, was ignoring the boys' antics and trying to get me to thrown her "stick" -- a great big log. They really are strong dogs, eh!
I'm thoroughly enjoying my new sofa. It's sooo comfy! I can stretch right out on it and my feet don't touch the other end. It's a more tomatoey red than I remember from the shop, but that's ok.
Back to work again now...
8 November 2002
:: hot gossip
In case you didn't find it, here is the link to the story about Andrew's neighbours. This is the second episode -- it's rumbling on nicely.
:: sickly
Woke up with a sore throat this morning, really sore. I had a nice hot bath and wrapped up warm so I feel a bit better now. I hope this doesn't turn my weekend to mush. I haven't had a cold or anything for years.
Driving home last night I suddenly found my rear-view mirror full of blue flashing lights. I pulled over and immediately went into my "please don't give me a ticket" routine. I always get out of the car, I never sit there waiting for the cop to come up to the window. I'm unflaggingly polite, pleasant and cheerful. I admit right away to doing whatever it is they're pulling me over for, apologise sincerely and thank them for their chastisement.
I have never ever been given a ticket, and I've been pulled over lots of times.
This time it was speeding -- 50mph in a 40mph zone. "I didn't think I was going that fast," I said, "I thought I was only doing 45." That made them laugh, because of course it was still over the speed limit. Apparently I was "only" doing 45 but then I sped up as I went down a little slope just before the start of the open road.
The nice policemen made me get into my car and turn off all the lights. Then I had to turn them all on again -- parking, full, high beam, indicators, brakes. Everything worked. Then I had to pop the bonnet (I couldn't find the catch and one of them had to do it for me) and they checked the engine. Finally I was admonished and sent on my way.
One o'clock in the morning, you'd think they'd have better things to do, grumble grumble.
My last day in my current job! How strange. I don't have a last-day feeling at all.
Driving home last night I suddenly found my rear-view mirror full of blue flashing lights. I pulled over and immediately went into my "please don't give me a ticket" routine. I always get out of the car, I never sit there waiting for the cop to come up to the window. I'm unflaggingly polite, pleasant and cheerful. I admit right away to doing whatever it is they're pulling me over for, apologise sincerely and thank them for their chastisement.
I have never ever been given a ticket, and I've been pulled over lots of times.
This time it was speeding -- 50mph in a 40mph zone. "I didn't think I was going that fast," I said, "I thought I was only doing 45." That made them laugh, because of course it was still over the speed limit. Apparently I was "only" doing 45 but then I sped up as I went down a little slope just before the start of the open road.
The nice policemen made me get into my car and turn off all the lights. Then I had to turn them all on again -- parking, full, high beam, indicators, brakes. Everything worked. Then I had to pop the bonnet (I couldn't find the catch and one of them had to do it for me) and they checked the engine. Finally I was admonished and sent on my way.
One o'clock in the morning, you'd think they'd have better things to do, grumble grumble.
My last day in my current job! How strange. I don't have a last-day feeling at all.
7 November 2002
Tim is away from his desk and this is tinkling away tinnily as his mobile phone rings unanswered.
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