tinker tinker tinker

Busy busy busy weekend (by my slacker standards), nothing like having a visitor (Liz) to rouse me out of my rural fastness. On Saturday we went on the Maid of the Forth launch trip to Inchcolm. I thought it was mainly a launch trip, but it turned out to be mainly Inchcolm. We had an hour and a half there, tramping around looking at ruins and seagulls. Favourite bit: squeezing up a tiny, insanely claustrophobic stone spiral staircase and a flight of steep creaky wooden steps to reach the top of the tower. It has a dangerously low outer wall and oddly the protective railing is on the inner wall. An anxious father yelled at his 6-ish daughter: "Hold on to the rail, darling!" as she raced ahead. She humoured him by trailing a finger along the uprights.

Saturday night we went to A Hard Day's Night, major nostalgia fest for me. Those sweet boys, they were so nice and clean and well-spoken it's hard to believe they were seen as a threat to civilisation.

Sunday was wet and soggy but we stirred ourselves and took Bertie for a run on Arthur's Seat, which he loved of course. He covered four or five times the ground we did, and at top speed most of the way. After a rest break back home, we set out again -- this time for dinner (at Maison Bleue) followed by a ghost walk.

The tour started out at St Giles but moved briskly to South Niddrie St, the close on the other side of where I used to live! I used to look out the kitchen window at the tour groups standing below, listening to theatrical lies. And here I was in the tour group, and someone else lives in my old flat. Weird. It was interesting to see what the company has done with the vaults under South Bridge -- I noticed the tour guide didn't mention that their excavations had reduced the bridge's strength by an estimated 18%. Not a comforting statistic when you're right underneath the bridge! It was a good tour though, very interesting and some cracking yarns.

Today Liz left on the train and poor Bertie is in mourning. He loves her soooo much! And so do I. She is lovely! Oh, and if you're reading this Liz, you left your phone transformer thingie behind and I'll mail it to you. Thanks for the phone money, you're sweet!

I have to do more work.

Hey, it worked! (See below.) I'm chuffed. Expect more pictures.

I was also chuffed with myself over another achievement today: I mended the bed!! It was quite complicated, I had to disassemble the frame, reposition some metal bits and put the whole thing back together. It's a slat-type bed, and the plank down the middle keeping the slats from springing loose had ripped out of one end. Bertie paced around nervously the whole time I was working on it, presumably afraid that this burst of strange activity meant yet another drastic change in his life.

I also cleaned some more -- the house is gleaming! -- and even mowed the lawn in between snow showers. Yes, it snowed. Hard to scotch some of these scotch myths.

Bertie had a good day too, apart from the bed thing. He's off the sick list and had his first go at the rabbits for ages. Don't worry though, the rabbits are in no danger. First one dashed under a bush briefly, then sped out and across the field to a patch of blackberry. Bertie saw it go under the bush, but didn't see it leave, even though I was pointing at it and shouting, "It went that way, you idiot!" The second one took him completely by surprise but he hurtled after it gamely before giving up. Chasing the third one he disappeared, and to my horror came back with blood all around his mouth. He'd only been out of sight for a couple of minutes, not long enough to eat a rabbit, surely?

Turned out he'd scratched his chin on a bramble -- it was HIS blood.

Some boys were up in the field this morning, working on the cycle track they're creating. Two were digging out a dip in one of the paths and a younger one was chopping back hawthorn and blackberry along the main path. They're making it quite elaborate, with jumps and hollows, a proper circuit. I hope there's not friction with dog-walkers over it -- I think it's great even though when the kids are biking around there I have to put Bertie on the lead in case he's run over; it's a good safe place for kids to play and they're being really enterprising in creating a run. But people can get huffy if they see kids having fun that hasn't been "properly" organised.

I keep forgetting to take my rubbish bag up there -- it's horribly easy to fill one up, no effort at all. Next time.

An experiment:

Lovely sunny day and here I am at work. Sigh. I've been house-prouding today; went to the supermarket, cleaned up a bit, thought about mowing the lawn (one case where it's not the thought that counts). At the supermarket I bought a new cleaning product, As Recommended By Anthea. "I can't believe we're having a conversation about cleaning products," I said. "No, but it's REALLY good!" And so it is. It's a funny light little mop thingie, with little thin cloths that attach easily, and you just waft it around the floor in a half-hearted way and it cleans completely by magic. It hardly feels like housework at all.

Also went for a couple of short walks with Bertie, one of which was very entertaining. First of all we met two old girls from up the street, one is Florence (from memory), the other Bridie. Bridie has a short stout terrier, Butch, who growled at Bertie. "It's just that he's been attacked," explained Bridie. "You know the woman with the three dogs? One of them attacked Butch." After a lovely chat we parted company. And who should we meet on our way home but the woman with the three dogs -- the chow and the two akitas. We stopped for a chat, in the course of which I mentioned Bertie's sweet, submissive nature. "Not like a lot of those little dogs!" she said. "There's one in the street, very aggressive .. mind you, she [indicating an akita] attacked him so I don't suppose he's so ready to have a go at a bigger dog..."

Heh.

One more cute doggie story: Bertie has twigged that I'm feeding the birds with, like, FOOD. He was hopping around the garden on his hinders this morning trying to get the peanut feeders off the tree.

Happy Easter.

Bertie's Weekend of Bliss turned to Weekend of Boredom with yesterday's visit to the vet. He was there for his vaccination shot but I mentioned the sore leg and now he's on a course of anti-inflamatories and confined to quarters apart from toilet walks. I'm not popular.

I had Wednesday and Thursday off as well as Friday, so we went for a super-brilliant romp from Elie to St Monans and back, along the coast path. The only bad bit for Bertie was that I refused to magically open the fence to let him at some slow-looking rabbits hopping around a field. Not only that, I put him on the leash and hauled him away from the fence. Spoil sport.

Thursday I did some gardening for Chad, very pleasant -- it was cloudy and cool, perfect for gardening, I reckon. Friday there was the visit to the vet. Not only does he have the sore leg, Bertie has conjunctivitis as well! I'm a bad owner, I hadn't even noticed. I have to bathe his eyes in warm salty water and put ointment in them (both of which he hates). After lunch Anthea and I went back to Ikea for more shelves etc. I spent the evening building things and rearranging things. The results are practical but not attractive, I have to say. Well, too bad.

Today I took Bertie on a slightly extended toilet walk -- we went along the jetty at the marina, which we both enjoyed. It was very windy, and choppy with it, so there weren't many people out. A lot of sailors are still busy getting their boats ready for the off, so the marina's abuzz with activity. I bought a tide table at the chandlery.

Back to work tomorrow, ugh. Only one page though, so should be ok.

Today I found out Bertie's racing name: Hardtobehumble. For those who don't know it, here's the song:

Oh Lord it's hard to be humble
When you're perfect in every way
I can't wait to look in the mirror
Cuz I get better lookin each day

To know me is to love me
I must be a hell of a man
Oh Lord it's hard to be humble
But I'm doin' the best that I can

There's more, about girlfriends and skin tight blue jeans, it's a hoot. Oh and it's country, in case you couldn't tell.

I tried the name out on him (not exactly catchy: "Here, Hardtobehumble!") and it didn't raise a response. So Bertie it is.

The Retired Greyhounds Trust also told me he's Irish, and was born in 1997 -- the day after my birthday!!! Spoooooky.

I went clothes shopping today, sigh. I got a black silk shirt (handwash only -- why do I torment myself with such garments?) and two t-shirts. Marks & Spencer is so depressing now. I used to get most of my clothes there, but they changed their sizing system with a great tantara and now nothing fits me. "I'm normal!" squealed the fat woman in the M&S advert, standing naked on a hilltop. She's naked because M&S changed their sizing system and nothing fits her. It's maddening. I'm wearing size 16 M&S jeans, but today tried on a size 18 shirt that was a joke. I could barely get it buttoned up, and it was so tight in the sleeves and across the back that I couldn't raise my arms. I left feeling monstrous. I got the shirt in Wallis, which doesn't make a big deal about its bigger sizes.

I don't think the shopping experience was unrelated to the road rage incident I got involved in a little later on. The road rager was another driver, a White Van Man, but I wound my window down and gave him a piece of my mind. He was punching the window of the car in front of me at the time, so it was quite reckless of me to have a go. He started to come at me (I wound my window up so fast I nearly sprained my wrist) but backed off -- I guess when he saw how enormously fat I am (smirk).

You want details? Oh go on then. When I became aware of the white van it was driving very, very slowly down the Cowgate ahead of the Polo (or similar) in front of me. Polo man tooted. White Van Man slowed further. Polo tooted again. White Van stopped without signalling. Polo signalled and pulled round ahead of White Van. White Van accelerated in a cloud of black smoke, sitting on Polo's tail, flashing his brights, generally acting like a maniac. Then, in the face of heavy oncoming traffic, White Van pulled round Polo at speed and stopped sharply in front of him. White Van Man got out and started ranting and pounding on the Polo, which is when I wound my window down and let him have it.

Men are WEIRD.

I did enjoy venting my rage though, it felt great. And without endangering anyone but myself! I'm so socially responsible. It was right by the close where I used to live as well, so conceivably my old neighbours were there saying, man she hasn't changed a bit.

Tomorrow I'm going to Elie, on the Fife coast. It has lovely beaches for Bertie to run on. I'll take a picnic lunch. It won't rain, it just won't.

Greyhound Gallery Lots of pictures of greyhounds, from ancient to modern.

Forgot to mention a frustration from yesterday: I hauled the two packets of planks to the carpet warehouse only to have my refund request rejected. They belong to the insurance company, ha, of course! So the firm can't give ME the money. So I had to haul them back again. Grinding my teeth because I still haven't heard back from the insurance company regarding my letter about the £100 they owe me.

Once again: where is the karmic kickback for being such an honest, upright citizen over the Persian rug? Don't tell me the universe is using it to offset previous sins! Unfair, seriously unfair.

The Guardian | Simple as falling off a blog For those of you who've asked about Blogger, here's a good article explaining it all. Get blogging! It's fun!

In other news: today I visited Chad (a colleague, not the country), who's just been in hospital. Anthea came too, and I took Bertie along for the ride.

Yet another bad idea.

Poor Bertie, life is just one trauma after another. This time the horrorshow was coming up to Chad's house and seeing his three huskies lined up in the picture window, all howling and yowling and generally making like wolves. There was no way in the world Bertie was going in to that house, no way. So I had to take him back to the car and leave him there for an hour or so.

I moved the car in to some shade -- the sun had come out -- and left the windows cracked open, but I still worried. Greyhounds can't regulate their body heat and are particularly prone to heat exhaustion. I stopped at a pet shop on the way home to get him some dog biscuits as an apology -- and to give him the thrill of walking down aisles loaded with sacks of dog food, treats and toys (Britain, doncha love it, you can take your dog anywhere).

I'm not doing too badly in the Getting My Life Organised business. I've drawn up a few lists, sent off for a quote for fencing the back yard, done nearly all my laundry and ... um, walked the dog.

The A_ward This looks interesting. It's a journal ring, one of the journals I read regularly (The Jon-Jon Diaries) is on it.

"We want journals that don't drone on about John and Sally's relationship going downhill or how ignorant your parents are. We want journals that include the world around us. In writing, in pictures, or both.

"There's a world behind that computer monitor of yours, and on the A_ward we want to hear about it. Observers, that's what we need. Journals with an eye for everyday madness. Or beauty. And the consequences of it on whatever personal level."

I love reading online journals, there are three or four I read slavishly. The ones I like pretty much follow the criteria above. I'm too chicken to write like that, because reading journals regularly like I do, I've heard some real car-crash stories about the consequences. One guy lost his job directly through stuff he wrote in his journal, lots of people get hate-mail from total strangers.

So from me, pretty much all you will get is DIY, cute dog stories and weather reports. Oh, and sailing stories once I'm out on the water. You'll just have to imagine all the real exciting, juicy stuff I'm leaving out ...

Another rabbit encounter: way up ahead I saw a rabbit speed across the path, followed by Bertie. Two beats later, the rabbit ran back across the path, followed once again by Bertie. I couldn't believe my eyes -- the rabbit doubled back and Bertie STILL didn't catch it. Mind you, he does have a slightly sore leg. Poor dog!

Liz is coming to stay! Yay! I've started tidying the guest room, and at the weekend I'll finally hang the blind. Unfortunately Bertie now regards it as his room. Hope Liz doesn't mind. He doesn't smell doggy, but his farts are unbelievable, you could use them as a chemical weapon.

I've got two packets of planks to take back to the Carpet Warehouse -- I haven't heard back from the insurance company about the £100 they owe me, but if I can get a refund on the planks I'll call it quits. At the moment it's just finding time to get the planks to the shop; I've had them in the boot for two days. It's on tomorrow's agenda. Along with getting wood for shelves in the bedroom, visiting a colleague who's just had his gall bladder removed, doing some washing and of course walking the dog.

And reformatting my hard drive, hahahaha!

Cute dog stories, awwwww, sweeeet!!! I'm embarrassed. But what the hell, in cyberspace you can't hear anyone groan "please, no more".

OK on the morning walk, we encountered a rabbit right by the steps up to the field/scrubbery. It jumped away slowly, stopping to rub its ears. Bertie could NOT believe his eyes. He didn't go mad, he didn't jerk on the lead, he just stood there, his eyes bugging out, until it sauntered off into the undergrowth. Given his emerging scaredy-cat tendencies, I can only assume he's learning something about perspective. Like in the Father Ted episode where Ted is holding a toy cow and explaining to Father Dougal: "This cow is small. That cow [pointing out the window] is far away." So maybe Bertie's thinking "Cripes, that rabbit is HUGE!"

Another cute dog story isn't funny: he's got a sore foot, ow ow ow, it hurts! It really hurts! It may be a sprain. He was fine on the morning walk, but suddenly suffering later in the day. It was a traumatic day all round -- on top of the giant rabbit and the sore leg, there were men in the garden next door cutting up and taking away the lawn. I had to escort him out in to the garden, the sook.

One more cute dog story, oh go on, you know you want one! On the morning walk we came across a Yorkshire terrier, tiny little thing. It stood up on its hind legs and put its front feet on Bertie's chest so it could sniff nose-to-nose!

Ulp ... it has been quite a while, hasn't it? You'll be glad to hear I had a productive two days off and my home is not now a health hazard. The bed is still broken, the computer's still playing up, but at least the floors are reasonably clean, and the shelves (including a new one from Ikea) are dusted and full of books. Not quite an Ikea catalogue illustration but a definite improvement.

I did have a go at the computer -- this will amuse any geeks reading (ie Liz and Ken), others can skip to the next paragraph. First I backed up what I needed on the Sparq drive, then gathered the Windows CD and all the hardware installation disks etc. I checked out the startup disks I had & none of them worked. (That was actually because the CMOS was set to boot C then A rather than A then C, but I didn't think to check that at first.) So I set out to make a floppy boot with the CD driver on it. Looong loooong ago when I bought my computer there was a problem with the CD drive & they sent me a floppy with the right driver on it. Now, I have been having a little problem with it again lately, in that it doesn't always install properly. So I thought, ahah! I'd better reinstall it now using the disk, before I make the startup disk. Why? I don't know, I just did. It reinstalled all right, but a) it called itself D, which was actually the Sparq drive and b) it did something to config.sys that eventually buggered the memory or whatever so it kept freezing and hanging. In between hell and high water, I reinstalled the Sparq drive. After high water I was reduced to rebooting into DOS using the incomplete startup disk (and fixing the CMOS setting) and harking back to the mid-90s: oh how quaint!! No pictures! I managed to track down the Edit application and rem out the naughty line in config.sys and got the whole shonky system moving again. I still have the original instability -- something to do with the new printer -- so will eventually have to bite the bullet and reformat the hard drive. Or I might take the opportunity to get a new, bigger hard drive so that when Ken visits again he'll have somewhere to put all his Stuff. Also it should keep me creaking along until I have time to build a new box in the winter.

Back in the real world, a dog was crying. There was a big scary monster outside, going WoooOOooooo!!! Right outside from his bed! Yup, my dog is scared of the wind whistling in the wires. Poor Bertie. I had just turned on the television -- his signal to go to bed, since he loathes TV. He tromped out, and then suddenly there was a yelp and a great crashing as he frantically tried to run on the laminate and fell over. We went out to the back yard to investigate, but the monster wasn't there. We came back in, and there it was again! He paced around miserably, whining, and finally settled on the bare floor in the far corner of the dining room, as far as he could get from the noise. I moved his duvet in there, and eventually had to move his dishes as well, because he won't go near his former "bedroom".

He's finally started coming upstairs, but that's traumatic too. He can get up just fine, but coming down ... I have to coax him, step by trembling step. The angle is too steep, the treads too narrow. I had to put a mat at the bottom -- he used to come off in a painful spreadeagled clatter of limbs.

Otherwise he's fine, enjoying his outings and generallly behaving himself. He's not in much danger of catching a rabbit: he gives them too much of a head start & can't get into the bramble patches they hide in. I'm not worried about rabbits, it's cats. If he caught a cat I'd feel dreadful. But I don't want to muzzle him either. Hmm. I've got an extending lead and I keep him on that more and more, particularly on the walk above town that backs on to houses. The field behind my place is ok, I think.

A little project I'm considering is rubbish collection. I spent a few weeks in California once, roaming the countryside in a tiny hire car. I was wandering around a strange and beautiful area of sand dunes and little lakes, when I met a man walking his dog and stopped to chat. He told me the area was once where the local hoons came to race their off-road vehicles, it was a mess. Concerned locals got together to save it, and this fellow got interested. He started going there for walks, and was disturbed at the amount of rubbish lying around. He decided to do something about it himself. Every time he went for a walk, he took big rubbish bags with him and filled them. "After a while it was only one bag. Then a smaller bag. Now I only take a little one, just in case." For him, the payoff was not only a more pleasant place to walk in, but someone to walk with him -- he found a litter of abandoned puppies, one of which he adopted.

So anyway, the places where Bertie and I walk are an appalling mess -- garbage everywhere. So I thought I might follow that bloke's example and take a bin-bag with me. I even thought about talking the council into lending me one of their rubbish-gripper thingies, so I wouldn't have to stoop all the time.

I'll keep you posted.

Bertie's lesson for the day: Do NOT, under any circumstances, run on to the railway line. You will be yelled at and have to spend the rest of the walk on a tight leash.

I did some grocery shopping and carried another couple of dozen CDs downstairs. Everything is filthy and disordered. Bertie's duvet cover is muddy and covered in dog hair and crumbs, and so is the floor (we had a long, involved argument about whether he was going to eat his DentaBone on the persian rug or on the duvet). The study is still a tip. The bed is still broken (did I mention the bed broke?) and the broken bits are still lying where they fell, the pot plants are drying out, the spare bedroom is a storage dump, the bathroom floor is covered in muddy clothes. And it's only been a week! In a month they'll call the environmental health people in with masks and rubber gloves.

Tomorrow Anthea and I are going to Ikea to sort our lives out. It promises pretty much that in the catalogue. The people look so happy, their houses are lickably clean. All their stuff is organised. All we need is shelves, and the rest will follow.

Sum total of work towards tidying the house today: plugged in the stereo. That's it. I really must start moving stuff down, but I'm so tired! All this walking, walking, walking ...

Two shortish walks today (one hour and twenty minutes), with plenty of off-leash romping. Bertie finally got the chance to chase a real live rabbit and made a hash of it. The rabbit got a head start and fled into a bramble patch.

I had another look at his ear tattoos and realised I'd read one of them upside down -- it says TV, not A.I. That would make him three, I think, which seems about right.

Next project on hand is building some shelves in my bedroom and in the livingroom, in the chimney alcoves. I'm going to get bare boards, sand and varnish them, and fix them with blocks of wood rather than brackets. I also need more freestanding bookshelves --- Ikea for that, I think. Then some kind of lighter drapes for the french doors. Oh, and I need to move all the furniture and books and stuff back down from upstairs and sort out the study and reformat the hard drive and reinstall all the software.

I'll start as soon as I've walked the dog ...

Dog ownership is wearing me out. Today we went for two walks. The first, to the field up behind my place, was a happy one. The second was a mistake. I was going to a farm a fair step away, to buy some eggs, and I thought, I'll walk and take the dog.

Bad idea.

First, the farm is on a main road. Second, the road is bounded by fields, wide open fields where rabbits frolic freely. So I found myself in charge of a big, strong dog, hysterical with excitement, leaping, twisting and lunging to get free, while huge lorries thundered past inches away. Eventually we made it to the farm intact. More excitement: the farm's hens are free range, as in walking around in the yard, on the roadside, everywhere. Second, the farm's extremely friendly Newfoundland dog looks pretty much like a bear -- size, shape, fur. "I LOVE YOU!!!" he bellowed at Bertie from the end of his chain. "Can we go home now?" quivered Bertie, doing his best to ignore the Newfie and eyeing the hens.

I bought eggs, and we made the nightmare journey back, Bertie gagging and jerking on the lead like a lunatic, me sweating and swearing.

Tomorrow we're going to the field and that's IT. I'm shattered.

Did I mention the floor is finished? Dougie and Bob came on Sunday as promised. I'd forgotten about daylight saving, of course, so as far as I was concerned, they arrived at 7.30am. Bloody hell. Bertie was appalled at the noise, so we went out for a long walk. When we got back, the fridge, washing machine and stove were all in the hallway and there was even more noise.

Eventually the blokes finished, packed up and left. After they'd driven off in their van, Bertie went to the front door and barked VERY LOUDLY. Huh, they won't be back any time soon!

The house is still a tip -- I'm too tired from dogwalking to cart stuff back down from upstairs. OK, I carried a dozen CDs down today. Should only take a few years to tidy up at that rate.

I had a reply from the greyhound trust regarding Bertie's ear tattoos. Apparently if the letters I told them are correct, he's 18 years old! So I think I've read it wrong. What I thought was A is possibly R, which would make him about five. They're like cars, one of the letters represents the year of birth.

Elvis Costello tells us which 500 records we absolutely must have to be happy. I have some of them, mainly his jazz and classical selections. The one I most want to listen to that I've never heard of is Agnes Bernelle: Father's Lying Dead on the Ironing Board. Eh?

A lot of the older stuff I was never a fan of in the first place -- Captain Beefheart, the Flying Burrito Brothers -- but some of the nostalgia selections make me think, yeah, I'd like to hear that again. Like the Four Tops, the Hollies, Prince ... I haven't got a single Prince album, how about that!

Yesterday was dog-day: my first day as a dog owner. It all went quite smoothly -- the dog (no name yet, see below) was ok in the car, is house-trained (or kennel-trained), enjoyed all his walks enormously and ate his dinner eventually (after first trying to "bury" it). He's bigger than I'd thought -- very tall and strong -- but that hasn't been a problem. He's ok on the lead generally, understands the word STOP. A bit nervous of cars and over-interested in anything that looks like it could possibly be a rabbit. No barking at all, though he did give a yowl when he saw the neighbour's cat in the back yard.

He had a new experience last night -- television. He happened to be standing in the doorway when I switched it on and he got a real fright. He stared at it, eyes bugging out, then backed slowly out of the room. Just an advert, nothing like Animal Hospital.

Today it's raining and when I let him out this morning he came straight back in & shook himself ostentatiously. I had to get dressed and take him out, stand over him until he went to the toilet. He's been joed out on his duvet ever since.

All Things Must Pass George Harrison's official site. "Not for the faint of bandwidth or resolution".