:: happy new year

Not such a happy one for lots of people here: they've just called off the Hogmanay street party. It's 10:30pm, so there are tens of thousands of people jammed into Princes St, freezing but cheerful at the prospect of live music and a huge "seven hills" fireworks display. Now they're all shuffling off to find something fun to do. The culprit was the wind. Aberdeen's street party was cancelled too. Drummochter Pass and the Slocht are both closed by snow -- they're the highest points on the main road to Inverness.

I'm at work, get off at about midnight, depending on what happens new-wise. Bertie is sleeping over with friends -- latest report was that he and their dog, Oz the terrierist, are getting on famously, even eating out of each other's dishes! I'm going to meet up with Fiona -- the traffic should have cleared by then -- for a modest celebration and maybe a party or two, then home.

After a delicious lie-in, Bertie's minders are coming round with him and we're going to watch a work colleague dice with death in annual Loony Dook. Then off to Fiona's again, for brunch this time, and then to work. Which should be a doddle ... but you never can tell.

Happy New Year, everyone!

:: happy happy

My computer's mostly fixed but I cannot get the modem going -- which is annoying because I bought it because my old modem wouldn't work under Windows XP. Hah. So anyway, no snaps of my wunnerful Christmas yet, and very little blogging because I can only do it at work and I'm really really busy at work.

There was a Christmas miracle up north: Bertie made friends with a child, Andrew's niece Jenny, age nine. She loves dogs, so she was thrilled to be his first ever junior chum. He was so relaxed she could walk him on the lead, and chase him shrieking across a field.

Mostly it was a whirl of activity, a lot of which was kitchen-based. I didn't do any farm work at all, tsk. I'm getting old -- the silage pit has lost its charms (it does have some! it's warm on a frosty morning, for one thing). We saw The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, and went to a brilliant panto, Jack and the Beanstalk. Jenny senior cooked up a storm despite having fallen and hurt her back at the weekend -- roast beef and Yorkshire pud on Christmas Eve, and turkey and all the trimmings plus pheasants for the Big Event. It was great seeing Ian and Yukari again too.

I called NZ on the 24th, talked to Liz, Leigh and Ken. Big merries to all those I missed!

Once my computer's back up I'll post some snaps.

:: I broke my computer!!

I did a stupid, stupid thing; then I did another stupid, stupid thing which compounded the earlier stupid thing. Finally, Windows XP did a stupid, stupid, stupid thing. The net result was that I spent most of today backing up my files (whew). I've done some research on the net and have a solution for the short term, but in the long run I really need to do a complete reformat and reinstall. Given the amount of damage already inflicted, I think that would be best.

The first indication that something had gone horribly wrong was pretty spectacular: the screen was filled with just one word, repeating endlessly:



Grub is a Linux boot manager. It wasn't working.

Ah well, I'll get there in the end. In the meantime, however, I am without an internet connection. GRUmBle GRUmBle GRUmBle. I won't even have this work connection, as -- hurrah! -- this is my last night before a whole week off.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Oh, speaking of Christmas, I heard a great one on the radio this afternoon: a woman who runs some kind of Christmas decoration business was wittering on about changing fashions in tree-dressing. Her favourite was a Byzantine theme she'd devised. "I wanted something colourful so I thought, where's a colourful place? And it came to me: the Middle East! Even though the Middle East has nothing to do with Christmas, quite the opposite in fact."

:: damn

The police raided Ingliston Market -- no Christmas presents this year, then! (Kidding.)

I find the whole thing astounding, I have to say. It's been going on for years, both at Ingliston and at the Barras in Glasgow. And it's so blatant! I remember once seeing a woman come up to a bloke selling dodgy software, effing and blinding at him that he'd shopped her to the police and she'd lost a load of equipment. But no-one needs to shop anyone, they're all doing it right out there in public! Well, not the copying part, the selling.

I'll draw a veil over my own purchases at Ingliston. I'll just say the software industry hasn't lost a penny; I can't afford their finest products.

I'm feeling v. smug at the moment, having finished almost all my Christmas shopping. And I've still got a week to go! I still have to ice the cake, finish off a handcrafted gift, wrap some presents and distribute local cards. I'm off tomorrow -- appointment with the podiatrist in the morning -- working Wed-Fri and then off until after Christmas! Whoopee!

Mother and John, thank you very much for the tea towels. Gaudy is good! In fact I'm thinking of putting the very bright one up on the wall. Uncle Jock sent a calendar with a great pic on it of you and the Dick whanau, Mum. I think I'll frame that one at the end of next year.

:: search

I'm completely addicted to this search thing: as I've said before, the statistics thingie I've got tells me the "referer" for my hits. And some of them are from internet searches.

Like "dog parka", for example. OK someone might be searching for that, but in Portugal? Why? Then there's "budgies sleep patterns", and "vegetarian perfume cruelty guerlain". Alarming that these people get my weblog up!

Oh, then there's "diy surgery dog spade" -- that really is disturbing, on both counts. In my defence, I was doing some diy, the dog had surgery, and then I bought a spade. They are not connected.

Here's one that was tooooo specific: "barevan christmas". It only gets one result. So: who was the mystery browser on Dec 05 2003 at 12:08:11 pm? Using a Tiscali connection? For 35 seconds? Ah yes, I have your IP address! I know your operating system -- Windows ME, the final clue.

:: the hedge

After Saturday's Christmas experience I spent Sunday afternoon doing something much more satisfying: hacking back the rose hedge in the front garden. It's wildly overgrown and threaded through with honeysuckle -- sounds romantic, but it isn't. Rosemary next door got so sick of it snagging her guests she attacked it with the shears in midsummer -- not the best time of year to prune, but she was desperate. So I promised to give it a good trim this winter, and now it's a row of stumps. Once I've disposed of the mountain of clippings I'll feed the stumps and put some new compost around them. Just to show there's no hard feelings, you know. The roses should shoot back up, but if they don't they don't -- no biggie.

When I told Rosemary I might plant replacements if they do die, she hurriedly said she doesn't care if there isn't a hedge there. She says Mrs Blacker, the former owner, planted it because the paper boy and the postie used to cut across the lawn in front of the dining room while she was having breakfast, and she got sick of both the intrusion and the muddy trail they wore in the lawn. But as with everything else she didn't spend any time on upkeep and it grew leggy and mildewed and full of dead wood. In the spring I'm also going to reseed the front lawn -- now it will get a bit more light it might do better.

Yes, so that was Sunday -- I was out there until dusk, my feet freezing in my wellies, chopping away at 6ft high rose bushes. Overnight there was a harsh frost, with a fog to boot. On the way back from the morning walk I saw another neighbour trying to start his car. Rrr rrr rrr, rrr rr rrrrr. "Good luck!" I said cheerily. Ten minutes later I was sitting in my own car. Rrr [silence]. Rrr. Eh? I phoned Green Flag and just had time to wash the dishes before the mechanic was there with his jumper leads. Brrrmm! Apparently it was the cold. All I need to do is pour a kettle of boiling water on the battery. I have never heard of this, but that's what he said. I haven't had any problems in previous winters -- maybe I need a new battery.

So then I got my parcels posted and the cards and fuelled the car and and supermarketed and walked the dog again and made a curry and conked out on the sofa in front of the telly. Very enjoyable time off.

:: some pix

I did the Christmas shopping thing today -- went in on the bus and spent half the day trekking around various shops. You lucky people! My favourite purchases turned out to be decorations for the cake. I found cute robins, the kind with real feathers, for just 90p each! Bargain. I tried to have a look at the Christmas market, but it was too packed.





Here are some other photos from the past month:


Blackness Castle with 1,000 acres of sky.





Couple of autumnal shots from Blackford Hill.



Here's a picture taken the day Bertie was bashed up by the marina cat. His wounds have healed up ok.

:: uh oh

I seem to have managed to lose the talk-back thingie. Bugger.

:: changing faces

Another day, another new look: I didn't really like the last one, and as I said I changed it by accident. So here's another one: Bluebird. Nice and simple.

Today's Scottish word is dreich, adjective, dreary.

As in, "The weather's awfie dreich the day, hen." Damp, dull, with the kind of rain that is too light for the intermittent setting on the windscreen wipers but still manages to soak you through on a short walk.

See: smirr, smur noun
1 drizzly rain
verb (smirs, smirrs, smirring, smirred)
[intransitive]
2 to drizzle lightly

Well, we've had a good innings this year, weatherwise. I'm only grumbling because today was the day I was meant to heave my old mattress and bedframe out on to the pavement, and I forgot. And now I'm going to have to do it when I get home. At 1am. In the smirr.

Today was also the day I chose to lock myself out of the house again. Happily I hadn't mucked up my Cunning Plan and managed to get in ok, albeit with a wet bum and a very confused dog.

Speaking of Bertie, his leg had miraculously healed by the time I got home from work on Friday night. Which is just as well, because I overslept and missed his appointment with the vet on Saturday morning.

:: update

In case any Bertie fans are worried, well worry some more. He's convinced his leg is broken. He walked home ok from the marina and was fine during the post-walk cleanup and ear-bandaging. But after he'd had a lie-down it suddenly became really, really sore. Ooowwwww! He only managed to get downstairs when I got out the treat biscuits.

I took him out for a toilet walk regardless, to show him it would feel much better once he got moving. In fact it didn't. It was still so sore he could hardly walk (nothing to do with the fact that it was raining heavily, of course). Mysteriously, when I gave him his Jumbone he managed somehow to sprint upstairs. Miracle? Hmmm. I've caved in and made a vet's appointment for tomorrow, however. He does like those painkillers.

When I phoned the vet, the receptionist asked my name, then said, "Oh, what's wrong with Bertie today?" The joys of owning a greyhound.

:: the cat won

One of Bertie's dreams came true today -- he got to play with a cat. Unfortunately it was the hard-as-nails feral cat at the marina, and it won. At one point in the encounter, the cat was clinging to his head, kicking, biting and scratching. As far as I could see, it didn't suffer any injuries itself -- apart from perhaps being a bit out of breath.

Bertie, however, limped home covered in wounds: a torn ear, scratches all over his face (including one right next to his eye) and neck, and cuts and scrapes on his ankles from racing over the slippery seawall rocks. The ear is bleeding like mad, and there are bloodstains all over the house. I put a bandage on it -- ha ha ha! Like he's going to keep a bandage on his ear. Sigh. Now the excitement has worn off, he's feeling very, very sorry for himself.

Apart from that, nothing much to report. I had a lovely birthday (it was one of my days off) and got lots of wonderful presents and cards. Work has been very busy and full-on, but I've mostly been enjoying it. There's a horrible flu bug going around so a lot of people are sick, and some are so sick they're off work. So far I've not caught it, touch wood.

:: my new hobby

Sleeping. Sleeping in my new bed, which is a marvel of comfort. Ah, bliss, heaven, etc. Still unsure of what to do with the old one: crap, broken bedframe and worn-out mattress, anyone?

I tormented my dog by taking him to Ingliston market today. He hates it there: it's a bewildering maze of stalls -- there are exquisite fried-food smells at every turn, but the hundreds of sugared-up little children desperate the pat the big doggie really kill his appetite. Not to mention there's usually a couple of rotweilers with huge studded collars wanting to rip his guts out. "Aww, he's really cold!" everyone says. But no, he's shaking himself to pieces from fear. Bouncy castle! Gigantic pink gorilla! Screaming weans! The lady at the petfood stall tried to give him a chunk of Puffed Jerky, one of his favourite treats, but he was too far gone for that.

It's part of his thurupy, however. If I expose him to stressful situations on a regular basis, eventually he will get over himself. That's the theory anyway. Ingliston is the most stressful situation he's been in. Next year I'm planning on taking him to the Royal Highland Show. That should be interesting... Ingliston will seem a doddle after the Grand Parade and the pipe band march-past.

:: bug's life

OLD COCKROACHES SEIZE UP JUST LIKE HUMANS
By John von Radowitz, Science Correspondent, PA News
Cockroaches get doddery in their old age, just like humans, scientists revealed today.
In the first detailed study of insect ageing, researchers found that the bugs’ joints seize up and they have trouble walking up hills.
American scientists noticed that cockroaches that survive into old age reduce the time they spend moving around by about 40%.
When the team put the insects on a mini treadmill, adults that had reached the ripe old age of 60 weeks took half as many steps per second as one-week old individuals.
Many of the old timers developed a stumbling gait as their front foot caught on their second leg.
Angela Ridgel, who led the study at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, Ohio, told New Scientist magazine: “It happens every couple of steps. It does slow them down.”
The constant tripping happened because the insects’ joints had stiffened up. By 65 weeks old, more than 80% of the cockroaches were tripping over themselves.
Old cockroaches also did badly at climbing a 45 degree slope. While all the younger insects managed the task, 58% of the older ones failed.
There was one rather drastic way to speed up an old cockroach, the researchers discovered.
Ridgel tested the ability of one cockroach species to run off when nudged. She found that elderly individuals were more likely to escape after being decapitated.

"Escape"? In what sense is running away after someone's cut your head off escaping?

However, interesting to find I have so much in common with cockroaches. Apart from the decapitation thing, obviously.

:: feet first

Went to the podiatrist today, and she says she thinks the problem with my knees is mainly down to misalignment and can be fixed. Hurrah! My left leg has shrunk by half an inch and my left foot needs more stabilising. She's taken away my orthotics to tinker with them -- leaving me pronating wildly in the meantime -- and if that doesn't work, she's going to try me with a hard plastic set.

"We've had you pain-free before, no reason why you can't be again." Which makes a change from the doctor's "take some painkillers, there's nothing else can be done". Three cheers for biomechanics!

So then I took Bertie for a walk on Blackford Hill, hobbling round like an old lady while he went zooming off into the distance. It will be great once my knees are fixed -- it feels absolutely dreadful to be so insecure on my feet. Walking downhill in particular is difficult. Bertie absolutely loves Blackford Hill. He gets to meet new and interesting dogs and people, plus there's the stream to drink out of and lots of interesting smells.

:: dog's life

When I first got Bertie we were walking through the marina when we met a family that also had a greyhound, a black female. The family has a boat moored there, and the dog goes sailing with them. Bertie was scared to death of the children & deeply suspicious of the rest of them, including the dog.

Then last year, we met them again. I'd forgotten about them in the meantime, but they remembered us. Bertie was a bit calmer by now, but still nervous about the children.

For some reason, on Friday as I walked Bertie through the marina, I thought of that family for the first time since last year.

Guess who we saw yesterday?

This time it was just the mother, who rushed up with a huge smile. "It's Bertie, isn't it?" He greeted her just as enthusiastically -- he's become ultra-friendly lately -- and she raved about how he's improved over the years. She pointed out her family heading along the pontoon to the boat, with the dog in its red jacket.

Does everyone have such a good memory? I couldn't remember her dog's name if you put a gun to my head.

It was good, though, to get confirmation that Bertie has improved since I've had him. I tend to think he's the same scatterbrained nincompoop he was back then, which he is of course. But he's also a lot more confident and more obedient too (when he feels like it). I took him to Holyrood Park yesterday, and he had a whale of a time and didn't get into trouble once. We met a group of people with a bunch of dogs, including two puppies, and he behaved himself perfectly.

Yeah, I think I'll keep him.

:: searching questions

You won't have noticed, but I've put the tracking thingie back on the page -- it's a little coloured box down the side somewhere. It spies on you and reports back to me, so I can keep track of who's looking and how often.

One thing I can see is when someone has stumbled on the page through a search. It truly is bizarre, the things people search for! And even more bizarre that they find my pages. I mean, I don't write about men's willies, big or small, and there certainly aren't any pictures of them.

Then there's this one: "torn and tattered + anthea". What's even odder is the language: "Ekki þarf að nota "AND" því öll leitarorð eru sjálfkrafa tekin með." What's that, Icelandic? Weird.

More: "Spike Milligan Song lyrics One Black on White down to her knees". And this one: "carjack and brick". And "christmas flatpack pictures". On a Google search for "cagoule messy", Hockadilly comes up first, isn't that interesting?

No? Uh, ok I'll stop then.

I bought a new bed yesterday, a "Picasso" at John Lewis. I lay down on a bed costing £3,000 and nearly lost my head, it was so deliciously comfy. But good sense reigned, sigh. The one I have is perfectly comfortable, low enough for me to sit on and not too dear. It's arriving on Friday.

:: hi cathie!

Wow, someone talked back! Hurrah. Cathie says:

"That Xmas cake sounds far more suffisticaked than my white job made with pineapple and coconut, no booze but yummy Brandy icing, and I will have to make one this year seeing we will be home and not off to the North!! Bill will love it though!!!!! If we win the lottery can we add to your visitor list and have some too? Do you remember its four years since we came to see you. My doesn't time fly when you're having fun!!"

Yes, I do remember it's four years -- and I've got a tentative ETA for my next trip. Margaret and Ben are getting hitched in Jan/Feb 2005, and I've invited myself to the wedding! It'll be in Christchurch, of course, so I'll see you and Bill then, Cathie.

:: tidying up

I sat down to fix a few broken links on my website today, and found an interesting function on the program I was using: Check broken links/whole site.

Wow, there are a lot of broken links.

From there I went on to Check code/whole site.

Oops, lots of bad code too.

I spent so much time faffing around checking and fixing all the broken stuff I didn't have time to reload the site -- so it's still all broken on the web! I'll do it tomorrow, maybe.

I might be too busy fixing a few things round the house: I still haven't draught-proofed the front door, and I should do that really soon because there's a storm coming. I have to finish the great study reorganisation project as well, and plant some garlic for next year.

Next week I've got an appointment with the podiatrist to see if I need new protheses. Did I mention I've got arthritis in my knees? Well I have. It's been pretty bad since my last holiday, to the extent where I can hardly walk downhill. So anyway the doctor says there's nothing I can do but take ibuprofen regularly. I'm also taking codliver oil and cutting down on coffee. Pinky suggested seeing the podiatrist again, because limping changes your gait and that may be making the protheses not so effective, hence making my knees worse. I really hope she can help, because it's making me crazy not being able to walk freely.

I got a trekking pole for hillwalking -- not a walking stick, oh no, it's a pole. The guy in the shop told me I should have two, but I have to hold Bertie's lead most of the time. Maybe I'll get another one later on. They're great things, they telescope so you can make them exactly the right height.

I haven't actually used it yet, I have to confess. But soon I will.

I've been shopping for a new bed, and I feel like Goldilocks. My bed really needs replacing: the mattress is second-hand -- I bought it off my old flat's previous owner -- and the frame is a cheap-and-nasty pine slatted thing that broke last year (I mended it, more or less). Last weekend I went to a factory outlet recommended by a friend, but the kind of bed I want (pocket springs) was too huge and puffy. I had to actually jump to get up on to it, and couldn't sit on the edge -- the base is sprung too. Shame, because it was a good price. I don't like Ikea mattresses at all, they're either far too soft or too unyeildingly firm. Pocket sprung mattresses are great: they're firm, but mould around your body.

:: jolly good

I've just had a very restful and zestful few days off. Actually I was quite busy -- I made a Christmas cake, for starters. It called for things like a kilo and a half of dried fruit, which made shopping for ingredients a pleasure. I love mixed peel and glace cherries and dried apricots, mmm, so there are lots of those in it. And I added cranberries, too, and figs and raisins and sultanas. It was in the oven for over three hours, and now it's sitting bundled up in tinfoil, soaking up a glass of brandy. Next month I'll ice it.

I also got round to renewing the insulation around my hotwater tank, and got some winterising bits and pieces too: a foam wrap for the garden tap and draught-proofing for the front door. And I got materials for a couple of embroidery projects. One went belly-up immediately because I found I'd bought "waste" canvas -- it's very loosely woven, designed to be basted on when you want to do counted-thread work on fine fabric. Once you've finished you pull out the threads of the waste canvas. It's useless for tapestry work itself! Bah. The other project is going belly-up in a slower way, due to me being over-ambitious. Heigh ho.

Time to go home!

:: Faye's here

After a pretty miserable journey up from Reading (heavy traffic, rain), Faye arrived just in time to unload her car and get changed ready for my next-door neighbours' wedding anniversary ceilidh. It was a hoot: live music from a band of old geezers with accordians and a drum-kit, and detailed instructions on the Virginian Reel, the Dashing White Sergeant and Strip the Willow. We were seated with some of Rosemary's relatives and our other neighbours, so it was very congenial. I'm a rubbish dancer, but a gallant gent whispered instructions in my ear for a reel (one, two, three, stamp, back one, two, to me, to you, and turn, turn!).

We had intended to leave early, but they brought out the supper so we stayed on a bit, and then they cut the cake, so we had to stay for that, and for the toasts and speeches. And then there were the farewells -- Rosemary had prepared a little scroll for each guest with a thankyou poem, very sweet touch.

Eventually we wobbled home in our tight, girly shoes. We'd left Bertie with the television on as well as two radios, because the fireworks had been very loud earlier on. Someone was letting them off right behind our houses. When Faye arrived I was just getting out of the shower. Bertie had crushed into the bathroom too and curled up on the mat, he was in such a state. I'm sure if the shower hadn't been going he would have climbed into the tub. When he heard the door I'm sure he thought the explosives experts were coming to get him, he really panicked! Imagine his relief and delight when he found Faye there! Bertie's life is full of surprises.

Tomorrow we're going to North Berwick, meeting Fiona and her mother for lunch. That means a very early start, eek. But it'll be worth it, especially if the weather holds.