They shall not grow old as we who are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.
Rest eternal grant unto them O Lord, and let light perpetual shine upon them.
Have a think about this.
It is said, and who am I to disagree, that the average age of the soldiers in World War II was 26.
Yes, 26.
So at 26 what is uppermost in the mind of the average male? Yes, that's right, sex. Now this could be said of the average 26 year old female, but I'm not female and I can't say for certain but will welcome comments from those better placed than me to agree or disagree.
So anyway, that's why this year, as a tribute to the youngsters who died for me and for you so that we might be free and be able to do all the things we now take for granted, I include the image on the right. With poppies. And a lady.
And I mean no disrespect. Those who know me will know this to be true.
I'm really looking forward to Choral Evensong next Sunday at the Cathedral.
Not only is it good music: Thou visitest the earth, by Maurice Greene; Responses by Bernard Rose; Charles Villiers Stanford Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis in B Flat; The Heavens are telling by Joseph Haydn, and there's a party afterwards, but the main reason is that my lovely niece JY is progressing from being a probationer to being a chorister in the trebles section of the choir and will be presented with her surplice. It's a special day for her in the early part of her choral career, whatever form that eventually takes and however far she takes it, it'll doubtless be a special day for her mum and dad, and for her granpa, and her gran and her big sister who are looking down on her from a better place, and not least for me, as she takes the next step as a member of the choir which has been pretty much the biggest part of my life for over 25 years. In fact, since December 1983 to be fairly specific.
It's great to have my brother and his family back in the UK. They've been living abroad for about a dozen years, first in Dubai and then in San Diego California, and for some mad reason they decided to come back to the charming weather of Scotland a couple of months ago, but I'm really glad they did. For sure it's a bit strange having them around, but strange in such a good way. And having my niece join the cathedral choir pretty much as soon as they returned meant a lot to me. I truly hope she gets as much fun and joy from singing in the place as I have over the years.
And the title of this post is from memory, a very distant memory, part of the "oath" I took when I was admitted as a treble chorister in the choir of Holy Trinity Episcopal Church in Motherwell way back in early 1975 when I made the promise to basically try my best. The word diligently isn't the easiest to say at that age, and I don't remember many people in subsequent years managing to avoid the odd wee stumble over it!
I'm not given to public displays of prayerfulness or religion, although I have posted previously on the subject, but occasionally a prayer touches my heart and means a lot to me. Whether it's for religious reasons or just for the poetry must remain for discussion over a pint or two (get in touch, I really mean that!), but one of my favourite prayers, which I hope will turn out to mean as much to JY, is kind of linked to the Royal School of Church Music (RSCM) and is as follows:
The Chorister's Prayer
Bless, O Lord, us thy servants who minister in thy temple: grant that what we sing with our lips we may believe in our hearts, and what we believe in our hearts we may shew forth in our lives; through Jesus Christ Our Lord. Amen
And the Latin motto of the RSCM is Psallam Spiritu et Mente which is from St Paul's first letter to the church in Corinth (1 Corinthians 14:15) as opposed to his first letter to the Fallopians which is another matter, and translates as I will sing with the Spirit and with understanding, but I think they've almost dropped it and have almost certainly dropped the wonderul coat of arms in the (misguided) rush to modernise and replace it with the one below. Grrrrrrrrrrr.
Ever wondered why we never sing the WHOLE hymn?
(You might recognise the last six verses, but read it from the start and see if you can guess what's coming..!)
THE BREWING OF SOMA by John Greenleaf Whittier (American Quaker poet and editor, 1807-92)
"These libations mixed with milk have been prepared for Indra: offer Soma to the drinker of Soma."
(Vashista, translated by Max Muller.)
The fagots blazed, the caldron's smoke
Up through the green wood curled;
"Bring honey from the hollow oak,
Brink milky sap," the brewers spoke,
In the childhood of the world.
And brewed they well or brewed they ill,
The priests thrust in their rods,
First tasted, and then drank their fill,
And shouted, with one voice and will,
"Behold, the drink of the gods!"
They drank, and lo! in heart and brain
A new, glad life began;
They grew of hair grew young again,
The sick man laughed away his pain,
The cripple leaped and ran.
"Drink, mortals, what the gods have sent,
Forget you long annoy."
So sang the priests, From tent to tent
The Soma's sacred madness went,
A storm of drunken joy.
Then knew each rapt inebriate
A winged and glorious birth,
Soared upward, with strange joy elate,
Beat, with dazed head, Varuna's gate,
And sobered, sank to earth.
The land with Soma's praises rang;
On Gihon's banks of shade
Its hymns the dusky maidens sang;
In joy of life or mortal pang
All men to Soma prayed.
The morning twilight of the race
Sends down these matin psalms;
And still with wondering eyes we trace
The simple prayers to Soma's grace,
That verdic verse embalms.
As in the child-world's early year,
Each after age has striven
By music, incense, vigils drear,
And trance, to bring the skies more near,
Or lift men up to heaven!
Some fever of the blood and brain,
Some self-exalting spell,
The scourger's keen delight of pain,
the Dervish dance, the Orphic strain,
The wild-haired Bacchant's yell, -
The desert's hair-grown hermit sunk
The saner brute below;
The naked Santon, haschish-drunk,
The cloister madness of the monk,
The fakir's torture show!
And yet the past comes round again,
And new doth old fulfill;
In sensual transports wild as vain
We brew in many a Christian fane
The heathen Soma still!
Dear Lord and Father of mankind,
Forgive our foolish ways!
Reclothe us in our rightful mind,
In purer lives Thy service find,
In deeper reverence, praise.
In simple trust like theirs who heard
Beside the Syrian sea
The gracious calling of the Lord,
Let us, like them, without a word
Rise up and follow Thee.
O Sabbath rest by Galilee!
O calm of hills above,
Where Jesus knelt to share with Thee
The silence of eternity
Interpreted by love!
With that deep hush subduing all
Our words and works that drown
The tender whisper of Thy call,
And noiseless let Thy blessing fall
As fell Thy manna down.
Drop thy still dews of quietness,
Till all our strivings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress,
And let our ordered lives confess
Thy beauty of Thy peace.
Breathe through the hearts of our desire
Thy coolness and Thy balm;
Let sense be numb, let flesh retire;
Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,
O still, small voice of calm!
The Hymn
The hymn comprises six verses from the poem (although most hymn books omit verse 4). Soma is an hallucinogenic drink probably made from the fungus Amanita muscaria, or fly agaric, and used in Vedic rituals by Hindus in India in order to have union with the Deity. In the poem Whittier sees the drinking of soma, like the use of incense and music in church, as distracting the mind from its proper purpose of worship.
In sensual transports - wild as vain
We brew in many a Christian fane
The heathen Soma still!
After this catalogue of feverish distractions Whittier suddenly, with great effect, introduces the note of quiet: 'Dear Lord and Father of mankind', and the rest of the hymn in which is expressed the Quaker conviction that God is to be found in silence and stillness, through the inward peace of the worshipper rather than through outward stimulation and sensual excitement. Biblical references include, verse 2; Mark 1:16-20, Matthew 4:18-22, verse 3; Luke 6:1-12, and verse 5; 1 Kings 19:11-12.
So, it's a hymn about why hymns are wrong and silence is right! No wonder my bloody brain hurts.
The Music
This hymn is generally sung to the tune Repton, by Sir Hubert Parry (1848-1918). Parry's tune was originally written in 1888 for the contralto aria 'Long since in Egypt's pleasant land' in his oratorio Judith. In 1924 Dr George Gilbert Stocks, director of music at Repton School, set it to 'Dear Lord and Father of mankind' in a supplement of tunes for use in the school chapel. Despite the need to repeat the last line of words, the tune Repton provides an inspired matching of words and music. And it's one of my personal favourites.
To the tune: Repton
Dear Lord and Father of mankind
forgive our foolish ways;
For most of us, when asked our mind,
admit we still most pleasure find
in hymns of ancient days,
in hymns of ancient days.
The simple lyrics, for a start,
of many a modern song
are far too trite to touch the heart;
enshrine no poetry, no art;
and go on much too long,
and go on much too long.
O, for a rest from jollity
and syncopated praise!
What happened to tranquillity?
The silence of eternity
is hard to hear these days,
is hard to hear these days.
Send Thy deep hush, subduing all
those happy claps that drown
the tender whisper of Thy call;
triumphalism is not all,
for sometimes we feel down,
for sometimes we feel down.
Drop Thy still dews of quietness
till all our strummings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress
of always having to be blessed;
Give us a bit of peace,
give us a bit of peace.
Breathe through the beats of praise-guitar
Thy coolness and Thy balm;
Let drum be dumb, bring back the lyre,
enough of earthquake, wind and fire,
let’s hear it for some calm,
let’s hear it for some calm.
Update 17th October: I forgot to make it clear that I'm not the author of this, and I don't know who is but if he/she wants credited then I'll happily do so.
I should point out that the link to this page was emailed to me ages ago, I wasn't searching the site or the subject matter!
From this website relating to Catechism of the Catholic Church we see the following:
By masturbation is to be understood the deliberate stimulation of the genital organs in order to derive sexual pleasure. Both the Magisterium of the Church, in the course of a constant tradition, and the moral sense of the faithful have been in no doubt and have firmly maintained that masturbation is an intrinsically and gravely disordered action. The deliberate use of the sexual faculty, for whatever reason, outside of marriage is essentially contrary to its purpose. For here sexual pleasure is sought outside of the sexual relationship which is demanded by the moral order and in which the total meaning of mutual self-giving and human procreation in the context of true love is achieved.
To form an equitable judgment about the subjects' moral responsibility and to guide pastoral action, one must take into account the affective immaturity, force of acquired habit, conditions of anxiety or other psychological or social factors that lessen, if not even reduce to a minimum, moral culpability.
Force of acquired habit, eh. So let me get this right. If you masturbate then that's wrong in the eyes of the Roman Catholic church, but if you're addicted to masturbation then it's OK?
Discuss!
The following was emailed to me by a friend recently, and it's maybe something to think about...
Washington, DC Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007. The man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time approximately two thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After 3 minutes a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried to meet his schedule.
4 minutes later:
the violinist received his first dollar: a woman threw the money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk..
6 minutes:
A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.
10 minutes:
A 3-year old boy stopped but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. Every parent, without exception, forced their children to move on quickly.
45 minutes:
The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.
1 hour:
He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.
No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before Joshua Bell had sold out a theatre in Boston where the seats averaged $100.
This is a true story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities. The questions raised: in a common place environment at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?
One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made.... How many other things are we missing?
This is one of the oldest pubs in Norwich, is just outside the Cathedral walls and was supposedly used by the workmen during one of the phases of the building of the Cathedral (which would have been some time between 1121 - 1369 I guess). 
With apologies to Queen and the (unknown to me) author of this rather rude parody. Enjoy!
Glaswegian Rhapsody
Is this the real life?
or is it the methadone?
stuck in the Gorbals, no cred on my mobile phone
open yer wine, an' talk wi' a whine... like meeeeeeeeee!
Ah’m just a weegie
gie us yer Sunny D
cos I'll chib yer pal,
rip yer da,
slash yer dug,
ride yer ma,
anyway the Clyde flows,
disnae really matter tae me,
tae me.
Haw maw, just decked some bam,
Buckie bottle tae the heid,
Noo the fuckin bastard’s deid,
Haw maw, am just oot on parole,
An noo am headin back tae Barlineeee....
Haw maw .... oohoooh ooh
Never meant tae steal yer purse,
But if am no full o' smack this time the morra',
Carry oot, carry oot,
An' we'll go oot on the batter,
Too late the bailiff's here,
Sends shivers doon ma spine,
Gubbed 10 jellies just in time,
Goodbye all my muckers, I've got to go,
Got to go and rip some wank fae up the scheme,
Haw maw... oohoooh ooh
I'm a jakey bam,
Sometimes I think I've never been washed at all,
I see a little silhouetto of a bam.
Adidas! Adidas! Can ye get me some Kappa,
Thunderbird, White Lighting,
Very very frightening, me!
Twenty Mayfair? (Twenty Mayfair!)
Twenty Mayfair? (Twenty Mayfair and some skins!)
Magnifico oh oh oh oh!
I’m just a fat boy, naebody loves me
He’s just a fat boy fae a fat family,
Spare us a pound for a wee cup o' tea?
Get tae fuck, skanky slob, will ye get a job?
For fuck sake.... NO! I will not get a job,
Get a job,
For fuck sake.... I will not get a job,
Get a job.... Willnae get a job,
Get a job.... Willnae get a job,
no, no, no, no, no,
Oh gonorrhoea!
Gonorrhoea, gonorrhoea and the clap,
Then doon the pub, has the barman put aside for me?
For me, for meeeee!?
So you 'hink you can slash me and pish in my eye?
So ye 'hink ye can chib me an' leave me to die?
Haw bawbag, can't dae this tae me bawbag!
Just wait till I'm oot, just wait till I'm right oot ma nut!
Fuck all really matters, anyone can see
Fuck all really matters.....
Fuck all really matters.....
Tae meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee... eeeeeeeeeeeee... eeeeee
And in the interests of clarity here are some definitions to assist those unfamiliar with the Glasgow patois:
Methadone = Green coloured liquid Heroin substitute, available on prescription
The Gorbals = an area of Glasgow south of the River Clyde
Wi' = With
Weegie = Glaswegian, or native of Glasgow
Gie = Give
Sunny D = Sunny Delight, a foul orange flavour drink full of sugar
Chib = assult with a weapon, usually a bladed one
Pal = Friend
Rip = Slash or cut with a bladed weapon
Da = Dad, Father
Dug = Dog, Canine
Ride = Have sex with
Clyde = The river which flows through Glasgow
Disnae = Doesn't
Tae = To
Haw maw = Hey mother
Decked = Knocked over, assaulted
Bam = An idiot, usually a derogatory term for another person, also known as Bampot
Buckie = Buckfast Tonic Wine, made by the monks of Buckfast Abbey and used extensively by the underclasses to get very drunk very quickly. It's foul! It's worse than foul.
Heid = Head
Noo = Now
Deid = Dead
Oot = Out
Barlineeeeeee = Glasgow's Barlinnie Prison
Smack = Heroin
The Morra' = Tomorrow
Carry oot = Alcohol bought to take away and drink
Oot on the batter = Night out for the main purpose of consuming excessive amounts of alcohol
Bailiff = Effectively a debt collector
Doon ma = Down my
Gubbed 10 jellies = Swallowed 10 tranquiliser pills, normally Benzodiazepines such as Temazepam, a controlled drug which is illegal to possess unless by prescription
Muckers = Friends
Wank = To masturbate, but in this context it's short for Wanker, a person who masturbates. Not a compliment.
Fae = From
Scheme = Council housing estate
Jakey = An alcoholic, usually to the point of being pretty much a tramp or derelict
Thunderbird = Cheap strong alcohol
White Lightning = Cheap strong alcohol
Mayfair = Brand of cigarettes
Naebody = Nobody
Skanky slob = Excessively unclean person
Willnae = Will not
The clap = Gonorrhoea
The pub = Public House in which alcohol is bought and consumed
Barman = Bar Tender
'hink = Think
Pish = Urinate
An' = And
Bawbag = Ballbag, Scrotum
Dae = Do
Oot ma nut = Out of my mind on alcohol and/or drugs
It was Doors Open Day in Glasgow at the weekend, and this year I was busy on Saturday (singing at a wedding in Stirling where the bride was almost 45 minutes late!) and decided not to bother with much on the Sunday, but the one thing I went to see was well worth it. The Britannia Panopticon Music Hall in Trongate is the oldest surviving music hall in Britain and possibly the world, they say, and although in a state of disrepair, to say the least, you can still get a sense of what it must have been like.
So for the Stan Laurel link alone it's an historically significant building, and it's well worth a visit on one of their occasional open days.As well as the site linked to above, they have a Myspace site which I haven't looked at properly yet but may be worth a visit.To the tune: Aurelia
Our church is mighty spiky with smells and bells and chants,
And Palestrina masses that vex the Protestants.
O happy ones and holy who fall upon their knees
for solemn Benediction and mid-week Rosaries.
Though with a scornful wonder men see our clergy, dressed
in rich brocaded vestments as slowly they process;
Yet saints their watch are keeping lest souls be set alight
not by the Holy Ghost, but by incense taking flight.
Now we on earth have union with Lambeth, not with Rome,
although the wags and cynics may question our true home;
But folk masses and bingo can't possibly depose
the works of Byrd and Tallis, or Cranmer's stately prose.
(Here shall the organist modulate)
So let the organ thunder, sound fanfares "en chamade;"
Rejoice! For we are treading where many saints have trod;
Let peals ring from the spire, sing descants to high C,
just don't let your elation disrupt the liturgy.
[author unknown]
Today be International Talk Like a Pirate Day, it be!
So buckle your swashes, put on your tri-corn hat, and get into the spirit of it all, or ye be finding yourselves in Davy Jones' Locker soon enough!
Arrr.
Picture the scene.
It's the final question in a pub quiz in Glasgow the other night.
There is tension in the air, as several teams are running neck and neck to claim first prize.
So the last question, on which the £100 cash prize rests, is
"The title of the boy band Take That's first album consisted of four words, the first two of which were "Take That", so what were the second two"?
There was a 30 second pause, then a wee Glasgow man pipes up
"Ya Cunt!"
Entirely possibly because it's pretty rude, this is one of my favourites, with apologies to both Don McLean & the (unknown to me) author of this parody. Suffice to say for the moment for those unfortunate enough not to hail from Glasgow (!) that Milngavie is pronounced Mill-Guy:
Glaswegian Pie
A long long time ago,
I can still remember how
Those weeji bampots made me laugh,
And I know if I had a chance
To see those Neds and Sengas dance,
I'd laugh my fucking arse off once again.
'Cos don't they realise it's not clever,
Drinking Buckfast doon the river,
Tucked in trackie bottoms,
They look just fucking rotten!
I can't remember if cried
When I saw these bams in East Kilbride,
But it amused me deep inside,
The day the mucker thrived!
And they were singin'........
Bye bye, eatin' Fray Bentos pie,
Drove the Uno roon' the toon oh wi' the techno up high,
Wearing wooly bunnets though it's nearly July
Singin', "There's that posh wee cunt fae Milngavie!"
"There's that posh wee cunt fae Milngavie!"
Did you write the book of shite
"Can I borrow ten bob, gonnae gee'za light?"
Bugger off yer full o' pish!
Oh and do you belive in hard core techno?
Huv ye gubbed 5 eckos fur a night at the Metro?
An’ can you teach me how to speak reeeaaallll slow?!
You can tell that she's in love wi' him,
'Cos he's fae Ibrox and she's a Tim,
They both kicked off their socks
And those manky old Reeboks.
He was a scrawny youth with a GAP pull over,
A sovvy ring and a stolen Nova,
They fell in love when he muff dove 'er, (sorry!)
The day the muckers thrived....
And they were singin'........
Bye bye, eatin' Fray Bentos pie,
Drove the Uno roon' the toon oh wi' the techno up high,
Wearing wooly bunnets though it's nearly July
Singin', "There's that posh wee cunt fae Milngavie!"
"There's that posh wee cunt fae Milngavie!"
Now for ten years you've been on the dole,
Hingin' aboot at the Paisley Toll,
And that's just how it's always been.
When the mucker screamed at the Polis van,
In a coat he'd stolen fae TopMan,
And a fag that came from you or me.
But while the cop was looking dapper,
The wee bam chibbed him on the napper,
Dressed all in Kappa clobber,
As he shouted, "suck ma dobber!".
While wee Tam stole a shirt fae 'Mark's',
And Boab slashed some cunt in the park,
They all buzzed petrol in the dark,
The day the Mucker thrived....
And they were singin'........
Bye bye, eatin' Fray Bentos pie,
Drove the Uno roon' the toon oh wi' the techno up high,
Wearing wooly bunnets though it's nearly July
Singin', "There's that posh wee cunt fae Milngavie!"
"There's that posh wee cunt fae Milngavie!"
Helter Skelter, if the wean cries belt 'er
Writing mentions on the old bus shelter,
Eight days straight drinking Faaaaaaaaaast!
Doin' six month for selling smack,
The chip pan diet and the heart attack
A night out at Archaos wi' the burd.
The Sengas reek of cheap perfume,
While name-tags jangle round the room,
Each one grabs her geezer,
A fag and lemon Breezer.
The lack of class is hard to hide,
They cannae wait to get inside,
A stair-heid winch and a door-way ride,
That's how the Muckers thrive
And they were singin'........
Bye bye, eatin' Fray Bentos pie,
Drove the Uno roon' the toon oh wi' the techno up high,
Wearing wooly bunnets though it's nearly July
Singin', "There's that posh wee cunt fae Milngavie!"
"There's that posh wee cunt fae Milngavie!"
You'll see them in their usual places,
With silly hats and ugly faces,
Ootside the offy acting hard.
So Shug be nimble, Shug be quick,
And get an ounce of speed on tick
Then cut it up and sell it to yer pals.
All lined up ootside the "Paki's",
A rainbow of exotic trackies,
Giein' abuse tae grannies,
Ya fucked up bunch of fannies!
And as the day turns in to night,
The neds may gang up to start a fight,
But on their own they're soft as shite!
I've made a Mucker cry!
And they were singin'........
Bye bye, eatin' Fray Bentos pie,
Drove the Uno roon' the toon oh wi' the techno up high,
Wearing wooly bunnets though it's nearly July
Singin', "There's that posh wee cunt fae Milngavie!"
"There's that posh wee cunt fae Milngavie!"
(Slowly with feeling)
I met a girl who sang 'The Sash'
I asked about her pant moustache,
But she just told me to fuck off!
I went down to the local chippy,
Where the Neds hung out and the staff were nippy,
And the muckers there harassed me for some fags.
Baseball hats at stupid angles,
The girls each wore three dozen bangles,
Hair done up with scrunchies,
Munching crisps and Crunchies.
But the three meals they enjoy the most,
Are chinky, chippy, beans on toast,
Come Glasgow fair they hit the coast,
The day the mucker thrived
And they were singin'........
Bye bye, eatin' Fray Bentos pie,
Drove the Uno roon' the toon oh wi' the techno up high,
Wearing wooly bunnets though it's nearly July
Singin', "There's that posh wee cunt fae Milngavie!"
"There's that posh wee cunt fae Milngavie!"
I watched this live on TV 8 years ago. I can remember exactly where I was and what I was doing.
I was on annual leave and was visiting Edinburgh when we heard early reports on the car radio, so we found a pub and watched the events unfold live, together with the other stunned clientele of the pub.
A few days ago here in the UK three men were found guilty of plotting to kill thousands of people by blowing up airliners over the Atlantic using home made liquid bombs disguised as drinks.
A couple of weeks ago here in the UK Abdelbaset Ali al-Megrahi, the convicted murderer of 270 people blown up in Pan-Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie in 1988, was released from prison and allowed to return to a hero's welcome in Libya on the basis that he has terminal cancer and therefore a short time left to live. I happen to think that this was a big mistake, and he should not have been released, but that's for a different post.
A few days ago a 600lb bomb was defused by an army bomb disposal team in South Armagh, Northern Ireland. It has been reported that it had been left there by a small Republican splinter group rather than the Real IRA or Continuity IRA.
Be in no doubt, we face a present, real and serious threat from terrorism.
Home grown terrorism such as that perpetrated by some Republicans.
Home grown terrorism perpetrated by radical Muslims.
International terrorism perpetrated for political objectives.
But all terrorism, designed to cause fear and, unsurprisingly, terror.
We cannot afford however to give in to such tactics. We absolutely must stand firm against such people who seek to achieve their ends by such evil deeds.
And when they are caught and convicted they must be punished, and in such a way as not only to punish the individuals concerned but to deter others from following the same path.
Their freedom should be taken from them.
They should have no comforts whilst incarcerated.
They should be locked away until they die.
Multi-national personnel at NATO headquarters near Paris found English to be an easy language ... until they tried to pronounce it. To help them discard an array of accents, the verses below were devised. After trying them, a Frenchman said he'd prefer six months hard labour to reading six lines aloud. Try them yourself.
Dearest creature in creation,
Study English pronunciation.
I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse.
I will keep you, Suzy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy.
Tear in eye, your dress will tear.
So shall I! Oh, hear my prayer.
Just compare heart, beard, and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, retain and Britain.
(Mind the latter, how it's written.)
Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as plaque and ague.
But be careful how you speak:
Say break and steak, but bleak and streak;
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.
Hear me say, devoid of trickery,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore,
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles;
Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war and far;
One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel;
Gertrude, German, wind and mind,
Scene, Melpomene, mankind.
Billet does not rhyme with ballet,
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.
Viscous, viscount, load and broad,
Toward, to forward, to reward.
And your pronunciation's OK
When you correctly say croquet,
Rounded, wounded, grieve and sleeve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.
Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
And enamour rhyme with hammer.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,
Doll and roll and some and home.
Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
Souls but foul, haunt but aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant,
Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger,
And then singer, ginger, linger,
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.
Query does not rhyme with very,
Nor does fury sound like bury.
Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth.
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.
Though the differences seem little,
We say actual but victual.
Refer does not rhyme with deafer.
Foeffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
Mint, pint, senate and sedate;
Dull, bull, and George ate late.
Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific.
Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven.
We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed, but vowed.
Mark the differences, moreover,
Between mover, cover, clover;
Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police and lice;
Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.
Petal, panel, and canal,
Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal.
Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor.
Tour, but our and succour, four.
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.
Sea, idea, Korea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean.
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.
Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion and battalion.
Sally with ally, yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key.
Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver.
Heron, granary, canary.
Crevice and device and aerie.
Face, but preface, not efface.
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.
Large, but target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging.
Ear, but earn and wear and tear
Do not rhyme with here but ere.
Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen,
Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk,
Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.
Pronunciation - think of Psyche!
Is a paling stout and spikey?
Won't it make you lose your wits,
Writing groats and saying grits?
It's a dark abyss or tunnel:
Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale,
Islington and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict and indict.
Finally, which rhymes with enough -
Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough?
Hiccough has the sound of cup.
My advice is just give up!
Jay Leno is an American TV legend, and a very clever and funny man.
A very similar video was sent to me by email recently (8Mb!) but the versions below are on Youtube.
Enjoy the rank stupidity on offer! Oh, and I should say I'm not for a moment suggesting all Americans are like these guys!
After posting earlier I went to Specsavers and asked them to put my glasses into the UV box to see if they went dark.
Guess what?
No Reactions!
So they have them away again to be remade yet again!
No doubt to be continued again ..................
Time marches on, and with it come some physiological changes which aren't particularly welcome, like the worsening of eyesight.
I've been wearing glasses since I was 17 years old, when I embarked on driving lessons and discovered I couldn't read a car numberplate at the required distance. A bit over a year ago I realised that when reading a book, usually lying in the bath because that's where I do most reading, I was having trouble focussing on the words so had to hold it further away or right up close without my glasses on. I went to the optician I've been using for a few years and they confirmed that I now needed assistance with reading, not just for distances. They quoted me an unearthly amount of money to buy Varifocal lenses which would accomplish the distance and close vision correction I required, and at the time I couldn't justify spending that sort of money so bought a cheap'ish pair of reading glasses instead, and I've been fairly successfully using them since, although I never take them outside the house.
So wind on a year, and in May I succumbed to the TV adverts for Specsavers and jumped ship from the opticians I have been perfectly happy with, and I made an appointment for an eyesight test with a view to buying those Varifocals.
On Friday the 29th May I had that eyesight test and duly chose a pair of semi rimless glasses, similar to the Armani ones I've been wearing for a year or two but a little bit bigger so as to accommodate the various fields of vision in Varifocals. The cost, including thinner (and therefore lighter) lenses, polished edges and a reactions coating which makes them go dark in UV light, was £280. Not chickenfeed, but a good bit cheaper than the ones I refused the previous year. They would take about a week to make.
Just over a week later while in Perth rehearsing for a Glasgow Chamber Choir concert I received the call to say that my new glasses had arrived. Hurrah!
The following morning, Sunday 7th June, I arrived at Spescsavers in Byres Rd in the west end of Glasgow and collected them. They looked good. I went for a short walk in the sunshine to marvel at the lenses getting dark (it had been over 20 years since I had last chosen a pair of glasses which did this), and when they had got dark I took them off to see what the edges of the lenses looked like, because they had warned me that there was a "string" holding them in, being semi rimless, which you can't see when the glasses are clear but which might become more visible when they changed colour.
Yes, you could indeed see it, but it wasn't too bad actually. Wait a minute, what the hell's all that gunk and crap on the edges of the lenses? And why is that string not round the full edge of the lens but overlapping over the visible part? I wandered back to Specsavers and showed them what I'd seen. Oh, that's then glue that holds the string in place, they said. It should have been cleaned up a bit, sorry. And the string has just come loose, so we'll tighten it. Can you wait for 10 minutes.
Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, then twenty, then they said go away and come back in half an hour please. So I did, and then I got them back and went on my merry way home.
So far so good, and the possibility of not being able to get used to Varifocals seemed to be receding, because they felt not too bad. A bit weird because depending on which bit of the lens I looked through it faded into blurriness, but not too bad.
But when I took them off to have a good look at them at home I noticed something else. Round the edges of the lenses where they meet the frames there were gaps. Big gaps. Gaps you could actually see through!
Back into the car and back to Specsavers I went. Oh dear, they said, yes we can see that. We'll have a look at it. And look at it they did, resulting in them taking them back to be sent away and remade.
From now on the dates are hazy, but the gist of it is that about a week later I got the replacements, and tried them for a few weeks, during which time I had headaches and felt nauseous every time I wore them. As had been said from the start, not everyone can wear Varifocals, and sadly it looked like I was one of the small percentage of people who couldn't. Thankfully Spescavers have a guarantee that if you try Varifocals but don't get on with them, within a month you can bring them back and exchange them for single vision lenses and be refunded any price difference. So that's what I did. The manager of the shop dealt with me this time, and in his head calculated that I was due back £49 which he refunded to my credit card.
A week or thereabouts later I went to collect the single vision ones, but wait, what are those gaps round the edges of the lenses where they meet the frames? And why aren't the lens edges polished? Oh bugger, back to the old glasses again. And while the assistant was away trying to sort all this out I was left sitting in the shop. And reading their posters. And calculating in my head some prices. And when she came back she couldn't explain how the manager had come to the figure of £49 due to me as a refund as by my calculations, with which she agreed, I was due another £49 back. It was getting silly now. Messing me about AND ripping me off!
A week later another phone call to say the glasses were ready. Back to Specsavers again to collect them. But wait, what are those slightly different gaps round the edges of the right lens where it meets the frame? Hang on a minute, what kind of professional would remake a pair of glasses and not check that the new ones didn't have the same problem?
Profuse apologies all round, and it turned out that because the paperwork stated that it was "customer's own frames" and apparently didn't state why they were to be remade the technician had just traced the original lenses and remade them pretty much exactly the same, gaps and all. And the edges still hadn't been polished!
So away they went to be remade yet again. This time I had been promised a free second pair of glasses as a bit of compensation. Well I say free, but that was only if I waived the £49 which they agreed was still due to me. I decided to probably go for that but told them that if the glasses came back this time in any condition other than perfect then I was looking for all of my money back and I'd go elsewhere, which to be fair they didn't quibble over. Well, how could they?
Another week goes by, and another call is received. I troop back to the shop, and lo and behold receive a perfect looking pair of glasses. No gaps, and the lens edges polished a bit. Not as nicely polished as my Armani ones are, but they appear to have made the effort. Hurrah. I look at frames for sunglasses, because my second pair is going to be prescription sunnies, and the ones I'd seen a week or so earlier on one of the occasions when I was hanging about the shop waiting for the latest cockup to be sorted were no longer there. I described them to the assistant and she showed me a photo of them to confirm it's the right ones, and ordered the frames so I can have a look at them and try them on before deciding.
So away I go with a new pair of single vision glasses, now happy.
Except something doesn't seem quite right. I'm having to squint to see properly. Computer screen and book distance, no problem, but driving doesn't feel quite right. Nothing I can quite put my finger on, just not quite right. I put it down to just getting used to a new prescription, although I try my old ones and genuinely feel I can see better with them. I go to a week long course where I am seated at the back of the class and on one day I take both pairs, changing between them occasionally but leaving what should be enough time for my eyes to get used to each pair. I can definitely see the PowerPoint stuff at the front better with my old Armani glasses.
I get the call to say the sunglasses frames have arrived, so go back to the shop. They're fine so I order them, but I also mention the problem with vision. It's been about three weeks now that I've had the new glasses and I really have given them my best shot. The assistant speaks to an optician who suggests I should maybe get my eyes retested. At this point they mention that when my eyes were tested back in May, at the start of all this saga, the vision in my right eye had improved when compared with the prescription of my Armani glasses. IMPROVED! How is this possible? Didn't they think to double check this at the time? Apparently it can happen, they say.
So I made an appointment for the following day and back I went. It was the same optician who had carried out the initial test. Lo and behold, I actually needed something like a half point extra strength in each eye when compared to my Armani prescription (if I can refer to it as that for clarity). So that's STRONGER in both eyes then. Not a stronger lens in one and a weaker lens in the other then? No. How can that happen, I asked him. To his credit he did say he could have made a mistake over the first eye test.
So back again to the Armani glasses, and it felt better as soon as I put them on! The old glasses were sent away to be remade yet again, and I was now promised not only free prescription sunglasses, but they would also make them with thinner lenses free of charge too.
Another phone call, this time only a few days later, which was Monday of this week, and I went to collect the single vision glasses. They look absolutely fine, with no gaps, and what's more the edges of the lenses have been polished properly this time. Call me cynical though, but the person on the phone referred to them specifically as the reactions ones, as did the assistant when I collected them who also seemed to take a moment or two reading the paperwork while looking slightly puzzled. The weather in Glasgow is very very rainy and overcast at the moment, and so far the glasses have not gone dark. The cynic in me thinks that maybe they've forgotten the reactions bit but at the time of writing that remains to be seen, it might just be the lack of UV getting though the clouds!
And I'm still waiting for the sunglasses to be ready.
To be continued .....................
Continuing the sagas and stories of my working life, up to now anyway. If you want to read the preamble, click here to go to the first posting in the series, which contains a short version of my CV.
No, not that sort of demise, as far as I know he's still alive somewhere.
Waldo's girlfriend has been described by those who have met her as more of a man than most men, and he lived with her in her council house. One night, after a day when they had both been drinking heavily, they had one of their customary stand-up fights and were each giving as good as they got, but this time his girlfriend (or "The Burd" as he always called her) decided, not for the first time, that enough was enough and wanted him put out of her house so as usual she called the local police to assist. This time though, while relaying to them her side of the story of how he had beaten her up (leaving out of course the bit where she did likewise to him just as effectively), she added for good measure "and when you come round here there's a cupboard full of stuff he stole from his work".
When the officers arrived to eject him from the premises they asked to see this cupboard, and lo and behold, it was indeed full of stuff he had stolen from his work! So, the branch manager received a call from the police asking if he had anything missing and Waldo duly received what he deserved! I believe he later got back together with "The Burd" but whether they remain as a couple I thankfully have no idea.
Ahhh, what a good weekend that was.
As I mentioned in the previous post, I've recently spent a weekend up in the north east of Scotland, doing a bit of sightseeing, a bit of chilling, a bit of photography, and a bit of socialising with friends.
We set off on Saturday morning (18th July) around 8am, and travelled up to Perth and then onto the A9 northbound towards Inverness. This is a road I haven't been on for years, and I'd like to say it was very picturesque, but the heavy rain prevented us seeing much beyond the immediate surroundings for a lot of the time.
We were heading initially for Nairn, where we were due to meet a friend of RE for lunch, and because of a mixture of roadworks and weather we were over half an hour late. Bad show. On the way we were following the directions the Sat Nav gave (although we could easily have followed the signposts and read a map, but why have the technology and not use it!) and at Carrbridge it took us off the A9 and onto some local roads for a shortcut across country. As a result of not following the obvious main road through Grantown on Spey therefore we found ourselves on a really interesting, slightly twisty, very scenic (the rain was intermittent at this point) B road, which was I think the B9007 which goes left off the A938 less then two miles outside Carrbridge, and joins the A939 at Ferness about 8 miles outside Nairn. Anyway, if you're going up that way, try the B road.
We went for lunch in a place called the Classroom which is in the centre of Nairn. Classy looking decor, and excellent food. The burger I had was obviously made on the premises, and was as good a burger as I've had in years. The chips (fries to anyone from beyond the UK) were just right - crisp on the outside and fluffy on the inside. All in all good food and good company.
Leaving Nairn and saying farewell to RE's friend who was heading off to start a lateshift at work, we travelled the few miles further east along the A96 to Forres where our destination was Sueno's Stone, a monstrous 7m tall ancient standing stone which we managed to miss completely despite it turning out to be enormous, and right next to the main road we were on! A couple of u-turns and diversions later (which set the theme for the weekend) and we found it, standing proudly and protected by a huge glass case. Which we weren't, so got soaked while looking at it. Bloody rain!
So onwards to Elgin, and by this time the rain was bouncing off the ground and coming back up to hit the windscreen, or so it seemed anyway! We had a walk past the Cathedral, and then went into the town centre to find the Gordon and MacPhail shop, which has the most wonderful selection of malt whisky imaginable! Not just whisky though, they also have a great selection of other spirits, wine, and delicatessen food. We found some wine from a winery very close to RE's home town in New Zealand, and as an added bonus it was reduced in price from about £19 a bottle to about £12, so RE bought some which we later consumed in the B&B.
On the subject of the B&B, we found it via Alastair Sawday's excellent Special Places to Stay website, which lists unusual places which might be well off the beaten path, be run by very friendly people, offer locally sourced food, or be in some other way unusual or unique. The place we found was Balwarren Croft, near Cornhill (pretty much due south of Portsoy) which is a 30 acre working croft at the end of a long (and very bumpy) farm track and is run by Hazel and James Watt who were very friendly and nice people.
It only has two rooms for let, a double and a twin in a beautifully converted cow byre, and there's a sitting room for use of guests which has a wonderful wood burning stove in it. We were lucky in that the people who had booked the other room didn't turn up so we had the place to ourselves. Lucky for us, although not so good for Hazel and James because the missing guests had also booked an evening meal which I believe Hazel and James ended up eating themselves, at presumably a net financial loss. Also rather strangely the couple just didn't turn up. No telephone call of apology, just a no show, which I consider very rude indeed, although I suppose it's possible that something untoward happened to them when enroute. But I'll never know!
Anyway, if you're in that area and looking for somewhere to stay, you could certainly do a hell of a lot worse than try to book a room at Balwarren, and I have to single out the delicious breakfast as worthy of particular praise. Full traditional cooked including bacon, sausage, egg, tomato etc, and very little fat or grease (pretty well none in fact). Yum! Watch out for the farm track though, because unless you're in a 4x4 the bottom of your car will be making constant and fairly noisy (although probably harmless) contact with the grass in the middle of the track on the way in and out. Ours certainly was.
We later went out for a drive around on Saturday evening, going up to Cullen (home of the thick creamy fish soup Cullen Skink) and marvelling at the heavy seas pounding the seafront, then spent an hour travelling around looking for a fish and chip shop to get something to eat. For a part of the country which is so closely linked to the fishing industry, fish and chip shops were remarkably thin on the ground, and having set our hearts on that choice of food we roved between Cullen, Portsoy, Banff and Macduff to no avail, constantly retracing our route in case we had missed something obvious.
Eventually we spotted a tiny wee shop in Banff which turned out to be the only place open apart from a kebab/chicken/pizza place. A temporary shock when I went in and saw a handwritten notice saying "sorry for the lack of fish, please try some delicious chicken" soon disappeared when they accepted my order for haddock and chips without comment. Then down to the waterside to sit in the car with the windows tightly closed and share the food while watching the waves crash a few feet away. Having been looking forward to it, particularly knowing we were in fishing country, I have to say it was OK but certainly no better than you'd get in any average chip shop in the rest of the country. Oh well.
We then headed back to Balwarren, to make some inroads into the bottle of NZ wine before crashing out for the night, both of us being tired after a pretty long day.
Sunday dawned with bright sunshine creeping through a crack in the curtains, which was a surprise after the heavy rain we'd endured for the whole of the previous day. One delicious breakfast later (one each I mean!) and we headed out into the now visible scenery to do some sightseeing. Back again to Cullen as our starting point, where we each took a few photos of the scenery, then onwards to look at the 17th century harbour at Portsoy, and Findlater Castle and the 16th century beehive type dovecote nearby.
The ruins of the castle sit on an outcrop of rock, some 50 feet up on a cliff, and access is gained by a grassy path on a very steep descent. Left to my own devices I would have happily looked at the castle from above at the viewpoint and left it at that, but RE was having none of it (I'm glad to say)! Pausing briefly to read the sign saying that the castle was dangerous, so if you were going to go to it you'd bloody better be careful, down we went, then up onto the outcrop itself, taking lots of photos as we did so. We explored what was left of the castle (not much) and then climbed back up to the viewpoint, past the dovecote, and back to the car.
I think it's time for a brief flashback.
A bit over a year ago RE and I were on a car trip into the Scottish Borders when we stopped at the Grey Mare's Tail near Moffat. This tourist attraction is a waterfall tumbling down a steep valley, and there's a short path up to a viewpoint where you can see the water. We went up that short path, which is not much more than a stroll, and by the time we were no more than a few feet up I was having trouble breathing properly, and by the time we got to the top I thought my end had come. Unable to speak properly I could only communicate with gasps through a rasping, breathless, death rattle, leaving RE genuinely fearful that the noise she was hearing was indeed the initial death throes of a very unfit, and by now very sweaty man. It was probably 10 minutes after we made it back to the car before I could string a proper sentence together, and I felt ill for much of the rest of the day.
Flashback over, so wind forward to Findlater Castle last weekend, and I happily climbed down the hill and up the slope to the castle, and then climbed back up the hill to the viewpoint, and while I wouldn't claim not to have been a bit puffed I could have a conversation all the way there and back, and my breathing returned to a normal rate within a minute or so after getting back up the hill. And I wasn't particularly sweating either. The wonders of regular exercise! My new, and frankly enjoyable, regime is doing wonders for my health, fitness, happiness, and hopefully lifespan. RE said she was very impressed, and while, being a man, I find it difficult to accept compliments so sort of shrugged it off, secretly I was so chuffed with myself, and thankful to RE for the encouragement which has led me to this point.
Onwards then and after a brief stop at the Spotty Bag Shop in Banff, which sells everything, and all at very cheap prices, we headed further east to Pennan which was one of the locations used in the 1983 Burt Lancaster film Local Hero, and the famous red phone box used in the film is still there. Or at least there is a red phone box there but the original in the film was a prop and the box was only installed later after public demand! Pennan is a single street at the bottom of a steep curving road, right on the waterfront. Go there.
From Pennan we travelled about 10 miles further east to the fishing port of Fraserburgh, largely because the fuel warning light came on in the car and I knew there'd be a petrol station there! After a brief and unsuccessful visit to the lighthouse museum, unsuccessful because we could see no tearoom and we were only there looking for a refreshment, we found a cafe next to the beach where we enjoyed delicious coffee. As an aside I have just found out, when looking for the link to the museum, that there is indeed a cafe at the lighthouse museum! D'oh! Although I guess we'd have had to pay for admission to the museum to access it. In fact I now realise that it was the Heritage Centre we looked at, which is right next to the lighthouse place.
Anyway the cafe overlooking the beach served good coffee, albeit in uninspiring surroundings reminiscent of a bus station. The view was good though, overlooking the beach which had a fair number of surfers taking advantage of what the North Sea was throwing at them.
Off then to Turriff, a market town about ten miles inland, for the barbecue hosted by a couple of friends, SC and MC, and their young son CC. I used to visit SC regularly in Turriff a number of years ago, when she was called SP, but haven't seen all that much of her in the past 10 years apart from one or two meetings when she's been in the Glasgow area. The barbecue was very good, and although the rain started again, it just meant we all adjourned indoors to play with their Wii and give me a chance to make a tit of myself and show how crap I am at such games! But despite being crap, I enjoyed trying! The hospitality was good, and so was the craic.
After the BBQ, we headed the 10 miles back to Balwarren, which is when we found out that the other folks hadn't turned up so we had the sitting room to ourselves for a second night. Hazel kindly lit the wood burning stove for us, and we connected my MP3 player to my wee set of external speakers and ruminated about how the other guests wouldn't have enjoyed listening to our choral music anyway, as RE finished off the wine from the previous night and I opened the bottle of 10 year old Aberlour malt whisky I'd bought earlier in the day and made some inroads into it. A tranquil end to a very enjoyable day.
So Monday dawned bright and sunny, and after a repeat performance of the delicious breakfast, we settled our bill, which was very reasonable, and packed the car for the trip home. But we weren't heading straight home. No, we were already in the area so felt that some more sightseeing was in order.
Our first port of call was another tiny harbour similar and near to Pennan, called Crovie (pronounced Crivvie, apparently). At Pennan there's a road which you can drive along, at Crovie there isn't! There's a carpark at one end and the rest is pedestrian access only. Well I say there's a carpark, but it's for residents only. Visitors park about half a mile before the village, before the descent down to the village, and walk. So as you may gather, it's a walk back up as well. A steep walk. A lung burstingly steep walk. But again I managed it without undue distress. Yay!
Next we headed generally south, having exhausted everything we wanted to do and see along the north coast, and we had decided on a few things beforehand we wanted to get to.
We headed first to try to find a stone circle called Loudon Wood near Mintlaw and Old Deer, but after following the signposts for it, there was no obvious way to it and the trail went cold so instead we went to the ruins of Deer Abbey, which was a real find, as we were the only people there in glorious sunshine!
Just so we could say we'd been, we then drove east to Peterhead, which has a reputation for being one of the most unlovely towns in the north of Scotland (and probably in all of Scotland) but there were some nice looking buildings there as we drove through. A quick stop at a Tesco in Ellon, and we headed to our lunch destination of Pitmedden Gardens where we'd planned to eat our sandwiches and have a relaxing look around. But no. In their wisdom the National Trust for Scotland have decided that not only will they charge you £5.50 to get into the gardens, they will charge you for parking your car, and will not let you bring your own food or drink in, trying to force you to use their tearoom. Bollocks to that, we both thought, we'll go elsewhere.
A couple of miles away, and run by the much more user friendly Historic Scotland, is Tolquhon Castle which for a fairly small series of ruined buildings manages to pack in a hell of a lot of interesting features and many almost complete rooms. And they seemed happy enough for us to eat our sandwiches at a picnic table in the grounds. I'd recommend this as a destination, without doubt.
This isn't the only example, but suffice to say that my general impression is that the National Trust for Scotland are shit, and Historic Scotland are good. An oversimplification maybe, but there is a lot of truth in it.
And so home. From there we just headed south via Aberdeen and onto the main road. At the end of it we'd travelled just under 660 miles in two and a bit very enjoyable days, and RE was more familiar with pretty much the only bit of Scotland she hadn't previously visited.
A good trip.
I haven't visited the north east of Scotland for a while, but a few years ago for various reasons I frequented the area A LOT, particularly the area north of Aberdeen around the town of Turriff. In fact at one point I started to make initial enquiries into the possibility of transferring my job up there and moving permanently, but things changed and that didn't happen.
I'm heading up there in about 15 minutes though, because RE and I have been invited to a barbecue by a friend and her husband. It'll be my first time in Turriff for probably 10 years and I'll be interested to see if it's changed much, although I suspect it won't. The BBQ is on Sunday, but we're making a weekend of it and visiting a friend of RE in Nairn on the way up, a more circuitous route than I used to take and one that should provide good scenery, and having lunch with her there which I'm looking forward to. Then we've found what should be very nice accommodation for tonight and tomorrow night, travelling back down on Monday which is a local holiday in the west of Scotland, well Glasgow anyway.
RE hasn't seen anything of the north east, so we have a lot of plans about things we want to visit, and hopefully some nice photos will be taken.
Oh, and I perhaps should explain the title of this post which is a phrase in the north east dialect (possibly the Doric but I'm not sure of that) often said when you meet someone and which can possibly best be translated as "how's it going?". I think. But I have a few friends who read this Blog and are originally from that area so no doubt I'll be quickly corrected if I'm wrong!
WARNING: PARENTAL ADVISORY
Now this is very clever! I'm not a big fan of magic but the video below is well worth looking at. If I ever see her appearing somewhere close enough I'll be sure to try to get tickets.
Oh, and it is in no way porn but Parental Advisory for sure on this one, as you might gather from the following description of this part of her act from her Website:
Hanky Panky is a five minute choreographed magic strip-tease. The act uses a simple disappearing handkerchief conjuring trick at its core.
Martinez enters stage fully clothed. She performs the trick and the hanky disappears. It reappears from her jacket pocket. The jacket is removed. The hanky disappears again and reappears from her skirt. The skirt is removed. During the course of the act, Martinez continues to make the handkerchief disappear and re-appear from her various items of clothing, which she then removes.
Finally Martinez is completely naked. Once again she performs the trick and the handkerchief disappears. With a grand finale flourish, Martinez retrieves the handkerchief from a truly magical place!
QUOTES (see PRESS for full articles)
'Ursula Martinez takes the genre of comedy magic and makes it entirely her own, incontrovertibly proving that it's not what you do, it's the way that you do it. 'The Scotsman
'A gorgeous sexy 40 year old, she struts around a charmed and delighted crowd.' The Pink Paper.
'Sexy, daring and utterly stunning' Three Weeks
'... teasing magic strip 'n' magic trick which Martinez carries of with real flair and a mischievous glint in her eye…. ' The Herald
PREVIOUS PERFORMANCES
Martinez has performed this show stopping cabaret act all over the world, including Sydney, Hong Kong, Lisbon, Madrid, Vienna and Budapest. Special party events include Tate Modern, John Mortimer's 81st birthday bash and Salmon Rushdie's all female celebrity stag night.
A good motorcycling video (in two halves) which demonstrates some of the advanced riding techniques taught by the Institute of Advanced Motorists, complete with commentary. The commentary isn't usual for a bike, it isn't even compulsory in the advanced car test, but it's something I am quite good at in the car (when I'm in full flow) and I often do it on the bike just to keep my hand in!
Part I
Part II
