What I think...

If this is global warming I really don't want it.  I'm fed up and ready to moan my wee heid aff with all the disruption that the snow has caused for the past many days. I'm equally fed up whether trudging out in it or stuck in the house looking out at it.

My (and everyone else's life) has been cancelled, or that's how it feels.  All this time on my hands means I'm spending a lot of it reading trivia online. Or looking out at the deserted street where no one is moving apart from the wildlife. But I've passed the point of interest in tracks left in the snow by the local fox population, or the antics of the penguins on Edinburgh Zoo's Penguin Cam.

Yesterday, there were some interesting cloud formations to photograph while hanging out the window. The sun came out at times and lit up the clouds with brilliant colours. Today has been uniformly grey as the cloud has closed in and the flakes of snow are getting larger.

Some news does get through.  A friend went into labour yesterday and had to go to hospital by ambulance as her street was impassible by car. What a bloody nightmare, except that my friend is resourceful and practical and just got on with getting herself safe and giving birth to a delightful baby boy.

I've spent several days anxious about how my daughter is getting to her work in all this. She lives at the bottom of a very steep hill and works many miles away in an establishment built in an exposed part of West Lothian that gets snow before and after anywhere else. This week she has been night shift which means at the end of a long shift she has to get home after a night of heavy snow while tired out. The boyfriend has had to resort to borrowing his dad's 4x4 to get her to and fro a couple of times. Even then, it's been touch and go on the roads.

Much praise is being heaped on the efforts by essential staff to get to work in all this, and it's nice that government and community are appreciative of staff who manage somehow to get to work.  Here in Edinburgh, I'm thankful that I've been able to get buses to wherever I've been going so far this week.

Infuriatingly, snow hasn't prevented three lads going to wherever it is to promote their World Cup losing team's bid to host the damn thing later this century. Their frolics in the field of pointless tribal games serve only to  alienate non sports fans even further. Collectively, the one who looks good in knickers on bill boards, the one who hates poor people and lies about respecting the Scots and the dim aristo who failed to keep his hair, will no doubt be given uncalled for publicity regardless of the outcome of the vote.

Much more of this and I'm going to be driven to seek out house bound pensioners and forcibly buy them milk and bread. Assuming there is still food in the shops.

Winterval

it's all very well having celebrations in winter, but it can be downright perishing standing around outside waiting for things to happen. Last night, for instance...

I had a terrific time; I got off the bus and walked up the Mound till I could get a good view standing on the wall overlooking Princes Street Gardens. Radio Forth were playing musak of a vaguely xmassy flavour and some big(ish) wigs were spouting. The Norwegian bigwig mentioned that the 25th November was International Day of Protest Against VAW, so heaps of blessings on him.

Then a troop of drummers wended their way through the throngs. They were dressed how I imagine French soldiers were around at the time of Napoleon, or perhaps they merely looked like a Carry On version of French soldiers. Most likely I'd missed an announcement of who/what they were.

   

They drummed all the way to the top of the Mound and round the corner to were someone had (I assumed) carelessly left a muckle crane lying around.

Mais Non! They got on what turned out to be a death defying and bonemarrow freezing human mobile. Drumming somewhat relentlessly as they were suspended over the hill and swung about the place. The person at the top appeared to shed her hat and clothes, to reveal a trapeze outfit and then gyrate in the sub zero temperature many feet above the tree, the crowd and the sharp pointy railings.

They finished by sprinkling fairy dust over the tree and voila! It was lit. Winterval officially commenced.

Then came a goodly quantity of fireworks.

My feet were nearly numb with cold, but the rest of me was warm, so I hirpled up to que outside St Giles Cathedral for a while, then got trampled in a peculiarly fast moving glacier of christians(?) mobbing the Royal Norwegian Carol concert therein.

It was warm enough inside to thaw my feet but I was too cold to unlock rigid muscles even during the hour and a bit of Norwegian carolling. The concert was excellent, especially the Edinburgh University Chamber Choir. I happily rose to the challenge of trying to sing unfamiliar carols in Norwegian as well as one or two carols I sort of remembered from long ago.

The Norwegian connection needs an explanation.  In thanks for the help and support given to Norway by Scotland during WW2, the Norwegians have gifted the city of Edinburgh a Christmas tree for the past 25 years, hence the Norwegian presence and their Advent Concert.

Costume Exhibition

The Heroes and Heroines exhibition at Leeds City Museum was a diverting way to spend about 45 minutes looking at a variety of costumes from TV and film. There were also some examples of clothes from earlier periods too.

I took a few pictures of the costumes which I found particularly beautiful. The way in which the work involved creating the clothes was well explained on the cards beside the exhibits and this added to my enjoyment. 

Not being any kind of seamstress, I learned a fair amount just reading through the descriptions of techniques for ageing some of the outfits and the level of quality that differs depending on whether the costume is for TV or film.  I wondered if the advent of HD TV will mean everything that is produced will need to be of a higher standard to cope with the detail HD TV can pick up.

Miss Matty's costume from Cranford.

My favourite of the 'real' clothes, a 1950's coral pink cocktail dress.

I didn't take note of where all of the outfits were used, but I've chosen those which seemed most sumptuous, and those photographs which turned out best.

The exhibition is on till the new year, but I doubt I'll return to find out who wore what and in what context.

Day in Leeds

I went on my first visit to Leeds recently. What a lovely place, full of varied architecture and interesting arty things to go see. Not to mention very nice cafes and restaurants; but why so many shops?

Taking the bus tour around and about helped make sense of the layout before I set off again on foot. I also learned a lot of the history and development of the area.


I've been on a few of these city tours and this was probably the most comprehensive commentary so far, although the ancient gossip about some football team and some referee decision was irrelevant.

 

I took lots of pictures on foot and on the bus.

A curious structure, at the edge of Millennium Square.

The Royal Armories museum.

Statue at City Square.

There is still a lot of Leeds I'd like to see more of, so I hope to return sometime. And while I was there, I went to see a couple of exhibitions and the Henry Moore Institute, but I'll cover those in another post.



Physics is Fun

I titled this post after the text book beloved of physics teachers when I was being taught in the 70's. I still have the book, but haven't looked at it for decades. I still agree that physics is a wonderful subject.

Kamioka Observatory is an inter-university facility with a large experimental physics laboratory located 1,000m underground in Kamioka-mine in Hida-city, Gifu, Japan. Super-Kamiokande is a 50,000 ton water Cherenkov detector and primarily observes the elementary particles known as neutrinos. The Super-K neutrino observatory was simulated in an old lab in Manchester as part of the science festival. 

For a modest fee, I was dressed up in white papery suit, enormous wellies, hard hat and found myself struggling to clamber into a wee boat

The 22m boat journey is guided by a physicist talking about the neutrino mine in Japan and the fact that 50bn of these things are making their way through my thumb at any one time and a whole lot of other information, particularly about dark matter. The boat is pulled to one end of a gold balloon lined tank, then pulled back again with appropriate sonic boom that occurs when these particles move faster than the speed of light.

I clambered out again, stripped off the wellies, hat and suit and went off to listen to a lecture and watch the live feed from Japan showing a spike in a chart when neutrino's were caught.

The lecture covered the usual information about particle physics to a level I am familiar with but completely unable to explain. But the essential point is that neutrinos, previously thought to be massless, have finite masses, thus expanding theories about particle physics and anti-matter, dark matter and black holes.

In another room, the Pressure Company had set up their musical Bunsen pyrophone. This contraption worked by pressing buttons to make the Bunsens flare and create sound. A certain amount of faith is needed to believe this could be an entirely pleasureable musical experience but it was definitely great fun to play with.

 
Anyway, I expect Sig Other to get pedantic about all the physics mistakes in this post, and I'll have to come back and rewrite it so it is more accurate. He seems not to share my view that anarchists don't have to follow the laws of physics.

Light show at the Mound

Taking a stroll along Princes St after a lovely Thai meal at somewhere I now forget the name of, I was alerted by loud music and a small crowd that something interesting was happening at the Mound.

I crossed over and chatted to some young people handing stuff out beside some cars. They were part of an advertising stunt for the launch of some too expensive for me, car.

They had an excellent light show projected against the side of the National Gallery along all the pillars and reflecting onto the windows.

The cannon in this picture was at the beginning of a rapid sequence, but this is the only shot that came out reasonably well from that sequence.

 I liked this sky scraper picture and it seems to work in this shot.

Predictably, I didn't have my camera with me, although I suspect it would not have been adequate for the task of taking really good pictures in the dark. I made do with the camera on my iPhone.  I wish the stunning effects had come out better, but the pictures on this page might provide some idea of the sight.

Somehow, the projection has managed to produce realistic flames in the gallery windows. Not something that will ever actually happen, I hope.

A proper castley castle

Forgot my camera so made do with my phone camera on a recent visit to Bothwell Castle near Uddingston in the west of Scotland.

Of the various castles I've traipsed around over the past few months, this has to be the most stereotypical castle so far. It's a ruin, but with interesting and differently dated bits and pieces. It also has a fascinating history dating back to the 1200's when building began on an ambitious scale and replacing an earlier wooden structure.

All this architectural grandeur was interrupted by that pain in the neck Edward 1 of England. Thus Bothwell Castle featured in the Wars of Independence being seiged, besieged and captured back and forth between sundry Edwards, and the Moray's, companions to Wallace.

The castle is being repaired and some parts of the tower can't be accessed because of the scaffolding.

After peace broke out the Earls of Douglas took over the castle and the colourfully named Archibald the Grim began a programme of rebuilding the castle.

The castle is in a particularly strategic point, which is simply not obvious today, at least to me. But it is next to the river Clyde and guarded a major crossing point over the river that could be used by advancing English invaders during the Wars of Independence. Today, of course, it looks like a very nice ruin built from warm red sandstone sited amidst a peaceful landscape with mature trees and the river running past.

View of the postern gate with the river Clyde at the bottom of the slope.

Nauseatingly cute

On a recent visit to Martin Mere wetland centre, the experience included practising photographing the ultimate in cute, wee furry things.  The day we visited there were lots of folks who'd brought their animals and their crafts to display. Many owners were willing to allow visitors to hold or stroke ferrets, birds and baby coo's and pigs and such like.The meerkats were problematic to photograph as they would not sit still and smile for the camera.

Some beasties were closer up than others, and the just as cute but feathered instead of furry were enclosed in their own ponds but further away from the enthusiastic photographer.

Flamingos in their shed.

No picture records my not quite distant enough encounter with Priscilla the death inducing tarantula. I spied Priscilla across a hut I’d entered following my discovery of how soft chinchillas are.  I was a little off balance from narrowly avoiding verbalising my thoughts that I could now understand why heartless people made them into coats thus upsetting the terribly nice owner and ruining any credibility I have as a vegetarian.

But Priscilla and my near death experience…
All arachnophobes have dramatic tales to tell (as opposed to being drama queens) and seeing what I first thought was an ugly pattern on a chap’s jumper turned out to be blood-chilling to the extent I was capable of emitting only a feeble squeak. Sig Other congratulated me on keeping my cool. I later admitted it was shock not cool I felt.  Actual end of life was averted by staggering over with whatever aplomb I could muster to cuddle a cute python.  Equilibrium mostly restored, I carried on to the next building which held an assortment of birds of prey.

The outlying parts of this waterfowl sanctuary are home at the moment to vast numbers of pink footed geese.

And the final cute pic was taken when the otters were being fed.

Wee stop off on the way south

I took the A7 on my way south for a change. Normally I go via the A702, which is the most frustrating road in the country, apart from the all too often lethal A9. 

On each occasion that I am stuck behind lorries, farm vehicles and dithery drivers, I reflect that I live in a very rich country despite which I and every other driver has to make do with dangerous, slow and frankly, neglected transport infrastructure.

I am frequently in and around Greater Manchester, and while this is not a scientific observation, it strikes me that the motorway system around one English city is possibly more extensive than that in the whole of Scotland.

WHY?

Apart from avoiding the usual teethgrinding experience of the 45 miles between the capital and a functional motorway south, the A7 was a nice alternative on a bright sunny autumn day.

I passed a sign for Hermitage Castle, and decided to turn around and go visit it. The sign provided the information that it was 7 miles to get there. It did not say, 7 miles of muddy, potholed single track road with few passing places.

The scenery was spectacular, as the track rose above the valley and into the borders hills. I longed to stop and photograph the views, but was too concerned about other traffic, some of which was local and confidently whizzing along at what I thought was alarming speeds. At one point I narrowly managed to get the one sinking wheel out of a sodden verge that threatened to bog me down when I swerved to one side to let a local past.

Heart in mouth, I finally reached Hermitage Castle. It was worth it, even though my car looked like it had been in some particularly arduous motocross.

Fortification of the strategic border area of Liddesdale was begun in the 1240s. Then building on the existing castle started in 1360, although it has been transformed and modified over the centuries into a magnificent stronghold.

An inside wall looking a teeny bit spookily like two eyes, snub nose and gaping mouth.
 
A lovely isolated spot in glorious scenery and some history I was only vaguely aware of.

Brief London Meander

I went to London this week. But only briefly, enough time to have a bit of a wander round Hackney, Dalston and Shoreditch.  I'd never previously been to any of these areas and was pleasantly surprised by the buzz, signs of regeneration and friendliness of those people I had any interaction with.

I took my camera and set out in the lovely warm sun to take some photos. The above is a whirly windy thingy on the side of a very smart new building. All rather dynamic. But look - just across the road about 100 meters away ...

Not quite as new and shiny. But that is probably typical of any area which has been neglected and now racing to catch up with modernity.

The area is flat so more people risk traveling by bike than in more hilly areas. I can only say that they are braver than I'd ever choose to be given the London traffic.

I had a nice time and maybe sometime I can go back again and find even more cheap, yummy veggie food as I did the other day and more relaxing cafes to sit in and watch that part of London life wander by.

Lewis Chesswomen

The pic is of the three queens found in Uig, Lewis in 1831. Like the rest of the chess pieces they are carved from walrus ivory and Scandinavian in origin probably from around the 12th/13th century.  Not a lot else is known about them.

They are usually housed in the British Museum in London, but this summer they have been loaned to the National Museum of Scotland in Chamber St, Edinburgh.

The exhibition is very well set out with lots of really good background about Lewis, chess, the history of the finds and why the British Museum has them rather than being returned to Lewis where they would be a tremendous tourist attraction. I'm a great believer in returning objects to their original place if it makes sense, and this case is absolute in my opinion.

There is a roof terrace on the top of the new part of the museum, which has clear views round the city.

Looking towards the castle with St Giles spire reaching above the roofline of the old town.

Rooftop view with Arthur's Seat just peeking in on the left.

I visited these old queens a few days before Edinburgh had an influx of other auld queens got up in all their flowing finery come to proclaim their medieval views on women and other's who seek only to live as they see fit according to  a more inclusive and accepting standard of morality.

Sunday in East Lothian

Brandishing my Scottish Heritage membership card, I made my way to Dirleton Castle in East Lothian.

The village of Dirleton is quaint and pretty and completely picturesque. I immediately began plotting to find ways to retire there when the time comes.

The castle is set in lovely grounds which boast the world’s longest herbaceous border. This must be a wonderful sight in the height of summer and even this late in the season was impressive in colour and variety of planting.

Some pretty flowers that came out well when I fiddled about with the settings on my camera.

Joan Mitchell, Abstract Impressionist

Inverleith House in the Royal Botanic Gardens is hosting an exhibition of JoanMitchell art work till October.  Mitchell's work is lauded in all the reviews I've read; most describing her as a top notch abstract impressionist and expressing surprise that this is the first solo British exhibition of her work.

I rarely see impressionist art, abstract or otherwise, therefore, I can only state that my viewing of her work is that of a novice, completely untutored in interpreting art. This no doubt is why I found it a difficult exhibition as it took a few goes round before any of it began to mean anything to me and for me to move on from my first thoughts. Rather negatively, I was assailed by a feeling that this type of work is what is usually derided as childish, a complete con, waste of money and so forth that I have grown up hearing from others equally untutored in viewing modern art.

However, I have always believed that there must be something of value in this type of art, so I kept looking, hoping to see what all the excitement is about. it took a bit of time, but I slowly began to appreciate some of the work, and one did stand out for me. I have no idea why, and I suspect abstract impressionism will never be a favourite.

Image above.

Just when I thought it was all over ...

Although I'd succeeded fairly well in my aims to see as great a variety as possible over the festival period, the box marked 'official real actual culture' was blank, until I spotted an offer for half price tickets for Bliss, the new opera based on Peter Carey's book of the same name. This was on at the Festival Theatre as part of the International Festival programme, but only for a couple of nights.

I hadn't seen any opera for more years than I can recall, so I made sure I went to this.  And I quite enjoyed it. What really stood out for me was the stunning set of amazing light bulbs used to incredible effect to backdrop scenes and story. I liked the music and the immense cast (compared to all the one person shows I'd seen recently) were excellent, but the story failed to enthrall me.

Narratives based on women exploited in the SexIndustry who have a heart of gold and great wisdom who then selflessly save middle aged privileged males are boring, trite typical male fantasy. Dressing it up with terrific music does not redeem this.

Same old, same old.

River views

Making the most of this welcome late summer, I've taken a few photos up river, down river and above river. The river being the Forth which is easily accessed by public transport and car.

This is the beach at Portobello mid afternoon and taken on my camera. The cloud formations were what attracted me to this view and the slight reflection in the shallows.

I took this on my phone at sunset while crossing the rail bridge. The sun was at a low angle and cast the shadow of the bridge onto the woodlands below.

This is up river at Carriden looking over to Fife early evening in full sun, but again taken with my phone camera.

There is a walk along the river side which is signposted by the Scottish Rights of Way Society, a charity set up in 1845 to make sure that ancient rights of way were preserved and not abused by landowners. According to their website:

Scotland has new and forward-looking legislation for public access to land, set out in Part 1 of the Land Reform (Scotland) Act 2003, which came into force in February 2005. This legislation gives the public wide-ranging statutory rights of access to land and inland water throughout Scotland. It builds on the Scottish traditions of access, on the network of long-established rights of way, and on other existing rights. The result is a modern approach to access which is among the best in Europe.

I was minimally aware that we have reasonable rights to roam our own country but I'm very impressed that people have been safeguarding those rights for so long.

Finally, sunset at North Queensferry back in June, the day after the solstice.

Last few fringings

I still had many boxes to tick, many types of show to see and assorted art exhibitions to fit in before it all evaporated into where ever fringe things go between September and July each year.  I didn't get much further as I began to feel a disconnect between my aspirations of a month ago and the reality of traipsing about the city in attempted holistic culture mode.

The final Fringe Saturday D, with whom it had all begun on the first Friday, joined me again for a bit of a yomp round and about. This time we wandered rather unfocussedly amongst the craft stalls here and there. Then sat in in a chilly coffee garden at Surgeon's Hall.  Then she left to join other pals while I went to see A Bit of Irish hoping the advertised singalong would live up to the hype. Well it was ok, but quite brief at only 40 minutes. I had a free ticket, otherwise I'd have felt a bit miffed.

I really didn't want this to be my last experience of Fringe 2010, so I made time on the Tuesday lunchtime to see another recital at St Mary's Cathedral. I'm so glad I did this because once again I was privileged to see a wonderful musical treat.

Jennifer Rust, soprano and Anna Yang, pianist entertained splendidly with a varied programme from Schumman to Gershwin.  Best of all was Pleurez, Pleurez mes yeux, from Le Cid. I had never heard this before and was simply delighted to be introduced to this piece in such style.

All together a much more positive end to my Fringe.

A few days off from fringe-binge then back to the fray

Week three and steam is running out, enthusiasm is waning and general jadedness sets in. Four days of Fringe avoidance, real life - oh, and work which funds all this, took priority. Then I stepped out again for a couple of events linked only by their proximity in the old town.

The Caves under North Bridge is my least favourite venue. Edinburgh, for the past few years has hosted fringe shows in too many damp, dungeon-like (in an entirely non-kinky way), dark and every other D you can come up with spaces, that must cause staff the most ghastly health problems. Every time I go, I come out feeling ill and I'm only in there for an hour. It would be so much better to spread the venues out again and have more wee church halls in far-flung bits of the city taking the strain instead of it all being, admittedly conveniently, squeezed into the city centre.

Anyway, I went to only my second show this year in the Caves having deliberately avoided even those shows I quite fancied. But I returned to see Caroline Mabey Eat Your Friends. It seemed to have positive reviews, so, in order to boost the number of female comics I've seen this year, I went.

The audience was on the sparse side, but were supportive of her act. I'd put up with numerous comments from the stage this year at different shows, because I kept forgetting my glasses meaning I had to sit at the front thus rendering myself a vulnerable target, but I'd never, until now, had to get up on the stage.

I have no spontaneity, I am not an entertainer, I am a bit deaf and really rather slow to catch on and have a life-long inability to understand or follow instructions. I am not a good choice to shove on stage. But I already knew that. However, I'm not unduly shy and so I agreed, since there were only another 8 or so folk watching. I managed not to do anything right, but I repeat, there were only another 8 or so folk there to witness it. So, next year, no front seats, no making eye contact with the act and no getting up on stage - ever.

Good, that's that out of my system.

I had a few minutes to walk the few yards up the next cobbled lane to yet another awful venue. Banshee Labyrinth was hosting the Skeptics on the Fringe shows. I'd wanted to go to several of those, but they all clashed with me having to be somewhere else. Finally I made it to Dr Caroline Watt's talk on the Parapsychology unit at Edinburgh University.

Wonderfully interesting and far too short, except from the point of view that this was such an uncomfortable seat my relief at standing up possibly won over the feeling that I wanted to hear much much more from this speaker.
Before the talk I'd completely forgotten that long ago I'd taken a psychology module. Dormant knowledge was helpfully activated and retrieved and I followed most of the talk.  I was also reminded why I didn't go on to take more psychology studies, far preferring psychodynamic theory to psych-experiments in the name of an ology. All long before we apparently all became hardwired evol psych bots with no free-will.

Um, was that a bit hard on the evol psychs? Nah!

Where I manage to tick more boxes

The overall aim of this fringe-athon (yes, compared to real fringe addicts I'm a mere dilettante) is to get to as many different types of event and varieties of fringes/festivals as I can.  There are far too many to choose from sensibly unless one is willing to spend more time carefully plotting and planning a way through all the bumph than I'd ever have the patience to do. Haphazard, random, swayed by hunger, thirst, sair feet and whether I've got change for the bus seem to have dictated my choices the last three weeks. And when I'm with friends I decided it is easier to let them choose because I might see something I'd otherwise avoid.

The Saturday I spent with K fell into a few of these categories and we began at the parliament in what was almost the final event in the Festival of Politics.

Women at the Top: Where next for Women in Politics? Attempted to frame a discussion about women's representation in local councils and parliaments both national and at Westminster. (Yes, I know Wales has an assembly not a parliament).

There is concern that next May the numbers of women MSPs and AMs will drop after the elections in Wales and Scotland. The discussion ranged from why women are not coming forward to stand, why they are not chosen when they do and the frustrating issue of a confrontational style in parliaments and parties.

It was noted that at times women had tried to form alliances or to be supportive of other elected members across party lines. This had worked for a while in Holyrood, but, according to K who is up on all things Labour, there was no trust between the women from rival parties. Anyone with the slightest awareness of the ludicrous interactions between the 2 largest parties will not be surprised to hear that.

A newly elected (to Westminster) Lib-Dem MP shared her dismal experiences of being barracked during her first speech in the Commons. She was quite clear that this did not happen with the same sexist intensity to male MPs. I could have listened to her for ages as she had such interesting views on women's representation. I didn't manage to catch her name, which was a pity as she came across as very competent. However, by the end of this hour, I was left feeling despondent about the prospects for equal representation in any council or parliament anytime in my lifetime.

A change of scene was called for to raise our spirits. The  Forest Fringe Programme was running its last couple of events. We spent some time in both of these.

Firstly, the day-long project to map where people had come from to get to the fringe. We couldn't help as ideally, they wanted tickets to place on string weaving criss cross around the room or stories about our journey. "I got on a bus and got off again" wasn't exotic enough I felt and K couldn't give up her train ticket since that was needed to get home.  But a great creative idea that it would have been good to spend more time looking at.

But the other event was more exciting. Over 12 hours, Third Angel & mala voadora ran What I Heard About the World (Research Map), an event attempting to map the world and collect a story for each country in it. They were going through the names of countries in alphabetical order to collect stories of fakery and pretense. Audience members came and went sharing stories of places they'd lived or visited and these were recorded in two word summations.

It was one of the most impressive and creative events I've ever seen and 12 hours was not long enough to complete this.

Emerging again into mid-festival Saturday evening crowds we ambled along to the National Library where we had good luck in getting tickets for Alan Bissett's final fringe performance of the Moira Monologues.

I'd read great reviews of this show, but hadn't any high expectations of it. I was so wrong.  Once I recovered from the shock of the appalling language, I joined the rest of the audience in roaring with laughter at the antics of Moira, a well drawn example of her kind - Falkirk Woman with Attitude.

From the first sketch; Moira insisting her hard-man neighbour make his rottweiler apologise to her 'wee Pepe' for eating his food and frightening him, to the final biting observation, that we can always rely on the English football team not to let us down, this was brilliant entertainment.

The language although strong, was rhythmic and authentic to the way large parts of central Scotland speaks, but sadly I suppose it will prevent this show reaching the TV audience it deserves. I hope someone takes the risk of broadcasting it, because it didn't offend K or me who are the most easily offended women anywhere, which is high praise indeed.

The evening ended with a drenching in the downpour as we went on our way home... I'm getting a bit fed up with what passes for summer this year, but I'm sure I'm not alone in that.

Thursday and Friday at the Fringe

The Book Festival now has its own fringe just like its big sister the International Festival spawned the fringe way back at the beginning of it all.

Question: What do you do when you get to 65 and still want to do politics, but differently?

Answer: You take to the boards and try your hand at a bit of comedy.

Making a Holy Show of Myself: an Abortion Monologue with Anne Rossiter was an entertaining hour. Ms Rossiter wholly showed that this crucial part of women's lives, whether as folks who've had one or hoped never to have one or supported friends and family through one, can also be a source of stand up at the fringe. It also gets more awareness raised about the inequality for N. Irish women who are excluded from the rest of the UK legislation.

However, I also discovered that it is not possible for a woman living in Scotland to get a legal abortion over 20 weeks, she has to go to London for this.  This is shrinking our rights by stealth and really needs to be campaigned on. Quite frankly, if you do not have a womb this is not your business. Obviously I am not including those who no longer have a womb - duh!

Friday, and a change of pace; I discovered the dance festival and immediately scooted along to the one show I could get to. Not What I Had in Mind by Robin Dingemans was marvellous.  I loved it and was getting really into the intense atmospheric mood created by this dancer and the percussionist, when it was very nearly ruined.

The type of parent who brings out in me all the stereotypes I try not to buy into such as earth mother, pushy parent, finger-painting, always putting the child first, mumsnet, piss off everyone else who can only do their best etc etc, brought her pre-verbal toddler into the show. The child, a sweet little creature happily and loudly gurgled and burbled away and jumped up and down, without any signs from aforementioned pain of a parent taking responsibility to shush the kid. Imagine how the atmosphere was wrecked and I cannot praise the dancer highly enough in the way he managed to maintain focus through the ensuing fuss that went on.

Eventually the parent and child removed themselves. Naturally, she had the brass neck to demand her money back and complain that she'd checked that it would be ok to take the child into the performance. It was Friday evening, the child should have been in bed. I know Edinburgh is not a child-friendly city and I'd happily support measures to change that, but there is a time and a place for kids and this was not it.

Most of the rest of the audience were incandescent, I was merely furious. There is no way to go back and see this again and I feel aggrieved at this lost opportunity to experience an emotional and exciting modern dance as perfectly as it was intended.

There seems to be a pattern emerging this festival - I keep going to shows where some annoying audience member disturbs the flow of the act in some way or other. Or am I just being intolerant?

Golden Rules

One of the multiple festivals running concurrently is the Festival of Spirituality and Peace.  I went along to St John's church at the west end of Princes St to attend one of the events advertised in that particular festival. But outside the church I saw another of their events. The photo above shows Orange Suits and Golden Rules - a Living Installation.  Volunteers spend a day in an orange boiler suit such as the Guantanamo Bay detainees wear and stand outside the church in view of the traffic and people in Edinburgh's main shopping street. So not really like conditions the detainees suffer, but it's an excellent way to make the point that we should not forget about them.

The installation reminded me that I should be grateful to live in a country which does not have the death penalty even though the behaviour of some (almost always violent male criminals) sometimes seems to deserve it.  But also that I live in a country where convicted criminals can be given release on compassionate grounds irrespective of their guilt, in order to spend their last days out of prison/with their family.

Akvani are a trio who sing Georgian songs, in this case ancient healing harmonies to 'sweeten the soul'. It was billed as a 'soundbath of harmony' and certainly lived up to that description.

These songs were originally sung, some as early as pre-Christian times, to appease the Batonebi Spirits and to heal sick children. I'd liked to have heard more about this, and if I can manage it I'll go to another of Akvani's events running this week or next.

In the evening I went to a talk on Women and the Built Environment at Engender.  A real circuitous meander round the need for women's input into living space, in particular places like refuges or social housing. And the way that outdoor space is prioritised for male activities for example five aside football instead of dance or yoga or whatever women want. Of course we don't know what women want as no one asks or listens when we speak up anyway. I can claim this from my own experience of taking part in planning consultations where what I or other women say, never makes it into recommendations, or frequently is not even recorded.

The conclusion from this discussion is that we need more women in architecture, planning, engineering and for those professions to actually speak to each other so we get joined up plans.  The Golden Rule as applied to planning as well as to politics.

What thou avoidest suffering thyself seek not to impose on others. – Epictetus

Musical Monday

I was supposed to be back to work yesterday and I did get down to clearing the backlog - after a fashion.  But I merged a trip to the bank with an opportunistic detour into a lunchtime concert.

Awfully glad that I did, as this was one of the highlights so far this fringe. Yes, I know I'm waxing enthusiastic about lots of things, but bare with me this time. 

St Mary's Cathedral in Palmerston Place is holding a series of lunchtime recitals during the festival, as well as tours of the famous song school murals.  Yesterday the recital was provided by Miyuki Kato who studied piano at the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama.

The programme included Tchaikovsky, Chopin, and Liszt.  I found her performance of Cantique d'amour by Liszt both moving and stirring. In fact her whole performance was a delight and I made the right decision in my diversion into the cathedral instead of rushing back to my desk.

Early evening, I went to Hildegard of Bingen and the Living Light at the new to me venue in Surgeon's Hall.  Written and performed by mezzo soprano Linn Maxwell, this is the story of the famous 12th century German Abbess.  Hildegard lived to her 80's becoming skilled in herbalism, composing, and sending letters to the 4 men who were pope during her lifespan.

Neglected for centuries, Hildegard has been rediscovered and her books translated, her songs recorded and finally her extraordinary work celebrated in the 21st century.

Linn Maxwell gave a competent performance of this story, but her it was her singing that stood out most for me.

Weekend wandering

Saturday was far too warm and sunny to spend much time indoors, particularly not some of the truly steamy, even drippy venues in the bowels of the old town.

So it was a trip to the most tempting venue in Edinburgh - the book tent at the book festival. Miraculously, I resisted on this occasion, but I'll probably end up going back and buying at least some of the titles I noted. Sitting in the sun outside the book tent, I reflected that if I had to choose only one natural habitat, this would be it. Even the sense of frantic busyness couldn't detract from the sense of rightness I feel in the presence of great numbers of enticing books and fellow book lovers present each year at the book festival.

Once darkness approached we did decide on a show. Sig Other and I wanted to have another go at the free festival, having experienced good and bad earlier in the week.

We saw Yianni Agisilaou in 'The Universe: A User's Guide' at Cabaret Voltaire. This was another dank dungeon, this time filled to capacity with the kind of mixed audience only the free fringe can throw up.

The act was sort of ok but difficult to judge as a loud section of the audience had come into the wrong room and were really wanting to be at the (noisy) Bee Gee's tribute show next door. Physics and the universe was a novelty for them and some settled down and laughed while others were made uncomfortable possibly by a lingering memory of being made to feel thick at school. For that reason I will excuse some of their behaviour because it probably was not their fault they were not encouraged to take up science or to take an interest in things extraterrestrial at an earlier age. And for another reason; I will not condone any form of "Scottish cringe" which would all too frequently cause inappropriate embarrassment by some behaviour of some local folk. This is our city and any inhabitants should be able to go to events and express themselves however they want to. I don't want to feel that the various festivals exclude anyone, as they inevitably do when you look at the ticket prices. But where there are free/low cost shows and exhibitions then everyone should be equally welcome.

Sunday was again a lovely day.  No more indoors suffering heatstroke, instead a brief spot the Gormley walk to Water of Leith.  Here are two of these statues from Powderhall and Bonnington.

 Gormley with a swan at Powderhall.

Scary Gormley at Bonnington!

More stuff at the fringe

Enticed by the appearance of sun and my usual nosiness, we walked along Princes St Gardens to get to the Festival in the Sky at the far west end. I only had my iphone and the pics I took are not great, so to make the most of the view we sat in the enclosure beside the contraption. It went up and down a couple of times assisted by Sybil, Basil and Manuel who escorted the sky diners to their seats Fawlty-style.

This further encouraged us to stay a while and indulge in rather good Pimms Cups. I can highly recommend this form of entertainment for a Friday afternoon. However, I'm not on the whole tempted to eat at 100 feet dangling opposite the Castle Rock.

Much trotting about the city then ensued while we hopped on and off buses and forced our way up the High St through all the flyerers, acts, human statues and promenading visitors.  Then back down into the new town to get to the Assembly Rooms in time to join the restive queue of audience of a certain age wielding tickets for Fascinating Aida.

Joined by friends (Y and her queue-busting henchpersons I and J) we achieved good seats in the packed theatre and were entertained in splendid fashion.

These women should be on TV all the time, or at least as much as they want to be. Of course, some of their material would have to be way beyond the 9pm watershed and carry a health warning about the danger of laughing fit to burst. Some of the terms (not repeated here in case of attracting the wrong type of reader) needed to be made clear to older or less worldly members of the audience. Indeed the posse of archetypal primary teachers in the row behind were gratifyingly scandalised by one song. They thankfully resisted more than a token effort of pretence that they didn't understand the terminology describing intimate activities in small vehicles leading to steamed up windows.

It all set us up nicely to eat copious amounts of Mexican food. Y and I ordered more Sangria than sensible but otherwise we all behaved.

Y, I and J went to whatever late night show they had planned and Sig Other and I went to Paul Sinha.

I'd seen him last Fringe and the most I could say was that I wasn't offended. Actually, that is high praise for a Fringe show. He was much more assured and quite staggeringly right on in this year's act. Not all comic representatives of minorities/diversity strands/former doctors and so forth manage to demonstrate a competent understanding of intersectionality, but he did. And it was funny.