Wet but worthwhile

I thought I might manage to get a walk in last weekend, but it turned into a proper staying-overnight-and-getting-wet trip to the West Highlands.

Saturday started with a heroic attempt to avoid activity by dossing around Fort William in the rain. At one point, we were even procrastinating about whether we were procrastinating. The rest of the weekend could easily have vanished in a hedonistic frenzy of tea drinking, laughing at souvenir shops, and leafing through climbing guides in Nevisport. Yet somehow the afternoon saw us climbing a hill in the rain. There was no view to speak of, but once we came down the weather was clearing a little. The best part of the day was walking in to a bothy in evening sunlight, with a view of Eigg in the distance.

It's a while since I had a dose of bothy atmosphere, so this was very welcome.

And the situation is lovely:
The canoes weren't ours, but they make a nice picture.

Goodbye Paddy

I feel very sad about the demise of Paddy's Market. It always felt like a bit of the middle ages that had been forgotten about. And now it is no more, to be replaced by 'craft stalls', for fuck's sake.

Maybe I should just be grateful that I experienced something as visceral and unconsumerist in my lifetime.

Day out

I think this is wild thyme. Wild mountain thyme, in fact. It was near the summit of Ben Bhuidhe, which I climbed on Sunday. The man who makes Fyne Ales gave me a lift up the glen a bit, which makes him a nice man and you should buy his beer.

I'm hungry now

About a year ago, there were various reports in the media of a report from the World Cancer Research Fund that claimed cooked meats raised your risk of bowel cancer. On reading this, of course, my cynicism circuits kicked in and I started searching for the flaw that is usually present in such reports. But I couldn't find one. So maybe I should give up Lorne sausage; a depressing thought. However, David Coloquon has excelled himself with an article about randomised controlled trials, and why dead pig wrapped in bread probably won't kill you.

Teaching the Professor

I think most of us have books that we turn to for some dependable entertainment, no matter how many times we've read them. One of mine bears the unlikely title of More Humorous Tales From 'Blackwood'. Blackwoods was a well-known magazine, that was published in Edinburgh between 1817 and 1980. Known colloquially as Maga, it flourished particularly in the era when the British Empire was still a political fact. I bought the book in a second hand book shop in York for 50p in (I think) 1978, and learned an enormous amount from it.

Despite being a fairly precocious ten-year-old reader, I did find it heavy going in places. Some of the lighter pieces went down easily enough (building a house in Barbados; tales of 'My Uncle' -- an eccentric inventor), but despite the humorous theme, some others defeated me. Take Two-Blocked, from 1953, a bewilderingly dull (to my 10 year old self) account of a naval exercise. Returning to the book years later, I realised that it was by Geoffrey Willans (author of Molesworth), and was a rather well-written piece that had a lot to say about post-war Britain trying to thrash out a new relationship with America (the exercise was a joint RN-USN one). Indeed many of the tales (and they are Tales, please note) speak, more or less directly, about the war and about Britain's transition to ex-empire.

Over the years, the collection has stayed fresh, with some over-familiar friends dying away, and previously ignored tales gaining new life. Teaching the Professor is one such. This seemingly slight account of a drive across north Africa in 1943 is one of my favorites. The narrator of the story and the Professor of the title are army officers who need to be in Cairo, but are in Algiers. They make the journey in a thirty-cwt truck, which they christen 'Pinafore'. The Professor really was a professor before the war, and is ferociously erudite, but has trouble with things like making tea, and coping with those who do not match his own high levels of ability. To alleviate the boredom of a fortnight's drive, they agree that whichever of them is not driving should educate the other. It's easy for the Prof., who holds forth about classical history, art, and literature, and can even use the territory of Carthage as an illustration when they pass through it. The narrator has more trouble thinking of a theme, until he discovers that the Professor cannot ride, and so instructs him on hunting, horses, managing hounds and other buccolic English pursuits as they traverse battlefields and amphitheatres.

Over the years, I have often wondered who the Professor really was. Only today did it occur to me to search for him on the internet. Within a minute, I had discovered that he was Enoch Powell. Teaching the Professor was written by Michael Strachan, whose obituary is here.

Ballardian

I heard about the death of J.G. Ballard when my radio alarm came on this morning. As it wasn't a school day, I lay for a while and drifted in and out of sleep, not really sure what had happened. I think he might have liked that.

The Borders

I've never quite understood the romance and mystique surrounding the Scottish Borders. Recently though, I may have been beginning to see the point.

Today was an Edinburgh local holiday and in a fairly random way, I decide to go to Dryburgh Abbey. So it's on to the bus and down the A68 to St Boswell. I walk down to the Tweed and follow it upstream for a mile or so. It's a stupidly pretty spring day. The sun is out, but it's early enough in the year not to be too stuffy. The woods are full of wild garlic, which I can smell if I step on any of the leaves. Small birds are twittering, a swan is being graceful on the river, fishermen are wading, and it wouldn't surprise me if I started singing Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.

On getting to the little foot bridge where I cross the river, there is an Arcadian style temple on the hillock on the other side.

Somebody's been doing odd things to the landscape: I love this kind of stuff. It's a Temple of the Muses, to the memory of the poet James Thomson, erected by the Earl of Buchan, who was keen on making this area a kind of open-air monument to Scotland's past. In fact, a Temple of Caledonian Fame. The Earl was also keen to preserve (and perhaps to "improve") Dryburgh Abbey itself, which is where I go next.

Dryburgh is a ruin, but a really interesting one. It has some of the best preserved medieval paintwork in Britain (don't get excited, it's just smudgy marks really), and has wonderful trees round it (some of them thanks to the earl again). Also there are the burial places of Walter Scott and Douglas Haig. Haig's gravestone is of the standard World War 1 design.

I have a nice lunch, during which I eavesdrop on a couple sitting next to me. What are they up to? The woman gets jumpy when she thinks she recognises somebody else coming in. It's tempting to stay and see what their assignation is about, but I head off for another part of the yer man's hall of fame. It's a 10m high statue of William Wallace, looking across at the Eildon hills.

It's a pity that somebody has tried to colour in the shield in that rather half-hearted way. Somebody should do a study of bad art inspired by Wallace.

So there we are, a day out full of quirky stuff in the Borders. I'll have to go again.

Mental

I'm enjoying Matter at the moment. Banksie has revisited ship naming, of which he is a master. I particularly liked the Ned-speak Pure Big Mad Boat Man.

Fife coastal walk: 6

This stage doesn't start out as much of a coastal walk, thanks to RAF Leuchars. The first task is to walk past the neatly fenced military quarters, bringing you up in front of St Athernase Church. That's genuine Norman blind arcading, that is.


If I'd known I'd have lingered longer, but I was itching to stretch my legs. After some slightly confusing signposting, I found myself walking across country rather like Suffolk, where I lived for some years. I say this because it was flat heathland with pine trees and sand dunes in the distance. And it was sunnier than Scotland in March usually is.

After walking past more perimeter fence of RAF Leuchars, I finally got on to Tentsmuir beach, and very fine it is too. There is a sense of space here that is utterly different from anything else on this already very varied walk round Fife. The military theme was never very far away though, as I could hear gunfire and occasional explosion during most of the walk. This came from the firing range at Buddon Ness, which is only a few miles away to the North across the Tay.


I settled into a steady pace, and headed North, passing the odd figure on the huge expanse of sand. After a bit, there was a somewhat greater concentration of people, clustered around the one access road that leads to the sea. I found this relative crowd quite heartening: it all seemed very British in its determination to enjoy the North Sea in March.

I thought the beach section would be the slow part of the day, but it passed fairly easily (I'm talking subjective time here--you know how some bits walk themselves and others drag). It wasn't long before I was watching some seals lazing around on Abertay Sands. There's an awful lot of sand in this corner of Fife. In fact, this section of coast is growing at a healthy rate. I cut across the dunes and came across more tank traps. It turns out these were constructed on the high tide line by Polish forces in 1941. The sea is to the left in the photo below.


By this time I had turned my final corner. As at Fife Ness, the vista swings round and we're on the Tay. All that walking on sand had taken it out of me though, and the section round to Tayport felt like a real task. Also, my idea of cutting across the mudflats was not a very good one. But there we are, all the best walks should have an ill-considered section.

Let's end with more bridges.


From Newport-on-Tay I caught a bus into Dundee and refreshed myself with Irn Bru, then caught a train home. I realized that, oddly, I'd never been on the Tay Bridge before. From the train, you can see the piers of the original bridge (the one that memorably blew down in 1879) poking out of the water.

Fife coastal walk: 5

Partly because of the amount of golf on this stage of the walk, and partly because of the indifferent weather, I didn't take many pictures of landscape. So I thought that this time we'd do some nature study instead of a travelogue.

I've always loved lichens. That sounds a bit sinister, but they are odd things: not-quite-plants that change and soften the appearance of a lot of objects in the landscape. I've no idea what species these ones are, but they form a fantasy landscape of their own.

I can't remember ever seeing fungi like this before. If anybody knows what kind it is, let me know.

I do know that these are winter aconites, and very pretty they look too.

The Buddo rock looks incongrous and Dali-esque. Lapsed climbers like me will enjoy doing a bit of back and foot to reach the top via the cleft that runs through the rock. Pity it's full of bird shit.
All the pictures were taken between Kingsbarns and St Andrews. Next time, Tentsmuir Forest.

Signs and portents

This morning a heron flew past our office with a frog in its beak. The frog didn't seem happy with how things were going, and the heron couldn't seem to find anywhere to settle down and eat the frog.

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

I don't normally do this, mind, but last night I went to see a film based on a comic book. The fact that the work in question is Watchmen made the decison much easier. It's pretty good. Zac Snyder (he of the visually interesting but silly 300) has put in a good effort and has managed to translate a lot of the long and complex original to the screen. In fact, over-faithfulness may be the main failing here. Many shots follow the original virtually frame by frame, which may please obsessive fan boys, but one suspects it may not get to the nub of what the whole piece is about. There is a lot to like though, including a brilliant opening montage sequence which covers forty or so years of alternative history, Kennedy assassination, moon landing and all. A small blow for male nudity on screen is struck by the inclusion of Dr Manhattan's cock (blue and glowing, of course). Perhaps inevitably, there are too many Hollywood conventions, including slow motion fight sequences, which tend to glamourise the protagonists too much. They are meant to be morally ambiguous misfits and losers, remember?

But don't listen to me. Check out what young Jimmy Critic says!

Fife coastal walk: 4

It was snowing hard in Edinburgh as I caught the bus for Anstruther and part 4 of this saga. Almost miserable enough for me to decide not to go, but I persevered, and am glad I did. Anstruther looked picturesque in the sun, and there were fine views across the Forth to the snow-covered Pentlands. I really ought to go to the fishery museum sometime, but onwards!


Islands and hills dominated the view for a while, what with the Isle of May being close by, and the Bass rock and Berwick Law defining the southern shore. The last cute fishing village on this walk is Crail, which has a harbour partially built by Robert Stevenson.


A pill box near Fife Ness was so neat inside that it looked as though somebody had put it up a few years ago. They must have had a good batch of concrete in 1940. The northerly firing slit commanded a view over a golf course, and I indulged myself for a few minutes with fantasies of mowing down golfers on the 16th green with a Bren gun.


If, like me, you think of the map of Fife as being like a Scottie dog seen in profile, then Fife Ness is the tip of the dog's nose. It's certainly cold and wet. The view across the Firth of Forth rotates out of sight, and you have a new vista out to sea, with the snow-covered hills of Angus ahead.


Just past the Ness itself is a flat area of rock with some concentric circles on it. This is where Robert Stevenson knocked up the light for the North Carr Rocks before deploying it. So we're back at industrial archaeology.


Having rounded Fife Ness, you are on the "golf coast", God help you. As you may have guessed, I detest the game and everything to do with it. I therefore found the next couple of miles very trying, as they skirt a course, and are prefaced by a sign that tartly requests you to walk on the shore and not on their course, and specifically not to visit Constantine's cave. This cave is where tradition suggests that Constantine I was killed in 874, while trying to repel a Danish invasion. Or maybe he wasn't. Anyway, the cave lies all of five meters from the shore, and dangerous subversive that I am, I took a picture.


The light was getting rather lovely by about 3 o'clock or so, and it was tempting to keep going and soak up the views. However a local bus to St Andrews from Kingsbarns looked like a good deal, and I took some pictures while waiting. It felt very cold once I had stopped for a while—amazing how a good walk warms you up.

Fife coastal walk: 3

Episode three of this wee adventure rapidly developed its own character. I rejoined the route at Leven, next to the disused power station, but turning to the left and walking along the beach soon left industrial Fife behind. Largo Law beckoned in front of me.

Although the day was dry and fairly clear, there was a strong wind off the sea, so I had to wear a lot of fleece and keep moving. I did manage to take a lot of pictures though. I'm really pleased with my new(ish) camera−it lets me do a lot of things that I couldn't before, including taking hand-held shots on windy beaches without much camera shake.


Largo is famous as the birthplace of Alexander Selkirk, the historical figure on whom Robinson Crusoe was based. Here's a statue of him.


After Largo, there was another fine beach, over which the wind whistled unhindered. The flat openness probably also explains various Second World War defences that are found there. There are lots of tank traps (concrete cubes) in a line along the beach, and a few concrete pill-boxes with a field of fire to the sides in case Jerry managed to land and get past the cubes.


After skirting a drift of caravans at Shell Bay, I wandered up my first bit of cliff of the day, showing that I was now in the East Neuk. I already knew that there was a Klettersteig along the base of the cliffs here, but it didn't seem like the day to try it. Instead I walked along the headland, passing some former gun emplacements as I went.

After pausing for some overpriced food in Elie, I followed the now rather rocky coast to some classic fishing villages. St Monans church is mediaeval and very close to the sea. The path in front of the church takes you within splashing distance.


Days are lengthening a little now, so I managed to keep going until Anstruther at 4.30, where I was nicely in time for my bus home. Passing back in the gathering dusk through the places I had just walked through, I could still see the waves beating on the shore.

The origins of Tetris?

I know, I should get out more often.

Genius

Genius was a cartoon that appeared in the Observer from 1978 to 1983. It featured Anode Enzyme, the greatest genius since Leonardo, who had an IQ of 12, 794 (it was higher, but he lost a few points through watching television). Working for Lord Doberman, the world's richest man, gave him a lot of freedom, but he mostly confined his talents to doing whimsically obscure things like firing colour televisions into the sea, or recording the sound of a tape recorder being destroyed by a chain saw. Aged about 11 or 12, I hugely admired this serial work, so much so that I collected the strips for a while, pasting them into an old notebook. It's hard to say whether I prefered the surreal humour, the delightfully messy ink drawings and lettering, or the rather lovely watercolour that formed the main part of each week's installment. They clearly came from a complex, witty, un-bourgeois, and generally splendid intelligence. It always felt faintly subversive, as if nobody at the nice paper quite knew what the chap was up to. They never really gave it enough space. The same point is made in a nice appreciation here. I recently came across my yellowing cuttings, complete with original dates in my own childish hand. The one above was undated, before you ask.

John Glashan, the creator of Genius, seems to have rather sunk without trace. A great pity.

Tony Hart

Tony Hart has died. I spent a lot of my childhood watching him, on shows like Vision On, and Take hart. Like most of the best TV presenters, the programs were never about him. They were generous, encouraging to aspiring artists like me, and always fun.

Happy New Year

And now, nuclear war.

I grew up in a threatened generation: in the late 70s and early 80s. It already seems a long time ago, but there was a real prospect then that something very big could kick off. I don't remember this being talked about much, although it would surface as nervous laughter at school: "Imagine Miss Watt announcing a three-minute warning over the Tannoy!" One focus for these fears was the television film Threads (1984).

It is a docudrama that tells the likely consequences of a nuclear exchange on Sheffield, and when I watched it—aged 15—it scared the shit out of me. Recently, Rog pointed out to me that you could watch Threads on Youtube (all 13 parts). Now I have, and it remains riveting.

Despite almost 25 years elapsing, some of the scenes were still vivid in my mind, though I had forgotten that some of them belonged to this film. Take, for example, the woman wetting herself in the street, or Ruth giving birth in some straw with a barking dog outside, or the post-apocalypse children blankly watching a scratchy video about skeletons.

The documentary angle helps the film and means that it doesn't just become incoherent and shouty. Paul Vaughan's narration of chaos was particularly effective, as he regularly voiced episodes of Horizon at the time.

Near the end, we see that children born after the attack are evolving their own corrupted form of speech. Give it a few centuries more and you have Riddley Walker.

Fife coastal walk: 2

It's taken too long to get round to it, but here is the next part of what is becoming a winter project to walk the Fife coastal path.

Days are short at the moment, so 9.30 am saw me getting off the train at Kinghorn and seeing what was more or less a sunrise.

The caravans thankfully didn't last very far, and I soon got to the day's first castle, Seafield Tower, with its own tiny harbour.

I reached Kirkcaldy not long after, and stopped for coffee and a not-very-nice all-day breakfast. I always find that Fife has a good supply of baker's shops where traditional plain baking may be acquired, and Kirkcaldy is no exception. I bought a bag of scones for £1. The assistant wore a badge that said "SAY AYE TAE A PIE".

Onwards to Ravenscraig castle, which Historic Scotland uncharacteristically, don't tell you much about.
A lot of industrial past can be seen on this walk, and there's a bit of it at Dysart, whose neat harbour was originally used to export Fife coal. A bit further along is the preserved winding gear of the Frances colliery.
A slightly less obvious reminder of the coal industry is the vast spoil heap that the path takes you over. It has been landscaped and has enough vegetation on it now that you'd never know there was once a nice sandy beach underneath.

I'd never heard of the caves at Wemyss, but I should have. I also didn't know that the name Wemyss comes from the Gaelic Uamh (a cave). So there you go.

And the last castle of the day: Macduff castle.

Buckhaven and the outskirts of Methil tend to drag a little, though there is much more recent industry in the form of the Kvaerner fabrication yard with its massive shed. Methil power station also dominates the view for a while. It used to run on coal (do you see a theme developing here?), but was decommissioned in 2000. When I got to Leven, there was an hour or so of daylight remaining, but its cute new bus station seemed a natural point to stop. I had twenty minutes to wait for my bus home, which I occupied with buying chocolate and wandering up the main street. One shop was a huge empty barn-like space lit by strip lights. Somebody was pulling down shutters as I passed. The name above the entrance read "Woolworths".

I hope to have more psychogeography very soon.

You want disgusting local filth on that?

The ever-fascinating Strange Maps has been mapping the boundaries of some fast food habits. I wonder how they'd get on with the distribution of salt-and-sauce on chips. A perverse Edinburgh habit that I've never taken to.

An obsession for the mentally deranged

I was very much hoping that NordWand would be good. The mountain film is a shy and rarely-met-with creature: you just don't get that many. So there is an extra intensity of hope. After waiting all that time since Touching the Void, would I be let down? Thankfully I was not.

The film tells the story of an attempt on the North Face of the Eiger in July 1936. The feeling of climbing is conveyed very well, with lots of detail of the (to today's eyes) crappy equipment of the time. Ropes are of hemp; clothing is woollen and dull in colour; ice axes are long and wooden. Natural materials ranged against ice and rock, I suppose.

The film starts in a fairly pedestrian manner, but the device of the ascent builds up interest, and the final third is stunning, tragic, fascinating, and oddly beautiful. One small criticism: I think the film misses the opportunity to show the danger from falling rocks as the face warms up.

H2G2

I'm currently enjoying the Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy in its best form: radio. The original series, broadcast from 1978 to 1980, were a formative experience for me. I can still remember lying on top of my bed one evening listening to that bit about the Shoe Event Horizon (a section that is both manifestly true--you try living in Swindon--and which curiously failed to make it to any of the series' other forms). I didn't know before that how effective radio could be. And I didn't know you were allowed to be that funny.

Hitch-Hiker also meant that I later had a few shreds of status (at least among other geeky 14 year-olds) through being able to recite some of the Good Bits.

For years I owned a tape version of the first two series, but my tape player doesn't work these days, and I own too few audio tapes to be bothered buying another one. So a purchase seemed in order, and the chance to get all the later series too seemed too good to miss.

You gotta rush. It'll pass.

Well, a rush of boredom. You, know, you've nothing in particular on, your boss turns out to be off sick, and you tit about pretending to finish some document that nobody really needs, and that you could have finished on Friday if you had a reason to. Things are so slow, you start writing a training document. Still, with age comes experience and the almost certain knowledge that tomorrow will be better. No, really, it will.

Visiting

I was in Ocean Terminal yesterday and saw HMS Edinburgh in the harbour. A bit later on she left with the help of a couple of tugs. The huge picture windows at Ocean Terminal are perfect for this.

Fife coastal walk: 1

And now, a slightly delayed post about what I did on Friday.

I've been meaning to walk along the Fife coastal path for a while, and good weather on Friday combined with a day off got me started. Recording my progress here may make me more likely to finish it too.

The starting point is one of Scotland's iconic objects. 55, 000 tons of steel sculpture with trains running over the top of it.

There's a lot of industrial and post-industrial stuff going on at the start of the walk, with disused quarries, and this jetty near Inverkeithing made of old Bailey bridge components.
It's quite a varied landscape though, and a few hours later found me looking at St Bridget's church, near Dalgety Bay. One of the inscriptions on the gravestones reads "1787 James Scott Two Breids".

I neglected to take a picture, but just outside Burntisland is a monument on the spot where Alexander III's horse stumbled and killed him, precipitating the wars of Independence. You know, Bruce, Wallace and all that. Somebody has left some cacti in pots next to the monument. I don't know why.

I can't say I enjoyed this section very much, as you are forced to walk along the road, past lots of identical mobile homes that are arranged in straight rows across the fields. A truly depressing sight. If I'd been Martin Parr, I'd have taken pictures. I guess it pays better than farming the land.

Things improved a bit at Kinghorn though. Some people were attempting to surf in the tiny bay in front of the town.

I considered walking further, but it would be getting dark soon, and I could see more caravans in the distance, so for the sake of my sanity I got the train home.

How big is it really?

Check out ActualSizer. It gives you a sense of the scale of an art work: something that is often lost in reproduction. I sense some major time-wasting approaching.

More news from my lunchtime walk

This wee dug was being encouraged across some jumps, seesaws and tunnels at lunchtime. It seemed happy.

My evening

Excited by the smell of chips, a mouse runs across the floor and behind the washing machine. When I check where it's gone, I find a sock. I was looking for that.

Health and Safety bollox

The pond that I sometimes walk to at lunchtime has acquired a couple of signs saying "Danger, water". Just in case you hadn't spotted that. I wonder how much this pointlessness costs?

Where was I?

My walking gear smells of smoke. I must have spent the weekend in Clashgour.

Doors Open Day

It's that time of year. There's a crispness in the air, and the days are getting shorter. It must be time for Doors Open Day. This year seemed a little less interesting than usual, but you can't back winners every time. There were still high points.

I enjoyed James Craig House on Calton Hill; part of that enigmatic group of buildings around the observatory. This had been allowed to deteriorate, but I'm glad to say the council has done a lot of work on it in the past year or so, as I have occasionally noticed from the top floor of John Lewis. It's still full of plaster dust and old bits of wallpaper, but has excellent views. The best bit is a circular room on the top floor with a painted domed roof, and panoramic views of Edinburgh. Apparently it was a girl's bedroom in the 1930s. How can you progress from that? Any bedroom after that would be a disappointment.

Another Good Bit was seeing inside Edinburgh University's new Informatics Building. I've been watching this take shape along the road from me over the last three years or so, so it's nice to end up at some form of housewarming. The view south from the roof is excellent, and the grass they've planted along the edge makes rather more sense from up there. I believe they do some very clever stuff there too. I wonder how long it'll be before the colour-coded furniture gets onto the wrong floor?

It just works

My new Mac is spectacularly effective, in a particularly unspectacular way. I've connected most of the devices I own to it and found that they work, but up to today the old scanner lying in the corner of the room was reproaching me. It was always a nightmare to set up on Windows, as it never seemed to remember any settings from one session to the next, and usually overwrote drivers for something else. It also insisted on the use of various bits of crapware that you had to install.

On the Mac, I connect everything up, start Image Capture (seems like a good guess), and blow me if it doesn't tell me that I have an Epson Perfection 1250 there mate, and do I want a scan of that thing that's on it?

I am three

Thanks to Rog's post, I've just realised that my blog is three years old today. I'm a little surprised that it's got this far. I did have a vague vision when I began of myself penning terse little pensées, but of course that didn't happen, and the blog is all the better for it.

Lucky visit

I visited Glasgow yesterday without any clear aim, but struck lucky when I joined a tour of the Necropolis. This has been one of my favourite bits of Glasgow for a long time, but I had never realised that the Necropolis was consciously modelled on Pere Lachaise. Or recognised the symbolism of the Bride of Sighs that you must cross to visit the city of the dead, with the Styx being played by the now-vanished Molendinar Burn. How could I miss that?

Gary's back

I've been missing the War Nerd for a bit, but I'm glad to say he and the Exile have a new home. Kinda cute to see the guy growing moist-eyed over the recent Georgian conflict. Armoured columns and air support--ah, nostalgia!

Good weekend

I passed a much more interesting weekend than normal, thanks to a visit by Rog. Amazing what two determined anoraks can fit in. Among other things, we were berated by Will Self, looked around the city of mad towers that is Edinburgh, and watched the Waverley from the top of the Titan crane.

Rescue

Somebody today found a young bat inside the office, huddled next to an internal door. A phone call to the RSPCA produced advice: let it hang on a tea towel, take it outside and let it take off. They can't take off from the ground, apparently. Not sure if it has to be a tea towel.

I wonder if this means that bats have moved in to the building (which is only a couple of years old)? Do they like modern offices?

The Count's clips

Count Arthur Strong was as good as ever last night. The show contained clips of the Counts' appearances on television over the years. Sadly, I instantly knew which Dr Who story was involved (Tomb of the Cybermen, since you ask).

Somebody at work went because a friend got free tickets because they were in the clip of Ask the Family that was shown.

Good read

I'm currently enjoying Black Swans, by Nassem Nicholas Taleb. He caters to a number of my prejudices, which is always pleasing. He writes entertainingly too. And he's probably right, despite being a bit too rude about statisticians.

Better data

I nearly bought a house today. To be precise: I nearly bought the flat across the landing, but my offer was bettered by somebody else. It's actually quite a promising thing though: I thought my offer would be much too low, but it only missed (apparently) by a small amount. The solicitor was very pleased, as it gave them some idea of what flats like mine are worth (less than they estimated a few days ago). So they now have better data, albeit with a sample size of 1.

Poor thing

The office this afternoon is greatly concerned by a dog left in a camper van in our car park. The van has been left by somebody though--I certainly can't remember seeing it before.

Very British. Would they be so concerned if somebody left their children in there?

Quite good

I've just transferred my Thunderbird email from PC to Mac in about 10 minutes, thanks to some instructions from Mr Sunpig. It only took that long because I hesitated over how to make a copy of a folder (Command-C then Command-V, stupid!).

I was about to gloat about how wonderful Macs were, but Safari crashed just after typing the paragraph above. Still, no harm done.

Safari crashed again just after typing the last paragraph. I hope I'm not stuck in a loop: I want to go to bed now.

Still here

I've been quiet for a bit.

New Job continues well. The office atmosphere is good, with helpful and competent colleagues. This may not seem much, but it's more than I've experienced since about 2003. It's interesting how workplaces acquire a certain mood and a set of unspoken rules. This is mainly through managers recruiting in their own image. Lunchtime walks and deer sightings help make it fun too.

In other news, I now have a Mac, and find it great. I have pondered this move before, but Vista was the final straw. And I'm not alone there.

Nature notes

Leaving work last night, I got my first sight of the deer that are said to live in the woods outside. Young roe deer, by the looks of them.

Lying in bed this morning, I watched a squirrel tearing bits of twig off the beech tree outside my window. I guess it's building a nest - or is it too late for that?

Arty types are not web designers

These days we expect online booking systems to just work. But the one for the official Edinburgh Festival is rubbish, and I can't book anything. They don't seem to answer the phone on Sundays either. Just how hard is it to spend your money, eh?

For steam men

Being lucky when I got the train home from Glenfinnan meant that I shared the platform with this train. Interesting to see the sheer amount of steam coming from various bits of the carriages (to work the brakes?). All those figures being romantically obscured by steam in old films are not exaggerated. It didn't keep the midges way though.

Cool plane

Last night and tonight, somebody has been offering pleasure flights over Edinburgh in a Dakota. What a nice thing to do.

Nice weekend

Saturday's walk up Ben Cruachan was unexpectedly continued into Sunday, due to the absence of a train back. This sounds like a disaster, but it was a lovely summer evening to be waiting on a station platform in the woods. After a bit, I wandered off and easily found myself a B&B.

The forced stopover meant that I got to wander round the absurdly picturesque Kilchurn castle on Sunday morning. Then to Dalmally, (birthplace of Labour leader John Smith), and so home.

Stalin and the bomb

In Our Time continues to be excellent. Lysenko this week, who I knew nothing about, but I really should have. A small gem from the programme concerns the development of the Soviet nuclear bomb. Stalin forbade the use of Einsteinian physics (since he knew it was wrong). Beria later reported back to him that they were getting nowhere and wanted to use more productive methods. Stalin relented, reflecting that "we can always shoot them later". What a wag!

Absolutely

Currently enjoying the long-awaited DVD release of this cult comedy from the early 90s. Maybe its Scottishness biases me, but I do think that it's better than Python.

Meall na Fearna

A delightful walk yesterday to Meall na Fearna (just East of Ben Vorlich). I came up with the wizard wheeze of doing it from Callander, which seems to be my default destination these days. It's a longish approach that starts up a picturesque road behind the town, takes you past some forestry and sheep pastures to the wonderfully named Arivurichardich, then insists that you climb to a col at 600m before descending to start the hill proper. The col must be reascended on your return, making this reminiscent of the famous Bealach Bearnais.

I meet one other walker, on his way up Stuc A' Chroin, who paces me to the col, then I have the rest of the walk to myself. Perhaps because of this, there is a lot of wildlife to be seen: a hare, a hind wandering past, and a group of wild goats.

I feel hugely satisfied, possibly even euphoric afterwards. Is it just the fine weather? Or the smugness of planning and executing a fairly long day out without blisters, tiredness or mishaps?

Reading Michael Palin's diaries this morning, I reach his account of filming bits of Holy Grail on a hillside above Callendar. Maybe I walked past the constitutional peasants.

Lifting big things

Clydeside's shipbuilding history is slowly getting some kind of a memorial, though it is spread between several sites. The Titan crane at Clydebank opened to the public last year, and I visited it yesterday. Growing up in Glasgow, the crane (and by that I mean a hammerhead like the Titan) was a natural symbol of strength and technological prowess. The thing that I made most commonly with my Meccano set when I was wee was a crane very like the one you see. I was most directly inspired by the Finnieston crane, mind you. (Oddly, the default construction for me in Lego was a rocket. Nasa really missed something by not giving theirs a square cross-section.) Climbing to the top of this symbol is easy, in a shiny new lift, and there's a fine view along the river. Towards town, somebody is still making ships--Yarrows at Scotstoun is knocking up some new destroyers.

Maybe the basin in front of the crane should be preserved too. So many famous ships started out here. There's a notch at the end where they lengthened it to stop the Queen Mary from sticking out into the river.

Digital bus stops

I've just discovered MyBusTracker which allows you to see real-time bus information for your favourite Lothian bus stop. It's a pity not all the buses are fitted out yet.

Oppie and the bomb

I've been enjoying watching Oppenheimer over the last few evenings. This series was produced by the BBC in 1980, which means that I have a dim memory of it, but was too young to really appreciate what was laid before me. What has made them release it on DVD now I don't know, but I'm glad that they have. It's a real period piece in a way, up there with Tinker, Tailor in its almost insolent slowness and care in building up its subject. Can you imaging anybody now making 7 hours of television that principally featured lots of people in suits sitting round committee tables and smoking a lot? (Admittedly, with one good explosion.) Jack Bauer would save the world several times in that span.

I particularly liked the Groves-Oppenheimer relationship, which could have been just cliche, but instead was subtly portrayed, and left you with respect for both of these very different men.

It's just a pity that the budget for this release didn't stretch to some extras on the DVD (I know these are often rubbish, but this was a case where you could have done something good), or to improving the colour quality of the video sections, which can't possibly have been that bad on broadcast. A missed opportunity also that the original production didn't try to explain more of the physics of what was going on. I looked up my copy of Clive James on Television, and he thought so too.

Sunny

Suddenly, it's summer. I shouldn't complain, but it was rather hot today. I wanted to round off the weekend with a hill, so found myself in Callender heading up Ben Ledi. The town was tolerable when I arrived, but later was full of Glaswegians getting sunburn and buying woolly jumpers. The walk was good, though it was the first sweat-fest of the year. I reckon the snow might have been a problem only a couple of weeks ago.Sitting on the unusually still and sunny summit, I wonder why the Trossachs (which I can more or less see) were considered such a beauty spot. Because Victorian Scots could go on an excursion on just such a bank holiday and sail down Loch Katrine?

Today

New Job seems very good so far. It's only the second day, but coworkers seem pleasant and the setting is lovely. We went for a walk through the sunny parkland at lunchtime and watched a foal with improbably long legs. Aw!

I also get to experiment with some new bus routes, which should keep me amused for a while.

And so back to the flat, and the chance to hear Ed Reardon's Week, which proves that all Radio 4 comedy is not atrocious.

Unicorn hunt

Today seemed to be Historic Scotland day. I have a friends card and don't use it often enough. So, off to Doune castle, where I confess I was looking for Python locations. However, I did learn about Robert Stewart, who ran Scotland for 20 years, though without being king.

Returning via Stirling, I popped in to the castle, as I've not been for a few years. Odd how this has changed so hugely since I went there as a kid (the past isn't what it used to be). There is currently a long term project to reconstruct the royal apartments. I was rather swept away by the tapestries that are being made for this. They are copies of the Unicorn Tapestries in the Met in New York. Tapestry for me is one of those archetypally dull things. If you see one in a museum it's a case of "Yes, very nice, where are the paintings?" But these are astonishingly beautiful objects in amazing condition. Works of art, in fact. You can watch the weaving too: it looks a pleasant but tricky task, surrounded by bits of wool and photos of the originals. A few of the finished copies are on display and they're not bad either. I enjoyed this article about cleaning, the smell of wet wool, and reclusive mathematicians.

A shy hill

Some time ago, I blogged about my ascent of the Lammer Law (with no oxygen, mind you). I discovered shortly after that this is not actually the highest point in the Lammermoors, with that distinction being held by Meikle Says Law. Clearly, another trip was in order.

Meikle Says Law is undoubtedly one of the most retiring, shy, and self-effacing of the Scottish hills. I don't think I saw the summit at any point in the walk, until, a few hundred meters from the top, and with that it-must-be-here-somewhere feeling, I spotted a trig point above the heather and walked towards it. The way back was almost equally unrevealing, though its pushier friend the Lammer Law kept getting in the view.

The trig point had a recent sign attached warning you not to damage it. I thought the OS didn't actually use these any more, but obviously they do, and MSL is actually visible from somewhere.

A perversely satisfying walk.

Work again

I have acquired a job. No, really this time. It is with the people who didn't quite offer me the last job, but is a different job. Doing proper stats, I hope. My four months or so of semi-idleness is at an end.

In other news, I had a pleasant shopping expedition yesterday to Tiso's. Not only did I get an unexpected discount, but I clocked Iain Banks talking to an assistant.

Jinxed

There! I shouldn't have mentioned it. The almost-a-job-offer has melted away like snow in the spring sun. There was a long silence, then a downward revisal of the salary to a level that I suspect they knew I would not accept.

Bah!

Arty day

I enjoyed the Glasgow Art Fair yesterday. I even bought some art, a linocut, for the first time in several years. And isn't the internet amazing, it can be found here. The work is better in reality, though. The colours nicely capture the oddness of snow in the city, and the use of the different colour blocks is clever.

Some nice extras too in the form of some free talks: by Tom Normand on Scottish photography, and by Calum Colvin on his work.

Even losing my return ticket and having to stand in a queue with my picture to buy a new one didn't dampen my good mood.

Scarf dating

No matter how sad and nerdy you are, the internet can instantly put you in touch with somebody more so. I have been overdosing on vintage Dr Who a bit recently, but this page brought me up short and encouraged a brisk walk in the fresh air. Theming your site around Tom Baker's scarf is one thing, but having a diagram of its stripes, together with annotations of which bits were cut off in which episodes...

Maybe

Oh, and I've just been sort-of offered a job. At the interview yesterday, I almost managed to perform my normal trick of talking my way out of it, but not quite. Hope I haven't jinxed things with this post.

Is our climate changing?

I enjoy reading some of the more skeptical blogs about global warming. Especially on a day like today, when I'm meant to be doing some real work (i.e. work that earns me money).

I enjoyed the survey of historical weather scares in Anthony Watt's blog. Particularly the global cooling scare from 1975. A lot of these may be to do with the nicely named Pacific Decadal Oscillation. It's all a salutary reminder that the world is Always More Complicated Than That. And it doesn't mean that global warming isn't real, just that you might have to look harder.

Words

I got to use the word "polytomous" today. It makes being a statistician almost worthwhile. I'm still not sure where to put the stress when pronouncing it though (my use was in an email). My paper dictionary doesn't include it, and it baffles the spell-checker.

I'm still working on an excuse to use heteroscedastic, or leptocurtic.

You mean I have to do this myself?

I keep changing my mind about whether recruiters are the best thing since sliced bread, or just completely hopeless. As a person who is really rubbish at finding jobs on my own, the obvious solution is to get a professional to do it for me. A few years ago, when starting on a previous bout of joblessness, I was warned to ration my use of recruiters, because they would pester me all the time. Fat chance.

Steven Campbell

I'm taking advantage of my half-idleness just now to go to lunchtime talks. Today we looked back on the work of the painter Steven Campbell, who died last year. The talk was significant for me as he was one of a remarkable generation at Glasgow School of Art in the early 80s who were held up as an example when I was at school. He was in the same year as Ken Currie, who won the annual Newberry award. Since Steven was also clearly exceptional, they invented the Bram Stoker award for him. These and other figures meant that when learning about art in the 80s, I had some local examples that gave me a connection to new developments in painting. As a result I never questioned that figurative painting was worthwhile, and am probably still working out of an enthusiasm born at that time. Scotland in the 80s could be a right miserable place, so some genuine heroes (mostly working class too) went down very well.

To be honest, I've never been a completely consistent fan of Campbell's work - it often seemed overblown and a little pretentious. Today's talk did address this somewhat: he was more versatile and thoughtful than I probably gave him credit for. Now what we need is a proper retrospective.

Midweek mountaineering

Just for once, I made an accurate assessment of the weather forecast on Wednesday, and predicted good weather in the West. And just for once, I was able to act on it, given my present state of semi-employment. My reward was a walk up Beinn Eunaich and Beinn a' Chochuill on a clear, crisp day that felt more like spring than February. These are next to Ben Cruachan, which is always a photogenic chap, and looked almost Alpine yesterday with its snowy corries and horn peak. Look:

Fine views towards the cloudier part of Scotland too. This is looking towards Beinn Eunaich, with Beinn Lui prominent on the right. I think that's Ben More and Stob Binnean poking up in between.

I need to get a decent digital camera: I could have taken twice as many pictures, but ran out of memory.

Oh, and Loch Awe has to be a contender for more picturesque station in Britain. It's ridiculously small, squeezed between the loch and a huge mock baronial hotel, and has a cute (presumably original) iron footbridge.

Rudolph knew his pictures

During my visit to Prague in December, I learned about Rudolph II and his famous collection of paintings. I'd only vaguely been aware of this before, but learned a lot during my visit to Prague castle, where they are trying to reunite as many of Rudolph's paintings as they can. This is a big task, as they have been scattered by such forces as: bickering relatives, disgruntled Swedish armies who need to get some looting in before peace breaks out, and objects ending up in different countries when an empire breaks down.

I'm now going to see references to the man everywhere. Last week Melvyn Bragg did a program about Rudolph's court. Yesterday I went to a show in the Queen's Gallery in Holyrood Palace, and what should be there but Breugel's Massacre of the Innocents. It was part of the royal collection in Prague, where R had the dying children painted out and replaced by animals and bundles. Charles II later bought it. Him and his dad were responsible for a lot of the good gear in the royal collection.

The conclusion

My telephone line had a fault, quite apart from my old phone being very dodgy. Two BT engineers called this morning, and after ritual sucking of teeth and some impromptu reconfiguring of the window shutters, an ancient Bakelite box was revealed, bearing the inscription GPO. I wonder why these junction boxes are traditionally placed in bathrooms? One of the engineers reckoned that it had been there for fifty years.

The wizzy new cordless phone took a ridiculous time to charge, and somewhere in the confusion, I swapped it for a traditional one. I'm happy now.

Shopping

I must be getting middle aged, because I will use the flimsiest excuse to visit John Lewis. However, my excuse this time was quite a good one: my house phone completely stopped working this morning, and I felt that wasn't a good state to be in. It has been a temperamental beast for some time, with the ring coming in a random variety of patterns, often having crappy and very directional sound quality, and usually requiring several attempts to actually dial a number. But I forgave it all these because I got it for nothing.

So for under £20, I now have a digital cordless phone with caller display and who knows what else. I do resent the fact that it needs a power source though. The traditional phone was a very elegant design in that respect, needing only the tiny line voltage to make it work. The modern home is full of plugs with step-down transformers.

Today's art

I expected to like the current exhibition of Carol Rhodes' work at the Modern Art Gallery, after leafing through the accompanying book. However, this is an example where reproduction is very kind to the work. I expected large monumental landscapes, but they were quite small, looking rather forlorn in the large rooms. They also strike me as lazy and dull, combining a number of pretentious features: the lack of frames, the deliberate "naivety", and an ironic distance from the subject. At their best, there is an echo of Edward Hopper, but only just.

Never mind. It was free and the cafe downstairs is excellent.