NotJustAHatStand

Nowhere else in the world do you go out for a sandwich at lunchtime and:

1. Come back with a handful of flyers for shows you'll never go and see.
2. See a dance troupe performing on a traffic island.
3. Get flyered by the star of a show.
4. See a group of people (who are presumably in a show) dressed not only as cats, but as specific kinds of cats (namely Siamese, Persian and Calico).

Edinburgh really is a mad place in August.

Labels: Edinburgh

Yes, I know it's been months since I posted anything. And I know memes are the lazy blogger's answer to the need to post something (anything). But there was an open invitation at Sarah's, so start as you mean to go on I say:

1. The rules of the game get posted on the beginning.
2. Each player answers the rules about him or herself.
3. At the end of the post, the player tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they’ve been tagged and asking them to read his [or her] blog.

What I was doing ten years ago:

Probably sitting final school exams, in preparation for The Big Bad World After High School.

Five things on my To-Do list today:

1. Arranging travel insurance (I leave for Rome on Saturday).
2. Arranging for my various fuzzy bits to be waxed in preparation for my holidays.
3. Feeding my cat, who is watching me type whilst miaowing plaintively.
4. Becoming fluent in Italian.
5. Buying a new umbrella because my old one finally gave up the ghost (RIP, previously indestructible umbrella).

Things I would do if I were a billionaire:

I'd buy a nice house in the country (complete with gardener), have lots of pets, my own library and I'd give some money to charity.

Three of my bad habits:

1. Not opening my mail. Bills are boring.
2. Staying up far too late reading, then sleeping in and being late for work.
3. I don't have any others - I'm practically perfect in every way.

Five places I’ve lived:

1. A small village on the outskirts of Edinburgh
2. My first house after leaving the Parentals, with my best friend.
3. My second house after leaving the Parentals, 5 doors away from #2.
4. First flat with Hubby (previously known as the Boy). Where we got engaged.
5. Current house, that I love to bits.
(I know my answers to this are supposed to be things like 'London', 'Milan' and 'Kuala Lumpur', but I have lived a very un-exotic life)

Five jobs I’ve had:

1. General dogsbody in the food court of a shopping centre.
2. Call centre drone.
3. Temp in a mind-numbingly boring office
4. Boring Office Job #1 - adminny person
5. Boring Office Job #2 (current) - computery type person in a large HE institution

Five books I’ve recently read:

1. Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte (currently reading)
2. Animal Farm, George Orwell
3. March, Geraldine Brooks
4. Freedom in Exile: Autobiography of His Holiness the Dalai Lama of Tibet, The Dalai Lama
5. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett

Five people or communities I’m going to tag:

No-one, because it's so long since I updated, I don't think I have any readers left.
(Except possibly Farty because he left a comment the other week asking where I was)
(I'm here! Updating!)

Labels: memes, Travel, Writer's Block

I've been meaning to write something for a few weeks now but due to a combination of computer problems (grr), Christmas, and new distractions, I've never got round to it. And I've not been up to anything interesting anyway.

But my poor granny died yesterday. She was 91, and she was suffering, so it's kind of a blessing, but I also feel terrible for being ever so slightly relieved that she's gone. She deteriorated quite rapidly in the last year, and if I'm brutally honest with myself, I dreaded going to visit her. A series of small strokes left her unable to speak properly so it wasn't so much a case of making conversation with her as it was thinking of things to say that didn't require an answer, and yet would fill up the silence that would otherwise descend, during which she would glare at you with baleful eyes, making the occasional signal that it was about time you passed her the box of Maltesers.

But the worst thing about it was that she was still quite sharp mentally, so she was aware of the indignity of what was happening to her. It was awful to see her trapped in this frail little body that was gradually falling to pieces, but she seemed to see this as an opportunity to vent her frustration on anyone that was around. It's like she was surviving on pure bile (and Maltesers). She threw things clear across the room, with incredible strength for a frail old lady. She tripped people up by sticking her foot out as they passed. She hit people with her cane. Up until a couple of days ago, she was still giving attitude to her carers in the nursing home. She called people names, including one incident that is memorable for all the wrong reasons, when she called one of the carers in the home a 'black bitch'. This prompted the manager of the nursing home to call my aunt into her office, and ask her 'is your mother a racist?'. Needless to say we were all mortified about this particular episode. I don't think my granny really gave a shit though.

But she was also incredibly strong, and I respected her hugely. Two weeks after she and my grandad got married, he went off to fight in the second world war. Imagine watching your husband of just two weeks going off to fight in a war, not knowing if you would ever see him again? While he was away, she worked in a factory that made Lancaster bombers. My grandad survived the war, and brought home a respectable bundle of medals. He died 20 years ago so my granny was a widow for a long time but had he still been alive 3 years ago they would have celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary.

She used to take my sister and I out shopping at the weekends, and I remember many happy hours poking about the toy department in Poundstretchers with a crisp £5 note courtesy of my granny nestling in my pocket, or watching old Laurel and Hardy films with her in her big draughty old house, eating her chocolate biscuits (of which she always had copious supplies). One particular incident sticks in my mind when we got caught in the rain without an umbrella - my granny pulled three plastic shopping bags out of her handbag, put one on her own head to protect her newly permed hair, and then proceeded to put one onto my sister's head, then mine. We were both mortified (granted we were dry, but still mortified) and desperately hoping we wouldn't see anyone we knew.

So although she was ready to go it's still sad. Her final years on this earth were not happy ones. She lost her son (my dad) 2 years ago. Understandably, his death hit her particularly hard. She couldn't make sense of the fact that her eldest son died before he was 60, while she was still here, particularly given the state she was in.

But she had a pretty good innings - 91 years, 40 of those happily married. Plus three children, four grandchildren and three great grandchildren, all of whom will miss her.

Rest in peace, Granny.

Labels: family, Loss

I think I've mentioned here before (but I can't find the post and can't be bothered to look for it in order to link it), that I'm a southpaw. And very proud of it I am too - who wants to be in the majority? I'd much rather be one of the 13% of people who are different. But it does have it's problems sometimes.

I've always had the usual lefty problems like squinty writing, ink smudges all over my hand, computer mice (mouses?) being on the wrong side and problems with right-handed scissors, but I thought that was about as far as it went. Until I signed up to the Left Handers Club* website. Ever since, I've realised that many of the everyday things that I find difficult or annoying, could be a result of being a lefty.


For instance, the beauty salon I go to for various, erm, hair-removal procedures, likes to treat you like a visiting dignitary (this is before they make you remove your clothes and reveal your almost-naked body to them in all it's wibbly glory) and they always take your coat away and hang it up out of sight when you go in. When your ritual humiliation is complete and it's time for you to leave, they bring it back and attempt to help you on with it. I hate this part of the process even more than the ripping out of my hair by the roots, because no matter how hard I try, I CANNOT get my arms to manoeuvre themselves into those arm-holes without getting tangled up. The serene beauty on the reception desk smiles politely, but I know she's thinking what a unsophisticated klutz I am. I've always thought it was just me, but then I came across this section of the LHC website. Apparently, I am not alone.

One of the worst things for me, particularly at this time of year, is the problem of crossing other people's paths on the pavement. You know when you're walking down a busy street, and you and the person coming towards you both move to the same side to let the other pass, and then back again, and you end up doing a weird sort of dance until somebody takes the initiative and just picks a side and sticks to it? It happens to me ALL THE TIME. And I hate it. At this time of year, when the streets are so much busier than normal, and everyone is in much more of a hurry than normal, the problem is compounded. It happens once, and I shrug it off. Then it happens again two minutes later, and I start thinking about it too much, which of course makes it worse and it happens AGAIN while I'm busy trying to figure out whose fault it was that last time. Then, you'll get some nippy sweety like the one I encountered the other night, who huffs and tuts and ostentatiously steps round you as if you're a pile of steaming, fresh dog shit. And then you curl up into a ball in the middle of George IV Bridge and weep quietly at your own inadequacy.

So the next time you end up dancing in the street with an ink-smudged, harassed-looking person with one arm out of their coat sleeve, give them a wide berth (and perhaps an encouraging smile) for the chances are that other person is one of my left-handed brethren, and you are the 467th person they have got in the way of today, through no fault of their own.

Labels: Left-handedness

I'm a tea jenny. I like to have a cup of mint tea in bed before I go to sleep. It's become something of a ritual, and I now cannot sleep unless I have a cup of sencha green tea with natural mint and a chapter or so of my book. Conversation between Hubby and I last night:

Me: You made my tea too strong.
Hubby: Sorry.
Me: It's the colour of wee.
Hubby: What colour should it be? The colour of a watery wee?
Me: Yes! That's absolutely the colour it should be! The kind of wee you do after you drink 2 pints of water.
Hubby: Or six pints of beer?
Me (ignoring previous comment): I find that 4 or 5 dunks of the teabag is sufficient.
Hubby (sleepily): 4 or 5 dunks, gotcha.
Me: 4 or 5 good dunks though, with the bag fully immersed in the water.
Hubby: Can I go to sleep now?
Me: And if you could give the bag a wee shake before you dunk that would be lovely, just to get rid of the tea-dust, because it all sinks to the bottom of the cup, and I can't drink the last mouthful.
Hubby: So that's Point 11 of Teeny's Guide To The Perfect Cup Of Tea. I shall make a note of it.
Me: Well, I'm just telling you this so that you know for the next time. We're married now, so you're going to be making me lots of cup of tea in the years to come.
Hubby: [snore]

Marriage. It's a riot you know.

Labels: Hubby, Marriage, Tea

I saw a man on a bike this morning on my way to work. This in itself isn't unusual. What is unusual is that he was not appropriately dressed for the cold and heavy rain, and was soaked to the skin.

He was also cycling along at a leisurely pace (in rush hour traffic in central Edinburgh) whistling 'Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life'. For no obvious reason, he looked like he had his own personal little patch of sunlight, filled with rainbows and unicorns.

Maybe he just won the lottery. Maybe he got laid last night. Maybe he had just escaped from a secure unit somewhere and thought he was in the Canary Islands. Or maybe he was just enjoying his morning cycle in the rain.

Who knows, but it was a nice change from the usual grumpy commuters I see every other morning, and he brought a smile to my face. Which is an amazing feat before 9am.

Labels: Commute, randomness

Can it really be the 12th November already? I've had half a post written for about three weeks now, but I haven't been able to find the time or, more importantly, the words, to finish it off. It should've been easy, seen as it was all about my honeymoon, but I'm going through a bit of a dry spell, blogging wise. And that's probably a good thing, as I probably would have come off sounding smug and pissed everyone off. You can click on my Flickr badge for the photos if you like, and if I get round to finishing that post without sounding like one of those people you dread sitting down next to you at a party because you just know they're going to bend your ear with stories that start 'when I was in [insert exotic location here]' I'll publish it.

But just now I do have something to say, because tomorrow is the second anniversary of my dad's death. On this day two years ago, Hubby and I had a horrible falling out about the amount of time that we were spending with each other's family (i.e. we both wanted to spend more time with our respective parentals). Him, naturally and completely rightly, because his father had passed away six months earlier. Me because seeing Hubby's father dying of cancer had made me realise how lucky I was, and want to cling onto my own family while they were all alive and healthy. The following day, before we made it out to see them, my dad had the heart attack that killed him.

Ever since then, although I miss my dad terribly, I have tried really, really hard to keep thanking god, or whatever higher power made me, that I still have an amazing husband and family, and that they're all healthy and happy(ish). It's so difficult juggling our mothers (not literally thankfully, that WOULD be difficult), and we still can't believe the situation we're now in - both our mothers widowed before they're 60 - but it is how it is, and if my dad were here he would tell me things could be worse, and that I should stay positive. And he's right - there's no point dwelling.

But I still miss him.