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Everyday Life: August 2015

October 1, 2015 by

It would be easy to post this idyllic scene without comment, and make August look so darn wholesome and perfect…

Assorted poultry at the Old Mill Inn, Brodie

…but if you pulled back the frame you’d have seen the car park full of cars and my forlorn expression as we’d just found out there was nae room at the Old Mill Inn for dinner.

I was hangry as hell after a round of golf with Gareth’s parents at Hopeman, a village on the Moray Coast. They lived there ’til Gareth was 4 years old. David had always wanted to try the course so we finally made it happen. The lads played while Mary and I caddied.

Here’s David taking a shot amongst the heather.

After 18 holes, 10000 seaside steps, several spectacular shots and quite a few dodgy ones, the game came to this gentlemanly conclusion. AGAIN I had the phone up the wrong bloody way!

The roses were going gangbusters throughout August. There is a great bed of them by the riverside, so I wandered past as often as possible to stick my nose in a bloom or two.

The fluffy Buddha continued her residency…

Hello, I am cute…

We popped into the brewery one Saturday morning to check on the beers…

I met up with Susan for a great lunch with at The Ivy Bar & Kitchen, a tapas place with Scottish-y dishes. I thought I’d play at being a food blogger but somehow the phone focused only on the fried chicken. Which is an accurate reflection of where my mind was at.

Remembering Clare

September 23, 2015 by

Two weeks ago my friend Clare passed away and I miss her so much. She was a beloved member of the Up & Running community and a huge part of the last four-and-a-bit years, sharing so many globetrotting adventures and thousands of forum words with us.

I’ve been writing down fragments of memories, to make sure I get down all the good things I don’t want to forget.

Like the U&R 5K Course of Summer 2011, where we met. For eight weeks she ran around Glasgow, reporting back wildlife sightings and witty observations, with an uncanny ability to find the positives in even the crummiest run.

The magical Bologna retreat in 2012. A chatty, rainy 6K race with Clare, Julia K and Honor. Dodging puddles and striding along the colonnades, already plotting the next meet up.

Back to Bologna a year later. I started the race in a grumpy, pathetic mood but walking with Clare and Honor upturned the frown as we made a game of overtaking the competition.

A marathon weekend in Edinburgh, when U&R buddies flew in from all over. I’d found a bargain night at the swanky Missoni hotel and asked Clare if she’d be my roomie, even though it made no sense for us locals to stay in a hotel. Of course she was up for it. We lounged in the bathrobes, plundered the “free” mini bar and took all the fancy toiletries home.

A few weeks later, a rainy Sunday cheering on the awesome Paula G for her first Half Ironman. Roomies again, and agreeing wholeheartedly that the pillows in Paula’s cottage were far superior to the Missoni’s.

Barcelona last February, Sunday morning sunshine. The rustle of bright pink pompoms that Julia K brought all the way from Texas, cheering on our half marathon heroines. I’ll cart those pompoms to every race now ’til they fall apart.

A year ago this Sunday, our living room here in Inverness. Clare scratched Neighbour Cat behind the ears in a magical spot that made her collapse into a happy pile of purrs. Gareth has got the move down pat but I can’t bloody do it! And of course he won’t show me how. I think he likes being custodian of the Clare Technique.

The geeky conversations on the joys of organising and spreadsheets and lists and stationery and the art of packing light. Texts before each U&R meetup about what colour we were painting our toenails. The ongoing discussion about the search for the perfect cross body travel bag. Light enough to walk around a city all day, but stylish enough not to look like a tourist. It’s very important stuff!

I loved Clare’s kindness and compassion. If anyone was going through a difficult time, inevitably the perfect card would pop through the door, with just the right words inside to bring a smile and sense of perspective.

Then when faced with her own illness, she was matter-of-fact, dignified, honest about her fears. Quietly courageous. Hopeful.

I used to hear the phrase they lived life to the full and thought it meant daredevil stuff like bungee jumping or swimming with sharks. But now it makes me think of Clare. The way she filled her life, with purpose and intent. Fully present.

Clare… I’m forever grateful for all the random internet clicks that happened for our paths to cross. And more grateful than ever for my treasured U&R friends and the crazy, precious bond forged over our keyboards.

I miss your calming presence, your thoughtful observations, your wicked wit. I can just hear your melodious accent saying the words you’d said before in all kinds of situations, Och well. What can you do? You’ve just got to get on with it. But you were so wonderful that you’ll have to let us be with this sadness awhile longer.

I’m celebrating too. All the friendship and good times we packed into those too-few years. We’ll shake our pompoms and raise many a gin and tonic in your name. You will always be with us, along for the next adventure.

The long goodbye

September 3, 2015 by

There’s been a development in the Neighbour Cat situation.

First the crap news: our lovely Neighbour moved out two weeks ago. Noooo!

The (temporary) good news: Neighbour is between houses, so was searching for a place for Neighbour Cat to stay a few weeks while a new place is sorted. Long story short – thanks to a chance conversation, Gareth volunteered us for cat sitting duties!

It’s been a bittersweet couple of weeks – all this top quality Neighbour Cat time, but knowing it will be over any day.

Watching a bug on the ceiling, in the company of a hooded Gareth

Watching a bug on the ceiling, in the company of a behooded Gareth. How shit are those curtains, btw.

Once the cat flap was locked next door, she adapted quickly to the new arrangement. It’s not much different from before, it’s just the naps are longer. She finishes each day snoozed upon either the couch, the office chair, the foot of our bed , or on a folded up pair of Gareth’s tracky dacks (sweatpants). Gotta be the navy ones with the red stripe.

Gareth thinks I’m paranoid but I think she thinks we’re rubbish compared to her Real Owner. I’ll catch her staring plaintively out the window, ears perking up when car tyres crunch in the driveway. Gareth says she’s probably watching a spider (she doesn’t chase birds, only insects) or plotting her next fight with our other neighbour’s cat. But I dunno. Sometimes she has this withering look that’s all, “I see you, and I find you lacking”.

Yeah, that look.

But I’ve more besotted than ever. Withering looks aside, she’s a sweetie and no trouble at all.

I also love the way she eats. “Like a gannet” as her owner warned. I’ve been re-reading Intuitive Eating lately and she’s a champion intuitive eater, clearly never swayed from her natural instincts by glossy magazines or crash diets:

She’s in tune with her appetite – when she’s hungry she lets you know by a fixed, steely stare and/or by nudging the cat food box to the floor.
She eats only what she really wants – I made the beginner’s error of buying Kit-E-Kat instead of Whiskas and Her Majesty would have none of it.
She eats with unconfined joy – at first savouring slowly, then working up to an all-out scoff, chunks spraying out of the bowl in an arc.
She stops when she’s full – and saunters off, knowing the Inadequate Substitute Humans will tidy up, then plops down on the rug for some elaborate grooming.

I promise you I’m not going to turn into a crazy cat lady around here. I’m more convinced than ever I don’t actually want my own cat, I just like knowing this cranky, fluffy, hilarious one.

I’m going to miss her so, so much.

Aerial view of the ever-hungry house guest

Everyday Life: July 2015

August 14, 2015 by

July = rose time!

Gareth reckons Neighbour Cat looks like an Angry Bird in this pic. The combo of her face/frilly neck remind me of a black and white cookie.

We caught the Caledonian Sleeper down to London ready for the cricket. I love the Sleeper. It leaves Inverness at 8.45pm then you wake up in London at 7.45 the next morning. There’s no wifi, so all you can do is get into your little bunk bed and read trashy books then fall asleep. Or if you’re Gareth, have a classy wee picnic…

After the cricket we had a side trip to Bedford to spend a great weekend with friends.

As mentioned before Rhiannon and I went to Margate to visit the Turner Contemporary gallery. I enjoyed the window views as much as the art.

My friend Frances taught me the sensible travel rule that for every cultural activity there must be a corresponding eating activity…

We walked past the Tudor House and I was secretly glad it was closed as my peanut brain can’t handle culture and history in one day.

And then, back north to Scotland. It was cheaper to get the train than fly which seemed sensible at the time of purchase but man, 8.5 hours is a long time sitting on your butt. We got to the Forth Road Bridge and I thought, “Yay! Nearly home!” then the realisation dawned it was still another 3.5 hours to Inverness.

But who cares about a numb arse when the views are so good…

Carry on

July 25, 2015 by

I’ve been away visiting friends and family this week and had the bright idea of going ultra minimal with my packing. I planned out a precise mix-and-match wardrobe. I got my transparent lashes and brows tinted so I’d only need to add tinted moisturiser to look alive (plus lippie, in the spirit of Dotto). No gadgets except iPhone as it does everything. So here I am with a small suitcase containing mostly undies and sunscreen.

It’s been a success and I’ve been the picture of smugness… until tonight with the looming Blogging Pact Deadline. Carla tried to warn me about the WordPress iPhone app when I told her my lofty plan to leave laptop at home, but la la la la, I insisted I’d be fine! Well, it has taken me an hour to put that bloody photo up there!

Okay I remembered my sister has a laptop so I’ve switched to that. But now I’m too crabbit to write about what I was supposed to be writing about, which was going to be a deep one about isolation and how that can make you feel batshit crazy, hence the moody pic above from the Turner Contemporary museum which Rhi and I visited yesterday. We saw the Grayson Perry: Provincial Punk exhibition and it was ace.

Anyway, will save that for another day but in the meantime, laptop aside, what a brilliant feeling after years of experimentation to finally crack this packing light malarkey! There’s usually one “why the bloody hell did I bring this!?” thing, but this time every item has earned its place. Booyah!

Are there any other packing enthusiasts out there? Do you obsessively trawl YouTube for tips? Do you decant your toiletries into little bottles or prefer to buy mini sizes? Do you howl with delight when you find a shampoo and conditioner sample sachet in a magazine coz that takes up even less space than the little bottles? Do you roll or fold?!

Remembering Dotto

July 17, 2015 by

This photograph may be the greatest thing to come out of my parents’ marriage. It’s from their 1975 wedding and features all four of my grandparents. The maternals are on the left – Nanny looking glam and somewhat unimpressed; Poppy rocking a checked suit and tremendous sideburns. On the right are the paternals – my lovely grandfather standing proudly beside my ravishing-in-red grandmother, Dotto.

I can’t quite remember why she was called Dotto. I think it was because she didn’t want to be a Nan or a Granny; she was too young for a creaky title like that. So, Dorothy became Dotto.

She was feisty, funny and blunt with her opinions. She played golf and loved old Hollywood movies. She’d look annoyed if you arrived for a Sunday visit while a Parramatta Eels game was on, interrupting her date with the handsome Peter Sterling. She took meticulous care of her skin and was always perfectly groomed, wearing lipstick and smelling fantastic.

Every time I saw her she’d tell the same two stories from my toddlerhood: 1) how I once walked up to her, placed a book in her lap and commanded, “READ!”, and 2) the time I told her I loved her “silvery purple” hair.

Everyone would roll their eyes at the repeat, but I loved hearing it again because every time she’d add a new embellishment.

She passed away on Saturday, aged 87. My siblings and I texted the same thought when we heard the news, “I thought she’d live forever”. Maybe it was the always-coloured hair, but mostly it’s the beautiful eccentric spirit. She was pure character… how could someone that wonderful not always be with us? I hate being so far away from Oz right now. There are so many people I want to hug and cry with.

Because my parents were relatively young when I was born, it’s always felt like the living family tree was huge; shading and sheltering above. These last few years the branches have begun to thin out. It’s such a heavy thing to comprehend. But I have a comforting thought that maybe somewhere else, my dear Poppy goes walking by and waves hi to Dotto. And she’s as spunky as ever, snarking about so-and-so’s thick ankles and still rocking her lipstick.

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