tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83412025949417815722024-03-05T12:14:01.178+00:00Occasional ScotlandScottish life and landscape in photos, from Edinburgh to Shetland and points betweenLindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.comBlogger547125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-42349826359605565292016-06-26T09:43:00.002+01:002016-06-26T09:43:51.848+01:00Fighting the horror<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rosa 'Albertine'</td></tr>
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What has happened to my country? Why have fear, racism, isolationism won? Some golden vision of a Britain that never existed was sold, and is even now being reneged on. "We didn't exactly say that there wouldn't be <i>any</i> immigration..." I can't sleep and if I take stock of what I've eaten in the past 3 days it's been crisps, toast, beer and tea. I am European. I thought my children were going to grow up Europeans. Worst of all, there will likely be a second Scottish independence referendum. All I can do is cultivate my garden - including this rose with a fittingly French name - love my family, and be kind to other people. Wherever they originate.</div>
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Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-57294944883385045402016-04-17T21:21:00.000+01:002016-04-17T21:21:46.539+01:00Knitting under protest<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A protest knit on the Mound, Edinburgh</td></tr>
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Protest knitting is well established in Edinburgh. The pink scene above is from a few years ago now. My daughter and I chanced upon this protest in action when we were in town one Saturday. It was very striking, and an expression of soft power that made us stop and think. My daughter thought from a safe distance while I took the standard embarrassing mum photos closer up.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lamenting the failed appeal to save Canonmills Bridge from developers</td></tr>
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And recently this sign appeared on a nearby bridge. After a lengthy appeal process, local opposition to the forthcoming demolition of the current bridge and its hugely popular wholefood shop and restaurant has taken the form of a crocheted protest blanket. I thought it was knitted, such is my ignorance, but I was kindly put right on Instagram that it is in fact crochet. </div>
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Woolly creations are everywhere. The floral panel below is on display currently in Braemar, having decorated a nearby bridge over the summer. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Panels by Deeside Nitwits decorated the bridge in Braemar</td></tr>
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Sometimes I feel as if there's no escape from knitting. It's even out there in sensible hillwalking sort of places like Braemar! So many bloggers and Instagrammers knit! And I don't. I categorically don't - I'm emotionally allergic to it. The feel of knitting needles and wool in my hands drives me into a sort of fury. There's a very good reason for this - the experience of being taught to knit in primary school. In my small rural school, back in the 1960s, the girls were taught to knit in primary 3, at age 7. I don't remember now what the boys got to do, lucky things. Probably hammering nails into bits of wood. The primary 3 teacher was stern, a noted disciplinarian. It came as a shock after the two years of infant classes. The same approach extended to the teaching of knitting. You might think that the first attempt at this new skill would be something easy - a never-ending scarf, for example. But we were launched straight away on a two colour tea cosy. Five stitches one colour, five stitches the other colour. We kept the balls of wool in jam jars, supposedly to stop them getting entangled. Mine of course rushed together with a fatal attraction. A dropped stitch was a major incident - of course I had many major incidents. The result was that my tea cosy took shape very, very carefully, and very slowly. Each stitch was pulled tight so that the whole tea cosy squeaked as I pushed it along the needles. My slow purgatory continued all year, until a month before the end of the summer term when the teacher suddenly realised that if 3 terms = 1 side of tea cosy, 4 weeks was not going to = second side of tea cosy. So my classmate Jane was deployed to knit side 2. Jane was a very fast knitter. Speed came at something of a cost, to my aesthetically critical eye, as her tension was very slack and loopy. Those of you who are knitters (i.e. everyone) will know where this is going. My inhibited, cowed half was somehow stitched together with a free and easy, letting-it-all-hang-out thing twice its size. I'm not sure how it was displayed in the end of term 'show of work' in the classroom. I remember that it kicked around in the bottom of the kitchen cupboard at home for a few years, along with the hot water bottles and dusters. Oh, and it was blue and yellow. Five stitches blue, five stitches yellow.<br />
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The following year I have no memory of what we had to knit, except that we had to knit something, and it was very boring and took me the whole year. Towards the end of the summer term my mother suggested that I might bring it home and do some of it in the evenings (waste of time to my mind, when I could have been off up the hill with the dog, or reading). This worked well for a few days, until the teacher asked how my knitting was coming along. Naively I replied, 'Oh it's fine, I should be finished tomorrow night'. For the sin of Taking My Knitting Home, I received 10 whacks on the hand with a ruler. <br />
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And so it continued. Primary 5, 6, 7. No memory of what was knitted. All thankfully erased. Sewing was a lesser torment at that point, as it involved stitching round and round a square of fawn cloth with holes in it. I'm sure my classmates were moved on to more interesting things - the apron that every 9 year old longs to wear, for example - but I was happy to be labelled 'remedial'. From Primary 5 onwards I perfected having a book on my lap and reading while very occasionally jabbing the needle into the fawn square on my desk. Very risky, but worth it.<br />
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Age 12 and secondary school. We knitted a polo neck inset. Not a jersey, you understand, but a disembodied polo neck with a little placket. This may have been 1971, but even that wasn't in fashion. Surprisingly I managed it rather well, if slowly and still squeaking, but sewing now took over as the main torment. We were started off on an A-line nightie. I remained on the A-line nightie for the rest of the year, while classmates graduated onto the sewing machines and the mysteries of setting in collars. The problem was the darts, sewn by hand. I would sew my darts, take my work up to show the teacher, and be sent back to unpick the darts and re-do them. Again and again. Of course by the end of the year the ghastly thing resembled broderie anglaise, there were so many holes in it. It was also very, very grubby. It too ended up with the dusters. Meanwhile salvation came in the form of Latin the following year, and a timetable that was incompatible with domestic 'science'. I daresay the domestic science department was relieved too.<br />
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So perhaps those of you who 'relax' by knitting will have some understanding of my violent hatred of wool and knitting needles. I have a very long list of things I plan to do when I leave my workplace of 29 years shortly, and knitting is not one of them. As to what is, that's for the next post. And tell me - am I alone? Are there any other knitting and sewing phobics out there?<br />
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Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-60978365569260937282016-02-14T12:47:00.002+00:002016-02-14T12:47:44.980+00:00Looking forward<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another glorious Speyside sunrise, winter 2015</td></tr>
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The impulse to blog has left me entirely over the winter. I didn't set out to be an autobiographical blogger, although I love reading blogs which reveal their writer. My initial purpose was to show my beautiful country through photos and perhaps a few words. Many a time I have taken a photo which I wanted to share, but couldn't really construct a blog post around, and I have shied away from too many random collections on this blog, although again I love seeing other people's. And then there was time. I work full time. I am tired in the evening. I had other commitments. Then, further derailment, I discovered Instagram, which gave me exactly what I wanted in my time-strapped state - a stand-alone photo and a few words. So I've been treacherously Instagramming, all the while neglecting this poor blog. <br />
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These have been ongoing minor problems, if they can be classed as problems at all. But this winter has also been a period of sadness and retreat. My father was in hospital from October until just before Christmas, but fell ill again shortly after coming home and died early in the New Year. It's not something I feel like writing further about here, not because the illness, decline and loss of a parent hit less hard than those of a spouse, as I was deeply distressed to read one blogger suggest recently, but because I am a private Scot.<br />
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But today the Spring sun is reaching a certain spot in the garden that despite the frost makes me feel that life is moving forward very slowly. And part of that sense of moving forward is a very big change coming up in my life that feels as if it's beginning to be within reach. At the end of May I will take early retirement from 29 years with one employer, and embark on a process of career change. I have several plans taking shape, among them going back to my first love, the subject of my degrees, and reconnecting with the French language. There's still a lot to be got through at work before the end of May, so at the moment I'm at the 'quietly ecstatic' phase. <br />
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If I can work out how to transfer photos from my Android phone to my new Macbook there will be more photos on this blog, and I may have to steel myself to a few random collections if I can't drum up a coherent narrative. My blog post writing muscle is all out of condition - it has felt very strange writing this post, and it may well read strangely too. If it's too strange, there are always just photos on Instagram!Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-87228244140513009042015-10-11T11:56:00.003+01:002015-10-11T11:56:44.755+01:00Appreciating Edinburgh: shop windows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Not whopping plate glass windows, with teams of professional window-dressers working to a corporate brief, but the windows of small independent shops which are fun and clever and artistic and enticing. As part of my personal attempt to 'appreciate Edinburgh' after a long time as a reluctant city-dweller, here's a window from Concrete Wardrobe earlier this summer. Concrete Wardrobe specialises in Scottish design-led craft, and often has fun with it in their window display. This is 'I am the Passenger' by Charlotte Duffy. All of her work is made from discarded cardboard. You might think that she had honed her skills in art college, but she studied Philosophy at the University of St Andrews.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In this work Duffy was aiming to represent "the moments of fellow travellers waking from dropping off, panicking over missed stops, moments of awkwardness when being in close physical proximity to strangers and the knowing glances between passengers when someone is talking loudly on a phone". And the bizarre world of train on-board catering.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Find more about Charlotte Duffy at her website, <a href="http://www.wasteofpaintproductions.com/about.php" target="_blank">Waste of Paint Productions</a> (well worth a read), and check the <a href="http://www.concretewardrobe.com/" target="_blank">Concrete Wardrobe</a> site for the latest designers featured. </span>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-81212558169548897532015-10-04T12:50:00.002+01:002015-10-04T12:50:40.901+01:00Skywatch Friday - a batch of skies<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lately with the shortening days I've seen a lot of sunrises on my way into work. All the photos in this post have popped up on my Instagram (@occasionalscotland), which I continue to enjoy in my time-strapped state. While I've been too exhausted in the evenings to open up my laptop, a 2 minute Instagram is just about do-able. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeNxYiaz33YSItRWAv91-SHtGmvG6VeSQCHRgIFceMGtuFZdTFdoieu7ixx3Vsb6sgPISRSipa0tb_74CRLFwf5hCzJo9R4mlsrqeiecDu7HFdFNuovcTyPHyKOZ1bUyScAGIXLOlUwoNJ/s1600/20150929_080214.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeNxYiaz33YSItRWAv91-SHtGmvG6VeSQCHRgIFceMGtuFZdTFdoieu7ixx3Vsb6sgPISRSipa0tb_74CRLFwf5hCzJo9R4mlsrqeiecDu7HFdFNuovcTyPHyKOZ1bUyScAGIXLOlUwoNJ/s640/20150929_080214.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Con trail noughts and crosses</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4XJVn6W4VAk-3ZZtlACnllVBLTaeGEMTtmvM0Rgrtv61R3g4nvYvOi1zyjLbna2tmYP4-bRqtfy4wSHaI7KRxAvrv2GF280Rc_2cpkGpf5DJSzlo1olnxm8FIcnCKqaz6XNkKaIYUs4cO/s1600/20150930_071328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4XJVn6W4VAk-3ZZtlACnllVBLTaeGEMTtmvM0Rgrtv61R3g4nvYvOi1zyjLbna2tmYP4-bRqtfy4wSHaI7KRxAvrv2GF280Rc_2cpkGpf5DJSzlo1olnxm8FIcnCKqaz6XNkKaIYUs4cO/s640/20150930_071328.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Colour block sunrise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJwlCuQwb0Qh4eyNqtvJv-tjug4iAwQWt_kzLwIVY0BAQ6ETf0y3vFlpKU7-W0YH00Ec8zB5pvq3U_HAp7oR26N1wvzlh6dLatTO1HfTsn5tkhtJSrZDnfU7pRQjcDjPPPzAvLo7svic6/s1600/20150924_182348.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJwlCuQwb0Qh4eyNqtvJv-tjug4iAwQWt_kzLwIVY0BAQ6ETf0y3vFlpKU7-W0YH00Ec8zB5pvq3U_HAp7oR26N1wvzlh6dLatTO1HfTsn5tkhtJSrZDnfU7pRQjcDjPPPzAvLo7svic6/s640/20150924_182348.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winter clouds boiling up over the North Sea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not sure why Edinburgh appears to be gently leaning to the right in the shot above. Perhaps it's the phone camera effect. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih6RIy56qD5iwcP6eVf4Gtsj5WH0I17NxfRwK0unHFCQYnfkU0b7kH5oirjHxwCp40yRVKAhLt5U7E2VxgoTDrbKYoajNxzARjmQ4PSZxzD61AkPxD3-0mHr0Xjc88u5v7M67nSz6zx5Qn/s1600/20150913_115420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih6RIy56qD5iwcP6eVf4Gtsj5WH0I17NxfRwK0unHFCQYnfkU0b7kH5oirjHxwCp40yRVKAhLt5U7E2VxgoTDrbKYoajNxzARjmQ4PSZxzD61AkPxD3-0mHr0Xjc88u5v7M67nSz6zx5Qn/s640/20150913_115420.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The joy of clouds</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">More skies from across the world are at <a href="http://skyley.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Skywatch Friday</a>. Lots of great photos of the 'super moon' there at the moment. </span>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-24766703266214168752015-09-27T22:15:00.000+01:002015-09-27T22:15:15.543+01:00Wayfarers All<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR30zsUDG9nu7rTzgBcEQLyB_aRvUQXuC20-2ZBpQoYodUwAgHmOQlIlLUL3BKvHsLrXGAGgIm7QZX2r5jJvsf3M-EtSjUUXv66V_Nyorj1nwMgx3Qa0ig0Klt-O8C7m1zxSFGKw5q7tJd/s1600/September0001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR30zsUDG9nu7rTzgBcEQLyB_aRvUQXuC20-2ZBpQoYodUwAgHmOQlIlLUL3BKvHsLrXGAGgIm7QZX2r5jJvsf3M-EtSjUUXv66V_Nyorj1nwMgx3Qa0ig0Klt-O8C7m1zxSFGKw5q7tJd/s640/September0001.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Illustration by Arthur Rackham for the chapter 'Wayfarers All', in 'The Wind in the Willows'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"And you, you will come too, young brother; for the days pass and never return, and the South still waits for you. Take the Adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrevocable moment passes! 'Tis but a banging of the door behind you, a blithesome step forward, and you are out of the old life and into the new!" <i>Wayfarers All, 'The Wind in the Willows'.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We are missing our young people here. One back at university, and one just left for a year in New Zealand. No more clutter of shoes in the hall. So many things that tug at the parental heartstrings, but of course they have to leave and take that 'blithesome step'.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQr_Llpm0xKwMljHTVaKSwhpvXaV_vLA8BzALPgMsVQzfxaueVsyXO28SZWIvMBbUbuMNUMlWcqe8GX23kKB8gDz3-GRMfk96ngIN2-kQwTx5oTLkufTj64hPskRFw0s24_ZXI0Z26ERoH/s1600/September0002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQr_Llpm0xKwMljHTVaKSwhpvXaV_vLA8BzALPgMsVQzfxaueVsyXO28SZWIvMBbUbuMNUMlWcqe8GX23kKB8gDz3-GRMfk96ngIN2-kQwTx5oTLkufTj64hPskRFw0s24_ZXI0Z26ERoH/s640/September0002.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Still, they do leave some things behind - and quite large things at that. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span> <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizn9_nyZbDsqTV6Z0TNiJtEiwQrCLJvoUYM6LnWD_8ZRnr6IHXVOKkHygolPabP_OqEXZgDRGx9jq3GN2BKKDL7_hIIOoKR-Q1ASY7_DxnzMeHn5H3cTOCMn4pzstP_Uyb8D5wdCqloWxM/s1600/September0003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizn9_nyZbDsqTV6Z0TNiJtEiwQrCLJvoUYM6LnWD_8ZRnr6IHXVOKkHygolPabP_OqEXZgDRGx9jq3GN2BKKDL7_hIIOoKR-Q1ASY7_DxnzMeHn5H3cTOCMn4pzstP_Uyb8D5wdCqloWxM/s640/September0003.JPG" width="360" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We are custodians of the harp in a university year that's going to be too busy for much playing. I'll have to remember to dust it (very) occasionally, in line with my approach to dusting in general. </span>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-74823592364875430202015-09-13T09:36:00.002+01:002015-09-13T09:37:03.725+01:00Instant Instagram appeal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4pB4xnXv_rymGha00Xzr2738Gsxi8gD8pWsHl5QhLN2h252zj4rx95vN4y0JBeHB1y6KmIypoXsRmMCANz2UCb6DFlv61vnDT96bTrgsw9N1BKWN5-ikWh9Ff9_X6j_F203yBbBMIaH5f/s1600/August0025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4pB4xnXv_rymGha00Xzr2738Gsxi8gD8pWsHl5QhLN2h252zj4rx95vN4y0JBeHB1y6KmIypoXsRmMCANz2UCb6DFlv61vnDT96bTrgsw9N1BKWN5-ikWh9Ff9_X6j_F203yBbBMIaH5f/s640/August0025.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's time to admit it: I've been seduced by Instagram. It was the last thing I expected. It started slowly, I suppose like all seductions. An account opened out of curiosity, then a few tentative photos posted over several months, but without hashtags so that I wasn't visible. Needless to say my children found this hilarious - what was the point of being on social media if I wasn't being social? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">A big breakthrough was when my son explained, very gently, that the 'instant' part of Instagram didn't need to be taken literally. I had thought that it all needed to be done live - take the photo, sort out your hashtags, publish. Of course when I'm out and about I don't have my reading glasses on and it's always too much of a fangle to fish in my bag for them, so I was squinting at this tiny screen trying to get everything done instantly. Discovering that it's possible to post photos that I'd taken previously made me very happy indeed. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So why have I been Instagramming away this summer and neglecting my blog? Well, I spend five days a week in front of a computer screen, choosing words very carefully. An ever so slightly misjudged word can have huge consequences in my workplace, and I feel as if my days are spent leafing through a mental Roget's Thesaurus. When I get home the last thing I feel like doing is crafting more words in front of a screen. Instagram is also much faster technically than Blogger. Most of all, it's made for the posting of a single photo that doesn't need to carry the weight of a narrative. My camera and phone memory cards are full of photos like this. Interesting (I hope), perhaps quirky, things I'd like to share, but not enough to support a blog post. And I am loving discovering glimpses of other people's visual worlds through hashtags, in a much more agile and pick up/put downable way than blog hopping. I still love reading other people's narrative blogs, and wish I had more time for it. In a way I'm returning to how I started this blog back in 2008, which was with the photos foremost and minimal text. I will probably continue blogging, but it's a bit of a relief not to feel dutiful about it, and I'll have to see how the balance goes. Coincidentally, I read Stephanie Donaldson in Country Living this month giving the same reasons for why she is enjoying Instagram.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After all of that, here are some of the escapee photos from this summer. A day of lochs and historic houses in the Borders. Above, Talla Reservoir in high summer, grasses that are now bleached by autumn, blowing in the soft wind. Below, Megget Reservoir, beautifully remote-seeming and yet pretty close to Edinburgh. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWU_hA1bBPUBmn4ojqbr5ofojGv-H4icA27Cqaj3OTK64tqMBmjXqftF1neeGG-aFzQrXK8u8th6UpX3qJvCVy7TkzPFNcIUvRWFmJkc6cMZWiWSF7BkhYeQMnB-1jU6tsksg9oJJfaDk/s1600/August0026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWU_hA1bBPUBmn4ojqbr5ofojGv-H4icA27Cqaj3OTK64tqMBmjXqftF1neeGG-aFzQrXK8u8th6UpX3qJvCVy7TkzPFNcIUvRWFmJkc6cMZWiWSF7BkhYeQMnB-1jU6tsksg9oJJfaDk/s640/August0026.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Below, Traquair House near Innerleithen. A fascinating house to visit, with lovely gardens.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdWOBlk-8HOM9kopHN7jasHsdRHTcr_hieHyWX7Ie1uHriDrbRR1cHOWwLdgFIaLr8kDpbpQwRYLBOk0mifVKq7rcXY1FXTts-xvnE79vtPV6Z-iXD0HvPAO9iVIspY6uvTzKP8_t3KJtw/s1600/August0027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdWOBlk-8HOM9kopHN7jasHsdRHTcr_hieHyWX7Ie1uHriDrbRR1cHOWwLdgFIaLr8kDpbpQwRYLBOk0mifVKq7rcXY1FXTts-xvnE79vtPV6Z-iXD0HvPAO9iVIspY6uvTzKP8_t3KJtw/s640/August0027.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Traquair House</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip6tcIcmSnLhROzHs5RfQJ-65EZzWb0QnlvASXO-GTghLkbagjvYjMw-fBhyphenhyphenuZz6HeIvIfaVWBzUQ5Vg0Fatj1zmPYwyy7wiWM-FARXnpQEf0lUuTmCKDKEU-DzhdzgnJUAL943xB2TNfv/s1600/August0028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip6tcIcmSnLhROzHs5RfQJ-65EZzWb0QnlvASXO-GTghLkbagjvYjMw-fBhyphenhyphenuZz6HeIvIfaVWBzUQ5Vg0Fatj1zmPYwyy7wiWM-FARXnpQEf0lUuTmCKDKEU-DzhdzgnJUAL943xB2TNfv/s640/August0028.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the house looking up the driveway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi87wb5LY5SfGK_y7xmDSc5XdUCXNkgsPJdK_ChXNCJKGHI5nMb9UpQh8adhYSHLiw5d29Xcu10h5sQh7qQ3jEWNXleJGEQjwWNHcQgCWQqjpFzk5whj5lw9jbFAUPbfk7AUUfYY0lHXla0/s1600/August0029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi87wb5LY5SfGK_y7xmDSc5XdUCXNkgsPJdK_ChXNCJKGHI5nMb9UpQh8adhYSHLiw5d29Xcu10h5sQh7qQ3jEWNXleJGEQjwWNHcQgCWQqjpFzk5whj5lw9jbFAUPbfk7AUUfYY0lHXla0/s640/August0029.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The maze, from an upstairs window</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Next time I have a story to tell I'll be back here, but you can catch up with the instant side of things on @occasionalscotland on Instagram, or use the Instagram button on my sidebar.</span>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-26241946034575399982015-08-23T09:34:00.000+01:002015-08-23T09:34:36.978+01:00Shoreline<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmeIbS2ERgjxh8Bj8ufbIaWLIBNJStIUPIuNnsMTHJgG_Bpxm4tqjHr2gbWX3-jbKRrI2vVarNfhoLjvmTORYnGKP2hNaaRayV8dpQoOK4TQGQrnKLn6avAuKw7fUAS8hqJMR-kSwA6CfF/s1600/August0009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmeIbS2ERgjxh8Bj8ufbIaWLIBNJStIUPIuNnsMTHJgG_Bpxm4tqjHr2gbWX3-jbKRrI2vVarNfhoLjvmTORYnGKP2hNaaRayV8dpQoOK4TQGQrnKLn6avAuKw7fUAS8hqJMR-kSwA6CfF/s640/August0009.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fidra island</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We took a very quick trip to nearby Yellowcraigs beach the other weekend. Very quick - we were having yet another busy weekend but had promised ourselves that we would escape from the city. It was very late on Sunday afternoon before left and we almost decided it was one thing too many on our list, but I'm so glad we broke free. Yellowcraigs is a gently shelving sandy beach a short walk from parking in a field. The parking isn't totally rustic - there is a well-maintained toilet and shower block, an ice cream van, and a Treasure-Island themed (but tasteful, seemingly all made of wood) children's play area among trees nearby. It's the beach of choice for many primary school end of term trips - I remember the packing list for my daughter's trip included sunscreen, sun hat, fleece and waterproof jacket - the typical any-weather-is-possible of the Scottish summer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Out in the Firth of Forth are several islands, basalt left-overs from long ago volcanic activity. The one above is Fidra, with its lighthouse and rock arch - you can just make it out to the right of the main island. There's speculation that Robert Louis Stevenson drew on it as part of his inspiration for Treasure Island. Looking east, there's Craigleith and the Bass Rock off North Berwick. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6EHnFEizapFZBw4aYdqA0mnNiziw1XxCBMi3pbGnnYcAE5ZqV8s_AXntjXYB50tlSuoXA8J-7376Apg41E4AoOpwrGY8aB0ExpTlUEBp2kIOKPbs98YzhUfn7263oGBuipa_341BP8a_1/s1600/August0010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6EHnFEizapFZBw4aYdqA0mnNiziw1XxCBMi3pbGnnYcAE5ZqV8s_AXntjXYB50tlSuoXA8J-7376Apg41E4AoOpwrGY8aB0ExpTlUEBp2kIOKPbs98YzhUfn7263oGBuipa_341BP8a_1/s640/August0010.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Craigleith and the Bass Rock</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have to admit that as a Moray Firth/North Sea girl I don't find the seascape of the Firth of Forth all that exciting. So it was the wildflowers behind the shore that captured my attention. The vibrant blue of Viper's Bugloss was everywhere. This was the first time I'd seen it in the wild. I had longed to do so ever since childhood when I read a description of it in one of Monica Edwards' books set on Romney Marsh.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-c9tKU1MmNsrskXOhMznHwTbZT19O_cRMXV22OzJ62COzV3Tt8EmNQo6U7mS0-OC_EI2N3E1twmh5hyJ7ufQAJSHb8b514e34fkuDDIX2VYn93J5pIBz1t9zyyHOpvyRnD2RZ18WjUoFU/s1600/August0011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-c9tKU1MmNsrskXOhMznHwTbZT19O_cRMXV22OzJ62COzV3Tt8EmNQo6U7mS0-OC_EI2N3E1twmh5hyJ7ufQAJSHb8b514e34fkuDDIX2VYn93J5pIBz1t9zyyHOpvyRnD2RZ18WjUoFU/s640/August0011.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Viper's Bugloss</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">obligatory summer shot of bee and flower</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There were some ferociously-spined roses. Not the wild Scots rose, I think, as they fairly bristle with spines, but they seemed to have larger spines than the common Dog Rose.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And teasels, which reminded me of Zebedee in the Magic Roundabout.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Time for bed", said Zebedee</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One thing which did catch our attention on the shoreline was this rock, seemingly a magnet for shells. We moved in close to take photos, and then a wave dislodged some of them. A very plausible bit of environmental art!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">On the way back to the car park we came across this plant in the woodland. I have no idea what it is - rare wildflower, escapee from a garden? Internet searches haven't turned anything up, so any information welcome. I may email a photo the countryside rangers for the area. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">mystery plant</td></tr>
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<br />Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-79829599930758401522015-08-09T12:50:00.002+01:002015-08-09T13:31:45.995+01:00Summer reading part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, this is part 1. I'm having a library binge this summer, and let's face it,our sodden, cold summer is just right for cosy evenings spent reading indoors, ideally in front of an open fire or wood-burning stove. Since we lack those in Edinburgh I can be found keeping warm sitting on the large squashy sofa under a soft Swedish throw. There is now a 'reading dent' in the sofa. We are desperate not to put on the central heating, so it's a case of that good Scottish solution of putting another layer on.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.hemtex.se/" target="_blank"></a><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am fascinated by the 1930s - literature, art, politics. I've read a lot about Britain in the period, but shamefully for a French graduate I'm rather ignorant of the feel of the decade in France. This is a fairly dense read, and it's not going to be too cheerful. Right now I'm still in the aftermath of the First World War and its effect on the French social and political psyche.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I want cheered up I turn to Ned Boulting's account of the 2014 Tour de France. This is funny in the category of "Oh no, Mum's laughing out loud at a book on a transatlantic flight" - blame Bill Bryson for that one. In fact I've enjoyed it so much I extended its loan period and am on my second reading. I now accept I'm going to have to buy it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Because I'm new to this following cycling lark, I've only just become aware of Matt Rendell. Matt is a freelance cycling commentator/author. During this year's Tour he did an exquisite interview in French with a former French cycling professional turned journalist about his sceptical comments on Chris Froome's performance. You can see it at the end of this short clip <a href="http://www.itv.com/tourdefrance/video-itv-reporter-matt-rendell-confronts-laurent-jalabert-over-froome-comments" target="_blank">here</a>. Just shows the power of being able to speak other languages. After all that I felt I should read Matt's book about the history of the Tour de France. As the French would say, 'j'ai appris des choses', discovering the even more extreme, punishing early days of the race, how the time trial and peleton came about, and how the race has adapted over the years. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A very pastoral, ideal-for summer read next - the life of an English meadow through a year. Poetic yet brutally realistic about nature. I've learned about moles harvesting worms and keeping them in suspended animation in worm-larders underground. The Wind in the Willows didn't mention that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ever since watching the original BBC TV series of Survivors in the late 1970s I've been fascinated by post-apocalyptic scenarios. That fascination has been tempered a bit since I've become a mother. No hospitals! dentists! pain relief! But without going as far as being a prepper I am concerned that we are really pretty helpless about even basic survival skills. This was a very technical book, some of which I glazed over because of my complete lack of scientific knowledge. I guess I could be useful growing food and making contact with French survivors. In fact this year's Scottish summer made me conclude that the only sensible thing to do would be to pack up here and head for the south of France, where at least post-apocalyptic misery would be slightly warmer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Last year I read a fascinating account of life in North Korea - a survival situation if ever there was one - by a former British diplomat there: 'Only Beautiful Please'. 'North Korea Undercover' is by a journalist who travelled to North Korea embedded in a party of students. There was a fuss about it in the news when the subterfuge came out. I was disappointed by this book - I felt it was sensationalist/tabloid-ish in parts, and I limped along to the end.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This account of six 19th century English women who made second lives in America is by one of my favourite travel writers. I've read all her other exploration books, but found this very difficult to warm to. There was a tenuous thread of the author's own inner turmoil at turning 50, but it came across to me as rather contrived. Oh dear, I've gone into lit crit mode. What impressed me in this book was the tenacity of these women at a time when they were expected just to fade out and grow old quietly, so perhaps it was a worthwhile read just for that message. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">That's another thing to add to my 'appreciating Edinburgh' list - great public libraries. </span><br />
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<br />Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-68336584170454063232015-07-30T22:00:00.002+01:002015-07-30T22:00:45.510+01:00Appreciating Edinburgh<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">A busy time at home and work = lack of blogging. And also, I have to admit, a certain fatigue with Edinburgh. We've lived here for 30 years now, and if one has to live in a city it's a rather lovely one. But still. I'm in danger of taking it for granted/being bored by it/longing to escape. One day we will escape, back to the north east, but for the moment our working lives are here and things are conspiring to prevent mini-escapes to hills or coast.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I've given myself a mental shake and decided to appreciate Edinburgh. What would I miss most, I asked myself, when we eventually move from the city? After all, its Old and New Towns have UNESCO World Heritage status. It has 12 festivals of culture throughout the year, with the peak in terms of volume coming with the International Festival and Festival Fringe in August. And art galleries and museums and gardens and trams. The answer, I was startled to discover, was...cafes. I told myself to think again, but the answer came back even more firmly, and I realised it was true and that I was unapologetic about it. Edinburgh has a blissful range of independent cafes, so that there's no need to darken the doors of a Starbucks or Costa. My nearest cafe corner is in the Canonmills area, beside the Water of Leith. Canonmills was originally a small village, and got its name from the Augustinian canons of Holyrood Abbey who had a watermill here from the 12th century. Jump forward several centuries and I present the Blue Bear cafe as top of my list for appreciating Edinburgh. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Photo credits are due to my daughter, who took these shots for me unasked. And if you're very observant you'll notice from the Christmas tree that they were taken a while ago. But at any time of year, what could be nicer than afternoon tea in these lovely flowery cups? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And some of the home baking.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What would you miss most about where you live at the moment, if you had to move? I'd love to see a blog post about it!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As well as the Christmas tree, you may also notice I've added an Instagram button to my sidebar. You'll find me at <a href="https://instagram.com/occasionalscotland/" target="_blank">@occasionalscotland</a>. I've been puddling around with Instagram for a bit, as much for my own interest as anything else. I still have to get round to adding any tags to my posts so I'm obviously not in it to maximise my followers! But I'm enjoying the immediacy of the thing, especially when my time for blogging is limited. What about you - are you attracted by Instagram? </span>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-47867679716807631542015-07-13T08:16:00.002+01:002015-07-13T08:16:58.093+01:00Tour de force<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's that time again - the Tour de France. I'm no cyclist, not having been on bike since my student days. Back then I used to cycle to the tennis courts on summer evenings, and cycle out with friends on the quiet country roads around the village. But over the past few years I've become besotted by the Tour de France, that epic 3 week unfolding drama. We holidayed in the Bordeaux area one year just before the Tour passed through, and it was evident in even the smallest of hamlets that something of the magnitude of a royal visit was about to happen. Everything that could be was painted, swept, polished, renovated. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">And unlike a royal visit, no-one would even stop - unless they fell off.</span> I started watching the race on TV. At first it was the footage of France that drew me in. Then gradually, almost without noticing, I began to pick up some of the technicalities. And now it's a highlight of my year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's one thing to watch it from the comfort of the sofa, but almost unimaginably another to ride the actual route within the same timeframe, a week in advance of the Tour itself. However that's what a friend is doing this year - riding the route for charity. The <a href="https://www.tourdeforce.org.uk/" target="_blank">Tour de Force</a> takes riders on some or all of the stages of that year's Tour, raising money for the William Wates Memorial Trust to help the most disadvantaged young people keep away from a life of crime and violence and fulfill their potential. Imagine riding the daily hell of the Tour without having chosen this as a career, without the corporate resource of the big cycling teams, without years of finely-tuned training programmes. Have a look at <a href="http://www.tonydoestdf.com/" target="_blank">Tony Does TDF</a> and you'll see someone doing just that - and perhaps consider donating to the charity if you feel moved to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">You weren't going to get photo of me on a bike to illustrate this post, so I popped out from work to take some cycling-themed photos in the neighbourhood. The last photo below is one of the bike stores for cycle commuters at the University of Edinburgh. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And bon courage to Tony as he approaches the Alps! </span><br /><br />
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<br />Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-11111562479037652692015-07-06T22:07:00.001+01:002015-07-06T22:08:37.564+01:00Woeful failure to take photos<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1I0do2XwbYwRMwGgjDOHESjSikvtI7RjWSXR8PhmVO55znp8mCsiiWEWsu2dY44dq3KQ3hpGc2of00scZzhR3WEYa-85P_wULFPaPjay4HJPCA3QMZJ5SNn_LwRvYSVc79pPm_VVZ7yP/s1600/July0011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1I0do2XwbYwRMwGgjDOHESjSikvtI7RjWSXR8PhmVO55znp8mCsiiWEWsu2dY44dq3KQ3hpGc2of00scZzhR3WEYa-85P_wULFPaPjay4HJPCA3QMZJ5SNn_LwRvYSVc79pPm_VVZ7yP/s640/July0011.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Shard, from Citizen M Bankside</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Not much photo-taking going on. I'm still on the tram lines of get up-go to work-come home-slump. I will blog more about this in my next post. We had a long weekend in London recently - things have been too busy for us to plan a summer holiday, so this was as close as we're going to get this year. Since this is a blog about Scotland I shouldn't really be compensating by filling it with London. In fact I hardly reached for my camera all weekend. I just felt like enjoying the time rather than documenting it. However I did take a few extremely random photos. Above, a glimpse of the Shard from our hotel, <a href="https://www.citizenm.com/destinations/london/london-bankside-hotel" target="_blank">Citizen M Bankside</a>. First time I've ever found staying in a hotel fun - I didn't realise the concept existed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Below, a place I really love - the Royal Festival Hall. We got to know it very well when our children played in a national Suzuki concert there. This time we were at closing concert of the Philharmonia's season - Bartok, Mozart and Beethoven. It was absolutely sublime. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Royal Festival Hall</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After the concert we walked back to the hotel along the river, taking photos of that major London landmark - clouds.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clouds playing pat-a-cake over London skyline</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The only other photo to emerge from the weekend is this totally unsatisfactory one taken in the Chelsea Physic Garden. The garden was lovely and interesting and educational, but fiendishly difficult for photos, because it just looked like a large kitchen garden with some information panels. I don't really mean 'just', and perhaps much of its charm is to be a garden that looks achievable rather than ferocious. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0XldGxkfuPznZ4bq42ktpxzQGOnM3EseEjC0Orp78EqKySh3aQMGv7U2t3vZP8_c4P4DeEkK_qDeihuEAhE1Gs18VOdnDgpUVINReRas-0SoFmxidAy1i_69jJZVnIZviGUBihu_5Rqxz/s1600/July0014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0XldGxkfuPznZ4bq42ktpxzQGOnM3EseEjC0Orp78EqKySh3aQMGv7U2t3vZP8_c4P4DeEkK_qDeihuEAhE1Gs18VOdnDgpUVINReRas-0SoFmxidAy1i_69jJZVnIZviGUBihu_5Rqxz/s640/July0014.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chelsea Physic Garden</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The main reason for our visit was to see the exhibition of watercolours by <a href="http://www.dulwichpicturegallery.org.uk/whats-on/exhibitions/2015/april/ravilious/" target="_blank">Eric Ravilious</a> at Dulwich Picture Gallery. I absolutely love the work of Ravilious. After we'd queued to get in and then gone round the exhibition, my long-suffering husband said 'I suppose you want to go round again?'. And of course I did.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Back in Edinburgh I was lucky enough to see something that's been tantalizing me on weather and cloud sites, but I began to doubt would ever be a feature of Edinburgh's skis. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mammatus_cloud" target="_blank">Mammatus clouds</a>! They're associated with thunder clouds, which aren't very frequent here. However, we've had a couple of thunderstorms this week, <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-33359707" target="_blank">one of which</a> I slept through, and in the morning on looking out of the window (which had been open wide all night) thought, 'oh, there's been a bit of a shower of rain in the night'. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mammatus clouds!</td></tr>
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<br />Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-4593342008900621762015-06-23T08:00:00.002+01:002015-06-23T08:00:15.211+01:00Where are the songs of spring?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;">"Ay, where are they?" You might recognise the questions of the title and the previous line as coming from Keats' 'Ode to Autumn'. Since I'm going to be poetic with my nearly-annual Matthew Arnold post, I might as well start that way. And with the weather we've had all through May and June it's as if we're searching for spring, with a troubling fear that we're already turning towards autumn. We are still putting the heating on in the evenings, I'm still wearing what I grandly call 'my winter wardrobe' to work (winter-weight trousers, long sleeved tops and cardigans, with a scarf round my neck for extra warmth, and wondering if I can climb back into my winter duvet coat), and several times recently I've set off for the allotment wearing <i>three</i> fleeces. </span></div>
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Some of the ingredients of Matthew Arnold's 'tempestuous morn' are here: volleying rain and tossing breeze, but the primal burst of bloom struggled onto the scene, and generally everything has been late and slow. The May blossom was still coming out in early June. My personal marker of the passing of the seasons, the cow parsley, arrived late and is still flowering up on Speyside.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> "So, some tempestuous morn in early June,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">When the year's primal burst of bloom is o'er,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Before the roses and the longest day -</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">When garden-walks and all the grassy floor</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">With blossoms red and white of fallen May</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">And chestnut-flowers are strewn -</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">So have I heard the cuckoo's parting cry,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">From the wet field, through the vext garden-trees,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Come with the volleying rain and tossing breeze;</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-style: italic;">The bloom is gone, and with the bloom go I!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Matthew Arnold, <i>Thrysis</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">We travelled north on Friday through the central highlands, and saw snow lingering on all the hills.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was a weekend of darkness at the lightest time of the year. Below is the view from my father's garden, as another heavy cloud settled over the village. We feel cheated of the lovely long evenings as we sit indoors or go out for quick, brisk walks. Despite that, the span of daylight at this time of year is a wonderful thing. On Saturday night I went to bed at 10.30 pm and it was still light. During the night we had to get a medical visit for my dad, and so we were up at 3 a.m. It was daylight again.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">There are still blooms of course. The white lilac in the photo above is beautiful, and this clematis in my dad's garden holds all the blue of the skies we can't see just now. This is the first time for many years that we've visited at this moment when this clematis is out. I felt a bit like <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/profiles/P2MRnqkcrs2YVBzDdDV8yY/monty-don" target="_blank">Monty Don</a>, banished to boarding school and missing all the unfolding and blossoming going on in the garden at home.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">The next verse of Matthew Arnold's poem goes on to describe the 'high midsummer pomps' of the garden. I'll settle for mid-level pomps and a bit of warmth and sun. </span>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-77242557881738976662015-06-13T08:41:00.001+01:002015-06-13T08:41:49.375+01:00Inside looking out...and back<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Blogs recently have been full of celebrations of May, that most perfect of months. I have lived vicariously through them, as most of my May was spent inside looking out, typically from my office or a meeting room. June is going the same way, hence my absence from blogging. The view above gives a tantalising view I had recently. If you have to spend a morning in a meeting room it's not a bad view, perched among the tree branches and looking out over Edinburgh's Meadows. Whenever I'm at a meeting here I make an unseemly dash to claim a seat that gives me trees rather than wall.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And there are distant horizons to dream over (once the meeting has finished, of course). This is the view south, over the rooftops of Marchmont to the Pentland Hills.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have been captivated by the Pentlands as Edinburgh's southern horizon since I was four years old. We used to visit a cousin of my father's in the genteel Edinburgh suburb of Colinton every summer, driving down the resolutely single-lane-each-way road on an all-day marathon. At one particularly twisty, hilly stretch (Glenfarg, for anyone who remembers what it used to be like) we always seemed to get behind a fish lorry toiling uphill, fishy liquor spilling from its crates. I remember lots of 'are we there yets', lots of singing to keep me amused, stops for lunch in cold, white-tableclothed hotel dining rooms and a lunch menu which always started with tiny glasses of tinned tomato juice. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Below is the house we stayed in. I took this photo a few years ago when my daughter was at the Edinburgh International Harp Festival nearby and I had escaped for a nostalgic wander around Colinton. Of course it seems smaller to me now, and the new owners have unforgivably changed some things. The front lawn used to be sunk, surrounded by a low mossy wall. The driveway used to be lined with yellow Welsh poppies and wild strawberries. The garage is still the same on the outside at least, and I could almost imagine our cousin, cloche hat on her head, setting off for the village shops in her little Morris Minor.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the photo below I see that 'they' have built an extension at the back - on the drying green where Mae, our cousin's daily help, hung out the washing. Behind the house the garden stretched away back at both sides. Where the tall birch tree is there used to be a tennis court, gradually becoming overgrown by birch saplings around the margins even then, but with the net still saggingly in place, and a little wooden pavillion to one side for Pimms and chat after the match. Orange hawkweed was gradually colonising the red clay surface of the courts. Until I was nearly five we lived in my grandmother's large house in the country, and I spent a lot of time outside in the huge garden. As an only child I was more familiar with the plants in that garden than with other children, and so I remember the shock of seeing hawkweed for the first time. It was as if I'd met an exotic new person. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But back to the Pentlands. The whole interior of the house retained its original 1930s decor. Black carpets and white sofas and chairs in the living room - fantastic. The bathroom in particular</span> <span style="font-size: large;">was glorious - all black and white tiles and a massive chrome heated towel rail. </span><span style="font-size: large;">My parents had the bow-windowed bedroom at the front of the house, decorated in a primrose yellow, including the luxury of a primrose yellow wash-hand basin. Not a colour scheme used in north east Scotland at that time! What fascinated me more than the decor - actually transfixed me - were the hills that rose steeply in a gap between two copper beech trees in the opposite garden. I was well used to hills, growing up on Speyside, and I still can't pin down what it was that fascinated me. I'm not sure I want to, because then the mystery, the longing I felt and still feel would escape. When I stood outside the house taking photos I wanted more than anything to ring the doorbell and ask to stand at that bedroom window again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So my recent meeting room did have the consolation of bringing me back my Pentlands view. And I did concentrate on the task at hand - most of the time...</span>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-52676486752728715572015-05-29T20:12:00.001+01:002015-05-29T20:12:56.056+01:00Flag time again!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">The flags are out again at our house, dancing in a stiff northerly wind. Our son arrived home today after a year in Australia followed by a month wending his way back via Hawai'i, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Maryland. I can't begin to tell you how happy we are to see him!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The temperature drop is something he's going to have to get used to. I took the shot below when we arrived in the car park at Edinburgh airport. Clouds like that anvil-headed beauty have been passing over all day. On the way to the airport we drove through an onslaught not just of hail, but of chunks of ice.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Airport welcomes home always make me emotional. We had lots of hugs today, and a few tears. And on the subject of tears, I defy anyone to watch the T-Mobile 'welcome back' video and not shed a tear.</span><br />
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<br />Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-9230166803334099722015-05-11T21:11:00.002+01:002015-05-11T21:11:16.523+01:00Skyline changes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's not often that we have changes to the skyline right in the centre of Edinburgh, unlike <a href="http://occasionalscotland.blogspot.co.uk/2015/03/glasgow-old-and-new.html" target="_blank">Glasgow</a> which seems to be in perpetual motion. Overall it's a fairly low-rise city. </span> <span style="font-size: large;">There are some tower blocks of social housing on the periphery, but the Unesco World Heritage status of the Old Town (which is fairly old, at 16th & 17th century), and the New Town (which is still quite old, being 18th century</span>) <span style="font-size: large;">keeps things in check.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's surprising therefore to see cranes at work just off Princes Street. I thought they made an interesting counterpoint to the Gothic spire of the Scott Monument. A Victorian building and a 1960's building have been demolished on the corner of St Andrew Square, and a new glass boxy thing is going up. I admit that I don't have a very good architectural eye, but I get a bit depressed by the standard stuff that is going up in our cities. Am I being too retro, surrounded as I am by medieval/Georgian/Victorian character? Can anyone help me to see the beauty in a glass box?</span><br />
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<br />Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-78828663745682009172015-05-09T08:32:00.000+01:002015-05-09T18:10:20.137+01:00Another walk, another loch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">We returned to Edinburgh by the twisting inland route through Braemar and Glenshee, which gave us the chance to fit in another walk before returning to the city. I will write more soon about my Edinburgh gloom, but for just now let's have another sunny day out in the hills. The road south from Braemar passes the starting point of the walk to Loch Callater</span>, <span style="font-size: large;">another easy walk on the flat of about 7 miles.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The path is part of a track known as 'Jock's Road', which refers to a key episode in the history of Scottish land access when in the late nineteenth century the owner of the estate in this area tried to ban all access to the estate. John Winter ('Jock') fought for the right to walk this route, which followed the track of an old cattle drove road used to drive cattle to markets in the south. Legal action in the case went as far as the House of Lords. The case led to the passing of the Scottish Rights of Way Act. Recently in 2005 the Scottish Land Reform Act gave further rights to walkers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Some sections of the bank beside the burn were planted with native trees, in a similar conservation effort to the one we'd seen at Loch Muick. It all looked very bare and contrived, and I'd love to return in a few years to see the trees looking more natural in the landscape.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">At the approach to the loch is Callater Loch Lodge. The building with the green shutters is used for shooting and deer-stalking parties from the estate. To the right are the former stables, now used as a bothy for overnight shelter by walkers. We had a chat with an estate worker who was doing work on the interior of the lodge. He was accompanied by a huge Rhodesian Ridgeback dog, who turned out to be a real softie. I was glad all the same that we were introduced to him as friends. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It turned out that the man we were talking to had built the cairn standing on a hillock just beyond the lodge, in celebration of the Queen's diamond jubilee. He told us all about how he'd built it, sourcing a stone from every farm on the estate. After such a build-up we felt we had no option but to climb up and take a respectful look at it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here it is from the other side, all solemn and loyal in its lonely setting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We had lunch beside the loch, listening to the wind and the cry of a curlew, and watching a diver out on the water.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Behind us, pools in the heather teemed with yet more frogs. Here's one adopting 'classic frog sunbathing posture'.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">You've maybe noticed that everything is still wintry-brown. Spring comes late in the hills here. There were some startling patches of colour however from mosses in the boggier sections near the burn.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The twisted black stems are burnt heather branches; the aftermath of the practice of muir-burn.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Back in the car and heading south, we passed Glenshee, one of Scotland's ski areas. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Just downhill from the ski area we came across large heather fires. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Two days of walking in the spring sun left us with the classic Scottish walkers' suntan, which stops abruptly at mid neck and wrists. Still, I would rather have that than the lying on a beach sort.</span>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-64379068914306038472015-05-03T22:19:00.000+01:002015-05-05T07:26:57.627+01:00Loch Muick spring visit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Our <a href="http://occasionalscotland.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/loch-muick_16.html" target="_blank">first visit to Loch Muick</a> (pronounced 'mick') was in late summer of 2013. Yes, mid-August in Scotland is late summer. The heather was coming into bloom and the light was soft and hazy. This year we spent a few days on Deeside just after Easter, and made a return visit on a day of hard, bright sun and a thin wind. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">There were still patches of snow on the hills, although none at the lower level of our walk. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The circuit of the loch is an easy 8 miles. On the north side there's a broad track, which feels a bit like cheating, but was fine for me to get going again after being under par with the wretched pleurisy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We came across a fenced section, and stopped to read the lengthy notice.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Love the email address!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We saw no evidence of the browsing deer. Apart from some birds of prey, our encounters with wildlife were of the miniature variety: all along the side of the track on the uphill side were large pools of water full of frogspawn. Pools below a certain size had no frogspawn - evidently the frog brain had calculated that they risked drying out too soon. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And every pool also had its sunbathing frog. I couldn't decide if they were smug because of their large output of frogs-to-be (although the mortality rate must be huge), or smiling because they were basking in the sun after a very long winter. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Overhead we kept seeing two planes flying in parallel, very high up.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">They criss-crossed the sky from north to south and back again several times. We put it down to a NATO exercise that we had heard about, but when I checked later I found that it wasn't due to start until the following week. Rather spooky.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here's a good solid holiday cottage - at least if you're Queen Victoria. Called </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Glas-allt Shiel, it was her retreat from Balmoral Castle.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Towards the head of the loch there's a tantalizing route into the more remote Dubh Loch and its waterfalls. We didn't have time to branch off, but we'll definitely explore further on a return visit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Easter Island-like boulders litter the hillside.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A rare sighting of me on my blog, looking extremely happy to be outside and out of the city. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What more perfect end to the day than a deep, candle-lit bath?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For my husband, who likes the stuff, some port.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And a comfortable four-poster bed with a view of red squirrels in the trees outside the window.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We stayed again at <a href="http://www.glendavanhouse.com/" target="_blank">Glendavan House</a>, which was just as lovely as before. I think we're hooked - perhaps an autumn visit next time?</span>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-5320177949410914072015-04-17T21:20:00.002+01:002015-04-18T09:19:19.972+01:00Pagentry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">The University of St Andrews has a lively array of traditions, from <a href="http://www.visitstandrews.com/whatisraisinweeken/" target="_blank">Raisin Monday</a> (can't possibly explain in a few words) to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXb2aWbMVgk" target="_blank">May Dip</a> (students run in to the freezing North Sea at dawn on May Day). Courtesy of a resident source, </span> <span style="font-size: large;">here's another tradition - the Kate Kennedy procession. Students in the procession portray characters from the University's 600 year history, including Robert the Bruce, John Cleese, Mary Queen of Scots and Rudyard Kipling. Kate Kennedy herself was apparently the niece of Bishop Kennedy, the founder of the University's St Salvator's College. The character of Kate is played each year by a first year male student. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was the end of a long working week during which I had written goodness knows how many thousand words when I wrote this post, and my brain rather ran out of words at this point. So this paragraph is an update to the original, to mention that the university's Kate Kennedy Club, which stages the procession, originally only accepted male members. The club is a mixture of charitable good works and highly selective entry processes. Prince William was a member when he was at St Andrews. When the first female Principal of the university, Louise Richardson, arrived in 2009, she withdrew university support for the club because it excluded students on gender grounds. By 2012 the club had abandoned its men-only policy. The Principal has been involved in another gender issue: the university's Principal is traditionally made an honorary member of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club in St Andrews. However because she is a woman the Club refused to extend membership to Professor Richardson. Recently the Club voted to admit female members, but Professor Richardson was not among the first 15 women admitted. Small minds. <a href="http://www.dsl.ac.uk/entry/snd/laldie" target="_blank">Gie them laldie</a>, Louise! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Back to the now calmer waters of the procession. Horses are involved. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As are bishops.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I wish I could tell you who these characters are. A rich mixture.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And of course when there are horses involved there is always the moment when someone doesn't look where they're stepping.</span><br />
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<br />Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-23523165896709820642015-04-06T20:39:00.002+01:002015-04-06T20:41:07.578+01:00A proper walk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">As promised, some photos from a 'proper' walk, involving a hill of a decent height. They're from my daughter's recent trip to Skye with her university hillwalking club. For once they had decent weather - they seem to have spent the autumn and winter walking inside a cloud - but on this occasion the clouds fled and she actually got sunburnt. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The shot above is looking towards the bridge linking Skye to the mainland. Before the bridge was built the crossing was made by small car ferries, of the turntable sort that still make the crossing at the south end of the island. We crossed on one of these on a <a href="http://occasionalscotland.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/leaving-skye-glenelg-ferry.html" target="_blank">summer visit</a> to Skye a few years ago.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The shot below is looking towards the destination for the day's walking - the Storr and the Old Man of Storr. The Old Man is the pinnacle you can see halfway down the slope to the right of the shot. My daughter's group walked to it up along the ridge leading from the left of the shot. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And here's the Old Man from up top.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And one of those 'it was worth it' views.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A glimpse of sunrise, from the hostel the group stayed at. The sun is rising over the mainland of Scotland. </span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And to finish, some deer posing for photos. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately the group's latest walk again encountered clouds, made more challenging by the fact that it was the annual fancy dress walk. Anyone who encountered bizarrely-clad walkers on a Scottish mountain recently - one of them was mine. </span>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-56628260605909012522015-03-29T22:25:00.002+01:002015-03-29T22:29:08.313+01:00A bit of a walk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">And a bit of an absence from blogging. I've been ill, annoyingly. The very Victorian-sounding ailment of pleurisy. Stupidly I've tried to keep working through it, which hasn't helped. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This had an impact on a weekend away we'd planned. </span> <span style="font-size: large;">The intention had been to climb 'a few Munros'. This was our daughter's idea - she's a keen hillwalker and decided she would get her parents out of the city and out onto the hills. For anyone who doesn't realise the significance of the Munros bit, the Munros are Scottish hills over 3000 feet. The classification dates from 1891, when Sir Hugh Munro published his Munro tables. There's now a popular Scottish...sport?interest?obsession? of 'Munro bagging', as hillwalkers try to climb all 282 summits. 3000 feet may not sound very high by Alpine standards, but some of them are ferociously difficult, requiring compass navigation - no tracks - and knife-edge ridges. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">With my dodgy breathing a Munro was beyond me, so we settled for a bit of a walk up into the hills above Aberfeldy, in Perthshire (and managed 8.6 miles all the same). The start of the walk was up through beechwoods, a walk made famous by Robert Burns' poem 'The Birks of Aberfeldy'. And here's a statue of Burns, enjoying his birks in perpetuity. He seems to be multi-tasking in the way of today's teenagers, holding a tablet or Kindle while also reading a book. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We took a look at his paper reading material. Anyone recognise it?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We came across prehistoric-looking trees. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And waterfalls, celebrated by Burns in his poem:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The braes ascend like lofty wa's, <br /> The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, <br /> O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws- <br /> The birks of Aberfeldy. <br /> The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, <br /> White o'er the linns the burnie<a href="http://www.robertburns.org/works/glossary/283.html"></a> pours, <br /> And rising, weets wi' misty showers <br /> The birks of Aberfeldy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And then it was up onto the open moor.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We saw a huge number of black grouse, which was encouraging given that they're in a category of a globally threatened species. They don't exactly help themselves by being supremely bad at being unobtrusive, breaking cover at the slightest noise, and making their distinctive harsh call. I didn't have enough zoom on my camera to get a good shot of this one, but you can hopefully see it perched on the wall, with its red comb standing out against the heather.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As so often now in Scotland, there was a wind farm on the horizon. I'm very ambivalent about windfarms. Clean energy is good, but the impact on the landscape is huge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Even less scenic was this row of dead moles, strung on a fence in a sort of medieval visual deterrent. I wasn't aware that Mr Mole was considered a pest, but having googled it I discover that if silage is cut in a field with mole hills it cases listeriosis in the livestock that eat it, which can kill them or make them abort. This puzzles me about this upland thin grass, as it doesn't look too good for silage. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And we had a spot of spring heather burning - this is done to keep the heather young and vigourous. The practice is known as 'muirburn', and it's governed by legislation. The green shoots of the new heather growth are eaten by grouse, so the burning is part of a larger cycle. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And finally, an unusual sight now in Scotland - a thatched roof. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This was very near the very lovely bed and breakfast we stayed in. If you're looking for somewhere to stay in the Aberfeldy area, I'd recommend <a href="http://www.steadingaberfeldy.co.uk/" target="_blank">The Steading</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In my next post, I'll give you a glimpse of the view from a Munro.</span>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-40477078205814646562015-03-11T22:02:00.002+00:002015-03-11T22:02:33.144+00:00Kilgore Rangerettes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">The University of Edinburgh's Old College quad is used for various performances during the summer arts festival, but things aren't so exciting during the rest of the year. However this week the </span> <span style="font-size: large;">Kilgore Rangerettes from east Texas performed as part of their 75th anniversary tour of Scotland and Ireland. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the shot above the performers are just about to land on the grass in the splits. I didn't get a photo because I was too surprised. Ouch - I can't begin to imagine how they practise that. As we say in Scots - they're 'gey swack' - very supple. When I googled 'swack' I was startled to discover that it means something...very different, if you come from San Diego. </span>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-57283654359580406752015-03-07T17:28:00.002+00:002015-03-07T17:28:35.221+00:00Glasgow old and new<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've been working in Glasgow all week, but with very long working days </span> <span style="font-size: large;">there's been no time to get out and explore the city. The most I can show you is the view from my hotel bedroom. Glasgow is much larger than Edinburgh and the cityscape always says 'big city' to me. I feel as if I'm visiting from a village in the country by comparison. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is a city in movement, summed up for me by my 6th floor view: sadly derelict Victorian sandstone building, complete with blurred carvings, chimney pots and tiny attic casements, beside a gap left by a demolition, and then the modern high rises beyond. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And more of the same in the other direction. I hope the building in the first picture, with its hobbit-like cupolas and dormers, will be restored, but it did look as if it was being left to fall into decay. Pity. I felt like starting a charity for abandoned buildings, it tugged at my heart-strings so much. </span></div>
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<br />Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-1869220971002088082015-02-22T09:34:00.000+00:002015-02-22T09:34:16.664+00:00Happiness in bitter cold<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm biased of course, but there's nothing that can lift winter-dulled spirits better than a day of bitter cold, pure Northern skies and the wide expanse of the North Sea. Scotland's coastline from the Moray Firth down to the Kingdom of Fife is in my blood. My forebears fished out of the small Moray Firth ports, venturing round the tip of Scotland to the West coast, but most often following the herring down the East coast as far as Great Yarmouth in England. Family tradition has it that on one occasion my grandfather's boat reached as far as Calais, where touching attempts at speaking French were deployed. The crew asked for directions to the 'postie-officie' - because at a time before domestic telephones the first thing to be done on reaching any port was to send a postcard home to announce the safe arrival: "Made the land in [insert port]. All well." Fresh food was the next priority - with my grandfather asking in a baker's shop for 'one breada'. My grandfather died before I reached my teens. I like to think he would have been amazed and proud that his granddaughter became fluent in the language that he and his crew tried to negotiate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday we were in St Andrews on just such a spirit-lifting day. The shot above is of the cathedral ruins. Built on the site of earlier churches, the cathedral dates from 1160. In its time it was Scotland's greatest cathedral, but tragically was left to fall into ruin during the Protestant Reformation. You can read more about the cathedral at the <a href="http://www.historic-scotland.gov.uk/index/places/propertyresults/propertyabout.htm?PropID=PL_249&PropName=St%20Andrews%20Cathedral" target="_blank">Historic Scotland</a> site. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">From the grandeur of the ruins to intimate acts of remembrance: we came across these hand-knittted poppies on the cathedral railings. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The small stone pier always draws us when we're in St Andrews.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lobster creels were piled up on the quayside, and we watched a boat returning from setting some out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For all its wide horizons and medieval grandeur, St
Andrews is a very intimate place. On the pier I noticed this fragment
of china set into the surface. I'm sorry it's a blurry image - the sun
was so bright that I couldn't see if my wee camera was in focus. You'll
notice some splashes of red. We saw these all along the pier, and
after the first lurid thought - "historic blood of medieval martyrs" -
realised that they were candle wax. There is a long tradition of St
Andrews University students processing along the pier in their red
undergraduate gowns after the Sunday service in the University chapel. </span> <span style="font-size: large;">However that is in the middle of the day, and however
dark it gets in Scotland in winter I doubt if these processions are
candle-lit. There is a candle-lit procession on 30 April each year, in
memory of student <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Honey" target="_blank">John Honey</a>,
so perhaps the wax has endured the year since then. Or it may be from
an informal Christmas celebration. Archaelogical mystery!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The intimate also extends to the size of some houses.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And to the decorated windows that can be found around the town.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Today the sky is flat and grey, with snow forecast. It's good to have yesterday's brightness to look back on. </span>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8341202594941781572.post-36709284432893029742015-02-16T21:52:00.000+00:002015-02-16T21:52:18.772+00:00Above the city<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Last Saturday we were desperate to escape the city, even for a few hours. With the Pentland Hills just to the south of Edinburgh it's easy to have a morning's breathing space without having to spend too long getting there. This is the view north across the west of Edinburgh towards the river Forth and the hills of Fife beyond. Immediately above the trees are the housing blocks of Wester Hailes. I remember as a child coming down to Edinburgh for summer holidays in the 1960s - we used to drive on a narrow, winding road through open fields where this housing estate now stands. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">On Saturday the Forth was hidden by fog, but the two bridges were standing clear. The three triangles in the middle of the shot - like an iron Toblerone - is the upper structure of the Forth rail bridge, </span> <span style="font-size: large;">and the slender pillars to the left are the road bridge. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Even at this height, after a stiff pull uphill, there was considerable traffic noise from the city bypass below. But turn and face away from the city and you could be on a remote hillside anywhere in Scotland.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Looking east, you can see what a superb defensive position Edinburgh castle occupies on its rock. </span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We passed by the frozen Bonaly reservoir, one of Edinburgh's water sources. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was so good to get away from pavements and out among heather and bleached winter grass and icy snow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The slight drawback of the Pentlands, if there is one, is that parts are used as an army training area, complete with occasional live firing. The Ministry of Defence tells you smartly what's what: "</span><span style="font-size: large;">Live firing is restricted to the Live Firing Range at Castlelaw. The
primary land use is for military dry training (i.e. use of blank
ammunition). Red flags (daytime) and lamps (night-time) are flown/shown
when firing is taking place and walkers are not allowed into this Danger
Area."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I love this sign - it looks as if there's very choreographed troop training going on. Or line dancing. </span><br />
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<br />Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11269887100694066103noreply@blogger.com8