Books are awesome. We all know this. Books transport us, enlighten us, encourage us and so much more. Every now and then books can give a real punch to the gut that can leave the reader reeling, such as reading something unexpectedly pertinent to this moment.
While I deeply and sincerely hope the Palestine-Israeli ceasefire holds and moves forward to a peaceful and equitable solution, today I read about the Hebron shoemaker who put a tiny bit of Palestinian soil into the shoes he made so that his customers – refugees, the deported and departed, and those denied return ‘can always stand on a tiny piece of their land.’ (James Crawford, The Edge of the Plain: How borders make and break our world. 2022, Edinburgh, Cannongate) pp. 160-61.
I can only hopelessly and helplessly try to imagine the only contact I have with my country is a piece of soil in my shoe, forever divorced from the land from which it came. There, but for circumstances beyond our control, go all of us.
I’m not sure if, at the age of 63, I am early or late to the Art of Swedish Death Cleaning. The hyper-organised will have been doing it all their lives while the cluttered collectors among us will likely continue to look the other way. I have decided to embrace it and have begun the process slowly.
In a nutshell, for those uninitiated into the practice, Swedish Death Cleaning is the process of decluttering life of old and unnecessary items. It can be clothing, souvenirs, books, photographs, anything that you have collected over the years but now has no meaning to you or has served its function and is taking up space. Unlike other organisational methods, Death Cleaning is ultimately about saving our loved ones the task of clearing out our belongings after we die. Having had to clear out my parents’ home it is part sorrowful honour and part dreadful chore, part grief-wrenching and part joyous memory-bringing but mostly it is constantly yelling into the void, ‘What the hell do you want me to do with this?’ It is something I would like to spare my loved ones when I pop off in my viking burial ship. (That’s a whole other post).
When I mention my plan to others there is a certain horrified look that comes across their faces so I will say here that I have not been informed of a life-limiting condition and neither do I have an intention of shuffling off this mortal coil any time soon. If I do die during or shortly after my Year of Swedish Death Cleaning know that I have no premonition of my demise and I forbid anyone suggesting I did! Thankfully, we are mostly unaware of when Death will visit and in the meantime I will enjoy every minute I have while also, hopefully, making it easier for those I love the most.
So far, several boxes and bags of clothing and books have made their way to charity shops. Clothes that I have been saving for ‘when they will fit again’ (never) and books that moved from the TBR (to be read) pile to the DNF (did not finish) pile. Having been a life-long ‘I must finish every book I start’, I am a recent and happy convert to the ‘Nope, not reading more of this’ bibliophile. Another liberation of old(er) age, perhaps.
However, Death Cleaning is not only about getting rid of things. I have recently completed a catalogue of all our DVDs, Blurays and CDs. Older technology that I still want to keep around but in the event of my death will be easier to find, sort, and chuck/take/give to new home. Photographs have all been labelled, too. People we know and love will not necessarily be familiar to younger generations and once we are gone so too is the ability to know what our friends and ancestors looked like. If only one task is performed in the process of cleaning, let it be labelling photographs for the next generation. You never know which one of our descendents will become interested in the family tree.
I will also be able to leave notes about items that mean something to me and why. A silly souvenir from a holiday will mean nothing to anyone cleaning up after me but in this way they will at least know why it is there, what it meant, perhaps giving a tiny insight into my life of which they may have been unaware. It doesn’t mean they have to preserve it but they will understand why it has been left.
Swedish Death Cleaning may not be to everyone’s taste and that is absolutely fine. However, I do urge everyone to at least make a will. Grief at the passing of a loved one does not need a companion in despair of doing the ‘right thing’ or second guessing what you really want to happen.
Besides, How would I have wiled away an hour finding out about how the internet worked in 2000!
The New Year can bring resolutions, revelations, and uncertainty but one event is a constant in my life. Since I was a post-graduate I have been a member of The Study Group on the Russian Revolution, which holds its annual conference in the first week of January. It provides delegates with the chance to hear new research on a broad range of subjects connected to late Imperial Russia, the Revolutions in 1917, the Civil War and covers social, political, military and cultural topics. Over the years it has been held in various university cities in the UK and even in Belgium. This year it was in Southampton.
After the conference this year I spent an extra night in the hotel as there wasn’t a flight available until the following day. I arranged to go out to dinner with a colleague in similar circumstances and agreed to meet in the foyer at an agreed time. As I went towards the lift to go down from my room at the appointed time two young boys, about 10 years old, were also waiting for the lift. One decided he would take the stairs and shouted, ‘Race you!’ as he disappeared round the corner.
Game on! I thought, as the lift doors opened. ‘Quick, push the button!’ I encouraged the other boy. He smiled shyly and shrugged. ‘He will probably win’, he said, resignedly. Down went the lift and … stopped on the first floor! Oh no! Now we had most certainly lost the challenge. However, no one was waiting to get on! ‘Your friend pushed the call button as he ran past!’ I gasped.
‘Oh no he wouldn’t do that’ he replied aghast that I would suggest it! However, as we reached the ground floor and the doors opened there was his friend leisurely tying his shoe laces, as if to tell us he had been waiting a long time. My traveling companion looked at me with sadness and realisation in his eyes ‘He did, didn’t he!’ He had discovered treachery!
It has been a difficult year. Not in any tragic or dramatic sense but simply a year that has seemed without meaningful purpose or direction. When I turned sixty, three years ago, I actively sought out new challenges and directions for my life. I love being ‘old’ enough to be what and who I want, leaving behind a less confident, overly self-conscious self and embracing my own worth, appreciating my experiences and relishing new adventures, and even though I have enjoyed taking on new and fulfilling ventures, this year has felt a little rudderless.
One of the greatest joys of life in recent years has been my promotion to grandparenthood. Our eldest granddaughter arrived shortly after I turned 60 and has been instrumental in keeping me ‘on my toes’ (because, quite frankly, it is difficult to get up off my knees when playing on the floor!) I love seeing her, and her fellow girl gang members (there are now three granddaughters) growing and experiencing the world around them.
She visited yesterday. While playing a new game I mentioned she was ‘a clever girl.’ Her response, which has become a bit of a mantra recently, was a very determined, ‘I, Isla’. I wondered how she would describe me so asked, ‘Who am I?’ Without looking up from her game she responded very matter-of-factly, ‘You, Baba.’ Baba is the name I chose to be known as, short for babushka. ‘But, I’m Jenny’ I prodded a little further to see her reaction. She shook her head a little, again without looking up from her game, ‘You, Baba’.
‘I am also Jenny’ I added again, to see if she could understand a little of the complexity of identity. Her response was forceful. Looking up, she put her little hand on my chest and looked me straight in the eye – sometimes, Babas need to be instructed very directly! ‘You. Baba.’ she stated very determinedly.
In those 2 words, from the heart of a 3-year-old, I suddenly rediscovered my purpose. Whatever the future holds and whatever new adventures await I shall meet them all head on as Baba! What fun I am going to have!
Day two of our fesitval jaunt was our most varied. We began in a leisurely manner at the Book Festival listening to Richart T. Kelly talk about his new book, The Black Eden, set in Scotland over the period of discovery and early exploration for oil. I hadn’t read the book as it only came out in July. Our interest was in the subject matter but I was intrigued enough to want to buy the book too. I usually manage a couple of visits to the book festival but this year I only managed to fit in one. The festival bookshop is always a wonderful place to spend some free time and a stroll along the shelves browsing the collections. Unfortunately, I really have not taken to the new venue at Edinburgh College of Art. It feels seperated from all the other events and bustle of Edinburgh in August. I loved the old location on Charlotte Square, which felt like it was in the heart of the many festivals going on at the same time, and look forward to visiting their permanent new location in 2024 which will hopefully recapture the thrill of the festival and to continue to enjoy their varied and interesting programme.
We quickly jumped on a tram after the book event and rode all the way down to Leith on the newly opened secion of the tramway and a little adventure away from festival events. It was great to trundle down Leith Walk and to see all theeh busy little shops and cafes along the way. Our mission in Leith was to feed the body rather than the mind as we headed towards The Kitchin for some fine dining. It was our first time at Tom Kitchen’s Leith restaurant although we had in previous years eaten at The Castle Terrace which he also owned. I found Castle Terrace a little pretentious, I have to say, but I found no fault with The Kitchen. The food, the room, the setting and above all the staff were amazing. A real culinary experience!
Our relaxing lunch turned into a relaxed afternoon until a comedy show with Marc Jennings in the early evening. I have followed Jennings on social media for a couple of years and wasn not able to fit in his Edinburgh show at last year’s festival so I was really keen to see him this year. He did not disappoint. There was some poignant content matter which was handled sensitively and humourously. Less experienced comedians could have fallen into the trap of becoming maudlin but Jennings left us with a feel good warmth and a hearty laugh at the dilemma of a Celtic fan wanting to play his Mum’s favourite song – Simply The Best- at her funeral. For those unfamiliar with Scottish football, This song is associated with the fans of Rangers, the other Glasgow team and great rival of Celtic.
We had enough time for a snack and some drinks before our final show of the evening, An Audience with Tom Robinson, one of my favourite artists to emerge in the punk era. I think it was, for both of us, our favourite show. Many bands and artists of the 60s and 70s have continued to have great careers and still put on stadium tours and shows but there is something very comfortable at a certain age to sit in a small audience listening to a favourite artist, who has aged likewise – Tom hobbled on stage on crutches after his recent knee surgery, singing familiar songs, and knowing all the lyrics. Tom chatted like he was in a cozy setting with friends, retelling his career ups and downs while playing acoustic versions of his familiar songbook. It was a highlight I shall not forget.
‘What was your favourite bit?’ I used to ask The Bombers this question after we had enjoyed a day out or event. Sometimes the answers would be clear cut and at other times there would be several moments that had given pleasure or revealed the different ‘take aways’ for them. Sometimes it is difficult, if not impossible, to place one moment above all the others, especially in the entertainment or event spans several days and genres.
Such is the diversity of things to do and see at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival that it is difficult to impose a hierarchy of favourites. How can you, for example, compare an art exhibition to a Michelin-starred lunch? A comedian to a jazz quintet? Even within genres, is it fair to compare a seasoned comedian with a 40 year career to a young comedian trying out material in their first stand up show?
We managed to pack 12 events into our short stay in the city and none of them disappointed. After dropping off our luggage we wandered down to the National Gallery to see The Grayson Perry retrospective called Smash Hits. As we were a little early for our timed entry slot we walked round the Elizabeth Blackadder and Robert Houston exhibition which is well worth the visit on its own.
I was lucky enough to see The Tomb of the Unknown Craftsman exhibition of Perry’s work at the British Museum in 2011 and was delighted to see some of the pieces exhibited then included in the current show. However, for me, the big wow was the emormous tapestries on display. Each one could have taken hours to pour over in detail as they contain so many different elements. Thank goodness for the exhibition book which can be poured over at leisure giving more detail and information on specific works. The themes of identity, sex and violence the exhibition can prove provocative and challenging but there was a steady stream of people willing to view and appreciate Perry’s works.
Our next event was a stand up show, The Best of Scottish Comedy. I have generally avoided stand-up at previous festivals simply because of the difficulty in chosing from the vast numbers of stand-up shows listed. To others who feel the same I would say start with one of the ‘Best of…’ type shows which will give short introductions to comedians you may like to see more of…or less! Each show will give the audience a flavour of three or four comedians who have shows within the festival programme. Of the three comedians we saw one was not to our taste, one was entertaining and one was hilarious. Robin Grainger told the story of his debut at the Fringe last year when he had only one audience member. That audient (because there is actually a word for a singular audience!) left after the show and spread the word about how funny Grainger was. Then, with the help of social media and a review, word of the show spread quickly. His story of the event and aftermath were hilariously told in the best tradition of comedy. However, his second story of taking a bath to relieve stress on the advice of his girlfriend proves Grainger’s comedy does not rely solely on his debut misadventure. I will definitely make a point of seeing his full show when I get the opportunity.
There are many arguments or discusions to be had about the growth of the Edinburgh Fringe, who it serves, how it is financially crippling to many performers, whether it is diverse enough etc and I am happy to take part in those debates. However, I have to say going to Edinburgh during August is one of my annual highlights. Of course, I embody many of the privileges that the fringe accommodates easily. Nevertheless, I will have a great time exploring some of the city and enjoying as diverse a range of entertainment and culture as I can possibly fit in.
We booked our (overly expensive) accommodation months ago so when I received an e-mail reminder that payment was due I was a little surprised to see the dates on the booking were not what I thought I had booked. A quick search later and I discovered, with that lurching sense of forboding in my stomach, I had made a mistake and booked for one day later than we would be arriving. Luckily, with an even quicker search later, I happily discovered I could change my booking to the correct dates and save myself nearly £100 into the bargain.
All that remains now is the problematic fitting-in of all the events we want to see, not just at the Fringe but the Book Festival also! Some comedy (Marc Jennings, Stewart Lee and Best of Scottish Comedy), some music (Tom Robinson), some drama (…and this is my friend Mr Laurel, Alan Bennett’s Cocktail Sticks) some art (Grayson Perry) and some fine dining at The Kitchin should round off the utter middle-classness of the whole thing. I look forward to it immensely and shall repent afterwards.
The Anderson, Fortrose, has a prominant position on the High Street in the town and can’t be missed on the drive through. On our recent holiday, which included a stopover in The Black Isle to visit Baby Bomber’s family, we dined in The Whisky Room of The Anderson. The decor has been described in other reviews as ‘tired’ and ‘grubby’ , and it is not to everyone’s taste but I like the dark and slightly eclectic style, heavy on film references. A big plus for us is that it is a dog friendly restaurant and Rousay was welcomed with her own little sheepskin rug and message ‘Reserved for a very special dog’. Rousay, being contrary, decided to sit under a bench beside another table!
The food, described as American smokehouse and diner fare, is really good. I had the delicious Philly cheesesteak sandwich with fries while the Wing Commander chose the Wild boar and sauerkraut with chilli con carne Superdawg. We both really enjoyed and recommend them. On a previous visit last year they also had a deep south menu (if I remember correctly I had the gumbo) and this time there was a Belgian menu, presumably to complement the many Belgian beers stocked.
If there is one criticism it is the speed of service. On both visits service was slow. I may be being generous but I think this is to reflect the laid back atmosphere of the place. However, when dining with toddlers a speedier delivery of the food would have been appreciated. In fact, our Little Explosion’s food was the last to arrive at the table and some time after the adults had been served. Any diner would be advised to go prepared for long, relaxed conversations before food arrives (and have a snackeral so as not to be ravenous when waiting for service!) and if dining with children, make sure there are appropriate activities to keep them occupied. Otherwise, enjoy!
The following day we drove across Scotland to Skye where we stopped off at The Coffee Bothy for a quick lunch. This is another dog friendly eatery and the owners have their own wee pupper welcoming guests although he wears a sign advising against feeding him which is understandable I guess but I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the wee soul! He did manage to snaffle a few crumbs off the floor but don’t tell the owners! Shhh!
It was very busy but we were greeted as we came in the door and found the last two spaces with room for Rousay too. The Wing Commander chose the soup and sandwich option while I went straight to the Sandwich! Delicious fresh bread and plenty filling! On relfection I wish I had browsed the cake cabinet which was full of amazing fresh homebakes. I will have to return to try those out!
Not usually part of a review but I feel I have to mention the toilet in as polite a way as possible. It has a golden seat which puts it high on my list of top toilets but what I was really impressed with was the selection of sanitary products left for customers to use. Well done Coffee Bothy for that! Top of my toilet spots for that.
Each island has its own charm. Vatersay and Harris are particular favourites of mine but there are good reasons to fall in love with all of them for different reasons. On our current holiday we are based in North Uist but have easy access to Berneray in the north all the way down to Eriskay in the south. Eriskay, though small – there are about 200 inhabitants currently – has two claims to fame: Bonnie Prince Charlie landed on the beach on the west side of the island in 1745 to begin his campaign to win back the throne of Great Britain and in 1941 a ship carrying, among other things, 240,000 bottles of whisky went aground on the island in a storm on its way from Liverpool to Jamaica and New Orleans. The story became well known internationally through the book by Compton MacKenzie and later a film, both sharing the title Whisky Galore.
The captain of the S.S. Politician, who went by the glorious name of Beaconsfield Worthington, and his crew were rescued safely but so were many of the bottles of whisky in the hold by local people who saw, and took, an oportunity! To the locals it was a case of salvage. What was in the sea was theirs to take. However a particularly zealous local customs officer saw it differently and wished to stop the ‘blatant thieveray’ of whisky on which no duty had been paid. He succeeded in prosecuting several local men and eventually, when all else failed, decided to dynamite the ship to prevent further ‘looting’. A local man is said to have commented on the destruction, “Dynamiting whisky. You wouldn’t think there’d be men in the world so crazy as that!” I can only concur but such are the tactics of a custom’s officer scorned.
It is estimated around 24,000 bottles were liberated from the wreck before the enterprise was finally stopped. Other cargo was officially salvaged and returned to warehouses for safe keeping. In 1988 a new pub was openned on Eriskay taking the name Am Politician in commemoration of the event. Behind the bar are some memorabilia including bottles from the wreck. This week I had the pleasure of not only eating a very fine lunch in the wonderful and dog friendly pub, but also admiring the relics that the staff will happily show any visitor who asks.
Below are a couple of photos of my visit and links to the story of the salvage of the whisky and additional information about the bank notes which were also en route to Jamaica and of which I hadn’t previously been aware.
Apparently the word ‘Staycation’ entered the lexicon of English words in the early 2000s to mean a holiday (vacation) spent at or near one’s home. In reality it has come to mean a holiday in one’s own country but given that some countries are vastly bigger than others a Staycation in The United States of America, even if limited to a person’s home State, Texas for instance, is a different experience than a staycation in Malta or Bermuda.
Scotland is a small nation but even here I think it is bigger and more diverse than the word staycation allows. To me ‘staycation’ means a holiday at home, possibly used to catch up on all the big chores that always get left ‘until I have more time’. I am, therefore, going to coin a new word, Scotcation, to describe my current holiday to Skye and the some of the Outer Hebridean islands.
Our Scotcation began yesterday with a drive north to the Black Isle, an area that is not, in fact, an island but lies between the Cromarty Firth and Moray Firth in the Highlands. Our Baby Bomber lives there with her Navigator and Tiny Explosion. We spent a wonderful few hours catching up in person. Video calls are great for grandparents who live far from grandchildren and our regular onscreen chats mean our Little Explosion recognised us immediately and there was no shyness in our visit. She is growing so fast and it was a lovely time spent getting to know her better and, of course, to see our youngest daughter and her husband.
Today we drove west to cross the bridge to Skye, an island we have briefly visited before and enjoyed. As we had limited time we decided to do only one tourist stop, which we narrowed down to a choice of two: The Old Man of Stor or The Fairy Pools. We didn’t make the final decision until our lunch stop at the Coffee Bothy (more on that and our meal last night at The Anderson in Fortrose in another blog). As the weather looked very changeable we settled on a visit to the latter. Mainly because it looked like an easier walk back to the car if the heavens opened and we got wet!
Either would have been a good decision and both were undoubtedly going to be busy with tourists but the Fairy Pools were a very enjoyable choice for us. There is a long single track road (with many passing places available) into a massive new carpark. Money has also been spent to create a good path to walk up the glen to the pools. It is an easy walk but as it goes steeply down to begin before ascending again it means that on the return journey there is a steep incline up to the carpark before resting from your efforts!
The path follows the River Brittle up towards the Black Cuillins where it commences and allows for views of the many waterfalls along its path as it falls into the glen. Some are small with little pools while others are larger and create pools that are suitable for bathing, swimming and diving although it is very cold. I did not go swimming but enjoyed the energetic walk and managed to get a few great photos.
Rousay at the car park
Wing Commander with Rousay enjoyng he view
A fairy pool with the Black Cuillins in the background
We are spending the night in the northen part of the island and will be sailing for North Uist tomorrow.
Significantly Different 