Today is local elections day and I want to go to vote. I have had a low level headache all day so I’ve been slouching about the house wearing an old Disney t-shirt and a pair of baggy joggers. Now the Wing Commander is objecting to me leaving the house in such attire, especially in his company. I pointed out I have clean underwear on but he is being intransigent and will not be moved so I have had to change into ‘proper clothes’. I feel this infringes on my rights. It’s not like I’m going to vote tory after all.
Gym and a Swim
When I joined a gym a couple of months ago my intention was to go twice a week.. Sadly, I have not quite achieved that yet with most weeks having only one visit and some with none at all. This retirement lark is proving to be very busy and all sorts of other things have got in the way of my good intentions.
Only on one occasion have I used the swimming pool and that was when I took my granddaughter along so today, having a fully free day to myself, I decided to visit the gym and then use the pool. I grabbed a swimming costume and towel to add to my gym gear and headed off. The gym was quiet, as it usually is – it is one of the main reasons I joined this particular establishment, but there was also some serious exercising and weight lifting going on while I worked my way around the equipment. I have to say that I was pleasantly aware that I was beginning to acquire more stamina and flexibility in the short time I have been going even with patchy attendance.
I ended the session with the cross trainer and a brisk walk which left me fairly sweaty, then back to the changing room to get ready for a swim. This was where things took a slightly unexpected, or at least unforeseen, turn. Apart from taking my granddaughter to the pool as mentioned above I haven’t been swimming for probably ten years. I bought 3 swimsuits for a holiday in Aruba many years ago and they have lain unused in a drawer ever since. The swimming costume I grabbed this morning without thought or care, the smallest of the three was therefore…um…on the nippy side.
Swimsuits are stretchy, I thought, I will manage to get into it and maintain modesty surely. This thought process had failed to take into consideration the sweatiness of my larger-than-ten-years-ago body after my gym workout. It was a workout in itself to get all the relevant body parts into the costume. One I hadn’t anticipated and don’t really want to reprise. Note to self – do not use this costume again until there has been some shrinkage…in body, not swimsuit.
After a very pleasant and very slow six lengths I went to shower, the temperature of which was set to volcanic and no means of changing it to a more reasonable level. Thankfully another shower cubicle was available and I was ready to get out of the tighter-than-anticipated swimsuit while negotiating a very wet floor. This was when I remembered another problem with swimming pool changing rooms, the humidity. Trying to dry a wet body, in a humid environment, with a towel which has already fallen on the wet floor and get dressed into clothes that will not cooperate is a special level of hellishness. Trousers will inevitably drag on the wet floor while tops will stick to partially dried arms. My conclusion is that I shall begin to wear kaftans made of towelling and devil take the fashion police.
On returning home I took up position reclining on the chaise longue like a Victorian lady with the vapours. There is only so much activity I can manage in one day.
Julia
This retirement lark is quite exhausting! What I thought would be peacefully long days filled with book-reading and coffee breaks have somehow become jam packed with all sorts of events and outings. Not that I am complaining! It is good to have days filled with variety and, truthfully, it is exhilerating. When I used to hear newly retired people say they had never been so busy as when they stopped working I thought it was one of those conversational fillers but it turns out to be true after all!
As I learn how to be a pensionista I will hopefully manage my time more productively. When I started this blog I had hoped to write at least once a week and thought twice a week would be good. I haven’t achieved that level of productivity consistently but I will work on it! I seem to have plenty of ideas for writing but getting to my laptop to jot them down has been less easy. After years of never being far away from my laptop I seem to be having difficulty getting to it these days!
Anyway, I wanted to jot down a few musings about the new series, Julia, with Sarah Lancashire, David Hyde Pierce and Bebe Neuwirth. I know nothing about Julia Child other than Meryl Streep played her in the 2009 movie, Julie and Julia, and from watching that I gathered she was a chef who had a tv show in the US. What drew me to the new series wasn’t Julia or her story but the actress playing her, Sarah Lancashire, who is just so damn good in everything she does.
I have never been a Coronation Street fan but it is impossible to completely ignore what happens on the soaps. Some storylines prick the public imagination so much that, fan or no, the events become common talking points that are impossible to avoid completely. One such scene for me was where Sarah Lancashire’s Raquel gets Ken Barlow to teach her French. Ken begins by asking the young Raquel which French words or phrases she knows already to which she replies with some basics. Based on this information he then suggests she say ‘Hello Ken. My name is Raquel and it is a lovely day today.’ Happily she responds, ‘Bonjour Ken. Je m’appelle Raquel. Voulez vous couchez avec moi ce soir.’ She is delighted to have achieved this task while Ken is left dumbfounded and uncertain how to explain what she has really said! It is a favourite scene for fans and non-fans alike.
Sarah Lancashire was brilliant as Raquel and she has received great reviews for almost everything she has done. I loved her in Last Tango in Halifax and she has tackled comedy and drama equally well. I often think she is an underused actress even though she is constantly on television. Other actors, with less talant, have tried their luck on bigger stages and in Holywood but she seems to stick to the British tv and stage. This may be a personal choice but it is a loss to audiences, I feel.
I was therefore, so pleased to see her playing Julia Child in the new Sky Atlantic series with such greats as David Hyde Pierce (Niles Crane) and Bebe Neuwirth (Dr Lilith Sternin). I have no idea how accurate it is regarding the life of the chef but it is great entertainment and Sarah Lancashire brings the whole human range of emotions to the part. There is a scene in the first episode where her doctor tells her she is entering menopause. Julia’s brief look of realisation that she will always now be childless is heartbreaking. A tiny moment so beautifully created for the audience. In another scene a college friend is recalling an incident that had a huge impact on her life but Julia is bemused that it meant so much to her when she barely recalled it…or perhaps recalled it completely differently. Again, a brief look but it conveyed so much more.
Julia speaks perfect French and says at one point to her husband, ‘Vive la difference’. It brought me back to that scene in Coronation Street and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. It is so good to see Sarah Lancashire in a part that will be seen by a wider audience and the support cast is outstanding too. I saw an interview with Bebe Neuwirth where she was asked about the American attachment to Julia Child. She responded that she was always only herself and never sought to be something she was not. We see her, protrayed so beautifully by Sarah Lancashire, as a funny, goofy, intelligent, fragile, loving, outgoing, anxious person. A complex emotional being who also, apparently, changed Americans’ relationship to food.
Revisiting the Past
I arrived in Aberdeen as an 18y.o. student to train to be a teacher at what was then known as Aberdeen College of Education. It was a daunting experience for a girl from a small island to fly into the city (my first flight) and find my way to my accommodation, a room in halls of residence on the campus at Hilton.
My room was number 32 on the second floor of Clifton Hall. There was a single bed, a wardrobe and a desk. When I closed the door behind me I felt like I was in an alien world. It was scary being alone and away from home for the first time. Back in 1978 there was little preparation for the transition from school to university. I think we saw a film showing what it would be like! The only part of the film I remembered at the time was that I should immediately introduce myself to my neighbours who would either be new, like me, and probably as scared as I was, or a seasoned student who could show me the ropes.
I waited. No one came to introduce themselves to me so I eventually screwed up the courage to knock on the door of number 31. She was also a new student and we went for a coffee together. Only months later did she confess she thought I was Danish (because of my accent) and couldn’t speak English very well!
I had a great two years at A.C.E. and made great friends, both in Halls and in the wider student community. However, I never did complete my degree there and did not become a teacher (thankfully for the teaching profession!). Over the years the College first merged with Dundee College of Education and later became fully integrated with the University of Aberdeen on the King’s College campus where it remains to this day. The campus at Hilton was sold for redevelopment and the Halls – Hilton and Clifton – were converted into flats and townhouses.
I can’t remember which year the campus was sold but I remember receiving an invitation to return to see it one last time before conversions began. I didn’t take up the offer. I am not one for reunions or revisiting the past. Driving to and from University over the years I often passed by the old campus and recalled great memories of my short time there but I have not revisited the site to see what changes have taken place. Until recently…
Friends of ours recently returned from living in France and have bought one of the flats in the old halls of residence. Last week they invited us over for dinner. It was weird driving onto ‘campus’ again. Of course, the old Student’s Union and classroom blocks are gone and replaced with new blocks of flats but the two Halls of Residence , solid granite-built buildings with their distinctive red roofs, have changed little from the outside. On the inside the apartment is definitely grander than my pokey single room! It was fun trying to remember the original layout and figure out how many rooms would have fitted into the space! The conversions were well done and it is now a fabulous apartment.
We had a wonderful evening catching up with friends and remembering the old campus with the added bonus that The Wing Commander could access the building by the door and stairs and not the old method of a ladder to the window of room number 32…
Wordle and Workouts
Have you succumbed to the lure of Wordle? It took me some time to catch on to the craze but I am now a daily player. After a bit of a rough patch where I was taking 6 attempts to get the word or even failing completely a couple of times I am now on a good streak of 3-4 attempts. I don’t have a favourite starting word, choosing instead whatever comes into my head when I open the game. I know some people like words with lots of vowels but I am a consonant kinda gal. I like Ts and Ss but a couple of vowels help too, of course.
In other retirement news I have joined a gym. A local posh hotel with a leisure centre was offering discounted membership so I decided to check it out. One of the issues I have with gyms is that they can be intimidating for the unfit fatty like myself but the instructor asured me the membership was small and friendly. As he showed me around the facilities there were two people using the gym and he added that it rarely got busier than that. My kinda place! The membership, as well as being small in number, are mainly older people. Of course guests at the hotel have access to the facilities too, but the local members are, as far as I have seen so far, over sixties. Nevertheless, the equipment is all modern and easy to use.
As I was packing my ‘gym bag’ for my first session I picked an old Edinburgh Book Festival bag to carry my kit. Nothing quite says ‘old’, ‘middle class’ and ‘I would rather be reading’ than a Book Festival bag but hopefully by using the gym regularly I will add a bit of fitness to the old body too.
Shaking the Family Tree
I have been working on a branch of my great great grandmother’s family tree. She was one of ten children and had six children herself. One of her brother’s went even further and had fourteen children. It is his line I am currently working through.
As was not unusual, there were some in the family that emigrated. Canada, Australia and New Zealand were common destinations for Scottish families in the nineteenth century (although I have found branches in South Africa and Brazil also). The line I am working on today went to Canada where I have discovered his great granddaughter married a man whose family were also of Scottish descent, originating in Inverurie, Aberdeenshire.
The original emigrant from Inverurie, the grandfather, was, according to information gathered by other genealogists, known as Big Red Joe. I can’t help but wonder if this nickname was because of his hair, complexion or politics. I kinda hope it was because of his politics and I would have liked to have met him!
Endings and Beginnings.
Twenty one years ago I was a stay at home Mum looking for something to fill my days as The Bombers were growing and finding their own ways with school, friends and hobbies. I had done some volunteering, run my own business and had a part time delivery job but it was time to stretch my wings, and brain, so I enrolled in a Social Sciences course at the local college. After sixteen years of being a full time Mum it was time to make space for a part time me again. Don’t get me wrong, I loved being at home with The Bombers but time does not stand still and I was ready to do something else.
The course included Sociology, History, Criminology, Psychology, Statistics and Philosophy. I wasn’t keen on the statistics or psychology but philosophy, sociology and criminology were interesting and history had always been a favourite subject. Tutors were kind and supportive and after a couple of months some of them began to suggest I should think about continuing on to university. I had gone to university straight from school but it hadn’t worked out. I had chosen the wrong course but I had always held a little regret that I hadn’t completed study. The thought began to grow in my head and in the end I agreed to complete an extension couse at the college to allow me to enter university in second year, studying sociology and history.
I had found college sociology engaging and challenging but I failed to maintain that interest at university and instead fell back on my old favourite, history. I also managed to add courses in Women’s Studies and Latin! Still, it was Russian history that really hooked me and after gaining a 2:1 Master of Arts degree I knew I wanted to continue to postgraduate level…and from there it seemed logical to progress to a PhD!
I decided to write my thesis on the political life of Anna Miliukova, who has mostly only been remembered for ’embarrassing’ her husband, Paul Miliukov, at the first Kadet Party Congress, by demanding that women get the vote before peasant men. Sadly, after six months of searching archives for information on her life and work and trying to learn Russian on my own, I had to admit defeat, change topic and enlist in a Russian language course at Glasgow University. I also went to St Petersburg, which remains my favourite city, for intensive language training.
After a year comuting to Glasgow for Russian classes I returned to study at Aberdeen University with my new topic, Russian Refugee Relief Aid in Inter-War Europe: the case of Constantinople, 1920-1922. Thankfully the archive I would use was in Leeds at the Brotherton Library. I spent 3 months living there with two landlords who would become friends and who made seperation from my family and long days in the archive enjoyable.
I finally completed my thesis and graduated in 2016 then after a short break I was awarded an honorary fellowship with the university. That fellowship has now come to an end and I have decided not to renew it. I have not lost interest in Russian history or my fondly named Dead Russian Guys but it feels like the right time to explore other ventures just as it was twenty years ago when I decided to go to college.
My Bombers are grown and leading their own lives. I have two adorable granddaughters, one who lives close by and another not so close. After years of reading academic books and journals it has taken some time to get my reading-for-pleasure mojo back but I am now enjoying novels again. I have developed a new interest in family history and have been working on our family tree and I enjoy knitting and crochet to relax. My life is full and as I get older I feel more comfortable in my own skin. I wish it hadn’t taken this long but I do love the person (I won’t say adult!) I have become. I have more to offer and I am looking for opportunities to volunteer my time and energy. The future looks bright and I cannot wait to embrace it, whatever it throws my way.
Facts are Subversive
The trouble with having a large tsundoku pile is that there is often a significant time lapse between buying a book and reading it. This has been compounded, in my case, by a lengthy period when my reading mojo had left the building. Books which were topical when I bought them are less so now but good writing and interesting subject matter still give books relevance.
An old history teacher, defending the superiority of History as a subject against popular interlopers, once said that Modern Studies was the study of what you read in the newspapers. It has taken me so long to get round to reading Timothy Garton Ash’s Facts Are Subversive: Political Writing From a Decade Without a Name, a collection of his writings from the first decade of this century, that it is no longer what is in the papers but can almost be considered history. It is a history that will, for the most part, be well remembered by readers who were adults of reaching adulthood about that time although there are less familiar topics of interest to the reader too.
Garton Ash is a historian but is also a perceptive observer of the present where he brings the historian’s analytical eye to the social, cultural, military and political issues that were important at the time of writing. There is also a geographical division to the topics which is primarily western but there is a section entitled ‘Beyond the West’ which looks at issues in Burma and Brazil among others less familiar to Western news consumers. Many of us will have opinion on terrorism, the EU (written well before Brexit), our supposed special relationship with the US, the Iraq war but not so many will have educated opinions on Burma under military dictatorship or the possibilities of reform in Iran. In this respect the book not only covers familiar ground with educated analysis but also provides a good starting point from which to delve into new or less familiar topics.
When I bought the book I remember being concerned that I didn’t know any of Garton Ash’s other writings. The blurb on the back of my edition stated, ‘For more than thirty years, Timothy Garton Ash has travelled among truth tellers and political charlatans…’ and I was unsure which he would turn out to be; a truth teller or a charlatan! He is, of course, neither but writes intelligently on a wide range of topics. Even if the reader disagrees with the Garton Ash’s observations it is always educational to read another point of view.
Pirate Celebrations
Cap’n Darcy Knockboots explains the origins of Piratesmas.
It was a dark and stormy night. Snow had been falling in flurries for days. The inhabitants of Port au Lethen were all snuggled up in bed, except for Emmeline Petticoat in the Egg and Dragon tavern (or was it the Dragon and Egg? I can never remember which comes first.) Emmeline kept her tavern open at all times for weary travellers although she didn’t expect any on such a dark and stormy night. Anyone mad enough to be out in this weather, she reckoned, was someone she would rather not have in her tavern. She was content on her own. The bar was tidy, the fire was roaring and she had a ready supply of rum.
As Emmeline stared out of the snow-covered window towards the empty harbour she witnessed a strange light in the dark and stormy sky. She was about to move closer to the window for a better view when, suddenly, the oak door of the tavern blew open. Momentarily startled, Emmeline stared at the dark, empty doorway with only the lantern swaying precariously outside. She tutted to herself then rushed forward to close the door before all heat and light left and wet snow entered. She shook her head at the wet floor and was about to go to the kitchen for a mop when a squawk from the end of the bar stopped her in her tracks. Turning slowly she was amazed to see a golden parrot, which appeared to be radiating light, perched on top of a bottle of rum; her best rum, she thought to herself.
Emmeline scowled as the bedraggled parrot raised its wings and flapped the snow from its feathers, droplets splashing the bar, bottles and glasses. Emmeline, ready to shout at the messy bird, stopped with her mouth open when the parrot turned towards her and in a raucous voice announced; ‘You have been chosen, Captain Petticoat. You are to teach the world about the importance of pirates. For too long they have been forgotten. You must bring piracy back into the lives of all the people.’
Emmeline stared at the glowing parrot in disbelief.
‘I am a tavern keeper, not a ship’s captain.’ stammered Emmeline
The parrot continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
‘Tonight, Captain Petticoat, a pirate ship shall arrive in Port au Lethen. It is called The Rambunctious Boy and carries all the cargo you will need to show the world the ways of the pirates. From this day on, The Rambunctious Boy shall be under your command and its cargo at your disposal.’
Emmeline continued to stare in disbelief at the parrot and as it spoke these words, her eyes moved towards the tavern window. Was that really a ship’s light approaching the harbour?
‘The crew of the Rambunctious Boy shall sail where you command and will be at the ready to spread the Word of the Pirate.’ continued the glowing parrot.
‘I-I am not a pirate captain. I don’t know how to do that’ stammered the bewildered Emmeline.
‘You
are
the chosen Pirate Captain.’ The parrot squawked assertively. ‘You must take The Rambunctious Boy and sail the Seven Seas to spread the Word of the Pirate. And the Word of the Pirate shall be Yo! Ho!’
Emmeline stared at the parrot. ‘I must be dreaming’ she muttered and rubbed her eyes with her closed fingers. On lowering her hands she discovered the tavern was empty once more. She slowly approached the bar and looked behind it. No parrot was to be seen. Only a single golden feather lay on the bar beside the bottle of best rum.
Outside the storm had abated. Shafts of moonlight broke through the dark clouds gently illuminating a pirate ship in a soft yellow light as they approached the harbour. Emmeline picked up the golden feather and placed it in an old, abandonned tri-corn hat she picked up from the hat stand beside the door. Placing it on her head she left the tavern and made her way down to the harbour to welcome the ship to Port au Lethen
‘Yo Ho!’ she said to no-one in particular. ‘I am a pirate captain and I shall sail the Seven Seas spreading the Word. Wherever The Rambunctious Boy docks, pirates shall gather on its decks. I shall provide food, drink and shenanigans to any who come to hear the Word. This event shall, heretofore, be called Piratesmas.’
And so we celebrate Piratesmas during the summer months. But let us not forget that equally important day in the Pirate’s calendar, The Festival of the Golden Parrot, when we remember the first gift of a feather to Captain Petticoat. As the daylight hours fade and the nights are dark and stormy, let pirates gather together to exchange a golden feather and share a tot o’ rum in remembrance of Emmeline Petticoat, the first Pirate Cap’n to begin the tradition of Piratesmas. Yo Ho!
Travel in the Time of Covid. Part II
After all the pre-travel stress and uncertainty we had a fabulous weekend in Dublin. The first flight to Amsterdam was nearly empty although the flight to Dublin was busy where we succeeded in confusing border control by our circuitious route to the city. Thankfully they accepted my explanation that we like adventure and the detour to Amsterdam was indeed a planned part of the journey!
We have led such a reclusive life in the last two years that it was a bit of a shock to the system to be out and about again. Dublin feels very much a European city and there is a wonderful mix of languages on the streets. Sadly, there are also beggars who were more reminiscent of those I have seen on Russian streets than in a modern European capital. Homelessness is, of course, a sad reality of many cities but there was a downtrodenness to these unfortunate people in Dublin that I have rarely seen on the streets of other cities.
There is a danger with citybreaks that an over eagerness to fit everything in can lead to exhaustion and spoil the enjoyment. We picked one attraction per day and added in more if we felt like it and could get tickets. Unlike ‘normal’ travel we had to book everything in advance because of the Covid restrictions but in the end we got to see what we wanted to see and squeezed in an extra too.
The GPO, the site of the Easter Uprising in 1916 was our first stop. I have to admit to a lack of knowledge of Irish history but there was plenty to educate me in the exhibits, academic video discussions and cinematic film of events. I was disappointed in the film to be honest. There is a warning at the beginning that some of the images could produce nausea or dizzyness. That in itself should prompt a rethink of the cinematography. The fast swooping aeriel shots and zooming in, birdseye-like, were very discombobulating and really distracted from the story of the uprising. However, the talking academic heads were very interesting and informative. That may be because it is a format I am well aquainted with and therefore more accesible and interesting to me. I was especially interested in the role of culture and the cultural revival in Irish nationalism. I think I need some recommended reading from Irish historian friends to get a better understanding of the cultural aspects of the history.
The Guinness Storehouse is probably another site on most people’s ‘to visit’ list. As a Scot who has taken visiting friends to several distilleries in the past there was not much new to learn in the story of brewing Guinness but it is a well laid out story with technical details, history and artefacts to interest the visitor. The highlight, though, is the pint on the rooftop with unimpeded views over the city and out to the Wicklow hills. It was a beautiful clear day when we visited and the views were stunning.
While eating lunch at the Guinness Storehouse we managed to book tickets for the Book of Kells exhibition at Trinity College for the afternoon. It is a small but detailed examination of the production of the book and its history culminating in a look at the book itself. However, the real highlight of the visit for me was the walk upstairs to the library. There is nothing better for a book lover to wander through a stunning library and was another little tick for the Bucket List.
The Molly Molone statue was the most elusive of sites we wanted to see! We seemed to walk in ever increasing circles around it without finding it! Eventually, with the help pf Google maps and a few arguments as to whose sense of direction was worse (it is usually my speciality but on this occasion the Wing Commander accused me of holding the map upside down which prompted him to lead us in the opposite direction!). When we found her I was completely taken aback by the group of female tourists in front of us who were taking photos with the statue and, quite frankly, groping her breasts! The statue is dressed in a lowcut top which has obviously been the subject of some discussion in the past (see Wikipedia), and her breasts are shiny where visitors have rubbed them, presumably for luck, over the years. However, it wasn’t, at least on this occasion, a small touch with a fingertip but a full on grope with hands. Of course it is a statue and not a real woman but I was shocked at the ease with which even the image of a woman could be publically groped! The internalised mysogyny was positively oozing aroung the statue. If you must rub something for supposed luck then rub her basket of cockles instead!
On the hospitality side we dined and drank (often) with little difficulty from Covid restrictions. We had to show our Covid passport to get into any bar, cafe or restaurant and had to wear a mask until seated at a table. None of this is a hardship or an invasion of my rights or anyone elses. Many people were wearing masks on the street too. It seemed second nature to Dubliners and there were clear rules to follow.
It was an unexpected, and in the end unnecessary, trip but we had a great time and are very glad we went. Next time I hope we can see more of Ireland and enjoy another couple of days in a vibrant European city.
Significantly Different 