Of all the things to come across during a browse on YouTube but one which features a very brief glimpse of little me. It's very strange to see but I remember my mother (who took the photo) talking of local historian and film-maker, Eddie Smith, wanting a copy of the photograph which graced the wall of our living room and now is probably tucked up somewhere in my attic.

We lived in the little cottage next to the large white building, which had been a subscription school but was a community hall the entire time I knew it. Sadly, I think it's privately owned now. Our house had been built in 1806, weird that I know the history of each building in my little row.

Lots of familiar faces in this video and I'm sure my dad and mum are in a couple of frames but too far away for me to be sure. It looks like it was always raining, I promise, it wasn't, but what a great name for a blog...

(I'm the wee girl at 4:13 in my natty white jacket and orange bag.)

Drowned in Moonlight, Strangled By My Own Bra

This year has seen far too many good people die far too soon. Not only did one of my teenage crushes die at Christmas (George Michael) but another hero died today - Carrie Fisher.

I've probably said it before but it bears repeating today but for little me Princess Leia meant everything. Consider the world of the late 70s. Princesses were blonde, pretty, sweet, dainty and in need of rescue.

Along comes Princess Leia. Brave, fearless, rescuing her rescuers and handy with a blaster. Not only that but for once the princess had the same hair colour as me (okay, she was still pretty and there's not much I could do to achieve that but nevermind!) I was constantly hearing how I couldn't possibly be pretty or noticeable as, unlike my younger cousin, I wasn't blonde.

Yes, my mother's family had a lot to answer for my lifelong lack of confidence.

Add to this mix the fact that Carrie Fisher was a witty, underappreciated writer, candid in discussing her mental health and it all explains why I am genuinely sad that she has gone. She was only 60 for god's sake, and George Michael was 53. These are not people whose time had come.

Princess Leia became General Organa in the new film, please let young girls see her as a role model rather than some of the vapid, dead-eyed "celeb". Be tenacious and know everything is possible. 

And now there will be no more Leia.

This year has been terribly depressing and for someone with depression anyway it has meant a change in medication! Not quite working as life has been so bad and we've still got Brexit and President Trump to look forward to.

Has this year been an icon rapture?

"Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die. " 

— Carrie Fisher

Another Day Another Blast From The Past

I really don't like that saying 'blast from the past'. There was a really rotten film of the same name about 20 or so years ago. I digress.

Tomorrow I'm going to be sticking my neck out and trying something I never thought I'd have the brass neck to do. Failure is probably a certainty but all it takes is one person, just one, to believe in me and things could actually, genuinely, happily happen. I'm at the point, once more where life can go one of two ways, I'm hoping this time that it's the better road I get to travel.

Travelling is made much more pleasant with some good tunes. I need a jolly song to take me through the end of a fairly wasted weekend (dizzy, nauseous feeling still there so nothing of any worth has been accomplished).

Claim To Fame

My second flashback to the 80s is a song that has particularly fun memories.

My dad had picked me up from school on the way back from my auntie's, on the radio it was announced that if you could get to the Barrowlands in Glasgow by 4:30 you could take part in the filming of the new Deacon Blue video.  Well, I quickly persuaded my dad to turn around and pick up my then best friend who was just as eager to go and off we went.

I can't quite remember how long it took, I think it was well after 10 pm when we finally stepped back outside, breathless and excited, having had a brilliant evening of music. Yes, they did play the song again and again but they also gave us a free concert of their other songs too. Perhaps it took hours and hours but it certainly didn't feel that way.

I can spot myself in the crowd, back then I was all curly hair, big earrings and no glasses (I squinted a lot but I just hated wearing the huge glasses I had!)

So, one of my claims to fame, I'm one of the crowd in a music video - I'll take it!

It's The 80s Again

I have been given one of those Facebook challenges by a friend where I post songs from the 80s for 7 days. It was such fun looking through my first choice that I thought I'd inflict my music share on here as well.

Love and Money are one of the many Scottish bands from that era. We had such a glut of talent, mainly coming from Glasgow, we really were spoiled (plus the bouncers back then were not so strict so sneaking into a club to hear some good music was a lot easier than it will be now). I used to see the lead singer walking around Glasgow, Sauchiehall Street to be precise, in his red baseball cap.

I listen to this and immediately I'm cycling home on a chilled Autumn evening in the West End of Glasgow. Headphones on, blind to the world around me, listening to the tapes I'd made from records I kept at my parents' house (because sometimes you just can't be too careful in a flatshare and I didn't have the money to replace any breakages or 'walkabouts'). Close my eyes and I can picture it completely.

Holidays At Home

Not home home as such but this year, instead of a solitary day on the Isle of Cumbrae where we go to remember my dad we spent an entire, delicious week.

Just like the holidays I had at my boys' age only colder, it being a Scottish Easter and much earlier this year than last.  So it ended up that as we were leaving the (very slightly) warmer weather was arriving.

Still, the boys managed the obligatory and much fun cycle round the island, I did my best before the CFS kicked in - I'm really feeling it now but glad I pushed through, sometimes consequences are worth it!  We spent the days roaming the town of Millport us and the dog, exploring everywhere, rockpools, beaches, ice cream at the Ritz Cafe.  Bliss.  And by evening, when tiredness washed over me at least, we played board games and did jigsaws because we're rock n' roll like that.

Millport, Isle of Cumbrae, the rocks are made for clambering

Three islands in one, taken from Cumbrae, looking over to the isle of Bute with Arran in the background.

On a clear day Arran makes a spectacular view.

The castle on Wee Cumbrae island, privately owned and for sale the island is which is not really a good thing.

The view from the bay where my dad rests, I always think he'd enjoying it greatly.

We're the Witches of Hallowe'en, The Scariest You've Ever Seen

That's what we used to sing as we went round the neighbour's doors in the dark, distant past (according to Hobbits, *very* distant!)

So the glut of sweeties is done, the jars are filled and I won't need to buy another sugary snack until Christmas.  All well and good.

There are a lot of sour pusses around here though, lots of people who ignore the advice to turn your hall light off if you don't want disturbed. ("Hey, it's my house, I do what I want" - then don't grump when you get a score of kids knocking!)  Never the less I am always impressed at the begging standard of my two.

And the pumpkin.  I remember (adopts old voice) my mother carving a turnip.  Have you ever tried to carve a turnip?  Yes, well, not advised unless you like impossibly frustrating tasks.

This year I wanted to do something different.  I wanted to do a cat, shadow in front of the carved out moon.  Instead I did this.

Which is meant to be one of these.

Yes I know it looks like mine has wonky eyebrows, I meant it - honest!  I'm sure in the game, when you lose, the piggies wiggle their eyebrows and laugh.  They do don't they?

Anyway, now that is over, roll on bonfire night.

It's Getting Like Old MacDonald Around Here

Only with pets rather than farmyard friends.  Right enough I did like the idea of chickens but with cats and our friendly neighbourhood Mr Fox that is not such a good idea.

The cats pretty much rule themselves, that's just how cats roll really.  I sometimes feel I am tolerated in my own house simply for the talent of being able to open a tin.  I would never go this far though.

As much as Anakin cat loves his boxes (see evidence below), I'd go to the effort only to be thwarted by cat apathy at the end.

What?  I'm busy, call back later.

Of course I've mentioned happy dog many times and he is just...happy.  

The Hobbits had asked for their own pets, something small they could look after.  We are in the age of small furries.  Hamster Dragonborn (aka The Escape Artist) is another blondie with a lovely temperament.  

I had tried to push the idea of guinea pigs.  My own Gwynnie pig was a sweetheart.  I would come home from school, she'd be waiting at the gate to her cage.  I'd tuck her into my cardi and she would burrow in, talking to me the entire time.  My mother hated her but she was truly the best.  

Youngest is set on getting a gecko.  Well, it'll be different that is for sure.

So, if all goes to plan, at the end of the year, the humans will be outnumbered by three cats, one dog, a hamster and a gecko.  Sometimes I worry that it sounds like we're going down the hoarder route but then I think, stuff it, they're part of the family!

A Matter Of Timely Tasting

For some reason this little gem was dredged from the furthest, darkest recesses of my warped memory as I walked the dog today and, in the way these things sometimes do, it got me thinking.

My parents had taken my younger cousin and I to visit my dad's sister in Helensburgh (what used to be a fairly nice town, birthplace of John Logie Baird and retirement heaven on the river Clyde coastline*).  Now we (me and female cousin) had a particularly awkward relationship - being on my mother's side of the family, the side that encouraged competition and favouritism.  She was younger, prettier and blonde and I could be catty enough to say she is none of those now.  She was everything that side of the family wanted, including remarkable unambitious.  Me, too much of a daydreamer for them, a common comment was "what do you want to do *art* for?"  Said in the tone used if someone announced a desire to become a tax collector.

Anyway this has nothing to do with what I was starting to say.

We went to this "Italian" restaurant where both of us picked spaghetti bolognese and yes I know it won't have been genuine, this is Scotland in the mid-80s not Masterchef.  It arrived, yummy yummy and we were asked did we want parmesan cheese?  Thinking of home cooked spag bol with a bit of cheddar grated on top we said yes please.  (Here we'll end that rumour of Scottish people eating deep fried everything.)  The cheese that ended up sprinkled on top of our pasta not only smelled of sick, it didn't look that appetising either.

We quietly scraped it to the side and ate the rest.

Now, fast forward 25 years.  I adore what the Hobbits call "sprinkle cheese" and yes, we do put it on our  pasta.  Proper Italian version, not the kind called "hard cheese" either.  Yummy yum.  So what happened?

I'm walking along the path beside the burn (small stream, I'll teach you Scots one word at a time).  I'm thinking of this for no reason whatsoever and wonder - was it poor quality substitute we got or just how things were back then?  I know tastes change but surely not that much that I would now love something I once associated with sick?

Plus my Hobbits, much as I love them, can be occasionally and frustratingly picky on certain things, cheese is one.  They love it and I would have been told if there was anything untoward about it.

Now I've unburdened this erratic mind fudge I'll leave you with a panda.

*It was too near Faslane for my anti-nuclear war view liking, at times the submarines would surface as they returned and the noise they made was so horribly metallic that it served the idea of them as machines of apocalyptic war very well.  It is very hard to describe the noise perfectly but even thinking about it sends fingers of ice down my spine.

Gong Xi Fa Cai

Who knew Rabbit would be such a little sh*t?  Long live the Dragon (for the next year at least.)


I am not a Dragon, indeed in a more than coincidental throw of the dice I am a Pig.  Yes, quite.  This year, according to the rather natty little calendar I was given by our local Chinese takeaway, is going to be a good one for us Piggies and I can't say it isn't about bloody time.  As it is positive I am going to ignore the origins of the calendar and believe in it wholeheartedly (for it doesn't have such a happy forecast for all the animals, but let's not concern ourselves with them.)


It is a pity that dragons are more legend than truth - although if they were real it would be more Reign of Fire than Dragonheart for sure.  They are a powerful symbol worldwide.  The Hobbits once had a lovely children's book with pop-up dragon pictures and stories, unfortunately a wicked witch stole it away (or rather a neighbour in our old town"borrowed" it and never bothered returning.)


See I initially wanted to use this as a light-hearted take on the dragon...





but then I came across this...





So Idris or Soupdragon, take your pick.  I was raised by Oliver Postgate*, don't get me started on Bagpuss.


*Don't be ridiculous of course I wasn't actually, physically raised but nearly every fond tv memory of my tiny years has a Postgate character involved.

It's Oh So Quiet...

And also Day 4879 25 on the Movie Challenge thing which I am determined to finish in the same way one might chew relentlessly on a tough steak because be damned if it is going to get the better of me.


Anyway...


My Hobbits are away this week, gone to camp in Northumberland with their classmates.  So there will be lots of this...

And maybe some of this...

But without the sunshine, happy feeling.

Day 25: Movie with the most beautiful scenery  - when I was little, an only child (or lonely goatherd if you will) I adored this film, in particular the first couple of minutes when the cameras sweep across the Alps.  I've been to Salzburg, I've driven around and about the Alps.  I loved every minute of it and long to do it again...all because of this film.

When you think about it The Alps and Salzburg deserve a credit in the cast list.

Plus, as mentioned earlier, the only child desperately longed to be part of a huge, loving family.  Wins in all directions.

Can you tell me how to get...

...if you are about to add "how to get to Sesame Street" then pull up a chair and grab a slice of birthday cake.

I don't know if it makes me feel very old or not so bad that Sesame Street is 40 years old.  Very old in that I loved watching it when I was little; from the slightly trippy and Monty Pythonesque counting pinball (my personal favourite even though it left me feeling a little spaced out) to the annoyingly nasal Big Bird.  Not so bad in that I didn't realise it was older than me - yay me!

I saw places I'd never been when they went out and about in New York, learned sign language with Linda - it fairly widened the horizons of a little girl living in a Scottish village.  Oh and that is Mr. Snuffleupagus in the photo, like you had to ask.

RIP John Hughes

"Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

*So far this is turning into Celebrity Death Year - who is next?

Nemo RIP

I had been aware that all was not well for some time, the fish called Nemo (with the fine looking fins to the left) has passed away. After only 2 1/2 years as well, my childhood fishy friends lasted 9 years. I think it may have been the stress of living with a fat, cat with attitude and a tendency to sleep nearby the tank.

Well, Nemo lasted longer than the other fish, Dory (do you see where the naming was going there? We have a dog named Alex due to the Madagascar film, this is what happens when you let Hobbits name animals.) Dory was a bit of a bully, always chasing Nemo around the tank, until one morning we entered the living room to find Dory floating belly up. Nemo was very cheery that day.

Now the other day we had gone to the local pet superstore to look at the rabbits. I have promised that when the Hobbits are old enough they may have either a rabbit or a guinea pig each. I am hoping they will want guinea pigs as fond memories of Brownie, my own guinea pig, and the torture he put my mother through has me favour the pig to the bunny! Brownie was a lovable little chap, all squeaks and cuddles but my mother hated him.

While I gave Nemo the grand send off and youngest Hobbit pondered life and death and all the grand schemes of things I noted that eldest Hobbit was eyeing the tank. Possibly wondering if a rabbit would fit. I give it one day before I am asked about replacing Nemo with something furry.

Meet the new Jamie Oliver

Youngest Hobbit has taken to watching Masterchef Goes Large with great intensity. While viewing Friday's offering (on BBC2 Wales thanks to gaelic programming stuffing up the Scottish schedules) he decided that he liked the look of the very fancy and very long titled pheasant dish being made and announced he would like that for his dinner. Fancy on my boy I'm not that good.

When not watching cookery programmes he does like being involved in the preparation and cooking of food itself, the ingredients used and when that isn't happening he likes to talk about food. Interestingly although he enjoys eating and eats a fair amount of food he is not fat, no where near fat, actually he is on the lean side. Possibly because, apart from the treats, he eats about 80% good stuff. Strawberries, raspberries and mandarin oranges being particular favourite snacks.

So watch this space. He has the right temperament for being a chef certainly (take no prisoners, doesn't suffer fools gladly etc.) I discussed this with my mother today and the first thing she said? For me not to let him become a chef.

Considering that 2 years ago his ambition was to be a dinosaur I think he has a long way to go before deciding where his life will lead him. Certainly it is fun to speculate but I would never say to either Hobbit they couldn't follow what they wanted to do. That is what happened to me and look where I ended up! Same mother told me that when I left school I was expected to get a job as there was no way they would support me through university and even though it was expected I could get into art school that was discouraged to the point I completely lost the way.

Had I had parents who let me try, let me discover what I could do things could be different (not focusing on the Hobbits here as I would always have chosen to be a SAHM regardless. In fact it would have been nicer to have a proper career to take a break from and know I had one to return to.) Hubby and I often discuss how what our parents did affected the paths our lives took.

So be it a dinosaur, or a chef, or something completely different, youngest Hobbit I know will at least do one thing. Be able to cook and enjoy the experience of cooking and eating good food. Career wise he can do whatever he wants, he is 5 FFS, though I might discourage it if either Hobbit mention becoming lawyers or politicians. I don't like my boys lying!

And A Happy New Year

Yeah, yeah, so I am early. Allow me the novelty of being too early instead of too late for once.

So, 2006, an interesting year but here is hoping that 2007 brings more with it, and good things only please.

When I was younger, and I mean Primary age, my dad and I would walk to the end of our street, wait for the bells in the local church (which was a good mile and a half away at least) to ring and then be 'first footers' for my mum. Instead of the lump of coal we were meant to put on the fire we would give her a box of chocs, well, we had a gas fire, mum would have been livid if we starting throwing great chunks of coal at it.

I loved that experience of being out in the cold night air, holding my dad's hand, more than anything and the memory is saddened knowing I will never get it back. My dad is getting on a bit, I mean he was 50 when I was born and I just turned 35 so you do the math.

The last good Hogmanay I had was the Millenium, which seemed to suck for so many other people. Husband and I drove up to the Kilsyth hills and watched the fireworks from Glasgow, across the central belt of Scotland to Edinburgh. It was a wonderfully clear night and I even saw a shooting star (yes, the wish was fulfilled.)

I can't remember what we did the next year but the year after that we celebrated in hospital with our new born baby boys and a group of other parents, and a grumpy nurse telling us not to wake the others. FFS we all had newborns, who was sleeping?

Hogmanay with little ones is somewhat subdued, apart from the revellers who go to parties to see in the New Year through beer-goggles does anyone actually celebrate it properly?

"Weel done, Cutty-sark!"

Happy Halloween, or rather Samhain if your wanting to be really traditional.

Despite my nickname for my twin sons being "the hobbits"* they are out guising dressed as pumpkins supervised by dad (not dressed as a pumpkin), collecting a years worth of sweeties from the neighbours. Some wag has also lit the bonfire that was being built in the field next to our cul-de-sac. It is going to be an interesting night.

I used to love Halloween, I've always been a cold weather person. Oh, don't get me wrong I enjoy the sunshine but there is something more appealing when the air turns crisp and the leaves turn shades of gold and red. Now that the boys have started school I find I miss the old feeling I had of going into the classroom from the cold outside, shedding my outer layers and warming up at my desk beside the radiator (which wasn't such a bonus during summer.) Halloween isn't a patch on Christmas of course but I won't mention the C word again until the beginning of December, promise.

Every Halloween at our primary school we would gather in the tv room (picture a fairly large room... with a tv, there you go.) There we would listen to Tam O'Shanter (by Robert Burns) on the radio, full of sound effects to add to the fear as the story unfolds. I still can't hear the poem without a chill creeping up the back of my neck, particularly the part where he is being chased by the witches, riding away on his poor horse Meg. At that part I would close my eyes tightly and try not to listen any more. As childhood fear goes, Tam O'Shanter is right up there for me with the Childcatcher from Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang and Peter And The Wolf.

No one seems to dook for apples any more, even toffee apples have gone by the wayside. And pumpkins might have replaced the more traditional turnip lanterns but that is only because it is extremely difficult to carve the bloody things! Whereas a pumpkin is fairly easy in comparison. They don't look as good though it doesn't tempt me to try turnips again. Much rather eat them mashed with butter and black pepper.

So the hobbits have returned and one tradition has remained. I won't need to buy sweeties in the near future.

*my way of saying that my nearly 5 year old boys are cute, hairy and with big feet! Honestly, they are a size 28, 4 sizes smaller than I was when I went to high school! As my Granny used to say "they've got a good grip of Scotland."