Refreshing Days and Monster Thoughts

The family have just returned from a much needed, desperately needed, few days away at - you guessed it - Millport, Isle of Cumbrae.

What a bloody week, was so glad that the internet was intermittent as it meant I could block out most of what has been happening since, once again, Scotland is being dragged into a position it did not make. Strangely, perhaps because of the distance, I feel disconnected. I am so beyond frustrated with people not seeing the bigger picture. Of course, I'm not saying I am correct in my assumptions on how things should be but the pettiness, the snide "well, I'm not changing my mind even though it makes me look like a prat" and I'm just fed up to the back teeth with them.

This will be known as the period where 'Britain' went barmy over being European, my identity goes Scottish and then European so that's me stuffed then. Have never considered myself as British, won't wrap myself in that flag and go all snivelly over the Queen. This referendum has done what countless elections have failed to do, I now no longer give a flying fuck about people or this country.  Hell mend you all and sod you for ruining my sons' chances of living and working abroad and for ruining my escape plan.

So...being miles away on a small island was good then, really.

The weather wasn't great but this is Scotland and you don't go on holiday for the weather. I have noticed someone in my group of friends has recently started this little chipping at things I'm doing so I expect some comment from her when we all meet up Tuesday about the poor weather.

You know what, we wore raincoats, sucked it up and enjoyed having sand in our toes, sea crunchy hair and jellyfish spotting anyway.

Photos to follow and won't that be much better than my grumbling self.

So, it's still January then...

This month seems never ending but at last, Friday introduces February.  As it goes this hasn't been a particularly depressing endless grey month.  Instead we had quite a few sunny if cold days, no snow - much to the chagrin of Eldest - so instead we had to import snow from the nearby town of Falkirk.

We went in to the cinema to see Les Miserable (sob sob poor Gavroche!) and came out to see our little car with a cosy, snow blanket.  Much joy was had with an impromptu snow fight which caused a lot of bewilderment amongst passing drivers in the car park as old ladies such as I am are not meant to be firing well aimed snowballs at their sons.  Yah boo sucks to that!

I realise this mundane post focusses too much on the British obsession of weather and I do not wear a British mantle easily so we'll just say Scottish are as obsessed too.  And with better reason as, unlike this year, we usually get a boot in the rear from it during winter.  I miss the snow.  Plus the boys major disappointment at *no* *snow* *days*!

As well as cinema day, last Friday was Burns night when the kind of people Robert Burns himself parodied heavily in his work hold feasts of haggis to celebrate the great man, no sense of irony at all.  This is one of my favourites and perfectly encapsulates everything I think of politicians although it was originally (I believe) aimed at those Scottish Lords who handed Scotland to an arranged marriage with England.

Such A Parcel Of Rogues In A Nation

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, 
Fareweel our ancient glory; 
Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name, 
Sae fam'd in martial story. 
Now Sark rins over Solway sands, 
An' Tweed rins to the ocean, 
To mark where England's province stands- 
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! 

What force or guile could not subdue, 
Thro' many warlike ages, 
Is wrought now by a coward few, 
For hireling traitor's wages. 
The English stell we could disdain, 
Secure in valour's station; 
But English gold has been our bane- 
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! 

O would, or I had seen the day 
That Treason thus could sell us, 
My auld grey head had lien in clay, 
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace! 
But pith and power, till my last hour, 
I'll mak this declaration; 
We're bought and sold for English gold- 
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

We Can Be Heroes

I should really let my once omnipresent optimistic side out more often.  She has been much diluted but is still there so this is what I once would have sounded like.

We have watched as gold medals roll in and confused at the apologies from those for winning mere silver medals (you won a freaking silver, silver in a highly competitive field of finely tuned athletes is nothing to be ashamed of.)  

The only grumble was when the widely excellent BBC coverage cut away from the track athletics where Team GB were winning an embarrassing amount, to show a penalty shoot-out between Team GB and whoever.  Naturally Team GB lost but the change in mindset was interesting.

Perhaps the lack of sporting interest has much to do with the prevalence of football over everything.  Seeing the prima donna footballers, earning stupid amounts for not doing much (considering there are 11 of them, sometimes not even playing during the 90 minute game, and one ball - which is lucky to see the back of the net more than once or twice) their very messy private lives all over the gossip pages. 

Then there are the other group idolised by the general public - the reality shows.  The hard work, perseverance and determined dedication shown by the Olympians makes a refreshing change from the faux tension of someone not singing in tune but their granny just died so that's ok.

Wait, I'm not putting it right...here, let Bradley do it.

There is much talk about how if Yorkshire were competing as a separate country they'd be 8th on the medal table.  No mention of how far up Scotland would be but, as we only have 5 million of a population I think we'd be proud!

(Note:  Scotland will never become independent of Britain.  Britain is the island, no escape from there unless we start digging a jolly big trench, we will (hopefully) become independent of the United Kingdom government.  This is not due to hating England but a wish to see what would happen on our own again.  It was a parcel of rogues who bankrupted Scotland, leading to the need for a union.  Anyway, that's a whole other subject.)

Where'd you go?

It has been a busy time of late and then, for an entire week, there was sun...sun...SUN!!!  Lovely, warm, summery sun.  


Being Scottish this is a rare enough event to bring out immediate wearing of light and bright clothing, a raising of spirits, a general feeling of camaraderie.  The sun, not venturing on these shores for too long, disappeared yesterday.  


The weather equivalent of taking a lollipop from a baby.


We have the memories of course, and the hope that one day very soon the sun shall return.  Our shorts and flip flops demand it.

Nearly forgot...

It was Burns Night tonight, when we are meant to eat a dinner of Haggis, neeps (turnips) and tatties (potatoes) and think of Robert Burns poems to recite.


None of this happened.


But what is worse, the Hobbits came home from school saying they had no special assembly, no mention made and no poems (we always had to memorise at least one of them back in the dark ages when I went to school.)


I don't know why this year nothing much has been done or said.  There you go.  The man himself probably wouldn't have given a damn anyway.


Favourite Burns story:


Burns is out walking and passes a milk maid on her way to the farm, yoke across her shoulders.  She is about to walk past when Burns stops her -


"Do you know who I am?"  He asks, she does not, "I'm Robert Burns."  He states.


Wearily she motions to her milk pails.  "Shall I put these down now then?"


(If this needs explaining then I'll go no further than to say that as a renowned womaniser she wouldn't have know much of his poetry but she'd know of his reputation.)

There is a myth that we have to hunt Haggis and live in Shortbread Tins.  Not true.

It's raining, and a bit windy...

BBC NEWS NI- Hurricane Katia winds reach NI

BBC NEWS WALES- Travel hit as 81mph winds strike

BBC NEWS SCOTLAND- Autumn arrives


'Cause we're hard like that...

The Possibilities Are Endless

Last week I voted with heavy heart.


Heavy because I was under the impression that most people would do the whole "I vote this party because I've always voted them/my father voted for them/I'm deluded into believing they stand for the 'working class'" gig.


But no.


Not only was Black Bitch* Alec Salmond returned as First Minister but this time with a majority that shows perhaps people have actually thought about their vote. 


And now the opposition leaders topple, showing a complete lack of backbone and belief in their own party.  The only one I'm sorry to see go is Tory Annabel Goldie.  She was the only one to offer debate with Salmond beyond the petty, childish, playground insults of Labour and the Lib Dems.


I feel a new found respect for my countrymen/women.  Independence may still happen in my lifetime and that is a good thing!


*No I'm not being incredibly racist - here is the story...

Linlithgow's coat of arms features a black bitch dog against an oak tree, and townsfolk are known as "black bitches". In his account of a 1677 tour of Scotland, a Thomas Kirk described the arms of the town as "a black bitch tied to a tree, in a floating island. We enquired for a story about it, but could meet with none: their schoolmaster told us it proceeded from the name of the place. Linlithgow, in Erst, is thus explained: Lin signifies Lough; Lith, black; and Gow, a hound." 

A more recently recorded legend holds that this was a black greyhound whose master was sentenced to starve to death on an island in Linlithgow loch. She used to swim from the town every day with food for him, and managed to save his life. The townspeople took the symbol of the dog's loyalty and bravery as their own. The local pub named "The Black Bitch" is reputed to be one of Scotland's oldest pubs.

FYI I was told when I moved here that you can only be a Black Bitch if you are born in the town.  Not at the nearby hospital but in the town.  Must be the only place on Earth where being called such a thing is a badge of honour!

That Big Round Thing In The Sky

Oh sphere of plasma and magnetic fields we are not usually on speaking terms.  But how nice of you to visit for so long.  It puts smiles on the faces of people who are getting worn down by life.  The flowers are nodding approval.  Cats are sleeping in languid bliss.
We could get used to this think all.
Perhaps we could make this a regular event, perhaps you could see your way to coming back in the summer too?

Kind regards,
Scotland

Free Boaby

Oh how much will this not translate to anyone not from central Scotland! But as my readership is probably just me anyway that doesn't matter.

I have an inkling that this may be a publicity stunt but the other morning while driving the Hobbits to school (between 8.20-8.40) I heard this brilliant song dedicated to the "mouse" of a certain wind-up merchant called Cecil. Now Cecil is one of the characters (played by the host Robin Galloway) who participates in the morning wind-up calls made to various businesses - some with absolutely no sense of humour at all shown when taking these calls.

Cecil just happens to have a pet mouse called Boaby, which coincidentally is also a slang word for a certain part of the male anatomy. (Joke on hearing an old woman talking about "Boaby" someone asks "Who is Boaby", the reply "Oh anyone's Boaby!") Maybe it doesn't translate well on the page but it is funny when you hear it - promise!

For some reason best know to themselves (publicity stunt!) the radio station has banned the song (and from what I can tell poor Boaby has had the chop too, ouch!) Well, it might sound kind of, maybe similar to something by T-Rex. Still when I first heard the song we were all laughing and I had to dissuade the Hobbits from singing it as we walked into school.

I am sure if Marc Bolan had a Boaby like Cecil's he would want to sing about it too.

Recognise the need for good old Scottish humour and free Boaby!

A Man's A Man For A' That

It may have been the national celebration of Robert Burns birthday yesterday and no, we didn't partake of the traditional haggis, neeps and tatties for dinner (as yummy as that is, no really it is lovely), but today was the 'Scottish Assembly' for the Hobbits at school. Have heard snippets of what happened, lots of 'so and so from such and such a class' going on stage to recite his poems and I spent yesterday afternoon running around trying to find tartan for them to wear. I mean really, Linlithgow is a tourist town, I just couldn't think of anything in time, had I gone into Edinburgh we would have had tartan to clothe the entire town.

A lot of the children wore kilts, but unfortunately the Hobbits don't have kilts, would look cute though. The Hobbits now know Robert Burns although they don't realise his importance yet, or the fun in some of his poems. He calls government 'a parcel o' rogues' can you think of a better description! Youngest hobbit came out with the quote of the day. As we were walking out of the school he told me "Mummy, you know Robert Burns wasn't at school today" I should hope not, he has been dead 200 years. "No, he was in his spaceship."

I must have missed something when we were getting taught Burns poetry at school, I don't recall any spaceships.

My favourite tale of Burns's life is when he was out for a country walk one day and happened on a young milkmaid carrying her yoke. A reknown womaniser Burns introduces himself, the milkmaid sighs and says "will I put the buckets down now then?" Class.

Yesterday morning was awful. Let me just say that if you think of saying what you really want to someone and that you will find some satisfaction in it, then you are wrong. Even if you do not resort to swearing, name calling, fisticuffs or below the belt remarks. You will neither feel dignified or happy in yourself even if you get the upper hand. As I was once told, if you get down in the dirt with the pigs you just make yourself dirty, and the pigs like that.

300 Years Ago

It was 300 years ago that the 'parcel of rogues' signed us over to the English. A contentious statement but true. I imagine that if Scotland didn't have as many resources then the Union would have ended long ago and perhaps, considering the current feeling perhaps the Union is soon to end.

There is debate on both sides and, more infuriatingly, mud slinging. The English call us scroungers (must have seen the ridiculous amount spent on benefits and anyway we get a lot less than the Northern Irish and nothing is said about them), we call them bullies. It is an antagonistic relationship that does not hold when one person speaks to another and we cease to see them as English/Scottish and start to see them as individuals.

I think England would benefit from our Independence in gaining back their own culture as a separate state. Yet, having heard all my years about the "Queen of England," and the use of England when it should be Britain, they hopefully could try and understand the frustration of being denied a voice. Even if we moan, we are good at it. Both countries have good and bad points in their psyche.

Would a split make us respect each other more? We would need to wait and see. There are a lot of English living in Scotland, we must be doing something right.

Oh and there was no party to celebrate the Union, but there was a new £2 coin. There is a moral in there somewhere.