Thirty Days in September

THE FINAL DAYS, THE FINAL THOUGHTS

Two more days to pick a Thing for, and a chance to think about what I've written over this series of posts.  Is there anything meaningful to be drawn from the process, either of myself or for others?  Well I can only speak for myself, so I leave the latter to you.

Monday 29 September.  The day passed with writing and reading and walking and shopping (only for food) and cleaning the flat.  No pilates again this week.  But the highlight came in the evening, going up into town and down into Waverely Station.  Barbara's return.  Good to have her back again.  I was never lonely while she was away, and we talked on video every day, but having her back is always an improvement.

Tuesday.  A day of the mostly mundane.  I picked up my big bag of prescription pills from the pharmacy.  We went out in the evening to a successful, but largely boring, AGM for the housing estate we live on.  So my 'Thing' for the day is a bit different, as it's about the future.  We had already planned to go down to Preston in November, because there is a Wallace and Gromit exhibition on, and we've always been fans of the plasticine pair.  The one night trip extended to two when we heard that an old friend's band is playing as a support act in Southport the night before we'd planned to go.  And that they were supporting an American duo I've become a fan of in recent years.  One of the best things in life is having things to look forward to...

So that was my month, or at least a few highlights from it.  A lot of the ordinary and mundane is missing.  The efforts to hit a decent step count each day. The regular visits to supermarkets (usually Lidl...), because we eat fresh fruit for breakfast each day and we're always running out of one or another berry or citrus or whatever.  The TV dramas we binge watch in the evenings.  And, since last Xmas, the shared fun of building Lego sets.

You hear of people feeling a bit lost when they retire.  The structure and routine that work provided is gone and they find that hard to replace.  Humans need some structure in life.  People like excitement and novelty, but also need a framework that provides reassurance and a sense of purpose.  My life now provides sufficient of that. Weekly classes and volunteering.  Seasonal entertainment and sport.  The festival month of August.  But also the additions to the routine, like trips away, cinema visits, outings in Daffy.  

It feels like I should end this series of posts with some kind of message, a life lesson or nugget of truth.  I'm not sure I really have one, or maybe I just scared of sounding pretentious.  But I'll have a go, and finish on that.

Contentment lies in the joys of small things.

Seven days in September (#4)

 WEEK 4

We've hit the final full week of  Things being done.  Is there any variety left?  Is anyone still following this?  Do I care...?

Monday 22 September.  I went to pilates alone, but made it up to Waverley in plenty time to wave goodbye to our guest.  After a trip to some shops it was time for a cake stop, this time in the Hopetown Coffee on Broughton Street.  A lovely and friendly not-for-profit place, with interesting artwork on the walls, and comfy seats.  Cake stops do seem to feature frequently in our days out...

Tuesday.  Today's short play was funny at times, but not one of the better ones in the series.  So for today's best 'Thing' I'm back to cake.  After some shopping we went into Princes Street Gardens and had our cakes sitting in the sun by the Ross Fountain.  In glorious sunshine.  Maybe the last opportunity to do so this year?

Wednesday.  Pilates was good, the toastie in Cafe Marmalade after that was tasty.  But the best bit was then going to see my befriendee, and having the weather and her health both be conducive to an outing.  We got her shopping, we went into a cafe, we had a laugh and a chat and I hope I brightened up her day a bit.

Thursday.  Haircut, film and pizza day.  I enjoy going to get my hair done.  For the past couple of years I've been having it done by Martin, a heavily tattooed Czech who, like me, has scoliosis, and (unlike me...?) is always great fun to chat with.  I always leave there feeling better.  The film was The Naked Gun, of which I was nervous as remakes of old classics are often poor, but this was a pretty well done homage.  And pizza because why not?

Friday. Left to my own devices again.  By 11 Barbara's train was pulling out of Waverley, heading south to see family and friends.  I had a long walk, went home, and the afternoon passed by without me feeling bored.  If only I knew what I'd been doing!  But the best bit of the day came later on, when I thought I'd give Daffy a run in the dark.  I put about 15 miles on her clock, and had a great time feeling one with my ancient machine on quiet roads.  And somebody saw her and smiled.

Saturday.  A few jobs done at home, rugby watched on the TV, and out to the rink in the evening.  For one of the more memorable Caps matches.  Playing our nearest rivals, Kirkcaldy Kestrels, this one could have gone either way.  We scored, they scored, we scored, they scored, etc.  You get the idea. We briefly had a 2 goal lead, but by the end it was 5-5.  Overtime up next, and nobody scored, although both goalies were busy.  Which meant penalties to decide the result, and for this one point in the weekend I was glad I was on my own.  Barbara is not temperamentally suited to watching shootouts without risk of coronary arrest! 😂  No goals in the first 4 rounds, despite a Kestrel waltzing smoothly round our keeper, Ben Keddie, to open up the net only to find a flying twisting Cap blocking the puck.  Possibly the most remarkable, and hard-to-believe save I've ever seen at Murrayfield.  And in round 5 Sean Cochrane allowed the crowd to breathe again when he slotted the puck in gloves-side, brought us to our feet and the volume to max.  6-5 and I drove Daffy home with a smile.

Sunday.  Walking and shopping and doing stuff on the PC and eating and watching a film on TV.  But the biggest smiles of the day were produced by sporting news from elsewhere.  Caps won again, this time beating the Kestrels 3-5 in their own rink.  And Europe retained the Ryder Cup.  While I don't take much interest in golf these days, hearing that they'd defeated an unsporting US team, and silenced a despicably Trumpian home crowd, sounds like the perfect outcome.

The final week done, two more days to write about, and some thoughts on my own month.  That's the next post.

Seven Days in September (#3)

WEEK 3 

Monday 15 September. We went to pilates, and I made a passable curry for dinner.  But my highlight was going to the Sicilian Pastry Shop for a couple of their strawberry tarts (the last 2 they had).  Delicious.  Oh, and we had The Plumber's Return.  Not a new job, but a continuation of the work I mentioned so many days before.  He left us with clouds of dust and a bit more done.

Tuesday.  Remember that plumber?  We ended the day with a new shower.  And a lot of mess, but the shower was done.  We went to another P&P&P at the Traverse.  And I wrapped some presents, because...  

Wednesday.  Barbara's birthday.  The usual pilates class, with an unusually giggly French woman on the mat next to me.  Dinner in Mowgli, delicious, but noisy.  However my highlight for the day was my wife's reaction to her main present, the Sherlock Holmes Book Nook Lego set.   We don't have to be grown ups  all the time, do we?

Thursday.  On this day I enjoyed the creativity of an Instagram post I put up.  But the main pleasure came from something more physical.  I do pilates to keep my wonky back in order, and part of that same regime is a monthly massage.  Not the incense and whale song kind, more the type that's only 2 steps removed from invoking the Geneva Convention.  Sometime painful, but worth it in the end.  For a long time I was manipulated by a young Irish woman, who gave great rugby craic, but she returned to Dublin and now I'm in the hands of a Pole.  No sport talk, but very entertaining, and I always leave having laughed, as well as having my muscles deknotted (a veeeeery tight left shoulder being the main culprit this time).

Friday.  Return to The Hive.  A double header of preseason matches for Edinburgh Rugby.  Good to be back shouting for the lads, good to be back chatting to my oldest friend, who I've known since I was 14 (I don't want to think how many years that is...).  Some rubbishy food in the break between games, a spectacular sunset sky, and a win to end it all.  I look forward to the season to come, as the point in time where all seems possible...

Saturday.  We met Barbara's daughter off the train at Waverley.  Nothing was planned for the rest of the day, so we ended up sat at the table putting bits of bricks together.  While the two women put a Lego kit together, I tried making one from a manufacturer called Cada.  And it was fun for all.  

Sunday.  While mother and daughter did their own thing, I did mine.  A bit of walking, a bit of writing, shared the blog post that described the first week in this wee series.  Dinner for 3 was in Cafe Andaluz in Stockbridge, and back home our visitor was introduced to the delights of Gary : Tank Commander (it's on iPlayer if you haven't discovered the daftness yet).  So a good day, topped by a discovery.  I'd never before seen or heard the collaboration between Mark Knopfler and Emmylou Harris from earlier this century, so playing footage of their concert was a huge pleasure.

And so endeth another week.  Is there a pattern here?  Is there some great secret of life?  Probably not...

Seven days in September (#2)

WEEK 2

The third in my series of six posts trying to give some idea of what this pensioner's life is like on a day to day basis.

Monday 8 September.  Back to pilates, followed by eating cake in the Leith sunshine.  That's a good day right there.  Even if the plumber didn't turn up...

Tuesday.  A Play, a Pie and a Pint is back at the Traverse, and this was the first of six we'll be going to see.  Wallace was a Scottish hip-hop musical, far removed from our usual fare, but hugely entertaining and leaving a lot room for thought about the myths we create as nations.  I also spent a couple of hours in the garage, giving Daffy a clean and a check over, ready for her outing later in the week.

Wednesday.  The pilates class was again enjoyable, and I even got a compliment from someone who had just joined and was impressed by how easy it looked for me (she's easily impressed... this is the beginners class!).  Then on to my voluntary role.  Earlier this year I became a volunteer befriender to a woman in a wheelchair, and we get along well.  Normally we'd go to a cafe, but she wasn't feeling up to it so we sat in her flat chatting and laughing.  

Thursday.  A Daffy the 2CV day.  And, in other news, our wedding anniversary.  A drive to the south west on the A701, a visit to the Gretna outlet village and a stay in the Star Hotel in Moffat - allegedly the narrowest detached hotel in the world.  Our room certainly went the full width, but it was a good size.  (A family room with a double and two singles, for reasons we didn't enquire about...)

Friday.  More Daffiness.  Good fun coaxing her up the steep bendy road away from Moffat, and taking photos of the spectacular scenery in that area.  NIce cafe stop in Biggar, then home through the rain.  We must do some more of those nights away.

Saturday.  Easy to choose which of this day's 3 Things was the one to remember.  Out to Murrayfield Ice Arena to see Caps play and win their first league match of the season, a 4-1 vicrtory over Solway.  More of the same please.

Sunday.  I know I should choose the video call with our old friends as the highlight of the day.  However Scotland played England in the quarter final of the RWC.  Clear underdogs, we were well beaten.  So where's the highlight?  With the clock in the red our women finally got over the line, a beautiful score from Rhona Lloyd.  Beaten yes, giving up never.

A week as atypical as week 1, in that this time there something going on every day, with a trip away trhown in.  Maybe there is no such thing as 'typical'?

Seven days in September (#1)

 WEEK 1

In my previous post I mentioned my habit of writing 3 Things that  made me smile every day, and that I'd follow on with further posts looking at each week in September, picking one of the 3 Things for each day of the week.  So this begins with the beginning., with an atypical week, as the pilates studio was closed.

Monday 1 September.  3 Things became 4, so it was a good day.  I could choose going to the cinema, but The Life of Chuck was disappointing, so I'm going with writing and posting a blog post.  About tourists.  It was fun to be writing something I was happy to share, which hasn't happened very much this year.

Tuesday.  Another 3 that became 4, another trip to the cinema.  The Roses was a lot of fun, but my highlight of the day was a very old-man kind of choice.  I've been having problems with my left leg, so I had an appointment with the physiotherapist at our GP practice.  She talked, examined, manipulated, and diagnosed.  I came away with some strengthening exercises to do each day, and a hope that maybe Kiltwalk might be possible again next year...?

Wednesday.  In the afternoon we sat down and worked together on the bookshop/cafe.  We got into building Lego models last Xmas, and it's something I'll post about in future, as it's become a really enjoyable joint hobby.  We hadn't had time to do some for a a few weeks, so it was good to be back.  This isn't actually a Lego set, being made by Lumibricks.  The same building materials, the same quality.  And, in several ways, seeming to be superior to the better known and more expensive brand.  But that's for a future post.  The best bit about it, as well as the feeling of creativity, is that we do it as a team.

Thursday.  Only one possible contender for today's highlight.  An early start saw us driving to the cancer clinic at the Western, where Barbara got another 'all clear' after her recent scan.  Four years since the op and all remains well.  What could possibly top that?  Although I will mention that the materials for our new shower arrived, as it will be of relevance in further posts...

Friday.  The shower materials had arrived, now we needed the plumber to do something.  So an early start for us to be ready for his arrival.  Then a wait.  And more of a wait.  Then wait more.  He turned up mid afternoon, ripped out the bath, then went again.  And that was that.  So it didn't make it's way into my 3 Things, and a lot of the day felt wasted.  Poor Barbara stayed in the whole time (I went out for some food shopping) so the highlight was a walk in the graveyard together (!).  Some may be aware we live above a cemetery, and in 2016 I published a blog dedicated to watching it change across the seasons.  It became a frequent exercise ground during covid times, a quiet green space that felt like an extension of home.  So it's always a pleasant place to be, despite the obvious connotations.

Saturday.  Winter is coming which means a return to watching sport.  This day gave me one match on TV, one live.  In the afternoon Scotland faced Canada in the Rugby World Cup, in the evening we were at the rink to see Edinburgh Capitals take on Sheffield Steeldogs.  Both 'my' teams lost, but weren't disgraced. Our women scored 3 tries against the number 2 team in the world.  The Caps,in a preseason game, gave a pro team a good competitive match, losing 2-5 to a couple of late goals.  Scotland are through to the quarter finals for the first time in a couple of decades, Caps have faced a team with far more speed and skill that any they'll meet in their league or cup campaigns, so both count as big pluses.

Sunday.  Another trip to the rink to see the same match up as the day before, but with a 'slightly' different outcome.  Exhausted by their efforts of the day before, they were unable to cope with a vastly superior side and lost 2-14.  So my choice for the day is a bit of creativity.  I enjoy posting my photos on Instagram.  Hardly anyone sees them, but that's not the point.  I put up some more pics of our trip to Brussels last month.

Conclusion - ?  I'm not sure there is one.  Each day is different, each day throws up something that's enjoyable, sometimes planned, sometimes surprising.  Another week to follow soon.  And I will leave any verdict to the final post.

Where do the days go?

 

BUT WHAT DO YOU REALLY DO?

"What do you do?" We have all asked, or been asked, that question many times. It's seen as a safe conversational gambit with people new to you, and gives them something to talk about. There's also the risk that it's been used to judge who you are on the basis of your employment status, but that's a different discussion... The usual response is to tell the interlocutor your job, or what you study. Or, in my case, for over a decade now, the simple reply "I'm retired".

"What do you do with yourself?" Or "What do you do all day?" are the usual follow up questions.  (The smarter question might be "what did you do before?", but not many people think of that one.)  Because when you work it's hard to imagine life without that structure determining so much of how your days and weeks are occupied. How does all that time get filled up?

"What do I do with myself?" I think. And I'm never sure how to answer, either them or me. Our weeks have some fixed points in them, some days have places to go, things to do. others don't. Yet I can't say I've ever been bored. There's always something to do, to think about, books to read and messages to answer. I can see why that might sound dull to someone outside looking in, but that's not the experience I have.

One thing I have done for a long time, in fact with only a few short breaks since I was 19, is write up a daily diary entry. There's nothing earth shattering in there, just a run down of my day, and any thoughts that seemed important. Occasionally references to what's going on in the the wider world, mostly the mundane reality of the everyday. It helps me download my thoughts before bed, and provides a reference document of when things happened, what I thought about them at the time.

For the past decade and more these entries have finished with a short list, entitled '3 Things'. Every day I have to come up with three things that made me smile, made me laugh, provided some moment of happiness. Even on the occasional bad day, it makes me look for the good in the previous hours. Most days it's easy enough to nominate a trio. Some days it can be hard to get past two. On others the list goes on to four, five, six...

So to answer my own question - what do I do? - and maybe to explain my life a bit, I am going to follow this up with further posts, each one looking at a week, and focusing on one of the 3 Things for each day. For all of September. A month of happy moments, or utter tedium? You decide.

Of tourists and hypocrisy

 

AUGUST, BLOODY AUGUST

Hello September. You're welcome. Cooler weather, calmer city. Hockey is back, rugby soon to follow, and the winter weekends begin to take shape for me. August was the usual mix of heaven and hell.

August in Edinburgh. festival month. Correction, festivals month. Lots of them. Lots of shows and exhibitions and venues and acts. And tourists. So many tourists. If a city could be full to the gunnels (it certainly can't be the gunwales, can it?) then this one was packed. Tourists, tourists everywhere, and lots of them with drink.

We ventured to a few Fringe shows (only eighteen this time, the number seems to decline every year now, perhaps as we decline...), but kept out of town otherwise. Even then the usual words were frequently on our lips. "Fekin tourists!" Gawping, dawdling, blocking, obscuring, bewildering, straying, misplaced souls that they all seemed to be. With disregard for all but themselves, forever in the way of locals, forever a source of irritation.

Post-Fringe, our end-days of August were spent on trains and in Brussels. Where we gawped and dawdled and blocked and obscured and bewildered and strayed and were misplaced constantly. We tried not to be, honest. But how can you not when you're that thing - fekin tourists... Sorry Brusselians (?).

Sorry Miriam, but I have to disagree...

NO HE ISN'T

We went to see Miriam Margolyes on the Fringe yesterday. A wonderful show, the actor pouring her talents into bringing Dickens characters to life, telling hilarious stories of her own life. She's great entertainment, and an unfiltered voice on the world. It's refreshing to hear a prominent Jewish voice speak out against the Israeli government's criminality and genocidal policies.

At the end there was an audience Q&A, and someone asked for her opinion of the Tangerine Tyrant. You probably know the gist of the answer already. She's not a fan, is she? She declared that he, along with the likes of Niggle Fuhrage, was a fascist. And there I felt myself disagreeing with her.

Fascism is an (abhorrent) ideology. And there is always some vague, if ill founded, belief system behind it. There is a form of coherence to the thinking of the fascist. There is no doubt that the likes of the Deform leader, and his cronies, meet the definition. Farage is a fascist, always has been. But Trump? I don't think so.

Certainly he has surrounded himself with a lot of people who are fascists. And clearly the results of his actions (I would hesitate to call them 'policies') can be seen as fascistic. But, as I said above, being a fascist involves a belief in some ideology. However the Mandarin Moron only has one belief - an even more ill-founded one it's true - in himself. This is the man (?) who mused, out loud, that injecting bleach into humans might help against covid. This is the creature (better) that said, to camera, that he was going to lower prices by 1000%.

Trump is not a fascist. Trump is, genuinely, too stupid to be a fascist. Sorry Miriam. Everything else you said was true.

Back here again

A WEEKEND OF RETURNS

In the eighties and nineties I performed in several amateur theatre productions. Acting both terrified and delighted me. In the noughties my job often took me around England and Wales to give talks to audiences ranging from little more than a dozen to more than two hundred. Presenting both terrified and satisfied me. Last night we went to a poetry and music event where audience members were invited to bring along a poem and read it out. So I did. My first stage appearance in many years. It both terrified and pleased me. The ham lives on...

(This was the poem I chose to read out.)

My last post in this blog was back in January. I have continued to write ever since. Every day. Mostly nonsense, mostly mundane, often rambling and incoherent (well, not quite Trumpian levels of incoherence...). But I write. I haven't felt like sharing it. With anyone.

But here I am again. Here I hope to return. Because last night reminded me that, as the ham, the performer, is still within me, so is the writer. So is the desire to expose my writing to others. And in doing so expose myself (but not in the way that attracts police attention). Even if hardly anyone bothers to read this...

There will be more (may contain Lego).  Probably...

Farewell to 262

 

LITTLE 262

That's her above. No, not the pushy wee fella in the foreground, begging to be taken away. But the reticent furball peering hesitantly from the safety of her cardboard haven. She was one of five siblings, newborns found in the streets of St Helens, and taken into the shelter of the Southport RSPCA. And this was love at first sight.

Her other brothers were all as pushy as the one shown. Only she held back, reluctant to put herself forward, and maybe that's why she was the one for us. The assistant got her out, and we held her, tiny, fragile, scared. We wouldn't be allowed to take her home with us until she was 12 weeks old, so there were frequent visits to the refuge, 'getting to know you' sessions, trying to form a bond. At first she was simply 'Little 262', because that was the number she had been given.

Meanwhile we tried out names. Nothing stuck. One day I'd visited her in my lunch break, and then called Barbara to report on progress. I thought I had a name. So did she. We can't remember which of us said it first, which said "that's what I had too", but we had, independently, arrived at the same answer. Where it came from we have no idea, as there was nobody of that name in our lives. But Zoe it was and Zoe she became. 262 had gone.

This was her arrival, in the place which would be her home for the next 5 years - an unboxing video of curiosity, fear, safety-seeking and an uncertain future.

She quickly developed her own unique character. Not a great fan of being picked up and held for long, but loving to be on laps and bodies when seated or in bed. Skilled at finding obscure hiding places (especially when the carrier came out...). Adaptable to a life that saw her ferried between Southport and Leith several times a year. And the softest fur you could find to stroke and nuzzle up to.

She could be a bit of a tiger...

Always ready to pose...

3 years ago she was diagnosed with a tumour in her chest. We decided against the imposition of surgery or chemo, and settled for managing the condition with steroid tablets. What a little survivor she was! Still going strong long after the worst had been expected.

But it had to end eventually, and the tumour got so big that her heart and lungs were being squeezed, her breathing compromised. The hardest decision had to be made. Which took us to today, and a tearful farewell.

This was my final photo of her, taken this morning when she came to sit on me in bed.

Goodbye Little 262. You were always loved.