Of Kilts, Walks and Nosey Hungarians

KILT WEARING LESSONS

I must have been about twelve.  My parents had taken me on a camping holiday in Hungary.  This was the sixties, the Iron Curtain was an oppressive reality, and visitors from anywhere as far west as the British Isles were a rarity, not something most Hungarians encountered.  

We went for a day in Budapest.  Dad parked the car on the outskirts and we got a bus into the centre.  I've no idea what prompted me to do this, but I'd decided I'd wear my kilt (Crawford tartan of course).  This was a stupid idea on two counts.  Firstly, kilts are hot to wear, and Budapest in Summer is humid, so I soon found I was in for a sweaty day.  And secondly, as I was about to discover, the concept of the kilt wasn't a familiar one to the locals....

This became clear as we passed a news kiosk, when the vendor jumped up, rushed out and stared at me.  All the way down a very long street.  Every time we looked back there he was, until, thankfully, the road took a turn.  Then there was the shop my mother wanted to visit, looking for, I think, an embroidered tablecloth.  The shop was dim inside, cool compared to the baking streets, so at first I was pleased to go in.  There was one woman behind the counter, serving the one customer in the shop.  On seeing me she forgot about her client, rushed round from behind the display cabinet and, ignoring my parents, homed in on me, bent down, and lifted.....  I was twelve.

Later, getting back to the car, a group of hairdressers emerged from their shop, keen to ask us something.  We spoke no Magyar, they spoke no English.  Mum and I retired to the Cortina, leaving my father to try and fathom out the cause of their excitement.  After a minute or so, and a lot of sign language, his bafflement turned to laughter and he made his way back to us.  It took a bit of time before he could speak well enough to explain that they'd had a bet on as to whether I was boy or girl. 

I was twelve.  I never wore a kilt again....

Until this year.  Cue Kiltwalk, and the decision to do it in the proper attire.  Once I'd got a few training walks in, and was no longer getting blistered feet, it seemed like a good idea to try a walk in the kilt.  Discovering unexpected chafing, or negative effects from having a sporran banging against your willy every step of the way, was best found out well before the day itself.  So I took to wearing the kilt into town, then on my walks, and it got to see a few Fringe shows.  It even made an appearance on TV (link only available until 3 October).  

And so we became a couple, and it served me well on my walking challenge.  Although the nearest thing I got to an injury did come from a soggy kilt hem, the one day I walked in a downpour, when the constant rubbing of sodden cloth nearly had me bleeding at one spot at the back of my right knee.  But we didn't fall out over it, I just took to carrying plasters with me every time we went out.

I like it.  I'm surprised how much I enjoy wearing it, the feeling it gives me, and I'm sure it won't be hanging lonely in the wardrobe until prep begins for Kiltwalk 2019 (yes, I will be begging for money again next year).  There's even a chance I'll look for another one.

It's taken five decades, but my childhood day of Hungarian trauma has finally been resolved.

And finally.... many thanks to everyone who supported me and donated money for my walk.  If you'd still like to give something then please click on this link.

Proof I made it to the end :

And click on this link if you want to see how I managed to still walk like a vaguely normal human after fifteen and a half miles!

Our very own poem, Our very own poet

VERSE SURPRISE

A hypothetical question for you. You're given the gift of all the time and money you need to go to an unlimited supply of live entertainment. With the catch that everything you see must fall within only one of these four categories - sport, music, drama or comedy.  Which do you choose?

For me the answer is always easy.  Music.  Much as I love the other three, much as they've all provided me with some amazing memories, it's no contest.  There are no highs like the highs I've had from a couple hours of watching and listening and moving to the sounds of Dallahan or Le Vent du Nord or Blazin' Fiddles or Stephanie Trick or Mr Sipp or the 3 geniuses that comprise the mighty Lau or.... the list goes on and on (but always ends with Lau).

But there's a genre missing from my list, as last night's gig reminded me.  Spoken Word, Poetry, Storytelling, it goes by various names, but can have its own way of providing those special moments in life.  I've not been to all that many across the years.  Luke Wright was a fairly recent discovery, but the poetry gig that's stuck most in my head was over 20 years ago, courtesy of a friend who took us along to see a man called Henry Normal. And we became fans, read his books, found ourselves quoting lines to each other at odd moments.

You might not know the name, or his poetry, but you will be familiar with much of his other work. Along with Steve Coogan he set up Baby Cow Productions and among his many credits as writer and/or producer are shows like The Royle Family, Gavin and Stacey, Red Dwarf, Alan Partridge and the feature film Philomena.  Not a bad list.

But now he's left TV behind and is back writing and performing as a poet.  His appearance in the Poetry Cafe in London near enough coincided with our wedding anniversary, which seemed like a good enough excuse to make the trip. I was looking forward to seeing him again, wholly unaware of just how special a night it would be.

Because Barbara got in touch with Henry, asking if he'd give us a mention on the night.  To her surprise he not only said he would, but he'd write a poem just for us as well.  I was in the dark about this until the night itself and we had a  chat with Mr Normal before the show.  It was a hilarious and moving night , the (our!) poem was wonderful, and Henry is a lovely,lovely man.

You'd probably think that was the best bit of the night, but no.  If you know Barbara you'll know she's pretty much the open book type, always honest, her emotions writ large upon her features.  But she kept this a secret from me without a hint of it escaping.  You can't imagine how proud I am that she's finally, after all these years, achieved a level of deceitfulness to match my own....

As for the poem, well here's a photo of the copy he presented us with, and a transcript in case the original is hard to read.  Enjoy.  We did.

MOT for the 21st WEDDING ANNIVERSARY of

Barbara and Blyth Crawford

MOT

Marriage on track

Mutual ownership treaty

Membership of team

Made of trust

Marvel of tolerance

Merger of two

Ministry of Tenderness

Mate on tap

or

MOT

Misery owned twice

Mad oath taken

Match own troubles

Murderer of time

Monogamy only token

Malevolent odious twin

Malign other twat

Must order termination

Advocard, my 15 mile motivator

YOU PUT SOMETHING IN, YOU GET SOMETHING OUT

In my last post I said I'd write about my experiences at Advocard, the organisation I'm doing Kiltwalk for next Sunday, so here it is. I've been volunteering with them for well over two years now, so I've got a good idea of what they do, what good they do, and also what they do for me.

Finding them was one of those random strokes of luck. Although it was my wife who suggested we go in for a look around the Edinburgh Volunteer Fair, it was me who emerged from it with a new role to take on. When the basics of being an advocacy worker were explained to me it just felt like it clicked with some of my own skills from my professional life, albeit with a very different application.

People with mental health issues often struggle to make their voices heard, especially when dealing with any form of officialdom. They may have difficulty in expressing themselves, or lack the confidence to stand up for themselves, or find they are too easily ignored. An advocacy worker can help them express what they want to communicate more effectively, help them to find, or sometimes act as, their voice.

That can take many forms. Writing letters or emails on their behalf, making phone calls, helping them to complete complex forms. Sometimes just listening and helping someone to organise their own thoughts is all they require. Although many of our meetings with service users take place in the Advocard office on Leith Walk, we also make home visits for people whose health issues, physical as well as mental, make it difficult for them to come to us. At other times I will be going along to the doctor, the psychiatrist, to meetings with social workers or housing officers, to MP surgeries and benefits offices. Anywhere someone might feel uncomfortable, challenged, inarticulate or even threatened.

Advocacy can be a tricky concept at first, but I was given a good deal of training before being unleashed on the public. I'm not there to give advice, but I can help someone to understand their options and priorities better. I'm not a carer, or a friend, or there to try and manage the service user. There are other organisations out there for those things. I am there to help someone have confidence that they will at least be heard, that what they want to say is put across in a clear and intelligible manner, and when asked for information they are able to provide what's required.

Although there are several themes that crop up frequently, such as complaints about poor housing or feeling ignored by the medical profession, the one thing an advocacy learns very quickly is that every situation is different, every person I see has different problems to the last. Mental illness can affect anyone, and I've found myself working with a lawyer, a university lecturer and software developer. But a lot of the people we see are from the more vulnerable sections of society, often too ill to work, frequently with wider health problems. They have a huge range of conditions too. Some can explain themselves well, but with others their illness makes it difficult for them to give a coherent account of why they've come to see us. Patience and sharp listening skills are called for!

Similarly the home visits may take me into parts of the city I might not otherwise find myself in, districts that are in sharp contrast to the image Edinburgh presents to tourists and festival-goers. But I've also found myself going out to a flat that must have been worth around a million. Like I said before, anyone can be affected, and there's no 'profile' of a 'typical' Advocard user.

As an ex civil servant I think I bring something useful to the role. Obviously I'm going to be comfortable with some of the jargon officialdom sometimes confronts people with, and filling in long and complex forms is second nature to me. But it's having been a business analyst I often find most useful. If someone wants to make a complaint I need to understand the sequence of events that led up to problem, but often the person I'm talking to isn't able to relate their story in a linear fashion, or an awareness of which facts are relevant. Being able to create a timeline out of a jumble of words becomes a handy skill to have....

And I think, as an ex-bullshitter, I'm pretty good at spotting when someone is doling it out.

Why do I do it? Well, I suppose in part it's that well worn and nebulous cliché of "giving something back", a sense of doing some good in the community. Not that it's always clear if I've been of any assistance, but that's the nature of the job.

It's also about the sheer variety of situations I find myself dealing with, trying to understand, and the different professions and people I encounter. But there are a couple of specifics I want to end on, one very personal to myself, the other with a wider purview. Firstly, retirement is wonderful, but it's easy to feel like you're no longer of much use to anyone. Being able to dig up some of my skills from the past and apply them to a very different environment is what I think of as my "reminder of competence". Secondly, seeing people who are sometimes at a very low point in their lives, sometimes feeling suicidal, and hearing their background stories has helped me keep in mind that the vast majority of us are only two or three coinciding events from hitting a downwards spiral. Most of us could find a way to cope with a serious illness to ourselves or others, or the death of someone close, or redundancy, or a sudden financial burden, or an accident, or having to move home, or falling out with friends or relatives, or.... The list goes on. But change one or two of those 'or's to 'and's and coping becomes much more difficult. I've met people who were leading perfectly normal, useful lives, only for some of those events to come along at once and finding they lack the resources to cope. Maybe they don't have a decent support network, maybe they don't have savings, maybe they don't have the skills. Maybe I wouldn't.

So that's why I'm walking for Advocard. Because any one of us might need it one day.

If you'd like to help me to raise funds you can donate by clicking on this link.