Walking, advocacy and kilts 7

WET WEATHER WALKING

As anyone who was in the city yesterday will know, Edinburgh was a bit on the damp and breezy side.  But I'd committed myself to having another walk, the first for a couple of weeks, and who knows what conditions may be like in September, so out I went into a less than summery summers day.  It provided my most "interesting" walk to date.

Down to Newhaven, head east along the coast, until I finally reached Musselburgh a couple of hours further on.  It was wet, I was wet.  It was windy, I was... 'refreshed'.  Looking north there was no sign of Fife.  No sign of anything but a short stretch of water and a dense wall of greyness. 

When you wear glasses there are two choices on a day like this.  Take them off and not really be able to see where you're going.  Or leave them on and not really be able to see where you're going.  I chose the latter, but I don't think either option would have helped me avoid having an involuntary lie down.  I was on Baltic Street, an uninspiring location even when the sun shines down.  Nobody around, just a few cars passing, which I tried to keep an eye on in relation to their juxtaposition with the massive puddles that sat kerbside.  One second I'm pushing on through the rain, the next I'm horizontal.  The speed with which it happened probably saved me from any real injury, as I didn't even have time to stick an involuntary arm out (which is what often leads to broken bones).  Picking myself up I swiftly identified the culprit, given there was nothing else around.  A loop of thick wire, just big enough to capture both my feet at once and propel me asphaltwards.

I did think about turning back and getting a bus home.  But an assessment of the damage concluded that the worst thing seemed to be stinging palms.  And I don't walk on my hands, so on I went.  I was glad I did, or I'd have missed out on the most exhilarating walking experience so far.  Walking along an empty Porty Prom with the rain and sea blowing into my face was a glorious feeling and more than made up for my brief recumbent interlude. 

Still no airing for the kilt yet.  I was glad it wasn't with me yesterday, what with the potential for damage, and the general sogginess that accompanies wet weather kilt wearing.  But it needs to come out soon, so look out for an update in July.

Plenty of Advocard duties in the last week.  Two of the things I most enjoy about the role is the variety and unpredictability of what I'll be asked to do from one service user to another.  In the past couple of weeks it's included helping someone work out their options for getting their employer to make reasonable adjustment for their anxiety in the workplace (it may work out as simple as moving to a different desk); going to see a housing officer about getting a move because the person I'm with is experiencing health issues from his current accommodation; and helping someone speak out to ask for different treatment from the mental health services.  Two of those people talked about suicide so there's sometimes some real urgency in helping them towards a resolution of their difficulties.  I also went on a short training course about understanding and working with people who self harm.  Advocard are good about trying to provide us with the skills we need to do the job better.

A negative side to the weather yesterday was it made taking photos tricky, so I've nothing much to show for my eight miles , except this brightly coloured little boat in Fisherrow Harbour.  That and a graze on my knee....

A nasty warning about Boris Johnson

A WARNING FROM MARK FIELD

The recent furore over a Tory MP, at the time a Foreign Office minister, assaulting a peaceful protester has some chilling lessons for us all.  If you haven't seen the footage it can be found embedded in this interview with the victim.

That one of the UK's supposed leaders should behave in this way is bad enough.  What's far more chilling about this incident is the level of support he's received from some fellow MPs, such as the gung-ho cartoon character Johnny Mercer,  and the reaction of the hard right on social media - and in the right wing MSM.  In their truth-free bubble Field exists as some kind of hero saving the day, instead of the violent out of control thug the video evidences him to be.  This attitude paves the way nicely for....

We await the coming annointment of the right's current darling, the floppy haired serial liar who would be PM whatever the cost (to others).  This is the man who thought that 'water cannon' was the answer to a question nobody was asking.  This is a man who apparently considers violence to be a legitimate response to peaceful protest.  Another Mark Field.

Having recently watched a documentary that showed the vicious response of the Spanish state against democracy in action I find this the most worrying aspect of the Field assault.  is the response to his violence is the right laying the foundations for a far more sinister development - the use of state force against peaceful protesters.  We saw it 35 years ago at Orgreave, when the police were politicised.  This time it could be a lot worse....

Almost gone

TAKE OFF TEMPTATION

I had a solo night away in Aberdeen recently.  A slightly under 24 hours stay, so I may not have got a full impression of the place....  But.  It was dreich.  Grey.  Uninspiring.  I did get to see a great gig, but that was about the only highlight.  It rained persistently, it was ridiculously cold for the time of year, I had a rubbish pizza for dinner and the hotel breakfast was even worse.  I will go back, but - Aberdeen, you need to do better. (Any Aberdonians or lovers of the Granite City reading this will no doubt be able to put me right.)

On the morning before I caught my train homewards I wandered about, looking hopefully for photographic subjects without much turning up.  And occasionally dodging into shops to get out of the damp for a few minutes.  One of those was  TK Maxx, just at random.  And something happened.  I saw this.

A splash of colour to relieve the greyness of the day was one thing.  But this display set my mind off on an unexpected journey.  On my back I had a change of clothes, toiletries, a laptop.  I could buy a suitcase, get a pair of jeans and a few tee shirts, other bits and pieces, all for around £200 or so.  There'd be a bookshop at the railway station to stock up on the essentials - books.  Another flash of the credit card in the ticket office and I could be off, away, somewhere, anywhere.  It suddenly felt very appealing, just vanishing for a week.  Switch off the phone, hide from the planet.

That I should have this thought reflects the influence of the novel I was reading at the time, Paul Auster's The Music of Chance.  The central character was living a life on the road, aimless and arbitrary in his directions, pointless in his progress.  At the time, surprise surprise, I hadn't yet reached the point in the book where his life spirals out of control into a world of threats and violence and tragedy...

I didn't go of course, but wandered on a bit more, still taking photos of grey.

And finding a highlight in the rain.

And then I got on my train, reading on to the point where the 'hit the road' idea seemed a little less attractive.

Anyway, I had my gorgeous female to come home to.  How could I ever have considered anything else?

Walking, advocacy and kilts 6

FOLLOW THE WIGGLY LINE

This line in the ground marks the start of the Water of Leith Walkway, out in Balerno to the southwest of the city.  It's the path the river follows from there until it reaches Leith Docks, and there's a duplicate line in the ground on The Shore in Leith.  And it's about 12 miles to walk there.

I wanted to start stretching myself a bit more, and get a bit nearer to the distance I'll be doing in September.  This walk is almost entirely off road, and there's a visitor centre after about 5 miles, which means a loo break.  You have to think of these things at my age.

And it's a really nice walk, much of it tree lined, the occasional open views, past Murrayfield Stadium and Ice Rink, the pleasures of St Bernard's Well and umpteen parks along the way.  A few tunnels too, going under roads mostly, and some showing off a colourful interior.  You can't argue with the message in this one.  So I did.

There was a lot of mud to try and keep out of, and a few crazed cyclists who decided that not using a bell to warn walkers would add some excitement to their lives (bastards....), but with no other traffic it's possible to let you attention wander.  Since most of the walk is through central areas of the city there's a decent 4G signal much of the time.  So I walked along watching Dominic Thiem trying, and eventually failing, to be the one to unseat Rafa's dominance of Paris clay.

The weather varied, but no rain came, despite some gloomy moments.  But Dean Village looked as photogenic as ever.

I walked this route a few times last year, as part of my then preparations, and never really beat the four hour mark by much.  So it was good to find I'd done the journey in just a few minutes over the three and a half hours.  I later calculated that meant an average speed of just over 3.4mph.  Not bad, but must do better.  To hit my Kiltwalk target time I need to be doing nearer to 3.7mph.  Lots of work to do yet.  And I suspect quite a bit of it will mean aiming for Victoria Bridge again.

My Advocacy work last week sounded straightforward enough.  A woman had been sent a cheque by a bank back in 2016, but had been too ill to cash it.  By the time she was able to try, the 6 month limit has elapsed.  She's tried several times to get a replacement, she's had her daughter helping her, and some other advice, and got nowhere.  All of us have experienced these situations, getting passed from one person to another, waiting for calls back that never happen, the ostensibly helpful turning into the wilfully uncooperative.  Imagine how much worse that experience is if you suffer from acute anxiety, if you have no confidence that you are able to get your message across, if every setback feels like the ed of the line.

I made a couple of calls and learned that bank of Scotland branches can act as agents for Lloyds nowadays, so I arranged for us to go to a BoS branch.  But the promised meeting and help evaporated, and we had to leave with a promise that someone would be back in tomorrow and deal with it.  Sounds familiar....

No matter.  I now have people to talk to, face to face, and if nothing gets done we'll be back.  This woman is going to get her cheque.

Drip Drama

WATER, WATER EVERYWHERE

It's wet outside today, been raining for hours. Shame it's a bit wet inside too.

A few weeks ago we noticed a stain on the hall carpet. It didn't want to come off. A day or two later and we realised it wasn't muck, it was water. We had a wet patch. And it wasn't down to the cat or the incontinence of our advancing years. And so the story begins.

A plumber came in, we pulled back the carpet, to reveal a squelchy mass of soggy underlay. Pull that back and there, it would seem, was the culprit. At some point in time (and the block was only built in 2003) someone had dug a channel into the concrete flooring. Then refilled it. But they hadn't given the concrete enough time to set, so at the first hint of any water it started to crack and to crumble and to provide a point through which the water could press its way upwards. It had then spread out across the concrete, being sucked up and around into the underlay, to finally emerge under our toes.

Digging out the dodgy filling revealed a pipe, surely the culprit here. But no, it looks sound. the water is coming from elsewhere, running in channels under the solid floor to find an outlet - our poorly mended hallway. And that's when the detective business began.

It's taken four plumber's visits, and about three weeks, to find an answer. Once the obvious had been checked - bath, washing machine, dishwasher, sinks, water tank, radiators, heating system - it just became more confusing. It would have been funny to see the baffled look on the workman's face if it hadn't meant that we still had a wet exposed trench to come to each day. Then came the news that the damp wasn't just inside our property, but outside the door too.

We're on the fifth floor, sharing a common entrance way with five other flats. The discovery indicated that wherever the leak was coming from needn't be within our boundaries - we were just the lucky recipients of the resulting flow. If nobody else had a makeshift channel like we had then they might never know that there was water under their feet.

Eventually the problem appears to have been traced, to a steady drip from next door's boiler. We now await their landlord having the impetus to get that fixed. For the dampness to dry out. For it to be clear enough to lay down new concrete into our little trench. And for that to dry out totally to feel confident that we can lay carpet on top without fear of ruin. The weeks stretch out before us.

That's if this does prove to be the problem. Until their leak is fixed, and a couple of days have then gone by, we won't know for sure. So for now, and for some time to come, we can play at stepping stones. I've cut out rough squares of the old carpet to give us something to walk on without bringing a load of concrete dust into our home (it isn't working...). One becomes used to these things. But the reaction of our guests in a couple of weeks time could be interesting