The older the better?

 

HOW OLD?

The car is going. To make way for something new. Well, "new", as the new is older than the old. But that's a different story.

Getting rid of the car in a hurry, it seemed best to try some of the car buying sites that have sprung up in recent years. Which began with a surprise. The first one I tried rejected me. Because the car was over fifteen years old. Was it really? Oh, so it was. Which is when it hit me that not only has it been registered for almost seventeen years, but we've owned it for almost fourteen of those. I have never, ever, had a car that long before, not even my beloved Murena.

But it has served us well. In the early days it was perfect for it's primary purpose, of shuttling back and forth between Southport and Leith, with us, the cat, and a bootful of ... stuff. Always stuff. But once here permanently it proved slightly less suited to it's largely urban role. There were moments when the space it afforded was welcome, notably when stuffed full of stuffed cuddly toys, but it was mostly wasted. There were few long trips, to which it was better suited. And it became neglected and rarely used. Not what's good for a car. So I hope the quirkier nature of it's replacement will encourage us to get out in it more. Because sometimes older is better.

Which got me thinking about the other old things in my life (as opposed to old people and cats...). I am bad at throwing things away, as the packed nature of cupboards, wardrobes and shelves can testify to. The occasional clear out is instructive, but also frustrating. Because things you have hardly used for years are retaining on a "just in case, you never know" basis. Which wasn't the intention of the clear out. I'm not even very good at disposing of old tech items, always wondering if they might come in handy for some never-to-be-thought of purpose.

But some old is good. For both sentimental and practical reasons. Of course old books and LPs are good in themselves. They are part of my history, a resource to be returned to (maybe). But old clothes? Sometimes. Leather jackets are hard to part with, and the more battered the better. That jacket still fits perfectly well and, who knows, might even come back into fashion one day...

But top dog in the old clothing stakes rests with the item pictured above. My mum knitted that sweater for me when I was about eighteen or nineteen. So it's not far off it's half century. In that time it hasn't been worn very often. Some years it never emerged. It's still in great condition, still fits as well as ever (it was always a generous fit), and still serves a purpose. It still looks good on. The reason it doesn't come out too often is- it's too warm. Thick Arran knit, a heavy polo neck, this is a beast that only works in the coldest of weather. And only if I'm not going to spend much time in it indoors, or the sweat will flow freely. It has come back into it's own for the same purpose it was originally created. To keep me from freezing at rugby matches. And my return to Murrayfield, and what is now the Hive, has made me grateful I never disposed of it. It isn't going to all the matches. Only those where freezing point is a real threat. Above five or six degrees it's still too warm. A testament to my mother's skill with the needles, and her concern for my welfare. And the powers of old things.

The one we all want to beat

 

FOUR IN A ROW, THREE IN ONE GO

Impossible for me not to comment on yesterday's historic win over the Auld Enema. The first time Scotland recorded four wins over England in the championship since 1896. Beating a team that's ranked above us in the world rankings (or are they now?). Speed, strength and the scoring knack delivering a hat trick. And the coolest man on the park nailing the posts from every possible angle. All from a team that went behind early on and never showed any sign of panic or, dare I say it, the implosion apparent at times in previous games.

For the fans it's The One. We won't be champions. We had a poor World Cup, yet again. But beat England and all can seem well with the world. Keep beating England every year and the belief remains. It's a measurement in itself. It's the sugar to sweeten any scenario. It's the passion.

Finn Russell has, without losing that impish charm, morphed from cheeky chappy, unpredictable maverick and all or nothing magician, into one of the world's greats, a game manager and a dedicated pro who has become such an incredibly reliable goal kicker (not one shot missed in three games of the championship so far). But he's still got the magic wand to wave too.

As for Duhi... Now just one behind Hogg's all time try scoring record for our country. Hat trick man. Shiny man Barbara calls him, for there never appears to be a hair out of place, the cheekbones and smile are straight from Hollywood Central, the muscles have muscles and the speed is Flash level. Yes, sometimes, as with his third yesterday, it's a walk in. But you still have to be there, on the spot. While the first showed strength and nous, and the second the sheer pace that can leave a defence looking like a mirage. Even that last minute sin binning couldn't dull the patina. Raised in South Africa, but made Superman in Edinburgh. We'll take him as one of ours, thank you very much.

Bring on Rome.

Meaningful dates

 

MARKING TIME

We humans have made an obsessive habit out of marking various points when this elemental lump we live on has completed another revolution around the big fiery ball, don't we? Because that's all any kind of anniversary is, when reduced to basics. Birthday? You've stayed alive for another circuit of the sun. Wedding anniversary? We've managed another circuit and we're still together. Marking x years since some event that 'matters' to you? That's x turns of the merry-go-round since the event took place. Everything else is all about what we've chosen the event to mean.

It's all very artificial, and also very comforting. We need our rituals, our marker points, our certainties, our ways of making sense of the world. I'm no different. I'll say Happy New Year with the best of them. Although then it's a time of year when there is some real grounding to the marking of the passage of another loop of the solar system. It's the time of the Winter Solstice, the real, primeval, driver behind this time of celebrations. The short days are departing, and our world begins to become lighter again.

Of course that only makes any sense in the northern hemisphere of the planet, and the northerly section of that area. It should be the complete opposite on the other side of the world. Yet that's not the case. Because the bulk of the world was colonised, subjugated, massacred and exploited by the peoples of the north, and this is one of their legacies. It appears to be unifying. But it shouldn't.

So we start a new year, and try to makes ourselves into new people with our resolutions - the promises we know will soon be broken. I didn't even bother this time around, other than acknowledging I need to get out more and meet different people - my circle of acquaintance is too narrowly circumscribed for comfort. But there's no beginning to that yet - I still feel as lousy with this persistent cough as I did before Xmas, so socialising isn't much in mind for now. The highlights have been there though. Making the effort to go to St Giles on Monday and see the mighty Lau in action, guaranteed to induce a grin. Yesterday meant a trip to the rink (the cold dry air is good for an aching throat) and the euphoria of watching Caps beat title rivals Aberdeen, and beat them surprisingly well by eight goals to two, to go top of the league. Which only matters because... I attach meaning to a random group of guys all wearing the same outfit, and trying to score more goals that some differently outfitted guys. We're just monkeys really, aren't we?