Walking, advocacy and kilts 2

MEMORY FAILINGS

Another day, another practice walk.  I won't be able to blame a lack of foresight and preparation for my failure on the day.  Having done a large part of the first half of last year's course last week I thought I'd have a crack at the second 'half'.  Which would mean a slightly longer distance, and the inclusion of something resembling a hill.

(One of the things that impressed me most about the route last year was the manner in which the organisers had managed to have so much of it on the level.  This in a city where visitors are advised that getting anywhere is going to be uphill and into the wind.  Even on the way back.)

So that meant taking in the one feature that stands out in my mind from last September, the steep climb of over 100m that leads into the climb to Silverknowes.  Here it is today....

Errr, maybe not.  It's quite gentle, and maybe around 70m.  But, to be fair to my memory banks, my first encounter with it was deep into the eleventh mile, which does change perspective a bit.

The other interesting feature of today's effort was provided by the weather.  It is May, isn't it?  After my legs feeling like boil in bag rice last week I dispensed with jeans and moved straight into the shorts (the kilt comes into play much later in the process).  This felt like a big, big mistake for the first cold, wet 45 minutes, and my knees were reminded of primary school days.  I had intended to take some photos along the way, but no chance when my hands were stuffed firmly into pockets to retain some sense of feeling. 

Anyway, the sun came out as I neared Gypsy Brae so here's some shots of the Firth of Forth across to Fife.  Rain free, and beautiful.

End point was a cloud covered Murrayfield Stadium and the tram stop homewards.  Nothing much to say about Advocard today as I've done nothing since my last post.  But I have a few things on this week, including attending a PIP assessment.  It's a glamourous life.

Walking, advocacy and kilts 1

ONCE MORE PASSING THE BEACH DEAR FRIENDS

Fifteenth of September.  That's the date for this year's Edinburgh Kiltwalk, and once again I'm going to be doing the intermediate distance (about 15 miles) and hoping to raise some funds for Advocard.  Last year I wrote about what Advocard does, at least from the perspective of one of their volunteers, and this time around I'll try to fill in a bit more detail of the work we do.  And yes, I will again be pestering people for donations as the date gets nearer....

Last September I completed the distance in near enough four and half hours dead.  And was still capable of walking like a reasonably normal human being at the finish line.  So this year my aim is to knock at least a quarter of an hour off that time, weather conditions permitting.  To that end I'm starting my practice walking a bit earlier than in 2018, and today was my first attempt at getting my feet and legs accustomed to the plodding step.  Anyone unfamiliar with Edinburgh's geography may want to skip the next few paras....

A bus out to darkest Musselburgh, and down to the shore to get under way.  The coast of the city curves around to the west, the threatened rain scurries off and it's going to be dry.

Past Musselburgh harbour, back over the city boundary, through Joppa and on to Porty Prom, quiet on a Thursday.

But even on a quiet day there's always something to see down there, be it dogs chasing their tails, children on trikes, joggers, walkers, strollers, amblers, people eating, people drinking, people getting sand in between their toes, and a corpulent blue bathing suit emerging from the sea topped with a bright red swimming cap.  Or just a couple of people swinging their legs off the breakwater.

Beyond the prom, at the back of the bus depot and the interminable, impetuous car dealers, I saw my favourite sight of the walk.  Sea, sky and a good book - what more could you want?

On through Seafield, complete with infamous stench, past Rabbie's statue and on to The Shore.  They're finally working on dilapidated decks of what used to be Cruz, so my walks will give plenty opportunity to keep tabs of progress in the coming months.  (It's supposed to become a luxury hotel, but time will tell....)

Then up the Water of Leith, a bit slower now, up the steps (clump, clump) to Newhaven Road, and home.  About seven miles, just over two hours.  Must try harder!  But there's no blisters, no more aches than I'd expect at my age, and I'm looking forward to the next one.  The plan is do something every week.  Maybe.

All of which is enjoyable enough, a bit of challenge, a bit of a goal (us oldies need goals).  But I'm also keeping in mind why I'm doing this.  In the post I linked to above I described some of the things I do in working with our service users.  It's about providing people with a voice.  This week I saw a woman who, for now, wanted some help sorting out her own internal voice, to better understand her own aims and options.  She had recently lost a custody battle for her daughter, largely because of her poor mental health in the past being used against her in court, despite having been given a thumbs up since by the psychiatrist.  If she left feeling a little clearer about what next steps are possible, and who she should try talking to, then I feel I've been of some help (which is far from always being the case!).

Further updates on my promenading progress (or otherwise), and experiences at Advocard, to follow across the summer.  The begging for money will follow on inexorably.

Death and Memory

IN MEMORIAM

As some readers may already know, we live over a cemetery.  Grass, gravestones and trees form our immediate view out.  If you're not among those people, and we're not, who get freaked out by such proximity to the dead then it's great.  Green, quiet, dark at night, a bit of wildlife (squirrels, foxes, birds aplenty - if I raise my eyes from my screen my sixth floor window looks directly on to the large birds nest which we've watched being constructed in the top of the tree just outside), and human interest.  The lure of the graveyard, and the changes it undergoes across the calendar, even resulted in me writing a photoblog about it for a year.

I mentioned human interest.  Rosebank dates back to 1846, so there's a lot of social history in there, and some stories to be found, many associated with the sea.  It is also still active as a burial ground, so we see funerals from time to time.  Not just the ceremonies themselves, but the work that goes into the before and after aspects of the process.  There are frequently workers down there, mowing the grass, trimming bushes, raising fallen gravestones (a surprisingly watchable activity!).  But the majority of the people we catch sight of have come to visit the grave of a relative or friend, and that can be very emotional to see.  (They do just happen to come to our notice when looking out, we're not lying in wait for them - that would be creepy!)

Many bring flowers on a regular basis.  There's one grave which has an annual family gathering, which at least once has taken the form of a barbecue, complete with swingball for the kids.  Fortunately they had a nice day for it.  Why not combine remembrance with enjoyment?

All of which has been prompted by a graveside visitor we saw today, one we hadn't seen before.  It was clearly a highly emotional occasion for him, and he was there for around an hour, so each time we looked he seemed to be doing something different.  He kissed the gravestone, knelt in front of it, lay down on the grass, walked around, waved his arms, talked aloud.  It was both sad and inspiring to observe, sad at his obvious distress, inspiring that the person who had died evoked such strong memories.  Clearly this trip to the graveside meant a great deal to him and, presumably, served to help him come to terms with the loss.

But he was of interest because he was the exception.  Few of the mourners we see behave with such complex intensity.  But what they do works for them, which is what it's all about.  And that got me thinking about the various ways in which we grieve for our dead.  There was a time when strict social norms laid down the path for those widowed or mourning the death of a close relative - the wearing of black for a specified period, a withdrawal from society, a need to observe the proprieties rather than deal with the loss as an individual.  We are more enlightened now, with fewer strictures of ritual and codified behaviour.  We can do what works for us.

When my dad was cremated my mum didn't want anything put up which marked his death.  There's no plaque, no stone, no urn.  When it was my turn to decide for her I did the same.  I am not someone who needs some physical symbol to help me recall or deal with the past.  The memories are in my head, and if that requires an aid then they're in photos, in old diaries and documents.  I wouldn't find any need to visit a grave or memorial to connect.

But that's a very rationalistic approach and wouldn't suit everyone.  Which is why it's good that we have the freedom now to do as we need - funerals, gravestones, memorials are there for the living, not the dead, and the living all have their own needs and coping mechanisms.  Today's visitor clearly requires a more corporeal association with the person he's missing, and if that's what he needs then I'm pleased for him that he can do that.  À chacun son goût.

If Brexit means Brexit then what does Brexit mean?

THEY'RE BLAMING THE WRONG PEOPLE.  AGAIN.

Douglas Adams was a very funny man, and is still much missed for his wit and imagination.  But his books, for all their silliness, also manage to convey the odd pearl of wisdom and provide something to think about.  When Deep Thought, "the second greatest computer in the Universe of Time and Space", is asked to come up with the ultimate question Life, the Universe and Everything he goes off to think about it.  For seven and half million years.  So when, after all that time, he reveals his answer is "42" there's some disappointment amongst those present.  To which DT responds "I think the problem, to be honest with you, is that you've never actually known what the question is."

Back in 2013, almost a year before the referendum was due to take place, the Scottish Government posted a 670 page document giving details of what an independent Scotland would look like, the institutions it would have, the way it could be made to work.  It was far from perfect, and there were some glaring holes that the Better Together side would go on to exploit, but it was a clear statement of intent and an essential guide to what voters would be voting for if they put their cross against Yes.

So far, so unrelated.  But I'll be back to that opening pair of paragraphs a bit later, because this is a post about brexshit, and with the Westminster Parliament having long ago followed the white rabbit down into the hole it's clear that anything and everything can suddenly become relevant.  The Mad Hatter would feel completely at home on the green benches and talking playing cards feel like no more ridiculous a concept than being given 8 alternatives and rejecting all of them.

I've wanted to try and write this for some time, but kept hoping there would a moment of clarity that would enable me to hang the whole thing on a particular point in time.  Instead it trundles on miserably, leaving everyone confused and angry.  Since that has become the UK's default status I'll just have to run with it.

In recent weeks I've made a couple of attempts to engage with some of the more rabid Leavers on Twitter, to try and understand their thinking.  Because so many of them continue to oppose the May Deal, if we can call it that for now without resorting to more colourful terms, despite it being their best chance to get what they voted for in 2016.  But they don't see it that way.  This isn't The Brexit that THEY voted for so it's not good enough.

So what did they actually vote for?  Sometimes they seem to be better at defining what they didn't vote for.  I've seen one full-on brexshiteer "journalist" (who appears to be in receipt of some rather shady funding to post continuous misleading propaganda on Facebook) say that "having a deal wasn't on the ballot paper so why should we accept it?".  Well a "no deal" wasn't on there either, so that's another thing you didn't vote for.  Two can play at that (stupid) game.  If it comes down to what common definition people had before them before the referendum.  Part of that is the wording of the ballot paper itself, to which I'll return later.  The other would be some widely available document that defines what a future UK, outwith the EU, would look like, how it would work, what the problems to overcome would be.

Which brings me back to IndyRef and my second paragraph.  Where was the leave equivalent of that 760 pages?  I wasn't aware of any such thing, just an unending litany of often contradictory soundbites that made lots of promises, but with no substance behind them.  had I missed something?

I finally found a Leaver willing to engage, when most go off in a huff when confronted with inconvenient things like "facts" and "evidence", and usually end up blocking me.  I'm proud of the list of right wing nutters who've been so rattled they've taken that step, but that wasn't what I needed here.  So we engaged in a dialogue and I asked him to provide me with some equivalent of the ScotGov document, something that would mean that leave voters all voted for the same thing.  After much prevarication, and some desperate attempts to change the subject, he came up with this.

Feel free to follow the link - but you might not learn a lot if you do.  It's a blog.  By Richard North.

Yes, THAT Richard North!

No, I've never heard of him either....

He's an author and blogger whose past includes a bit of work for the European parliament group that included ukip, so he has fascist connections.  But, as far as I know he had zero connections with the official Leave campaign, and his name, and work, was not widely known by the public.  So after about two hours of tweeting the best my correspondent, desperate to make his case, could come up with was an obscure blog by someone no-one but fanatical anti-EUers will have heard of.  Really?  That's the best they can do?

Which leaves us with the question on the ballot paper :

"Should the United Kingdom remain a member of the European Union or leave the European Union?"

Read it carefully.  All it asks is whether the UK remains a member or not.  It is, quite clearly, only about membership and nothing else.  The rest was a blank canvas that individuals could choose to paint in any way they wanted to.  Unlike IndyRef.  So when Leavers say "I know what I voted for" they aren't really lying.  They know what they thought they voted for, they just don't know if they voted for the same thing as the next person - because it was never defined.  No wonder we ended up with the verbal and linguistic masterpiece that was "brexit means brexit"!

(I can't resist an aside on the vile frog-faced creature that goes by the name of Niggle Fuhrage.  He recently claimed he had spent a quarter of a century fighting to leave the EU.  It's a pity that not one of those 25 years was spent on coming up with any plans for doing so.  Or details of what would be involved.  Or thought.  Or intellect....)

The ONLY thing they can say they all voted for was that wording on the ballot paper.  They voted for the UK not to be an EU member.  Which is exactly what the May Deal delivers.  So why do they continue to object?  Because it doesn't deliver on the fantasy brexits they've built in their heads.  It isn't the dream, there are no unicorns.  And if I, back in the days when I was a project manager, had suggested going ahead with something like triggering Article 50 without any plan or end goals I'd have been crucified.

So if you hear a leaver saying it's Remainers  (or maybe judges, the BBC, the 'liberal elite', celebrities, Jon Snow, Anna Soubry, Scotland, Ireland, EU "intransigence", civil servants, Moslems,people who sneeze, leaves on the line...) who are stopping what he voted for coming into being you can point out it's the brexshiteers themselves.  The ERG (if they ever had done any actual 'research' maybe we wouldn't be in this mess?) and their  ilk have killed off the brexit you could have had.  And nobody is voting down the one you wanted - because it never did and never can exist. 

Which, finally, brings me back to my opening paragraph.  Obvious all along, wasn't it?

No artichoke or concerto, just another day in the capital

TYPICAL EDINBURGH WEATHER

It looks like we're having one of those 'four seasons' days.  Not because we're eating pizza to the sound of Vivaldi, but that's what the Edinburgh'S weather can do sometimes.  I've already experienced blue skies, black skies, being mildly warm in the sun, icy rain, unruffled calm and lean-into wind, gloves off, hood up, where's my sunglasses and why have my glasses got so wet?  And it's not even 2pm.

I  have questioned my choice of outerwear because I'm sweating underneath the layers, and wondering if I have enough on and is it all buttoned, zipped and pulled up as much as it can.  I have checked the weather forecast on one app, then another, only to have the climatic schizophrenia confirmed.  I have looked forward to getting out in the fresh air and sun, and wished I was back home in the warmth of a world governed by thermostat.  I have potentially been confused.

Except I'm native to this city and I know what happens.  Back in the seventies I found myself driving an ice cream van through snow on the first of May.  Welcome to Edinburgh's weather, expect the unexpected.

2018, not all bad

SOME BEST BITS

2018 - what was that all about, eh?  Probably not a year that history will look back on kindly.  The orange man-baby stayed in the White House, his behaviour becoming ever more bizarre and alarming.  At least the US has a constitution that manages to contain the worst excesses of the wannabe dictator, but has Brazil?  The election of a brutal, homophobic misogynist takes the Trump trend a dangerous step forward.  Meanwhile the UK does it's best to compete with America as leading international laughing stock as the farce of brexit continued to display the embarrassing incompetence of UKGov and aggressive vacuity of the brexshiteers.  Scotland remains in the grip of a regime for which it did not vote and dismisses every issue it raises, the union feels more broken by the day.  And if the far right is now a major threat to world stability it still takes place to the potential catastrophe of climate change - which brings us right back to the culpability of that corrupt crook in Washington....

So I'm going to indulge myself and look back at some personal highlight from a year that saw me go to 38 music gigs, 29 dramas or musicals, 27 comedy shows, 27 films on the big screen, and 1 poetry evening.  I like to keep busy.  And Edinburgh does insist on running all these festivals!  Oh, and I managed to get through 54 books.  So my way of having a more cheerful look at the recent 365 day period is to think back on what were my highlights in all that entertainment.  And maybe a couple of disappointments.

Starting with best new music discovery.  That one doesn't take a second's thought because The Kinnaris Quintet, first seen in February and again in November, could count me as a fan from their opening number.  Their first album, Free One, is superb and has had many plays Chez Crawford, they have stage presence to back up the musicianship and imagination of their arrangements, and a couple of brief chats suggest they're pretty nice people as well.  More in 2019 please.

Best play wasn't nearly as obvious, with some excellent candidates like McGonagall's Chronicles, Ken, Infinita and the surprising Sob Story.  But I'll go for Still Alice not just for the quality of the performances and the staging, but for tackling such a tricky subject so well.

My favourite film was one of only two documentaries I went to see.  But Nae Paseran! has characters, storyline, excitement, humour and pathos to match any drama, as well as an important political message.  Going back to my opening paragraph, this film is a powerful reminder than even small actions can have big consequences in the fight against the rise of neofascism.

I'd like to have chosen someone new to me for my favourite comedy act, but none really stand out in my memory.  Honourable mention to the very entertaining Iain F M Smith who I'd happily go to see again, but he's perhaps more storyteller than actual comedian.  So I'll go for the man who made me laugh like no other all year, the surreal ragdoll that is Dylan Moran.  I'll add a mention for two local acts that rival, when measured in chuckles, giggles and guffaws, the best the Fringe has to offer - Stu and Garry and Morrison/Sutherland that goes by the name of Fanny's Ahoy!.  Who needs the big names?

It's become our habit to leave the final day of the Fringe free of bookings, and go up to the Half Price Hut to choose a couple of random shows.  We ended with a musical called Trump'd which, sadly, was probably the biggest disappointment of our August.  But that was trumped by the most enjoyable surprising discovery of the year, Where the Hell is Bernard? performed by Haste Theatre Group.  Weird and wonderful and utterly memorable.  Still makes me laugh when I think of them going down the "escalator"....

My favourite read was by far the oldest text I tackled this year.  You know those books you buy and they go on the bookshelves waiting (and waiting and waiting) until the moment you feel ready to tackle them?  So it was with Don Quixote.  As with so many books pre-twentieth century it means persevering through the first thirty to fifty pages while your head adjusts to the author's mindset and language.  Once over that hump you're in a different world, surely a major objective in reading fiction.  The society described might be very different to our own, but the frailties, cruelties, kindnesses and love of humans are very familiar.  Plus it's laugh out loud funny at times.

Some oddities to end on.  Biggest disappointment of the year was the demise of my beloved Edinburgh Capitals.  No more hockey, for the moment, and much as I'm enjoying discovering the pleasures of rugby spectating it's still no real substitute for what was lost.

Best personal achievement was completing the fifteen and half miles of Kiltwalk  in what I felt was a respectable time for my advancing years.  Not just for managing the course, but the pleasures I got from the practice walks I went on and wearing a kilt after so many decades.

I'll end on the most special surprise of the year.  Going to see that lovely, lovely man Henry Normal and finding he'd written a poem for our 21st wedding anniversary.

Well done 2018.  There's always joy out there to be found, and sometimes it's in as simple as putting one foot in front of the other.  In a skirt.

What is this strange thing called Success?

WINNING ISN'T EVERYTHING

As I wrote a couple of months ago, I've started going to spectate at Edinburgh Rugby home games.  After several years spent watching in the rink next door the comparisons are becoming interesting.  I've only been to four games so far, but the most striking differences become obvious quickly.

Compared to hockey the oval ball game feels much slower, the action more distant and less inherently skilful (they don't have to do all that they do perched on narrow blades across a slippery surface, do they?).  And while the Fridge of Dreams was a chilly place to sit for a few hours it was, at least, consistently chilly, and dry, so you knew exactly what to dress for.  Finally I miss the "Cheers" aspect of going to the rink, it did feel like a place "where everybody knows your name".

But then there are the pros too.  I'm watching a much higher level of the sport than I got to see next door, with many of the players on the pitch likely to be heading for Japan in September/October, when the World Cup takes place.  The whole operation is so much more professional, so much more twenty first century, from the big TV screens to the PA that's so clear you can actually make out what's being said.  And five, six, seven thousand people make a lot more noise than five, six, seven hundred.  (Even if the chants are nowhere near as entertaining....)

But the biggest difference of all is a simple one, and still takes the most getting used to.  Edinburgh Rugby win matches.  Regularly.  Supporting Caps was never like this.  I could almost wish I get to see them lose just to have that old feeling back again.  But only almost.

Hollywood life lessons

Mainstream Hollywood movies aren't usually the place to look for useful lessons in life.  Escapism, romance and excitement maybe, but the blockbusters aren't often noted for philosophical gems.  The films that have left me thinking more deeply about my existence have mostly been a bit more off the wall, a relatively recent example being the lovely Paterson.  A far cry from the superhero genre that seems so dominant at the moment, a genre that has never manage to spark my interest.  If I'm asked who my favourite fictional superhero is I always go with Catherine Cawood from Happy Valley - if you're fighting crime, looking after your alcoholic sister ans orphaned grandson and all the while coping with the aftermath of your daughter's rape and suicide then that make you a proper hero in my eyes.

But sometimes it happens and there is one big name production I've seen in recent years that provided a phrase, and an attitude, I've often found helpful since.  Recalling that recently got me wondering what other famous movies have offered similar guidance - and surprised myself with the two I came up with.

I certainly don't think these three films are amongst the best I've ever seen, although all of them have their strengths, but each one has made me think about life a little differently, despite all of them being very much 'entertainments' rather than art films.  They certainly don't offer up much by way of diversity, with all the central characters being male, white and middle class (of sorts).  None of them would pass the Bechdel Test, although I did see someone suggest that the earliest of the trio has a brief moment that technically qualifies it.  None of them pretend to be other than what they are.  And the first two could legitimately be described as schmaltzy.

First on my list is also the best known.  It's a Wonderful Life is one of those sickly sweet tales that gets wheeled out at this time every year and never loses it's popularity.  Partly because James Stewart is always so watchable, but perhaps also down to it's reminder that often it's the smallest of actions that can have big consequences and that we don't always realise the impact we, as individuals, have on the lives of others.  Interconnection, interdependence.

Four years after that Jimmy Stewart starred in Harvey, a daft comedy that's riddled with flaws and stereotypes, and relies heavily on the Stewart's charm to carry it through.  Is Elwood P Dowd, Stewart's character, a delusional alcoholic, or the nicest man you could wish to meet, or both?  There's a key quote that sums up the 'philosophy' on offer :

Years ago my mother used to say to me, she'd say, 'In this world, Elwood, you must be' – she always called me Elwood – 'In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant.' Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You may quote me.

Dowd, and his imaginary friend Harvey, get people to talk, to unburden themselves.  Sometimes all we have to be is nice.  Oh, and maybe believe in a bit of magic too.  Reality isn't always a welcoming place.

Finally the film that set me off on this thread, released three years ago.  Bridge of Spies is based on a true story, but 'Hollywoodised' of course.  Tom Hanks is the box office name (is Hanks a modern day Jimmy Stewart? - discuss), but Mark Rylance's captured Russian KGB officer is the heart of it all.  When they first meet, in prison, lawyer Hanks is explaining what he can do to help the spy, and Rylance gets his first of three chances to utter those three words - Would it help?  If you haven't seen the movie, and don't think you'll have the time, you can see what I mean in this YouTube compilation of the three utterances of those words.

Stoic philosophy in three words.  And an acting masterclass from Rylance in defining a character with just one short phrase.  Since seeing it I've been surprised how often that little mantra has come in handy (and I don't lead anything like a stressful life nowadays!).  The bigger surprise is remembering that I owe it to Hollywood.

There are others I've taken lessons from, but none I can think of were as mainstream as the above trio, as consciously mass market and 'popular'.  Sometimes inspiration can come from the most unlikely places.  I think Elwood P Dowd would agree, though I can't speak for Harvey.

Anyone else had a similar moment of revelation?

Rediscovery or Reinvention?

DECADES APART

I went to see a rugby match last Friday.  Edinburgh versus Scarlets.  And a couple of weeks ago when the city's team played Toulon.  Nothing remarkable about that, there were a few thousand other people there too.  But it felt a bit like going back in time.  That game against the French side was the first fifteen a side match I'd been to in well over thirty years, so it had a sense of occasion for me, a kind of homecoming.  And, better still, I enjoyed it.  The fact that Edinburgh had a big win might have had something to do with that though.

I first went to watch an international at Murrayfield on 4th February 1967.  Scotland beat Wales 11-5, and I was ten.  By and large I've not really been a big sports fan over the decades, but I was hooked, back then, on the big rugby occasions, and over the following years I didn't miss a home international match.  Including the 1975 game against the Welsh when a record crowd of 104,000 were crammed into a stadium with a nominal 80,000 capacity.  Cosy, and we beat Wales that day too.  After that you had to buy a ticket in advance to get in.  By the time 1979 arrived I'd been to see plenty of club matches, sevens tournaments and to see Edinburgh play in the inter-district championship.

Then I moved south; way, way south, to the Hampshire coast, and getting to Murrayfield required a bit more time and planning.  I still made it to most of the Five Nations home games for a few years, including the Grand Slam winner in '84 (great occasion, dour spectacle).  But then I was married, work was more demanding, life changed and I didn't get up as often.  I'd watch the games on telly, saw our guys win another Slam in '90, and then found my interest starting to wane.  Rugby Union was turning professional and with the increase in money came a much more drilled and calculating approach to the game.  Defences became dominant and entertainment levels dropped.  By the mid nineties I'd stopped watching.  I was left as a fascinated follower of motorsport, and little else.

Move on a couple of decades and I'd dropped the motorsport.  Change is good.  I'd discovered something completely new.  Maybe I'd seen a few hockey matches in the Winter Olympics coverage, but had little idea of what was going on.  Looked interesting  though.  So when, seven years ago, the chance of cheap tickets to see Edinburgh's team came along we thought we'd try it out.  And loved it.  It would be another three years before we were full time city residents, but we got to as many games as possible, started to get some feel for the sport, started to know a few people at the rink, started to feel a part of the community.  We got in four full seasons when we finally moved here permanently.  I was an Edinburgh Capitals season ticket holder and secretary of the Supporters Club.  Our weekends from September to March contained a predictable element, a chance to shout, cheer, get on the emotional rollercoaster of live sport and support.  Then, last April, that was suddenly taken away from us, and it seems like there's no going back (but that's a story for another day). 

Could anything replace that sense of belonging, the excitement, the passions you feel as part of a crowd willing a team on.  One thing that hasn't changed over the decades is the sense of tedium I get from watching football, so that was never an option.  But a bit more than four years ago I'd been watching TV alone, when a rugby match came on.  Argentine versus Scotland.  I was tempted to watch, just to see if anything had changed.  And when the name John Beattie was announced as one of the team I felt I had to give it a go - I'd seen his dad playing for our country! 

They've tweaked the rules a lot since the nineties, and for the better it seems.  That match was genuinely entertaining (and again it probably helped that Scotland ended up as winners!) and I thought I'd give a few more a try (no pun intended).  The five nations were now six, the strips look almost futuristic compared to the looser items I recall, all the spectators get to sit down, and the players go off at half time instead of standing in the middle of the pitch sucking on a bit of orange.  (Yes, that was how it used to be done, even in top level internationals.)  It helped that once exposed to this new spectacle Barbara developed a bit of an interest too.

So going to watch Edinburgh ('my' Edinburgh?) seems like a natural progression, given the loss of my regular entertainment next door (Murrayfield ice rink is, often literally, in the shadow of the rugby stadium).  And after the Caps disastrous final season (only five wins from fifty six league games....) it's good to go and support a side that goes into each game with a chance of winning.  There's a friendly atmosphere, big screens to watch when the action gets a bit distant (I do miss the intimacy of the hockey rink), and it's pretty cheap for us seniors.  And no colder than sitting in the Fridge of Dreams next door.  This could be habit forming.

Coming home politically

HOME IS WHERE THE VOTE IS

The first time I got to exercise my democratic right to vote was the second general election of 1974, which gave Harold Wilson the majority he'd lacked first time around in February.  Edinburgh, and Scotland as a whole, had a very different political makeup then than it does now.  Much like England there was a split between the Tories and Labour, odd pockets of Liberal adherence, and the SNP were an almost unknown minority party.  At the time I lived in the west of the city and the constituency vote was largely split between blue and yellow, Labour a poor third.  The winner, not who I voted for, was Lord James Douglas-Hamilton - it won't be hard to guess which party he represented....

My last vote in Scotland before moving south was the 1979 devolution referendum. I voted Yes.  The losing side again.  By then my political convictions had evolved into positions that I still largely adhere to today.  Chief amongst them that the Conservative party was clearly devoted to furthering the interests of the wealthy at the expense of the mass of the people and it was a civic duty to do whatever I could to prevent them from gaining power.  That's a viewpoint that the current UK political farrago reinforces to the nth degree.

Then I spent 35 years in England, the first 10 in Hampshire, the remainder in Southport.  In each case I found myself back in that Edinburgh West scenario, the majority vote split between Tory and Liberal (later LibDem), with Labour nowhere in the running.  Based on the aforementioned conviction I found myself voting Lib most of the time, sometimes Labour in local elections if it looked like they had a chance. Tactical voting was the order of the day.

It wasn't always comfortable.  While most of the people I worked with tended towards progressive views like myself. the community didn't.  It was "interesting" living in what was largely a naval town at the time of the  wholly unnecessary Falklands/Malvinas conflict...

All of which is by way of explaining why life in Leith and North Edinburgh, where I've now lived for over four years, is such a homecoming.  Not just because it means a return to the city of my birth, but because, finally, I feel politically at home.  For the first time I can vote with conviction, knowing there's a good chance of my choice winning.  That feels good.

So we've got an SNP MP, an SNP constituency MSP, and our list MSPs include a couple of Greens, including the great Andy Wightman.  Leith and Leith Walk were, after the last council elections, the only Tory-free wards in the city.  And, in the disastrous EU referendum, this constituency recorded the highest Remain vote in the country, and the highest of any in the UK outside London.   It's diverse, lively and has a high proportion of young people (not me, obviously) which makes it, mostly, a tolerant and thoughtful place to live. 

There's one minor dark spot in all this.  My first vote after returning was in IndyRef.  This area, like the city as a whole, voted No.  But there's plenty of opportunity to ensure that changes next time round.  Which might be very soon.  Here's hoping.