Where did Zoe come from?

This is Zoe.  In her favourite position.

It's her 8th birthday today.  Or thereabouts.  We first met her on the 29 November 2009, in RSPCA Southport, and were told she was about 8 weeks old, so it's near enough.  She was the runt of a litter of five, found sleeping rough with their mother in St Helens (is there any other kind of sleeping in St Helens?).  Her four slightly larger brothers pushed themselves at the glass when people came near, but she kept her distance, unsure of herself or her charms.

This is one of her brothers.

And that's little sis at the back....

Eight or nine months had passed since Millie, our last cat, had had to be put down, and by now we were feeling that the cat shaped hole in our lives needed filling again. One of the staff got her out for us to handle and she was soon sitting up on my shoulder.  Sometimes you just know when something's right.

So we filled in the paperwork, but then had a wait a few weeks while they checked that we lived somewhere appropriate, and until she was old enough to have her first injection.  And that's where Zoer came from.  But where did "Zoe" come from?

Over that time we visited quite often, getting to play with her a bit, hoping she might get to recognise us a bit.  Back then she was just 'little number 262' to us.

A name was required, but none of the options we came up with felt right.  One day, not long before she was due to be handed over to us, I'd gone on my own, spent some time with her, and walked out with a possible name in my head.  I called Barbara and.... Neither of us can recall who said "Zoe" first, but the other immediately said they'd thought of that too.  So Zoe it was.

Why?  I have no idea.  Neither of us knew a Zoe, or ever did as far as memory serves.  The only connection the name called up was Zoe Wanamaker, a good actor, but not a particular favourite of ours.  Maybe we'd seen something on TV, perhaps just a trailer, where her name had been mentioned?  Whatever, it's odd we came up with the same moniker independently and near simultaneously. 

So by the time she came home she was a confirmed Zoe, and we still haven't met another one since.  This was the first video of her emerging when she first arrived in this strange new place.  Cute,eh?  And she soon came back out....

She's still shy with most visitors, but remains playful.

Even if she all too often ends up like this.

I know my place. 

From Fringe to Fridge

MUSIC, FILM, COMEDY AND... HOCKEY

Monday - Fringe came to an end, and we fitted in a final couple of shows courtesy of the half price hut.  Tuesday - Return to the Fridge of Dreams, and a first chance to see some of the new players that will make up the Edinburgh capitals team this season.  Monday - Hot, sweaty rooms that have you wringing your shirt out.  Tuesday - Cold, cold and more cold.  Icy ice rink.

Contrasts.  Next Sunday I can indulge in the Asian exoticism of The Edinburgh Mela during the day, and the chilled and pie scented air of Murrayfield in the evening.  Life is never boring here.

I see some of my fellow Caps fans on social media over the summer, wishing their lives away until the rink opens it's doors and there's a puck getting battered about again.  That's not a problem I ever have to resolve these days  April - hockey ends for the season.  May - TradFest.  June - FilmFest.  July _ JazzFest.  August - Fringe, and all the other shenanigans that plonk several hundreds of thousands of tourists on top of us and turn entertainment into a stamina test.  And then.... hey, it's hockey season again.  I hardly missed it.

It helps to have the time to do all these things (being retired is a big part of that help...).  And, of course, it does need a bit of spare cash, and some financial planning.  (Being poor in this city is no better than it is anywhere else, and there are still way too many people who have to live lives of poverty in this, our grossly wealthy society.)  I fully recognise how privileged I am.  Part of that privilege is being able to live in one of the world's most beautiful cities, and take advantage of so much of what it has to offer.  Which, for the next seven months, will mostly mean Edinburgh Capitals...

Return to Brigadoon

The Edinburgh Fringe is gone from our streets, and there's eleven months of work getting ready for the 2018 extravaganza.  We get our city back and get on with life, and all the things there are to do here.  Yes, we really do.

You wouldn't think so to hear some of the acts who come here for August - especially comedians.  Too many appear to think of this place as some kind of comedy club Brigadoon, only coming into existence once a year for their benefit.  We get used to it, and they get laughed at in more ways than they'd hoped for.

Worse, to my mind, are the comics who see themselves as 'political'.  Most were sensibly avoiding the beyond-parody farce that is the current White House, but there were plenty having a go at the stinking potage that the UK is in right now.  The UK is, you may remember, a union of countries, and some of these comedians have terrible memories.  Like being unable to recall that they are performing in a different country, with a different political dynamic.  Andrew Doyle was the most obvious offender I saw this year, asking his audience if they'd voted Tory.... or Labour.... or Lib Dem.... or.... No, that was it, apparently we don't have any other options.  But what would I know, I only live here.  In Brigadoon.

My childish vanity

A CARTOON OF MY FORMER SELF

Motivation.  Sometimes we have it, sometimes we don't.  But I do know it changes over the decades.

In my twenties and thirties I exercised for fun, for the joy of playing sports.  In my forties I started going to a gym to try and lose a bit of weight and get some sense of physical wellness back after a very stressful year at work in '99.  And now?  Prevention.  Maintenance.

I exercise to try and stave off the time when bits of me start to fail.  My morning routine includes stretches to fend off upper back problems, exercises to strengthen my dodgy knees, and strange contortions to stop my lower spine returning to the S shape it decided to adopt at one point.  I try to improve my stamina, not with the aim of running a marathon or anything so daft, but to prevent the sense of impending heart attack I've experienced running thirty metres for a bus.  Less Olympics, more Arthritics.

Several years ago we found ourselves the less than proud owners of a Nintendo Wii console and associated Fit board.  In my quest for some flexibility (aka impeding muscle rust) this too has been resuscitated.  It is, at least, fun at times, and by contuinually thrusting at me my best previous scores it just about manages to dredge up the residue of my never-all-that-dynamic competitive spirit.  I'm being motivated by an urge to keep up with a younger me....

But the Wii offers a more direct route to seeming more youthful.  At the end of the Body test it generates a "Wii Fit Age".  This comes from the results of two random balance-type tests computed against my actual age.  Some of these tests I simply find a bit easier than others, so my score on any given day depends on what they are.  If I get the standing on one leg test I'm buggered.  But get two I'm reasonable at and this can be the result.

The rational me knows that this is entirely meaningless, the product of a random event pattern and an algorithm with zero scientific validity.  Only an idiot would pay it the slightest heed.

Then there's the other me.  The one that's narcissistic, puerile, desperately seeking validation, grasping at straws and very, very needy.  Does this alter ego respond to a misshapen computer character declaring that my body is in great shape for my age?....

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I am being manipulated/motivated (delete as you think appropriate) by bunch of pixels with Pavlovian leanings.  But if that's what it takes....

It's easy to find a homegrown Quisling

OUR VERY OWN QUISLING

Yesterday, as part of the Edinburgh International Film Festival, I watched a Norwegian movie called The King's Choice.  It portrayed some of the behind the scenes events during three days in April 1940 when Hitler's Germany invaded and occupied the country.  The government, and royal family, went into hiding.

In Oslo Vikdun Quisling, a name now synonymous with treachery, declared himself Prime Minister, despite having no support in the parliament.  His political career was one of consistent failure, but he was head of the Norwegian fascist party which had links to the Nazis, and would go on to head the puppet government for the rest of the war.

Quisling branded himself a 'patriot', but was only interested in power and the chances it provided him to persecute those he saw as enemies of the state.  Like the Nazis this list began with the Jewish people and moved on down through left wingers and any groups considered likely to oppose the regime.

Nothing remotely like that has happened in the UK.  Quisling's equivalent back then, Oswald Moseley, never came close to power - but might have had the German invasion plans succeeded.  Now the rise of neofascism in Europe and more widely makes one wonder if any similar situation could arise.

Most major European countries have had the sense to reject the far right, as recent elections in Holland and France have shown.  So too in the UK, where ukip have faded as an electoral force.  But in the US....

Trump is fascist in all but name, something clear from the political appointments he made on taking office.  Fortunately the US constitution is a lot more robust than that of Weimar, and the country's democracy should survive in spite of the resident of the White House.  But if it didn't....?  A UK that had moved out of the protection of the EU would soon be in big economic trouble.  You can just about imagine a Trump government suggesting they provide a bit of 'protection'.  But they'd need a puppet in charge here.

Taking Quisling as the model, it doesn't take much to arrive at the obvious candidate.  A far right leader, obsessed with patriotism and targeting minorities, with an unthinking cult following and close links to the fascists offering their protective umbrella.  Niggle Fuhrage fits the bill in every way.  That's our modern Quisling right there.

Leadsom wants us all kept quiet

STOP POINTING OUT THAT WE'RE HOPELESS....

In a Tory government that's hardly brimming over with intellectual talent, Andrea Leadsom still manages to stand out.  It's some achievement to be seen as the most stupid of all in a shower of dimwits.  And it looks like she's determined on cementing that fully deserved reputation beyond all doubt.

Her latest 'brain'wave is telling broadcasters that when they report on anything to do with the ongoing farce to leave the EU they should be more 'patriotic'.  A couple of quotes seem appropriate at this point....

“Patriotism is the virtue of the vicious”
― Oscar Wilde

“The greatest patriotism is to tell your country when it is behaving dishonorably, foolishly, viciously.”
― Julian Barnes, Flaubert's Parrot

It sounds like Leadsom wants the already supine BBC to become a bit more like the Currant Bun, Daily Fail and Desmond's ukip-propaganda shitrag.  All of whom will print any lies about the EU, and the ongoing 'negotiations', if it suits their hard right ideology.  So is this her speaking what there is of her ind, or official government policy?  Is this a sign of a government now running so scared that it wants to suppress criticism?

Anyone paying attention knows that the EU team hold all the cards, and any end result will be determined from their position of far greater strength.  And that the UK government, now fatally weakened after a botched general election, is looking more and more clueless as each day passes.  One year on from from the madness of the referendum result the consequences are becoming more obvious, with food prices rising and the poorest in society, yet again, bearing the brunt.  Minds are changing,  except with those extremists who refuse to let go of their prejudices.  The above-mentioned rags would never reflect that reality of course - and now the government want broadcasters to 'report' in the same way?  Mushroom management.

That Barnes quote above is the most appropriate here.  If you are going to serve your country then pointing out mistakes, questioning dubious decisions, exposing falsehoods are the most valuable contributions a free press can make.

There are calls for Leadsom to apologise.  They don't go far enough.  She should resign, and may needs to explicitly state that this approach is something she rejects.  Except I suspect it's what she really wants.  otherwise her desperate incompetence can't be contained for much longer.

Don't roll out the red carpet please

I COULD DO THAT

The Edinburgh International Film Festival is now underway and I'm looking forward to spending much of the next week or so stuck inside a cinema. At time of writing I've only seen two so it's early days in the marathon, but it's already been enjoyable.

Watching movies as part of festival is a different experience to regular cinemagoing. You don't have to sit through endless ads and trailers, it's straight into the feature. The people who attend are generally a bit more passionate about their viewing, so you know you're going to be part of an attentive audience. And often there's the presence of directors and/or actors who've come along to see how audiences will react to their work.

Often there will be a Q&A session with some of those involved with the film directly after the screening. Sometimes best avoided if you have another film to see soon after. Sometimes best avoided because the speakers aren't always as riveting as they seem to think they are....

But by and large this is a plus. The greatest pleasure is watching the actors doing what they do best, what they are paid to do, and actually acting up there on the screen. Often it's interesting to hear what they have to say about the creation of their characters, the behind the scenes stories of what was involved in shooting some of the more difficult scenes, the development of the story. I saw Richard E Grant last night and he had a deep well of entertaining stories to tell. Later in the week I am genuinely looking forward to seeing and hearing Sheila Hancock.

But there's one aspect of this I just don't get at all. The red carpet. Fans, and photographers of course, stand for ages awaiting the arrival of a car. The actor gets out of the car, maybe waves a bit, and walks into the building.

I want to see them acting. I will often enjoy listening to them talking about acting. But do I really need to see how well they can walk from a car to a door? It's not like it's a special skill they have they can do better than anyone else. I could get to see that demonstrated at any office block of a morning. I mean, I could do that. Couldn't you?

Elementary?

The Victorians loved their statues, didn't they?  "Eminent men."  Now mostly forgotten.  The Georgians gave us their fair share too.  Edinburgh is littered with them, invariably holding a book or a scroll or some device denoting their profession.  They get photographed a lot, and squeezed into selfies, because that's what tourists do.  We're not short of them either.

A couple of statues get rubbed as well.  Most famous is Greyfriars' Bobby, the wee dog across from the National Museum, who has a perpetually shiny nose, touched for 'luck' by gullible visitors.  Even more bizarre is the shiny toe of renowned rationalist David Hume, who would have hated to know he'd become the object of superstitious practices.

But there's one statue to someone even more famous, albeit fictional.  It's on a busy enough road right enough, but just that bit off the regular tourist trail.  In summer it's partly concealed by the trees on either side, so that even passing on the bus it's hard to get a glimpse.  The portrayal owes a bit more to Hollywood than to the original texts, but that does at least serve to make the character instantly recognisable when you do get to see him.  The deerstalker and pipe are pretty obvious clues, not requiring any great powers of deduction.

So what's London's most famous make-believe sleuth doing stood by the edge of Picardy Place? There's a further clue less than a hundred metres away, in the shape of a pub called the Conan Doyle.  Holmes' creator was born at 11 Picardy Place.  And although much of his schooling took place down in England, he returned to his birthplace to study medicine at the university.  One of his tutors there is generally credited as the inspiration for Sherlock's forensic approach to tackling crime, based on the techniques of observation, deduction and inference that Doctor Joseph Bell used in his approach to medicine (at that time regarded as an unusual way of working).

In the later part of his life the author became obsessed with spiritualism, and the city also has The Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Centre dedicated to this rather less popular aspect of his character.  I'm not sure what Holmes would have made of that.

Out of the Fridge and into the summer

THERE'S ALWAYS NEXT SEASON

It's been a long time since I last had a hockey-free Sunday, but today sees the start of the long wait for the new season in September.  Way back in last September I was able to write on here with the usual sense of bouyant optimism that's only possible before reality sets in.  Where I said that Caps fans weren't a demanding bunch and outlining our very low-level ambitions....

"If we could qualify for the knockout stages of the cup; if we could finish in the top eight of the league and have a chance to make it to the Playoffs; and, most importantly, if we can beat old rival Fife Flyers then we'll consider that a successful season."

That was followed by a post in November when the guys achieved the first of those three aims, in dramatic fashioned against the aforementioned Fifers.  The optimism was still strong within us.  But Caps can always find a way of confounding expectations.

A series of injuries in December, most notably to our star netminder, saw Edinburgh freefall down the league standings.  From looking a comfortable seventh we soon found ourselves back in familiar position at the arse end of the table.  We still put in a lot of strong performances, but ten minutes of brain fade here and there meant wins couldn't be had.  Caps got some form back after New Year, and stayed in (arithmetic) contention for a playoffs spot until three weekends from the end of the season, but faded at the very end to a slightly distant last place.  But hey, only eight points adrift of ninth.  That might not sound good to you, but it's a huge improvement on last year!

So that was aim number two put out to grass.  And, obviously, we didn't finish above the rivals from over the water.  But we can still claim some successes.  That game in November meant we qualified for the knockout stage of the cup and they didn't.  And in ten meetings the results turned out even, with five wins apiece.  Three of our five came in Kirkcaldy, a barn where we hardly ever get a result, so that was a big plus too (if we ignore the fact we lost to them three times at home as well).  The Flyers looked like a very ordinary team at times, only having the best nettie in the league gave them the position they achieved.

There were other big positives as well, at least compared to last year.  None of the players we began the season with had left by the end, none had suffered season-ending injuries.  They could be hugely entertaining at times, with a greater depth of attacking options than we were used to.  So it's ironic that having a star defenceman as coach did nothing to improve the record when it came to giving away soft goals.  But there were plenty of guys in the lineup we'd be delighted to see returning for 2017-18, even if there's disagreement among fans as to who they should be.  Most notably our captain, Jacob Johnston, who seems to have divided opinion more than any other.  For the record, I'd be one of those who'd love to see him back in a Caps jersey and thought him one of the outstanding players on the squad.

The club itself felt as though it had moved forward in other ways too, especially in communications.  As fans we were kept better informed than before, and that was a huge plus in making supporters feel more involved.  Credit to Mr Gent.   There were a lot of efforts put into attracting new supporters, and numbers did increase, albeit to nothing like the levels needed to help the team become truly competitive.  There's still plenty of space to fill in the Fridge of Dreams.  Ice hockey remains one of this city's great undiscovered pleasures.  It's a shame, for the fans we do have are (in my wholly unbiased opinion) the best in the league.  Loud, enthusiastic, we'll keep shouting win or lose, don't fade away when the results aren't going so well, and will stay behind to cheer our team off the ice.  We may be small in number but atmosphere there is aplenty.  (Never more so than in the comeback against Fife in THAT match in November, still my favourite memory of the season.)

I finished off my spectating season taking in a match featuring the 'baby' Caps who play in the Scottish league, and last weekend in Nottingham watching the semis and final of the EIHL playoffs.  No Caps, but plenty to cheer about, an interesting fans forum where we could ask questions of some of the team owners who dictate the shape of the league, and, in the final, one of the greatest hockey matches you might ever see.  Definitely worth a watch if you can spare the time (it does go on a bit....).  You can see it here until 8 May.

Now it's time for speculation and, eventually, signings, as summer passes on.  There are doubts about the future, rumours that Caps (along with Fife and Dundee) might leave the EIHL and join another league, rumours that our coach could be A, or B, or C, or ....  Time will pass, the waters will clear and one day we'll know what's happening.  But as long as there's a decent standard of hockey to watch in Murrayfield then I'll be there, back in my seat and ready to shout.  My name is Blyth and I'm a Capsaholic.

We can't risk these people committing more atrocities

WHEN ARE WE GOING TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THESE PEOPLE?

Another terrorist outrage with innocent people being killed on the streets of Britain.  When is our complacent government going to act?  Why can't they read the signs that show, all too clearly, who are the people to blame for this horror and clamp down accordingly.  You only have to look at the last couple of politically inspired murders to see there's an obvious pattern there.

This time the killer was a fifty two year old man who was originally known as Adrian.  Government spokepersons, and the supine mass media, insist on describing Adrian as "British".

"British", eh?  A convenient euphemism used to hide the inconvenient truth.  Adrian came from Kent and it that means only one thing.  Adrian was ENGLISH.

Adrian had a history of disturbed behaviour, but appears to have been turned towards extremist violence through the hate speech of various individuals, and the ready availability of  internet radicalism where lies and distortions can take in those who are easily led.

Notice the pattern here?  See the blindingly obvious similarities between this man and the previous perpetrator of a similar act?  Thomas Mair, the murderer of Jo Cox, has so many traits in common with our Adrian.

So the government needs to act now and come down hard on these people.  Gullible, fifty-something, English men with a history of hatred and bigotry are now a clear danger to our society and our way of life.

The authorities could always start with ukip's youth wing....