amy’s tartan army…
I post today slightly thick of head following a rare night out with friends to discuss and road test the finer points of Goldings, Fuggles and so on – needless to say it was well worth it and the resulting faint cloudiness of slightly-panicky hangover combined with two sausage sandwiches and a bottle of Orangina has spurred me on to attack the housework with hitherto-unknown determination, energy and vigour.
Up to the time of writing I have vacuumed the whole apartment on both floors (including stairs), laundered cushion covers and rugs, washed down doors and come within a hair’s breadth of polishing the goldfish, whose cheery faces, bright colours and friendly, yet vacant placidity accompany me serenely through each day and provide far more engaging entertainment than the television and internet combined. Fortunately for them, I managed to stick to a water change, a gravel clean and a good scrub of the glass, making my living rooms’ mini ecosystems resemble one of those TV documentaries about the Amazon – not especially appropriate for species originating from China, but the selection of aquarium plants available in Scarborough pet shops are fairly limited, and the occupants, including the half dozen or so tiny snails that hitchhiked on a bunch of Elodea have so far been polite enough to pretend not to notice. To be fair, unlike their guardian, their undying love and loyalty can be obtained with no more than thawed-out bloodworms, the odd orange segment and a few (squashed) peas.
Preparations for the latter half of the week are virtually complete and availability in Aberdeen is almost gone, give or take a couple of appointments on Thursday. I am hugely looking forward to my trip, and am packing enthusiastically in case of rain, snow and tropical sun, as is the way in Scotland; the train journey alone looks beautiful and whilst a 5am start is more than a little outside my usual remit (as anyone who has tried to get any sense out of me before ten in the morning will know) the thought of speeding past craggy outcrops, rugged coastline and huge wandering hairy beasties (see top right) in the morning sun is enthralling indeed, and once refuelled with Irn Bru and stovie I have no doubts that I will be returned to top form immediately, if not sooner.
As far as Edinburgh goes, since it is the marathon weekend any thoughts I had had about staying another night are long gone – every hotel in the city is chockful bar a couple of optimistic (and admittedly fairly smart) establishments whom I noticed on Laterooms earlier asking £375 and £500 respectively for the Saturday night stay – despite the apparent belief of some with nothing better to do, I do not earn a squillion pounds a week or have a bottomless bank account, and thus my reappearance on home ground is likely to be some time around eleven o’clock on Saturday night, no doubt to much flapping and fanfare from my aforementioned shiny housemates. I will however be back, more than likely post festival September-ish, assuming that the fragrant Ms Godman and her accolytes have not succeeded in another bid to have the sex industry outlawed in Scotland in which case put the kettle on because I’ll be back well before that.
From the northeast to the southwest, and my long standing plans to visit Bristol are taking shape nicely, and will hopefully be followed by a few days relaxation somewhere as yet undecided further still into the region. Proposed dates are mid-end of July – watch the front page for details! For now, it’s back to the comforting embrace of Nurofen, tea and banana sandwiches, at least until I summon up the strength to wash the windows. I do wish someone would remind me why I never answer the begging text messages I get daily from would-be domestic slaves? The bloody place would be finished by now…
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