Father's Day here in the UK, and to celebrate we headed out to Howie's at Bruntsfield to undo all the good work of the last few weeks dieting. This was after a morning of gardening and box-packing. (We are decluttering the house with a view to tentatively thinking about selling.)
Kit's big news is that he has been promoted from Tiggers to Owls at nursery, the final room in the chain. Here he will be in with "the big ones", get no naps and less adult contact, instead finding himself trying to negotiate the complicated world of pecking orders alone. Do him good.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Bad to the Bone. And sparkly.
On Sunday Mike and I took the opportunity for a bike run to Kilmarnock-ish where the Ayr Classic Motorcycle club were holding a bit of a do. I am not the biggest fan of classic bikes, but I'm trying to train myself to like them the way I successfully did with whisky and risotto.
The stereotype of the biker is still alive and well. Huge bellied, bearded and bullish men, wearing enough leather to drown a horse, clutch tiny polystyrene cups of tea while pointing knowingly at featherbed frames and discussing whether that colour was the original 1964 or later 1965 hue. I didn't really fit in, not having the heritage, and I sort of scampered off every time it looked like someone was about to engage me in conversation. I feared an Invasion of the Body Snatcher type response. Think of a fat, baldy Donald Sutherland with a rollup.
The best fun was possibly looking at how other people had maintained, customised or ruined their bikes in the parking area outside. Scary bikes, small bikes, bike bikes, gay bikes, they were all there and revving up an assortment of (mostly illegal) exhausts. At £5 it was good value entertainment but I'll really need to do some homework before next time. Of course, it's the same dozen classic bikes which attend all the Scottish events so memorising them shouldn't be too hard, and then I too can say things like "Aye, that's a 74 like, tell by the caliper housing."
More here...>
The stereotype of the biker is still alive and well. Huge bellied, bearded and bullish men, wearing enough leather to drown a horse, clutch tiny polystyrene cups of tea while pointing knowingly at featherbed frames and discussing whether that colour was the original 1964 or later 1965 hue. I didn't really fit in, not having the heritage, and I sort of scampered off every time it looked like someone was about to engage me in conversation. I feared an Invasion of the Body Snatcher type response. Think of a fat, baldy Donald Sutherland with a rollup.
The best fun was possibly looking at how other people had maintained, customised or ruined their bikes in the parking area outside. Scary bikes, small bikes, bike bikes, gay bikes, they were all there and revving up an assortment of (mostly illegal) exhausts. At £5 it was good value entertainment but I'll really need to do some homework before next time. Of course, it's the same dozen classic bikes which attend all the Scottish events so memorising them shouldn't be too hard, and then I too can say things like "Aye, that's a 74 like, tell by the caliper housing."
More here...>
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Roar...
So, to compensate for having no willpower I have signed up to stickk.com and have had one and a half very successful weeks. You can become my supporter to cheer and jeer in equal measure as I try to go from medically overweight to statistically normal in 12 pious weeks.
I was very excited this morning as I sat at the computer from 9am to ensure I got tickets to Muse at the SECC in November... and I did, and now I'm excited. There are precious few bands which could do that, and most of them are dead or hate each other, so it's nice when one comes along that I would actually dance for. Yes, actually dance.
Report cards are now written, and as always my creative writing skills are put to the test as even the most challenging of individuals are described in terms that deluded parents can interpret in any way they choose. Luckily this year I have no such pupils, or parents.
Oh, I also started volunteering at Edinburgh Sick Kids hospital this week. I am a bedtime reader once a fortnight, though that was actually bedtime drawer this week. Having done my best to help with a beach scene I was surprised the little girl didn't ask whether I was in fact in for an operation on my hands, eyes or perhaps brain. After a brief discussion on what a palm tree actually looked like time was up and I and headed off. It was strange entering a whole new place / system / environment with its own rules, routines and hierarchy but I'm hoping that in time I'll get a handle on it.
4 weeks today until the summer holiday but who's counting?
I was very excited this morning as I sat at the computer from 9am to ensure I got tickets to Muse at the SECC in November... and I did, and now I'm excited. There are precious few bands which could do that, and most of them are dead or hate each other, so it's nice when one comes along that I would actually dance for. Yes, actually dance.
Report cards are now written, and as always my creative writing skills are put to the test as even the most challenging of individuals are described in terms that deluded parents can interpret in any way they choose. Luckily this year I have no such pupils, or parents.
Oh, I also started volunteering at Edinburgh Sick Kids hospital this week. I am a bedtime reader once a fortnight, though that was actually bedtime drawer this week. Having done my best to help with a beach scene I was surprised the little girl didn't ask whether I was in fact in for an operation on my hands, eyes or perhaps brain. After a brief discussion on what a palm tree actually looked like time was up and I and headed off. It was strange entering a whole new place / system / environment with its own rules, routines and hierarchy but I'm hoping that in time I'll get a handle on it.
4 weeks today until the summer holiday but who's counting?
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