Up North for October

I've had a cracking few days recently - the October holiday week is always good: it lacks the pressure of the summer holidays, where good weather and "plans" are paramount, and it prefaces the pressure of the Christmas holiday with its family driven agenda and financial aftermath. The tattie holiday is a real holiday, where autumn's colours and the early bite of a cold wind only serve to make Scotland a nicer place to be when you have nothing to do.
And where nicer in Scotland than Speyside? I was lucky that there was a coincidental coming together of the holiday, my birthday and the Aviemore Half Marathon, my second after premiering in Glasgow last month. We headed north after school on Friday and stayed with Dad in Carrbridge, steadfastly refusing all but the skimpiest of curries in preparation for my run on Sunday. It turned out to be a lovely day, until lunchtime anyway, and the run was a picturesque, friendly and fun affair. 109th out of 996 and no lasting injuries sounds like a good day out to me.
So Monday saw poor Lorna heading south to go back to work on the train. Meanwhile Kit and I continued north to Tain for a couple of nights. This is another opportunity for him to be a spoiled brat but for me not to mind because I get some quiet time - and today, my quiet time took me to Croick Church, an exceptionally special place to me. Special for a number of reasons - it has big history. Follow the link to learn more, but suffice to say the church is linked forever to the Highland Clearances in a way that enters your blood and gives you The Shivers every time you visit. I'm not sure why, but inside the curch manages to be many degrees colder than outside, whether summer or winter. The people of Glen Calvie were mustered there before being thrown / chased / burned out of their houses and homes in 1845, and famously the church has scratches on the windows where they testified to the sadness and loss they were being put through.
All in all I spent a good few hours there with my camera trying to get some nice in and outside shots of the church and its grounds. I didn't feel spooked at all, it's a very peacful place to be, just so cold. Until, that is, a conker got blown from a tree and banged against one of the windows: then I shat myself. More pics to follow once I get them edited and Flickr'd.
Back home tomorrow - rehearsals tomorrow night then possibly an Edinburgh photography day on Thursday.

Highland Graffiti

Highland Graffiti
Originally uploaded by Lee Carson

Today I was All Man as before me child after child dissolved into tears at some personal crisis or another, some real and some imagined. See Exhibit A glaring at me in tears because she was unable to fold some paper. (18 others had successfully folded their paper but I was still an evil teacher for not folding hers for her.) And Exhibit B, crying as the rest of her group shouted at her for not pulling her weight. It was difficult to be truly sympathetic when I had deliberately put her in the group to be shouted at, to save me doing it. And it's only February, imagine the carnage by June.

On a brighter note we had proper snow today - thick, fluffy, cold and icy enough to leave two of my class with semi-permanent facial scars after only half an hour of snowball fighting. Cycling was actually very peaceful through the drifts. I think I saw 3 other bikes the whole day, and two of them were the same guy twice.

I went on a spending spree yesterday, within the boundaries of being a tightwad. I bought a few books - one by Sudhri Venkatesh, the Californian sociology student mentioned in Freakonomics. He spent a few years with the Black Kings, a gang who he discovered had a hierarchy and financial structure to rival any other big corporation. His book fleshes out the summary found in Freakonomics and is an easy and compelling read. In my head he sounds like Louis Theroux.

The accompanying picture was taken in Tain, the underpass from St Vincent Road under the bypass. Jon was impressed by its simple message of peace and its accurate punctuation.

RTA

RTA
Originally uploaded by Lee Carson

So, that's February already and Britain grinds to a halt in the face of half an inch of snow. Well, London does. How does snow manage to disrupt the underground? Edinburgh too is suffering its share of transport woes but it's still the cyclists who are smug, if not snug, as all around roads are dug up and traffic is diverted so TIE can gives us trams.
The population of the household is going up steadily as more and more toys are named and played with, rather than just lung on to. Only yesterday Pudsey bear was put to bed by Kit due his sore eye, snuggled down and read a story. The guitar and piano are still favourite items, with his Brio train and Thomas TV game close behind.
Lorna spent a week in Hong Kong a while bak and we sent Kit for a holiday to Granny's house - a popular decision all round. This gave me the splendid opportunity to relive my bachelor days for five exciting nights, just long enough to remember that I don't miss my bachelor days at all. It turns out that without my family I would be just another fat alcoholic...like, even more.
It did give me the opportunity to catch up with Jon in Tain for a night, an unlikely but welcome opportunity. Beer, whisky, cigars and putting the world to rights. Same old same old, thank God.

Happy New Year from Tain!

Another Hogmanay

Having enjoyed reading Jon's teary, nostalgic stories of Christmas past, I decided some reminiscing of my own wouldn't be out of place.

Christmas for us was usually spent in Dundee where your enjoyment of the festive season was generally measured by how much food you could consume between dawn and dusk - not eating meant not enjoying and that would simply not be tolerated. From the bacon stuffed rolls which left your dressing gown smeared with butter grease and tomato sauce to the industrial vats of prawn cocktail, it was heaven for a 9 year old with an appetite. Indeed there is a well worn family story where Gillian, who could be relied upon to work herself up into a vomitus over-excited wreck on Christmas Eve, was only cured of her boke by the ingestion of two cheese and tomato pizzas.

Another lasting memory is of the organisation involved when squeezing four or five adults and up to six children, plus guests, in a cottage originally built to house a crofter and possibly his wife. Place mats were laid each meal time in the livingroom on every available horizontal surface. A middle spot on a table was nice as there was less chance of things ending up on the floor, or of one of the dogs helping you to finish. Seats near the fire were at a premium earlier in the day when the house had yet to heat up, but by evening the furnace blast meant that only the cat and dogs could get within a few feet of it. This gave them the best view of the (off) TV and a perfect vantage point from which to let off casual farts in the direction of your Vienetta and Ice Magic. Feeding aside, the sleeping and washing arrangements alone were impressive enough. Bunk beds and inflatable beds were frequent friends as you were given your place in the sleeping hierarchy.

We were a family who still did "turns" - I did a mean Margaret Thatcher impression, and once an optimal amount of alcohol had been consumed the various uncles and aunts from many generations would indulge in some music hall classics to pass the time. One advantage that we had over the Broons was a "television", but this was in the days when the war for children's minds was still being optimistically fought by parents who believed two things - 1) that family derived entertainment was more fun than Tiswas and 2) this was a fight which could still be won. We could debate if either, both or none of these is true but it won't help me in 1982.

Anyway. Hogmanay as a child was perhaps less exciting, barring the thrill of being allowed up late. Once or twice we were taken along to parties then put to bed before being "gently awoken" at early o'clock when it was time to go home. I would not wish this torture on any child and will try to avoid it with my own. Jon's blog reminded me of those first few "allowed out" New Years when the rules of social etiquette were still being learned, then ignored. Hogmanay evening would be spent touring the houses of...people we knew. Calling them all "friends" would be a bit false considering many of them I have never, and will never see again, but we knew enough "friendly people" to organise or instigate quite the tour of Tain. Traps would be laid for us, though; on arrival at Tower Gardens for example I would be presented with a generous basin of neat whisky from my host or hostess which would then be refilled at a pace Oliver Reed might have called "a bit much". It was all my teen male ego could do to drink them as fast as they were presented. But then later in the evening any of my visits to the toilet would be accompanied by sharp intakes of breath and some tut-tutting as I weaved my wibbly wobbly way past vases and display dinner services before engaging other guests in inappropriate conversation. These truly were "the good old days". As time went on Jon and I became less of the social butterfly type and concentrated more on becoming connoisseurs of witty stories, droll recollections and the contents of other people's drinks cabinets.

We also frequently set out to prove that the right amount of alcohol prevented hypothermia. When it's 2 in the morning, and snowing, and you've been drinking whisky since midday, and someone says to you, "Let's go down to the beach" you really should say "No." But the memories of running my hands through my hair to dislodge the ice only serve to celebrate the anti-freeze properties of The Famous Grouse.

So, tonight Lorna and I will hit Tain town centre again after all these years. We are attending the Hogmanay street party organised, I think, by the Tain Gala Association Ceilidh band, fireworks (one assumes) and home by 00:10 if all goes to plan...

Let a smile be your umbrella, and you'll end up with a face full of rain.

So it hasn't been the kindest of summers, as far as the weather goes. It feels a little churlish to gripe about showers and puddles when mother nature is slowly washing England into the sea one blocked drain at a time, but I reserve the right to expect more good days in six weeks than we've had. However maybe that just makes the sunny spells all the more valued.

My last post announced Jon and my plans to head north and visit the beautiful Sandwood Bay...so we did. A splendid time was had by both: the weather held up for us until late into the evening. The bay has little in the way of firewood but we found what appeared to be part of a wooden crate to burn - turned out it was made of solid, woodlike plastic which burnt very well, though perhaps was not the nicest thing to sit beside and inhale from. After family packs of Supernoodles, a couple of beers and a snifter of Laphroig we turned in, and next day were lucky enough to get a dry walk out and a most pleasant all day breakfast at Kinlochbervie's Fisherman's Mission - all the anus and eyelid you can eat for a fiver!

Our family week to Mull was everything we'd hoped it might be. The race from Tain to Oban via the Co-Op (then trying to stuff a week's worth of food into an already obscenely overpacked car) was a challenge, but once in the queue for the ferry I could relax and inspect the quality of the Oban port authority's seagull poo sweeping. Not bad, actually, but I could have done better.

Once on Mull we found our cottage and despite being a bit damp and smelling a bit like a wet dog we were pleased to call it home for the week. Walks, cycles, a visit to Iona and Tobermory kept us busy and Kit loved sticking his head into sandy puddles on the beach. Well, what are wellies for if not to fill with water? We lit the fire a few nights for no other good reason than it's fun to light fires and Lorna somehow took the Mull Scrabble title at three games to two. I managed to get lots of school stuff reading done - the benefit of no TV or internet cannot be over stressed here - and we wended our way home a week later feeling holidayed and happy.

Now back home my assignment is submitted, Kit is walking and babbling like never before and Lorna is...wait for this...getting a bicycle tomorrow! She ventured out three times on my mountain bike while on holiday. (Lorna is not the most experienced, or confident of cyclists. She can't change gear if there is a car near - well, if she can even see a car, actually - and only recently has been able to move her hand over to ring the bell. Before that she relied on a firm clearing of the throat to warn walkers to dive out of the way.) The first time, in Tain, it poured with rain so much that we hid under a tree until, realising it was never going to stop, limping home 20 minutes later in defeat. Our second run took us from Tain to Inver and all was going well until two low flying jets knocked Lorna into a ditch. You see...knowing how much she likes low flying jets, after the first one buzzed us I spotted the second one and shouted, "Lorna, stop". I knew she couldn't cycle and look at the same time, but unfortunately she thought I shouted, "Lorna, look" and proved I was right. One bruised shin later (it started off as a broken leg, but then got better) and I was off to get the car to ferry her back safely on four wheels. The third go was much more successful, on Iona, but we both agreed the mountain bike was not ideal for her so she's chosen one of these instead. Ding ding!

More on the bike front - Mike and I have been testing ourselves at the Glentress and Innerleithen trails. The Glentress red route was enough for me, but still we dared the black route at Innerleithen and lived to tell the tale.

So what now? Well, cramming as much as I can into the last week of the holidays, trying to get out on the motorbike (new rear tyre, woohoo!) and avoiding "back to school dreams", I guess.

For the want of a cot at Granny's...

Multimedia message
Originally uploaded by tcatcarson

Right cat, out!

Freedom of speech is wonderful - right up there with the freedom not to listen.

I am knackered. I know that compared to, like, farmers and, say, children in Mali I have little right to complain but compared to the charmed life I usually lead, it's been a busy day.

I was one of two QPS teachers presenting at the Primary Science Summer School, jointly run by HMIe and Careers Scotland, at Dynamic Earth today. We ran two workshop sessions called "Enhancing the learning and teaching of science using ICT". Basically we covered using commercial websites, setting up a school website, voting tools and interactive whiteboard use, digital video work and the use of dataloggers. Two sessions lasting two hours each and it was 3pm before we knew it. But we did manage to get one group's work online, here...> The best part was having P6 on the other end of the phone ready to view the work of these teachers and comment on it, ha ha.

Then it was a quick cycle home in the rain, just enough time to grab a haircut and a Star Bar before heading back into school to deliver an "internet safety" presentation to the 10 parents who bothered to attend the PTA AGM. Sheesh.

Actually now that I see it in writing it wasn't that much at all - I don't think the half hour delay in the bridge traffic helped, mind.

Apart from that, there has been a bit of a Tain-Bebo surge of late. It's difficult - so far I have been in touch with a couple of people I am quite pleased to hear from, and interested to find out about. But how long will it be before some looney gets through...?