Tall Ships Festival: Dunoon, day 2, part 1

I talked about Day One in Dunoon in my last entry, leaving off just as we boarded the ferry to Gourock, on our way to see Royalist and the other tall ships at last.

It was a beautiful clear sunny day, with a wind just cool enough to keep it from being unpleasantly hot. On the top deck of the ferry, we discovered that the walkway went right round the bows under the bridge. Going forward, we saw this cruising along the far bank:


I thought she looked rather odd with her straight bow and curving stern. I wouldn't go as far as to say she is ugly - I don't believe any vessel with sails is ever really ugly - but she certainly looked business like. I thought from here that she was actually very modern, but that's just an illusion because of her new masts and spars; she's actually from around the late 1800s or early 1900s, and her design was actually pioneered in Aberdeen. This sort of vessel was used for fishing. Although, I didn't learn that until two or three weeks later, when we stopped in Aberdeen on the way home from Shetland, having visited Lerwick as the next port of call on the Tall Ships race.

Looking downriver, we could see right out to see, past both Arran and Cumbrae (Arran's the lumpy one on the right):


On the other side, we could see up Loch Long:

Tall Ships Festival: Dunoon, day 1

I hate fibromyalgia. But instead of moaning about feeling bad, I am going to tell you about what I did on my holidays. I had two holidays, this year, both of which were full of lots of fun, excitement, amazing experiences, and they were both very ship-oriented. Since I was old enough to read about tall ships, I've always wanted to go to sea. I learned to sail dinghies when I was about 9, and I've sailed yachts - I've even participated in accidentally pirating a yacht! But despite dreaming about going to sea on a tall ship, and reading everything about them that I could get my hands on, I never had the opportunity. When I was 16, the Tall Ships Race left from Leith, and I went to see the ships with my family. The point of the Race is that a certain proportion of the crews are between the ages of 15 and 25. They have to have a certain number of teenagers on board. I was old enough to go, and many of the ships were wanting crew - but my parents felt that though I was old enough, I was still a bit too young to go. I swore to myself I'd do it before I reached 21, but money was the issue, and there was a boy - a very, very bad influence - and then I went to university, and before I knew it, I was 21. I've sworn now that I'm going before I'm 35 - and with more intent to actually do something about it.

Anyway, we'd planned a week's holiday in Shetland - where my family is from - as the Tall Ships race was leaving from Lerwick on the last leg of the race to Norway. Shortly after this was arranged, we discovered that Royalist, the sea cadet training vessel, was also participating in the race, but only as far as Greenock. P sailed on Royalist several times when he was young, while I'd only seen photos of her, and once - from afar - her masts, when she was in Gosport for fitting out and we were in Portsmouth. It wasn't hard to decide to go through to Greenock to visit the Tall Ships there, as he was keen to see her again, and I was keen to see her properly for the first time. We decided to stay in Dunoon, because it was more scenic, cheaper, and allowed us to explore the area.

On the ferry across to Dunoon, we spotted several tall ships motoring up the Clyde. One of them looked suspiciously familiar. As she came closer, it seemed as though she had gunports, for cannon. Royalist has gunports; we were suspicious. As we watched, we became almost convinced that it was Royalist. Closer still, and there was no doubt about it. We grinned at each other in glee. What perfect timing, and a brilliant start to the holiday! That was just the first of several incidents of perfect timing over the course of the weekend.
Once off the ferry, we headed along the promenade to our B&B, which was right on the shore. Our room was really big, and looked out across the bay; we were up in the attic, with a dormer window giving a view both up and down the Clyde. Anyway, after dropping our bags, we headed back out to explore the town. Behind the hills on the other side of the river, the clouds were turning a menacing blue-grey. As we turned into the Tourist Office, a jagged fork of purple lightning made me jump (and yell with glee; I like thunderstorms). Once again, excellent timing. We wandered along the high street looking at the shops, while the clouds drifted in our direction (while I secretly hoped for more thunder).


We headed back towards the Castle House museum, which was actually built as a family home originally, and had a spectacular view over both beaches and across the Clyde. We were climbing the hill just as the rain began, though sadly, there was no thunder. We investigated the museum, which had information about Iron Age roundhouses found in the area, as well as examples of the way the house would have looked in the Victorian period when it was lived in. Once the rain was over, we headed out to take photographs from the top of the hill.


This was taken next to the flagpole. You can see the shower of rain which passed us by, heading down the Clyde.


I liked the yacht moored below us, and watched a man pottering about on deck for a while. We saw the yacht again later in the week further up the river. That chimney in the distance is the powerstation. Beyond, you can see Arran, and right out to sea:

This, that, and the next.

I started my new job on Monday this week. I'd already been in to visit them twice, which I think worked really well; I came in knowing where essentials like the cafe and the toilets are, so negating the sense of new-ness. I knew where my office was, how to get to it, and I was even organised enough to leave myself some chocolate in my desk drawer. (The Chocolate Tree peppermint flavour - it is what After Eights dream of being. Delicious.)

Anyway. My last job was in Social Sciences, and my new job is in Proper Science (Biological variety). It's common knowledge that core-sciences have way more money to bandy about than, for instance, your average History department. I'm really noticing it; it's the little things. My computer is brand-new and very speedy. I have a lovely 19" widescreen monitor. As an admin, there are a whole host of ginormous advantages in working in a science dept:

• We have our own mini finance department. Instead of having to jump through eighteen hoops to send off an invoice for payment, I just pop it in an envelope and our mini-financiers take care of it for me.
• Taxi fares: I'm used to having to pay these out of pocket, and then having to claim expenses. Here, they have a contract. The only paper to change hands is a receipt.
• Accommodation: they're already set up with credit at pretty much anywhere we might want to put people. No hasty negotiations, no worry about getting the payment through before the guest arrives, and no worrying about how on earth to do late bookings.
• Websites etc: These are all well-built with excellent interfaces - updating is a dream. As opposed to having a website that has incestuous nesting tables, and no CSS - so that if you change a menu item, you have to change it on every single page on the site.
• Anything which might speed things up and make one's life easier.

Okay, maybe these things seem rather trivial, but when you're dealing with these every day, the amount of time saved is huge. Everything just runs smoothly, it's delightful. My new manager laughed at me when I did a happy dance about the finance stuff.

There are a bunch of other interesting things about the new place though:

• Bathrooms. These are on alternate floors; even numbers for the women, odd for the guys. I work on an odd floor, so have to trot up or down to go to the bathroom. Seemingly everyone developes excellent bladder control, since it's quite a hike to get to the bathrooms.
• My building is an old one with a new one wrapped round it. I enter through a lovely airy modern atrium, go through a door, and find myself in something straight out of the 60s. More accurately, something straight out of the 60s that's never been renovated. The stairwell is like something from Fallout 3/any post-apocalyptic scenario you wish to mention. Except with peppy "If you climb to this floor every day in a year you'll have climbed three Munros" notices. The first time I came here (two years ago for an interview) the servitor took me up in the lift, "because they break down all the time and you don't want to get stuck in there without a radio...there's no mobile reception." Needless to say, I've only used the stairs since I started, although apparently the lifts don't break down - with anyone in them - any more.
• Because I work in a building inside a building, it takes me about 4 minutes to get from the front door to my office. Literally - I timed myself leaving the building the other day.
• I work in an actual lab with actual experiments going on. We have "Containment Level 1" and "Biohazard" stickers all over the doors. The offices are round the outside, with big picture windows and gorgeous views. The inner walls and doors are all glass, so the lab tables in the centre are brightly lit.
• They test the fire alarm every week. For two and a half minutes each time. At first I thought it was annoying, but now I'm thinking that if the fire alarm goes off we're all going to wait 2 and a half minutes before doing anything, and if it takes us 4 minutes to exit the building, it's going to be 6 minutes of a blaze in a multistory building before anyone actually gets outside.
• I have to tweet. As part of my job. This is awesome.
• I also have to blog. As part of my job. This is also awesome.
• I am going to be part of the team arranging a crazy high-profile event with the BBC at this year's Festival. Eeeeeek. But also awesome. But eeeeeeek!

This is the last moan I'll have about the old job. On my last day, my old manager asked if I was going to be doing condensed hours at my new job, because if I was, I could work for them on my extra day off. Um, no. If I'm doing condensed hours, that means I'm still doing a 40 hour week, just over 4 days not 5. That means I don't want to do a 48 hour week instead of having a day off in the middle of the week (which is really for health reasons - invaluable for when I'm having a bad week). Then I was quizzed on where and whom I was going to work for. Previously I'd been told to approach New Job and ask to work for them part time so I could work for Old Job part time. I'd said this was not a good idea in a manner which should have made it obvious that I personally did not want to. I was then told that she would approach New Boss for me. (This against a background of refusing to let someone work part time for their old job - so okay to do to someone else, not okay to have done to you. Riiight.) Anyway, I refused to tell anyone where I was working after that. It's morally and ethically wrong for Old Boss to approach my new job (against my wishes) and tell them I'd work for them part time - not to mention illegal - but this seemed not to be a problem. I attribute this madness to massive mindbending quantities of stress, since it's not usual behaviour. So when I was given the old once-over about where I was going to work, I was naturally rather suspicious, and therefore reticent.
Anyway, it's all over with now - although I do think about my old colleagues often. It's a horrible stressful situation to be in regardless of whether you're the one being offered vast quantities of money to work 50 miles away (and therefore the one having to manage the whole thing), or whether you're the one having to work there until you find another job.

Oh yes, one last thing. I recently upgraded to the HTC Wildfire. I'm incredibly pleased with it; the battery life is two and a half to three days (when I'm playing with it non-stop), the touch-screen is sensitive enough but not too sensitive, and it's an Android phone (my first) as opposed to a Nokia, so I'm having fun getting lots of free and useful apps. If anyone has any to recommend (free or otherwise), please do so!

Edinburgh's Wild West

Today it is a Bank Holiday in Scotland, and the sun is shining (except for a brief and frenzied hail storm this morning). I don't get bank holidays where I work (we get them added onto our holidays so we can take them when we want), but I'm off work today because of Fibro plus stress plus totally insane dreams which I can remember perfectly (and which I acted out, as indicated by the bruises on my arm). This morning, moving, having limbs, and braining was something which happened to other people (seriously, I couldn't even figure out how to work gmail! And it wasn't until 7 new tabs later that I realised the plus button is not the same as the tab scroll button on Firefox).

Anyway, I'm feeling a bit more up to braining now, so have an entry with some photos. There's a street (well, more of a very small back alley) in the depths of upper-middle-class residential Morningside which masquerades as a snippet of the lawless American Wild West. Unfortunately, it wasn't dropped into Morningside by some long-lived and magical tornado (a là Wizard of Oz), instead, it was a normal alley of garages and workshops until a furniture maker (who specialised in Spanish-style furnishings) built all the wooden frontages as an advertising gimmick. This was a very long time ago, an some bits have rotted away, although most of it is being kept in decent condition. The decay is also pleasingly photogenic.

Saloon:

Blackford Pond (and a thought-provoking experience)

Today, I had a very unusual and rather thought provoking occurrence at work. Our building is open to the public, and it doesn't have a specific reception, so very often people who are thoroughly lost turn up at our offices looking for directions. Today, an elderly couple in their late 60s, early 70s, turned up. They had travelled for three days - all the way from Australia - to find their daughter. She hadn't been in contact with them for ten years, and they'd managed to trace her to the university. They'd spoken with several members of HR, and had tracked down where she had possibly recently worked, so they were pretty sure she wasn't dead. The couple were exhausted, and very lost. I directed them as best I could. The whole episode made me uncomfortable and a little melancholy; they'd be tracing her from Australia as far as they could, so they'd booked a flight and come over to continue the work. They literally got into Edinburgh last night, had stayed at a nearby hotel, and had come straight to the uni first thing this morning. They seemed very excited at the prospect of finally finding her. And they were so elderly! It was as if they were trying to find her before they died. And the lady had fallen last night, and badly twisted her ankle, so she could barely walk - but they didn't have time to go and get it checked, or let her rest up. Now of course, I don't know the whole story; the daughter may have excellent reasons for not wanting to speak to them. Perhaps they did something terrible, so that she cut them out of her life; I know from experience that parents can do horrible things to their children (not my parents, I hasten to add), things that entirely justify their children never speaking to them again. But even so, it left me with an unsettled feeling for the rest of the day, and the desire to hug three very specific people.

On a lighter note, I also have a bunch of pictures to share. P and I went for a walk round Blackford Pond, where I was able to play with my zoom lens. It was a beautiful sunny spring day, with many baby waterfowl in evidence - and even a bunny - despite the teeming hordes of yelling small children and yummy mummies pushing buggies and conversing about where Jemima will go to school. There was one pair of mothers I did admire though: they'd somehow managed to persuade their three-or-four year olds that pushing buggies is the best thing ever. So the kids were happily pushing their own buggies round the pond (and racing each other) while the mothers sauntered behind, unencumbered by buggy. A very cunning plan, I thought. One of the mothers thought so too; she saw me looking, and shared a conspiratorial grin.

Anyway, on to the wildlife. Herein are photos of fuzzyness (ducklings) and fluffyness (cootlets), a bunny, and some rather comical ducks.

A story

The year I turned seven, my parents bought the beach house, and my world changed. Instead of the city centre garden, we had a whole beach! There were islands, and a cave, and the paddling pool. Then, as we got older, there was the swimming pool proper, with slides, and diving boards, and floats; endless games of pirates, capture the float, or diving down to see who could sit on the bottom for longest, watching the legs of tourists above us. They looked like frogs.
Later on, we learned to sail. Havoc took us to explore the islands out in the bay, and beyond. She gave us freedom from the land, and when the wind was strong, and the sails trimmed just right, we felt like we were flying.
At night, once everyone had fallen asleep, I'd creep through to the family room, and watch the moon across the water. In the distance the lighthouse flashed, the yellow beam splashing across rocks and sand and grass, then on, out of sight towards Fife. I'd have conversations with the Older Me, telling myself that no matter what happened, I would always be able to come back here. However bad things were during term time, however bad things were in the future, the beach would always be waiting, silently, the water silvered by the moon as the waves whispered against the sand.
The winters, too, were wonderful, filled with wind and thundering waves, spray flying high over the empty swimming pool, flooding it so that the water spilled over, and we had to jump onto the steps over the rocks, out of the way. Where the tourists' legs had looked like frogs, now seaweed floated serenely. Beyond, the water was churned up, a seething mass of white that would draw back then roar in again, thundering against the wall and sending the spray soaring over our heads so that it would seem as though it was raining. We would laugh into the teeth of the gale, marvelling at the wildness of it all.
Later on, we'd sit by the fire and listen at the wind howling round the house and down the chimney, sending the sparks up in clouds. At night, I'd watch the bay as the lighthouse flashed, the foam on the waves ghostly in the moonlight.

Eventually, we grew up, and the beach house was closed. We moved on, studied, worked, but always in the back of my mind was the image of the beach, first thing in the morning, the sand fresh from the outgoing tide. The air would be cool, but with the promise of heat as soon as the sun was fully up. We would be the only ones out, except for a man walking his dog over on the far side. Plenty of time to build forts and play pirates, imagining the marauders coming into the bay, their sails gleaming in the sun. I always promised myself that I could go back, and one day, it happened; the beach house was opened again, the rooms aired out and painted, the old things restored or replaced. I'd be able to walk on the beach - can adults build forts and play pirates? - or go sailing, or watch the waves.

Then there was the accident, and everything changed. The darkness had arrived, and with it, the sleepless nights, and the pain that dulled everything else. And now, as I lie here sobbing, my legs so full of pain that I can't feel my toes, I imagine that somewhere, somehow, a little girl and her brother run side by side down to the beach. Slipping off their shoes, they wriggle their toes in the warm sand. As I watch, they gather up the flag on the old iron post, and climb up the side of the dune to where the diggings of the previous day show the beginnings of a proper fort. The girl digs a hole and plants the flag securely. As she stands beside it, surveying her domain, her eyes meet mine. For a long moment we look at each other, and then she smiles, and turns to her brother. "Let's finish the fort; the pirates will be coming round into the bay any moment. Then this afternoon, we can go and play in the swimming pool. They might have the blow-up slide ready by then."
As the image fades, my heart feels full, as though it will break. This world may not be what I dreamed, but at least I know that somewhere in a perpetual summer, part of me will always be playing, down on the beach, or in the pool, or on the island. Part of me will always be happy. And maybe, if I close my eyes and concentrate very hard, just maybe I can go back there, and join them, if only for a moment.

I'm sorry, what?! *lalala*

Apparently, we might have severe gales early on Thursday morning.

However, we should consider ourselves lucky. A little further west or north, and we'd be expecting heavy snow, since that's what pretty much the rest of Scotland is getting.

I'm sorry, but someone hasn't got the memo. When it comes to snow, we've been there, and done that. I think most people would rather not get the t-shirt, thank you very much.

And we woke up to a light dusting of snow on the roofs this morning.

It's worth noting that the worst snow weather that Edinburgh received was back in the 1800s, and took place during February and March. So maybe this winter is going to try and top that...

But all the crocuses are in bloom, and the daffodils are starting to come out. We've had several gloriously bright and sunny days, with blue sky and cold, clear weather. It was getting nicely springlike. I love snow, and having so much last year was exciting (and not too much of a pain, since I have rubber grips for my shoes so I don't slip, and I walk everywhere anyway) but I do have mixed feelings about going back to cold grey days and wearing a scarf up to my eyes in order to breathe...even if it does mean having fun walking to work in full wet weather gear through a foot of snow.