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:

Of Firefestivals and red nail varnish.

Since the year is ponderously progressing towards my birthday (which is still months away, though is in the first half of the year) I've been speculating a bit on where I've come from, and where I'm going to. I'm not having a midlife crisis; for one thing, I'm too young, and for another, it couldn't be called a crisis. On the other hand, although I have decent well-paying job, it's not remotely in the area I want to work in. (Administration vs Archaeology.) I finished uni with an excellent degree, despite developing Fibromylagia in my second year. Since then, I've started my masters, but have bumbled a bit. Why? I used to say it was money - and to some extent it is - but there's definitely more to it than that. I've always told myself that if I really wanted to get on with finishing it, I could work really hard, maybe do an additional job if I wanted to, then take unpaid leave to finish writing up. Then I use the excuse that I couldn't work that hard even if I wanted to, because of my health.
Some introspection has revealed the real reason: A total lack of confidence in my own intellectual and acadmic abilities, not to mention ability to concentrate.
Currently, attempts to overcome this lack of confidence seem to be revolving around wearing red nail varnish, for some unfathomable female reason. I'm not a red nail varnish kind of girl (although I've always coveted the ability to wear it well.) Red is a difficult colour; get the wrong shade and you end up looking like a harlot, or just plain cheap. Get the right shade and suddenly you become a mysterious and enigmatic woman of elegance.
Since I don't want to look harlot-ish, I've always stuck to pale shades - very natural shades, or slightly shimmery translucent shades. Recently I've also acquired a very pale pastel blue, which has made me happy because I'm able to wear blue nail varnish to work. (Oooh, look at me rebelling!)

The whole nail thing has been made worse by the fact that I sit next to a girl who's only a couple of years older than me, who always, always has her nails manicured. They're fairly short, never fake, but always beautifully painted. Somehow, on some level, my feminine pride has been wounded. (This is probably also due to the fact that being organised enough to put on makeup in the mornings isn't something that happens to me.)

This weekend, however, I found the Perfect Red. It's a deep shade, blood red, but with a slight pearlescent tinge which gives it depth, and thus class. I wore it to work today, and ended up grinning every time I caught sight of my nails. It's funny how such a small thing can have such an effect.

Anyway, enough about nails. Let's make up for it by having some FIRE.



Last Hogmanay (2010), there was a Fire Festival held on the Royal Mile. Giant iron sculptures - spheres, octopods, otherworldly shapes - were covered in pots of wax with wooden wicks, which were then set alight. There were great chimneys which belched flames high into the air, but the crowning glory was the Chandelier, which swung high above the street, next to the (obligingly full) moon.

Photopost: Moonlight, Archaeology

I had to pop down to NB on Wednesday night in order to meet an archaeologist for a stroll along the cliffs early on Thursday morning. The archaeologist was lovely, as was her very friendly and intelligent dog. We had fun, and I was able to get lots of good information about volunteering, and what to do to improve my CV.

I was meant to be having an early night, but the moon was stunning - one day off being full. It was an incredibly clear night, full of stars. The moon was so bright that it cast proper shadows on our balcony, and the whole bay was lit up. The light was silvery, very ethereal looking. I can see why it's often described as having a magical quality; certainly seeing everything lit up that way did make things appear somewhat otherworldly. It wasn't as bright or colourful as the daytime, but it was bright enough to see people walking on the beach, to see the rocks, and water, the waves - even some colours could be made out. Normally all you can see is the occasional flash of murky white as a wave breaks. You wouldn't be able to see the sand or the water, let alone people.

I was in my pyjamas, but I couldn't let the chance go to waste, so out I went onto the balcony, in my dressing gown, with my camera. It was bitterly cold. My dressing gown kept me warm, though my ankles were a little too exposed for my liking.

This is what West Bay looked like:


I set the camera on the table, propped it up, and pointed it at the moon. All things considered, the photo came out pretty well. (Trying to get the camera to focus at that angle was fun, and I was shivering a bit much by that point).

I'm so pleased with this - it's come out amazingly well! Look at those stars - you can see Orion's Belt pretty clearly, just above the reflection on the balcony rail, which is what that black thing across the bottom right hand corner is.

Seacliff: More from East Lothian adventures, Part 2.

Given the cuts situation, and the fact I've spent the day on the couch unable to move, I have a post on disability brewing. However, while it percolates gently, I'm going to post the rest of the pictures from our exploration of Seacliff. I'd better get it done before they're a whole year out of date (the pics were taken in March of last year)!
So, when we last left our delightful (ahem) heroine (yours truly) and her parents trusty sidekicks, they'd just discovered a hidden harbour that's only accessible from the mainland at low tide. The harbour comes complete with slipway, channel, and a box for keeping live catch in until they were needed for the table. After exploring the harbour, we headed back to the beach. I said in my last post that Seacliff is like something out of an Enid Blyton book; as well as secret harbours and ruins, there are also stories of wreckers. Just beyond the rocks on which St Baldred's cross sits, there are two rocky outcrops, known as the Scoughall Rocks and the Car Rocks. Stories say that the Pagans of Scoughall used to use lights to lure ships onto the rocks, where they would be wrecked, and the cargo plundered. In bad weather, it would have been easy for people on that part of the coast to show lights pretending to be the lighthouses on Bass Rock and Fidra, which ships heading up the Forth would have been looking out for.
Robert Louis Stevenson was related to the Dale family, descendents of the family who owned Seacliff. Supposedly his book The Wreckers is based on stories he heard about the wreckers in this area.



Standing next to the stream that runs across the beach, looking down the coast and out to the North Sea.


The ruins of Auldhame are very conspicuous at this end of the beach.

There's another mysterious ruin to be explored. Warning; if you're on a slow connection, there are quite a lot of pictures:

More snow in Edinburgh, part 2.

Since we've had a thaw (ish), and it's meant to snow again tonight, I thought I'd actually get round to posting the rest of my snowy photos.


On the way to work, this is the Grassmarket at rush hour. People started walking or using public transport (such as there was) instead of trying to dig their cars out.


The Castle.


Close-up. Castle Rock started looking like a black-and-white photo.

Cove, Part 2: More smugglers, Caves and Tunnels.

Ages ago I posted about our visit to Cove, a teeny village on the edge of the cliffs, complete with a harbour, tunnels, and caves; an isolate smugglers paradise. Here's the first part of the visit. And now, for the second part.

When I left off last time, we'd explored the harbour and the abandoned cottages. These days, there are only two left, but there used to be four. The other two have presumably succumbed to the elements. It would be amazing to be here in a storm. This is looking out to sea through what used to be someone's bedroom or kitchen window:


It was time to explore the tunnel! (Not that I'd been looking forward to this bit or anything...) This is the entrance in the cliff. I imagine it probably hasn't changed much.


The tunnel immediately inside the entrance is pretty large, and you can see the bare rock has been reinforced with masonry and probably then covered with lime. A short way in, the roof rises suddenly and abruptly. It looks like probably there was a rockfall at some point. In the photo below you can see the edge of the arched tunnel towards the left of the picture. That's where the roof suddenly rises. The tunnel in this bit becomes basically like a square room, with a much rougher and lower tunnel leading off it into the cliff...


The "proper" tunnel. This is looking down the tunnel, with the room with the high roof just behind me. The tunnel is pretty long, and curves in the middle, following the line of the headland so you can't see daylight all the way through unless you stand in just the right place. Most of the way through the tunnel is this rough sandstone; this was all carved by hand.

Photopost: Festival Fireworks

I had to work from home today because I was sore enough that moving and eating made me feel queasy. At lunchtime I had to go into work to sort out a problem with access (totally accidental). I was using my stick, and bumped into a colleague who asked why I was working at home. "Because I woke up this morning in too much pain to walk anywhere." Ten minutes later, we had a conversation that ended up with me describing how I was off home to lie on my front on the couch because sitting up was getting too painful.
"Oh, I really envy you on your couch." says she.

I just ignored it, but it's now really bugging me that I didn't make reference to how she could enjoy the excrutiating pain too. Or similar put-down. I really hate esprit d'escalier. Dammit!

There is always tomorrow, but it would be too late, and anyway, I'm pretty sure it was thoughtless or badly put - she really meant she'd prefer to be working on the couch at home, rather than suggesting that I wasn't working, or that I wasn't in pain/didn't have a good reason to work from home.

Anyway, on a far more entertaining note, have some fireworks photos. These are all taken from the comfort of my bedroom window, while wearing my jammies. There's an advantage to living in such a noisy place!
Also, the only processing has been the watermark and resizing. All the weird effects are due to long exposures and in some cases, the high winds.


A good example - no photoshoppery, even though it looks like someone scribbled on the sky with a pencil.

I'll stick the rest under a cut; have a look:

Photo Post: Adventures on the east coast - smugglers, caves and tunnels!

My explorations and adventures along the east coast continue. This time, we explored Cove, which is a teeny tiny hamlet of about ten or fifteen houses perched on the cliff edge. This part of the coast consists of very high sandstone and mudstone cliffs which drop sheer down to the rocks and sea below. In places, rivers have cut down through the sandstone, creating a valley which opens up to the sea. Pease Bay is one such place, with a beautiful strip of white sand. Once a small village, it's now overrun with caravans, and is frightfully Butlins-esque, complete with the "Recreation Hall", where they have shows, songs and dances every night, with a disco for the kids and karaoke for the teenagers. I admit, I was a bit intimidated when we stopped there for a bathroom break before heading home.

In contrast to places like Pease Bay (which is still very beautiful and you should still visit it), there are places like Cove. At Cove, there's no river to cut down through the sandstone. Instead, part of the cliff has slumped down, leaving a half-moon bay, bounded on one side by the continuing line of cliffs, while on the other a line of harder sandstone extends into the sea, parallel with the cliffs. The whole bay has been enclosed by walls, creating a very secluded harbour:



Cove is not the sort of place one could possibly find caravans.

Photopost: Food and Sunsets

The other night P and I made the First Pasta to be created since flatsharing started to happen. This is significant because it was brought into being after P got home from work at 10.30pm; under non-flat-sharing circumstances, this wouldn't ever have happened, partly due to not wanting to disturb my flatmate, and partly because I have to get up at 7.30am, and so like to be heading for bed by 11pm.

However! The joys of flatsharing are that all flat inhabitants are awake and involved in the cooking, and so can't be disturbed. Even better, instead of having to send pajh home so I can go to bed, I can be floating about in my pyjamas (and getting in the way). This time, however, I was allowed to help! This is mostly because P was Cruelly Savaged by a Very Sharp Knife. There's something endearing about a grown man sucking his thumb (to prevent bleeding) and directing chopping operations by gesticulating.

The resulting pasta - created by combined effort - is a thing of exceeding yummyness. In order to mark the occasion, this evening I made my plate of pasta pose for me (for a total of one minute before I fell upon it, ravenous). So, have some arty-pasta shots:

Tomato-y goodness:

Have some pretty (photopost)

There was a lovely double rainbow the other day. 'Twas pretty, indeed.


All-in-one shot. Bother that new building...


A close up. Isn't it amazing when you look at it closely?

All is well in the world of the Jehane. I have a more interesting post to do, involving tunnels, caves, abandoned cottages, and a seafaring tragedy. However, it must wait until I have time to fiddle with Many Photos...

Picture post: More from East Lothian in May

While I was in North Berwick, some people I am in chaoots with came down for a visit and a picnic. We stopped off at the butcher for Serious Sausage Rolls (they're HUGE and taste good and are very filling. Just what's needed when going exploring), and then went to explore Dirleton Castle, stopping off at the very pleasingly round doocot first:


We then walked round to the castle entrance, which is still very imposing:


The castle was attacked by cannon; the damage wasn't ever repaired:


The entrance reminded us all of the castle in Knightmare:


We had a good poke about round the castle. This is the passage to my favourite room:

(The doors are as small as they look - people were shorter then.)

Picture post: North Berwick at the end of May.

At the end of May, I went down to North Berwick a few times, taking lots of pictures of course. All of the pictures below link back to my flickr album, where you'll find more pics that I haven't posted here.



The apple trees had bloomed with lovely delicate pink flowers since I was there last (nice weather has been a long time coming this year). We've got two apple trees: one that produces enormous cooking apples, and once that produces lovely crunchy cox's pippin type apples. The sort that make wonderful apple pie.


We went for a walk down to the harbour, where I had a pang of jealousy:

My boat is in storage at the moment, and I have to get club membership before I can borrow their boats. Hopefully I'll get dinghy sailing soon: there's nothing so exhilarating as the feeling when you catch the wind and take off, flying over the waves.

We wandered back along the beach, where we met a rather friendly collie and his owner, who was someone my father knew in the sailing club. The collie sized us all up, then deposited his stick at my feet. After having me throw it along the beach numerous times, he decided he wanted a swim. I tried to resist his attempts to take me paddling with him:


But ultimately, who can resist an enthusiastic (if somewhat damp) collie bouncing about and grinning at you? Certainly not I. He was successful:


More pictures under the cut:

Darkness in Edinburgh.

I've just finished transcribing 100+ Presargonic inscriptions into my Excel Spreadsheet O' Doom, so have rewarded myself by playing with some photos. Here are the results - partly inspired by 's complaint about stolen snow. (Thank you, my dear!)



It snowed last night, at about 3am.

From Edinburgh at night.

From Edinburgh at night.

It was lying on the roof outside my window:

From Edinburgh at night.

From Edinburgh at night.

It got up to about 1.5cm by the time I went to bed, so everything began to look magical, the way ordinary objects begin to when they are covered in a dusting of snow. Sadly, it had melted by this morning.

~~~

The moon has been interesting recently:

From Edinburgh at night.

Leith Photographs.

Since it's heading for Autumn now (although I'm still holding out hope for an indian summer), I thought I'd post some pictures from what little summer we had.

Back in August, P and I went for a little meander along The Shore in Leith.

Another ramble along the water of Leith.

These photos were taken recently, after we had some ridiculous quantities of rain (3 weeks worth in a day). Since they were taken in August, technically they're out of seasonal order (I do have pictures from Spring to post), but I'm posting them next because they show the river flooding properly. Ish. (I've seen it higher, but not much.)

Teaser:

Water of Leith Photos - Winter Time.

As I never seem to have much to say here, but I do have oodles of photos, I've decided to share some. Once my brain ceases to be stolen by Writing in Mesopotamia from 4000-2000 BC, I'll maybe have the ability to actually write something!

Teaser: