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.

Warm and Cosy

Look where I'm currently working:


A Proper Library. It smells really good too - proper old books and wood sort of smell.


Look at the ceiling and the gallery.


From the doorway. I'm sitting in that chair at the table in the window. It's next to the radiator, so I'm really warm, and have a lovely view of a snowy street.


A proper look at the bookcases and gallery. You can see the entrance to the gallery (sort of disguised) in the corner - one of the doors is slightly open.


This isn't the view I'm looking at, it's the view from the room next door.


Close-up of Well Court.

Lucky me!

Edinburgh Snow, yet again.

Here's Wednesday's hilarity and frolicking in the snow. Work is being rather entertaining at the moment; we're on the third floor, opposite a street that will never be cleared because it's a dead end. Despite this, there are a group of white van men who seem to have some sort of vendetta going on. They got stuck in the snow on Monday, and since then it seems to have become a matter of Male Pride that they - somehow - get to the Top Of The Road. We've called it the Continuing Saga in the The Story of the Van Men. On Monday and Tuesday's episodes, the Van Men got stuck in the snow, and found shovels. They then cleared the pavements on both sides of the road. They sprinkled grit about, and tried to push one of their vans up the hill. That particular section was cartoonish; four grown men running on the spot (thanks to the ice) trying to push a van up the hill.
On Wednesday, they brought out The Big Guns. Not to be outdone by some piddling snow and a piddling little slope, they came armed with a mini digger. Producing some rope, they tied the digging arm to their trailer, and then backed up the hill, towing the trailer. They repeated the exercise in exactly the same configuration to go back down the hill. Luckily the trailer was now empty, and the snow thick - otherwise the large trailer would have crushed the slow moving teeny digger.

Aside from the Van Men Saga, there have been a selection of people with Silly 1.3 litre cars thinking that they're actually driving landrovers, and getting stuck. Mostly these are Young Poseur Males, who then gesticulate a lot at each other. Or they ruin their engines by sitting and revving them (while driving us crazy), despite getting nowhere.

The silliest thing I've seen so far was a gentleman dressed in a long tweed overcoat (unbuttoned), and very expensive looking tailored suit. He was wearing soft brown leather shoes, long and pointy (fashionable no doubt, though impractical), which had leather soles. Leather soles! When the pavements are wet and slushy! Good grief, they don't even give decent grip in those situations. (Though suede soles on dance shoes are amazing!)

Anyway. Tuesday night we got about 30cm overnight in the city centre. Here are some pictures.


Looking back the way I came.
This photo and the one below are taken standing in the same place, looking in different directions. Snow in one direction, blue sky in the other (just at the right time for walking to work!)

Heading in this direction. The road hadn't been ploughed yet.


Needs to be dug out.


Side road. This is what it looks like when no snow has been shovelled at all. This is nothing though - twenty minutes from here on foot, they have nearly 2 feet of snow.


Morning sunlight, plus castle.




This turrety tenement is one I don't look at twice, normally, but but with a dusting of snow it becomes rather fairy-tale-esque.


Another side road - this one isn't a dead end though.


Approaching snow shower behind the Parliament and Holyrood Palace. Good thing I'll be in work by the time it reaches us!


Holyrood Road. This one's been treated for snow - this is the general condition of roads in the city centre.


Blizzard!


More blizzard!


Someone stole the outside.


Traffic Lights


Sunset: the clouds that were high enough to pick up the sun turned a lovely shade of pinkish.


Pretty.


I like the way the snow is sliding down this roof.

It's usually been cold overnight, then warmed up enough during the day to make things get a bit drippy, then it freezes again. This results in lots of nice looking icicles:


Drippy traffic lights.


Pretty drippy lights, at twilight.


Drippy lights with Calton Hill and a snowstorm in the background.


Looking up at the icicles on my kitchen window. The snow slipped down the roof, and they ended up pointing in the window.


From inside - they're pretty sizeable. The biggest one is about 40cm.


More icicles on my roof.


Arty shot, icicles on the bedroom window.


I caught a drip! I'm SO pleased with this one, it's just good luck, I didn't try and take a photo of the drip. It's so spherical!


Not dripping.


All the houses have icicles.


I'm pleased with this one - icicles lit by a streetlight.


This building has plenty of icicles.


Lots of the icicles seem to be curved, it makes the houses look like they've grown teeth.


My window again. This required a bit of contortion to get, since the sink is right in front of the window.


This is what happens when you use the flash and have the white balance set to cloudy. I rather like the effect though.


These are the icicles that are trying to come and join me. It's not a trick of perspective - they are actually touching the wood on the window.


From inside.



Now I am off to recline on my couch under a couple of blankets, and crochet. It's currently -8.5C in Edinburgh, and still dropping. We're supposed to have a low of -9 tonight, but I suspect we may reach double figures. Time to put the heating on...