England! Land of red telephone booths…

Banburgh

Fine fayre…

And fierce creatures.

Anguished of Alnwick Castle
 

We had a great day pootling down the Northumberland Coast with the in-laws yesterday, one of those times when you remember OH YEAH I’m living in a foreign land and there is still so much to see. I always forget that the border is just over an hour away. I’ve been to London a dozen times and once got stranded at Bristol airport but apart that I’ve not really seen anything of merry old England after six years. FOR SHAME!

The main project of the day was to catch a boat to the Farne Islands to see the kazillion nesting seabirds. The boat was packed with bird nerds in woolly jumpers. Look! Guillemot! Shag! Cormorant! they crowed from behind their binoculars and long lenses. The commentary was handy as I’m only good at spotting kookaburras and galahs.

Although I know a puffin when I see one, and we saw hundreds. And many angry terns, who were staunchly defending their nests. I grew up on a farm with swooping magpies but they are totally softcock compared to the Arctic tern. These guys are not afraid to peck you on the head then come back for more. It was pure Hitchcock.

Check out the feathered action below…

It was a mighty 26 degrees here yesterday (79F), which pretty much constitutes a heatwave in Dunfermline. Sunglasses were needed in the high street to combat the blinding glare from pale topless men. Anything higher than 15 degrees then off come the jumpers and jackets and out come the bellies, concave or corpulent.

At the newsagents.

Down at the park the hillside was strewn with more bare-chested bodies. Birds sang and unprotected Scottish skin barbecued. On the bus the old ladies who moaned about the endless winter last week now moaned about the relentless heat. Hellish, they called it.

We've moved house again; a little house with rural views to the rear complete with enormous pile of cow shite. Inspired by all that fertiliser we've planted some herbs and tomatoes and have already become emotionally involved with their fate. Every time the house creaks and gurgles during the night I worry it's the sound of little plants hurling themselves out of pots.

No phone or internet yet but been fooling around with a little Wacom tablet. I'm no Loobylu but it's fun chucking yourself into something new for the pure hell of it, instead of wondering if it's the right move or the proper next thing. Reveling in your crapness with no expectations. Will try not to put it in the washing machine.

Drunk guy just sat down next to a bookreading girl on the bus.

BOOK GIRL: You are reeking of drink!

DRUNK GUY: And you are reeking of literature!

(this is just a wee tweet I wanted to preserve!)

Following on from the whole Baby or Budgie debate, while in Australia I found evidence that Dr G and I were destined to be together. It seems we've both wanted the same thing all along!

While pawing through a folder full of stories I'd scribbled as a five year old, we found this:

 

I like budugies. Can't spell them but I like them! FATE, I tell you.

There needs to be a word for the pathological loathing one feels when boarding a plane and having to walk through the First and/or Business class sections en route to your own pissweak Economy class seat. Nothing makes me spew more with futile rage than seeing a fully reclined someone with a pre-takeoff glass of champagne in their hand, especially at the start of your third eight-hour flight of the day.

Another delight of long haul travel is watching your reflection progress through increasing levels of shithouse. With each trip to the bathroom the hair has limpened a few more notches; the eye bags bloom; the tiny pimples peek above the surface.

We got back to Scotland today and I think it is possible (but bloody impractical) to be equally in love with two countries. For example: when I first got to Melbourne, an Aussie accent came strolling over the speakers, "Passengers arroiving from Duboi, yer bagserat carousel foive!"

Shortly afterwards at Carousel Foive, a tiny Glaswegian lady suddenly thrust her handbag at her grandson. "HOUD MAH BAG, SON! HERE IT COMES!" * she rasped, before throwing herself on top of her wheelie suitcase as it trundled by.

Both sounds were music to my ears.

* I wish I knew how to capture an extremely thick Weegie accent. but I have been awake for thirty house.

Update: That was 18 April and it's now 7 May. I dunno where I was going with this but will post anyway!

GARETH’S DAD: I want to give you a wee bit of spending money for your trip to Australia.

GARETH: That’s okay, thanks. I don’t need any money.

GARETH’S DAD: I want to give you some money!

GARETH: I don’t need any money!

GARETH’S DAD: Say it’s for your birthday! Take the money!

GARETH: I don’t want to take the money!

GARETH’S MUM: Either you take the money now, or you take it when we die!