Mind the closing doors please. . .

"Please mind the closing doors..." (The doors close... The doors reopen.) "Passengers are reminded that the big red slidey things on the side of the train are called the doors. Let's try it again, Please stand clear of the doors." (The doors close...) "Thank you."

 - The announcement on a recent tube journey in London. 

If I have learnt anything while traversing London using the Tube, it's that humour really is the only option if you intend to get home with a smile on your face and some semblance of a healthy blood pressure.

To illustrate my point, I'd like to take you on a journey of a fairly typical day out sight-seeing in London culminating in the tube ride home. Now, close your eyes and read this:  haha, just kidding. Keep your eyes open, read on and try your best to imagine it as you go: 

Now, it's getting on in the afternoon, the sun is a happily burning ball in the sky above you, and you've just spent a fabulous day in London walking around like the seasoned tourist-turned-local that you are. You've discovered new streets, eclectic stores, that amazing bakery in the dodgy side alley; you are either slightly sun burnt or possibly just flushed from all the walking; your jacket that you didn't need but wore just in case is now a lead weight over your left arm, while your handbag which is apparently full of bricks is creating a permanent dent in your right. You lost feeling in your feet somewhere around lunch time; your back is warning you that if you so much as think about walking up those stairs you're a dead woman; your bladder is nagging you like a child starved of attention, and what started off as polite hints from your head at afternoon tea time (which you ignored) have since become sincere threats that what you now need as a matter of urgency is some pain killers and a pint of cider.  

You catch sight of yourself in a shop window and wonder at what point during the day you turned into a bulldog, and it briefly occurs to you perhaps it was while you were on Oxford Street attempting to plough your way through the thronging crowd.  

You decide with questionable wisdom that it's time to make like a drummer and beat it, and it crosses your mind that it is going to be hell on the tube; but your head and feet join forces and warn, "you think the tube is going to be hell, give us half an hour and we'll double it," so you concede the point and head for the Underground. 
It is now about 6.15pm and you walk through the station entrance to join the teeming crowd and jostle your way through the gates, to be caught up by the masses and deposited on the escalator. As you descend to the depths of the tube station, a blast of slightly stale warm air greets you, signalling your arrival and that it's time to move fast or be moved. You clutch your bag and jacket in front of you like a shield, adopt a facial expression that says you know exactly where you're going and no you won't walk around them, and march on. 

Escalators at rush hour - courtesy of Google images

Having successfully found the platform you want, you stand confidently with the other commuters while running through your very simple plan: get off at Bank, take the Waterloo & City line to Waterloo. 

The train arrives, preceded by the tell-tale whoosh of hot air, and you start to politely make your way to the door, letting those next to you and with children on first. You then notice with no small amount of alarm that you are in fact further away from the door than when you started, so you throw courtesy out the proverbial window and force yourself on that baby. You spend the next few stops contemplating the interesting weave of the jacket on the elbow in front of your nose, and also wonder who is wearing that strange Kenzo perfume you tested today, while being vaguely aware that someone else's head is more or less resting on your shoulder and there might be a child hanging on to your pony tail. 

I can totally fit... - courtesy of Google images

The train arrives at Bank, the doors slide open, you manoeuvre yourself this way and that and don't so much calmly exit as are abruptly ejected from the sardine can. 
You head away from the tunnel to check which direction you need to go in for the Waterloo & City line and with a groan see signs announcing that this line is closed for maintenance. It occurs to you that this was quite possibly what the voice on the last train was announcing that you couldn't make out because the person with their head more-or-less on your shoulder was taking your hearing implements on a journey of heavy-metal discovery. 
You take a deep breath, instantly regret it, resolve to take shallow breaths from now on, and recalculate your route. 
Standing on the platform waiting to cram yourself back on a Central line to Oxford Circus so you can get the Bakerloo line, you say a quiet prayer for patience as the mother of two who is even more tired than you are parks her stroller of screaming toddlers beside you. Fleetingly, you wonder if employing the "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" analogy would be any use, but your head says the pressure up there is already dangerously high, so you ditch the idea.  

Another picture just for fun - courtesy of Google images

Rousing you from your brief reverie the familiar gust of hot air signals the arrival of your train, and this time, boy are you ready. Everyone's on, the announcement to stand clear of the closing doors comes over the tannoy a few times, the warning beeps sound, the doors close... aaand then the sound of doors encountering an obstacle, followed by a grunt, is heard.  An impressive display of eye-rolls ensues, coupled with muttering and shaking heads. Just when everyone looks like they're about to take out their entire day's frustrations on the fool inserting himself between the closing doors, the guards voice comes back over the tube tannoy: 

"To the gentleman wearing the long grey coat trying to get on the second carriage, what part of 'stand clear of the doors' don't you understand?"

Followed by "Thank you," as several pairs of arms extend to tug the man in question onto the train. Since the guard has voiced everyone's frustration and suitably embarrassed the perpetrator, everyone has a chuckle at Grey-Coat's expense and the tension in the second carriage is abated. 

You hear the announcement "the next station is Waterloo" and you gratefully fall off the train and make your way out of the Underground to begin the next phase of your journey home. 

Now, tell me - wasn't that fun?!

Man I love London. 

A Valentine's Day to remember

So yesterday (Friday) was February 14th - Valentine's Day. On Thursday I decided that if everyone else got to go out for dinner, I wanted to as well; so I took matters into my own hands and called for an Awesome Foursome gathering. One of us still lives in America, and another had plans already, but the third, myself and a ring-in that we keep on standby (we love him really) made plans to meet in London for dinner.

We successfully caught our respective trains, surrounded by girls carrying over-sized (and some under-sized) bouquets of flowers that either way were quite frankly dangerous to be around if you are fond of your eyes - tulips are red, violets are blue, roses are lovely but hazardous too!
We pumped up and down escalators to get to the platforms and navigate our various ways to Leicester Square, where we had been instructed by our ever-reliable ring-in to take the exit near the ATM, turn right, walk 40 metres and enter a pub called the Bear & Staff.

I walked in the door and found myself in what I would class as a classic English Pub. Packed full of people, happy bar staff, pot plants and general mayhem; I spotted my two friends at the bar just about to order drinks - it's like they knew I'd walk in as soon as they ordered! Excellent planning on my part I must say.

We got our drinks and looked around for a table, without success. I then spotted a narrow staircase leading up, and we held a brief vote on whether or not we should venture up based on the likelihood that it led to the toilets and we would find ourselves in the awkward position of standing outside a door holding a drink, greeting people as they came out of the loo.
We decided to chance it, and as luck would have it there was a restaurant up there and a free table with three chairs just waiting for us. We wisely decided to eat there, and it was a good choice! The waitress looked relieved that our trio wasn't another love-struck couple demanding a table at no notice, and she spent a good deal of the evening laughing with us and trying to convince us to order more dessert. We liked her.

At around 10:22 I looked at the time and declared that we should get moving soon because trains would be up the creek (quite possibly literally) and the sooner we got on one going in the right direction, the better.
We all went back to Leicester square station, where I left the other two and legged it down to the Northern line to get back to Waterloo, in hopes I'd be able to catch an Alton train. I arrived at Waterloo, looked at the time, and started checking the notice board. Alas, there had been an Alton train at around 10:40 or so - I had just missed it.
But wait! An announcement was telling me the delayed service to Alton was now boarding on platform 14! Woo!! I hot-footed it to the platform and got on what would turn out to be the last train leaving Waterloo for Alton that night.

I had been entertaining myself and the bloke next to me (watching out of the corner of his eye) for the last half hour or so by watching Dynamo on BBC iPlayer, when we pulled in to Walton on Thames. This struck me as odd, because I didn't recognise the name and didn't think we usually stopped here. I figured I'd probably just forgotten or they'd added a stop, so went back to watching Dynamo.
About 10 minutes later the guard announced something but it sounded like he was calling from the bottom of an ocean on Neptune using a phone wrapped in cotton wool, so most of us just kept doing what we were doing, while others who were possibly on holiday and already lost ran around asking other passengers what was happening.
At 11:45 the guard (whose voice had mercifully  increased in volume) came over the system again to tell us that the reason we were randomly sitting at Walton on Thames still was that they had been instructed to pull in here, as there were some problems further down the line due to Mother Nature losing a gasket on the countryside. He hadn't been told much, but promised to keep us in the loop.
At 12:07 he let us know that we would possibly be here for a while. At this point I had finished two episodes of Dynamo and moved on to the last one I had, and decided it was time for a facebook update. I decided that I would do an update every half hour or so, hoping there would only be one update... For a laugh, here is the list of updates from that train journey, bearing in mind we had been stopped since about 11:30pm:

>Well, it's now 00:07 here and we've been stuck at Walton on Thames for about half an hour due to thousand-mile-an-hour winds and heaven only knows what else. Thank goodness for videos and portable chargers.

>00:40 update - still stationary. Winds are picking up, trees are falling down, the train is rocking slightly in the wind. Very disconcerting if you ask me; I expect Thor will fall out of the sky any moment now. That would be ok...

>00:55 update - the train was getting seriously stuffy so I poked my head out for some fresh air. Ghost Town:

>01:08 update - still stationary. Various passengers on the train have begun the transformation from 'human' to 'vampire' and are out for blood. I find myself considering wandering into first class and taking a nap.



>01:38 update - latest news from the guard is that an inebriated passenger is on a train trying to leave Woking (the train that is, not the drunkard - I doubt he even remembers where he's trying to go), and police have been called. Since the entire police force is a bit busy dealing with the problem of London being underwater, it could be quite a while. That train (more specifically, the aforementioned drunkard) is the only thing standing between us and forward motion. 
I wonder what it would take to reintroduce the death penalty... You know, just as a once-off? 
For the greater good?

>01:40 - 
the train was getting seriously stuffy so I poked my head out for some fresh air. Ghost Town:


























>01:45-
Hmm, I spy bed potential...




>02:00 update - WE HAVE MOVEMENT!! Apparently someone took matters into their own hands and just shot the guy. 
Just kidding. 
So far as I know...

>02:36 update - made it to Woking, then a tree fell on the line. Stopped again. The bicycle storage area chairs are a win for an impromptu bed, and thank goodness - it's looking to be a very long night.

>02: 55  - 
Proof that when you're really tired, you see beds everywhere.




>03:26 update - "this is, Ash Vale. The next station is, Aldershot". 
Thank. You. God.

>03:40 update - "we are now arriving at, Aldershot. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform edge."

>04:50 update - home at last! 

Pull out your waders

The town I work in, Guildford, found itself in a bit of high water this week. When I crossed the little bridge over the river into town in the morning yesterday, I noticed that the river was higher than it had been the previous night (when it was already a fair bit higher than usual). The water was now lapping over the footpath a few feet away from the edge of the river bank, and looked like it would be staying there for a while.

An hour or so later I looked out the window at work, and the river has risen again, to fully cover the footpath but about 20cm. At this point, I figured it was time to start taking a picture every now and then!

First photo, at about 0945

The water just kept rising, and pretty soon we were setting targets and picking markers along the wall. We chose the bottom of the first letter in the graffiti you can vaguely see to the right in that photo above.

At around 1030 it started raining and again the river rose, by around 10cm. 

1130 and it had risen by about another 5cm this time.

View across the street. The YMCA to the right was close to flooding.

Sun out and still the river rose.

The same wall in the other photos, view down the river. To the left is apparently a warehouse where some sets for theatre productions are kept, and the water was only about 5cm away from the big barn type doors.

The underpasses were out...

The water was about calf height here, but at the deepest point right in the underpass would have been about waist height by the end of the day. 

The underpass roped off/

Car parks were empty, for once...

The bridge work that had been going on for the past week was left alone. The scaffolding was
still up when we went home, hopefully it'll survive! By the end of the day, the water was rising about 10cm every hour.

No more pedestrian access for this path...

On the left is the river, on the right is the work car park. Water was gushing in and the
drain in the middle was blocked, so it became a private lake.

This will probably be the last time the owner of this car decides to leave the car overnight.

Still dreaming of a white Christmas

'Merry Christmas'! 'Mulled wine'? 'Mince pie'? 'Sausage roll'? 'Pudding'? 'Fizz'? 'Anyone for a top up'? 'Pass the Bread Sauce please,' 'Could I have the gravy'? 'Have some more Brandy Butter,' 'Are there any more pigs in blankets'? 'This turkey is delicious'!
And my personal favourite:
'Where's the Brandy'? followed by  'Who's got the matches'?

My first Christmas away from home and in a different country. It didn't snow; but the weather outside has certainly been frightful, the winking christmas tree lights look so delightful, and there was no place we had to go!

The English Christmas was fantastic. There's something very festive about the warm glow of lights through frosty windows, rugging up and stepping out the front door and instantly feeling your nose sting with cold as your breath hangs in the air like your own personal fog.

 
Dismal weather becomes a non-issue, as everyone dons hat, scarf, gloves and coat; and flocks to the streets to join the throng of dedicated christmas-shoppers. Up and down the High Street they trudge, bags in tow bursting at the seams. Even small children seem to understand that now is not the time to make a fuss, as they trail along dutifully behind mummy's growing collection of shopping bags, keeping lingering in front of shiny stores to a minimum.


The Mr and Mrs of the family were definitely host and hostess with the mostest, and lunch was a sight to behold; with an entire baked turkey, a huge serano ham, roast potatoes and parsnips, carrots and sprouts, pigs in blankets (small sausages wrapped in bacon), home made sausage rolls, cranberry sauce, gravy and bread sauce. All of this followed by home made mince pies, home made meringues (amazing), custard, brandy butter, and a traditional christmas pudding - which was ceremoniously doused in brandy and set alight! Woo! I can add some new traditions to my list of things to take back with me...

One flaming pudding!

One large baked turkey

A far cry from barbecues and the beach, but nonetheless a fabulous Christmas, I hope yours was, too!

And a real live christmas tree!

Flash! Ah-ahh!

By far the strangest experience I've had so far was at the Glasgow Botanic Gardens. Not because they were particularly weird at all - in fact they were amazing. Kibble Palace was a hot-house more so than a green-house in my opinion, but had some gorgeous plants from all over the world, including an amazing collection of fly-traps. They also had reflectors above every section, which probably had something to do with heat, but made for an interesting view above the plants - like tiny mirrors. There was an excellent cafe, and I had lunch there before going on to look at some of the other green houses out in the 'garden proper'. Again, nothing odd about that.

No, what was strange was that I was flashed inside one of the rainforest greenhouses, completely out of the blue! Not that flashers tend to warn you, "excuse me, hi there, just so you know, I'm about to flash you" but honestly, the Botanic Gardens? Of all places! You know those moments when you walk away and then all the witty retorts come flooding in and you almost wish you could go back for a take two? Something along the lines of "of what?" perhaps, or "what am I looking for?". 

I had my camera out and was obsessing over a fern, and had noticed that a young-ish guy  was hanging around when everyone else moved on. But, he was doing laps and looking quite intently at the plants and, actually, I was doing the same thing - so thought nothing of it. 

I turned a corner and heard him say something about taking a picture, and since there was no-one else there I thought, to be polite, I'd just poke my head back around to check whether he was on the phone or in fact talking to me. As I walked back around I said "sorry, did you say something?" and he says "take a picture" and tah-dah! He was giggling like a school girl. He didn't go the whole hog either, this was no overcoat-with-nothing-under-it scenario, he just, well lets put it this way: the clothes were still on but the 'essentials' were on display. 

Wow. The fact that it took me a few seconds of intense confusion to figure out what I was looking at probably helped - I imagine I looked completely blank, possibly even dead bored. 

Unfortunately, my response was an unimaginative "Uh, no thankyou" in my best 'how dull' voice. As you can imagine, I didn't hang around for the reaction, no I hot-footed it back around the corner into a delightful dead-end. So, should he decide to provide me with a take-two of the show, there would be nothing I could do about it. 

I decided to plow on, figuring my best bet was to act bored and un-bothered and therefore not worth the effort etc etc. I finally got up the nerve to cast a casual, bored glance back over my shoulder and, happily, he was nowhere to be seen. Phew!

I warily made my way back through the (ridiculously long) greenhouse, through its multiple sections and doors, to the exit. I didn't see any sign of him, so I left my crazy-lady-being-hunted appearance at the door and walked confidently on. Excellent. 

I must have dropped my wits as well when I left the crazy-lady look at the door, because I decided that since I was now safe, I could continue walking around and exploring.

The river path looked nice. About halfway down the path to the river I thought I heard something behind me. I turned around and saw no-one, but heard rustling back up the path. A fairly sizable bush was having its branches exercised but I decided it was a squirrel or something and kept going. 

As I kept walking I could then hear footsteps behind me, and turned to see who it was - since I was in a public garden, it was fairly likely other people would be walking there too, right? No reason to be weirded out, but lets just confirm. As I turned around though, all I saw was a guy duck behind a tree.Terrific. I'm being stalked by a flasher. Funny though I find it in hindsight, at the time I was becoming slightly concerned;

does he just happen to need to go the same way as me, and is hiding behind a tree embarrassed? One would think he'd have chosen a different route or hightailed it out of the gardens altogether if it was likely he'd develop a sense of remorse after flashing someone - choose a different hobby, no? Alternatively, is he a bona fide nutter and planning a second attempt, or something more sinister? Am I about to murdered clumsily by an indiscreet flasher?  

Next question, do I keep going and hope I come across some more people to tag along with down at the river; or do I risk going back past the tree (that I can't avoid), not knowing what the hell he's planning on doing? 

Well. I wasn't game to go past the tree, so I kept going down towards the river. I could hear him crunching along behind me, and it was partially comforting to know that he obviously wasn't very good at being quiet, which meant it was unlikely he had had a lot of practice, and therefore it was unlikely he was a serial killer. 

I was just starting to wonder if I should call someone so that if I disappeared they'd have a lead, when my phone rang. It was a friend in Australia, who had been replying to a text and had accidentally hit the call button. Given that it was about 2am Down Under, I've decided it was due to Higher Intervention that he happened to wake up and check the phone at such an hour, and then decided to attempt replying. I heard the footsteps falter when I answered the phone, and when I started chatting the footsteps turned to a jog and went back up the path. Talk about saved-by-the-bell! 

I waited a while and then headed back up the path to do something I really should have done the instant it happened; find some form of staff member and tell them. Not surprisingly, it had been about 15 minutes by the time I found someone, and the dodgy flasher was long gone. Still, I'll know for next time...? 
Hopefully not going to be necessary. 

Bye for now!

Inside the entrance to Kibble Palace.

View of Kibble Palace.

Water splashing off a palm leaf.

Dew suspended over a bush by a spider-web.

The bridge over the river I was walking to.

Foos yer doos?

As part of my Scotland Experience, I stayed in Glasgow for two weeks (a very generous friend agreed to have me stay with her) and I loved it. It's a constant buzz, and the people are incredibly friendly - on the way back to my friend's house we were having a chat about how organised I'd had to be and how I may or may not have been succeeding, and a local chimed in "well you look organised" gesturing at the colossal rucksack I was carting. Hilarious! I almost suggested he carry it for me, but sense prevailed and I decided not to push my luck. 

The city itself is amazing to look at. As well as the colourful balustrades on the ground, I was constantly reminded to 'look up' and was again blown away by the architecture and the art & sculpture on the buildings. 

The Princes' Square is a great example - it had a peacock sculpted 

out of metal sheeting above the entrance several

floors up which was incredible, and a great landmark.

The other thing I loved was the impressive options for nightlife and dining out. No, I didn't go clubbing and re-live my student life, but we did go to an awesome bar-come-restaurant called The Hillhead Bookclub and it blew me away! As you walk along peering down side streets, you see this tiny little outdoor setting of three or so tables with chairs around, under a little canopy of fairy lights. My thought was "oh how quaint" as I continued walking, but my friend turns down the side street saying "this is it". I'm open to anything and it did look cute, so I happily followed along. Now, given the outside setting, I was expecting that inside I would find a lovely cozy little restaurant, probably Italian, about 6x6m in floor space and seating maybe 40 people. Ha! 

As we walked up to the entrance I was already starting to doubt my theory. The main door is humongous, made of glass, and takes a serious push to open, but while your face is pressed against the glass door you glimpse a small room slightly on the dim side of lighting...only to realise the small room is in fact a booth, of which there are row upon row, followed by more rows, with the token deer and even a moose are poking their heads out of the walls above you. A bit weird, but by this point my curiosity was piqued and you couldn't have turned me around for anything - I wanted to see this place! 

We made it through the door and the room opens up and reveals itself to be this vast hall; two levels, a bar the length of the room, and on this particular evening - a ping pong tournament just casually being conducted in the middle. Yep, they cleared away all the tables and benches that normally occupy the floor space in front of the bar, and replaced them with mini ping pong tables. And it wasn't just for a bit of a laugh either - these guys were serious. They had their own paddles, with cases and spare...balls? Ping pongs? Which was lucky, given how many were lost under booths, feet and in drinks and chips with gravy. I have never seen so many flying neon orbs - they were everywhere. The other side of our booth was 'in use' as the chosen jacket and bag seat, and we frequently found ourselves conducting our conversation under the table searching for the latest rogue ball. It was fantastic. Apparently it used to be a library, which explains it's colossal size.

 The menu was a riot - look them up online: http://www.hillheadbookclub.com/fooddinner

One evening after dinner we decided Ice-cream was on the agenda, and walked to an ice-cream parlour up the round and round the bend. It was some of the best I've ever had but for the life of me I can't remember the name...

For my birthday we went to a gorgeous restaurant called The Left Bank, which had simply amazing food and cocktails, definitely suitable for my first 'birthday meal' in a foreign country.

While in Glasgow I sussed out: 

• Buchanan street (the shopping, oh, the
• shopping - retail heaven)
• Kelvingrove Gallery and Kelvingrove park
• Huntarian Museum - Zoology Department (the main museum famously known was closed on the day I went, and I didn't have time to go again)
• Glasgow Cathedral & St Mungo’s Chapel
• Necropolis (a huge graveyard behind the Glasgow Cathedral)
• Botanic Gardens and Kibble Palace (Kibble Palace is a green house with plants from all over the world)
• George Square
• The Burrell Collection
• Pollock House
• Stirling, Stirling Castle

I also did several day tours, which I'll do separate blogs on.

All of these places were amazing. 

Best experience:

A plane in the Kelvingrove Park playground.

My favourite places were the Kelvingrove Gallery and the Zoology dept at the Huntarian. The art and sculpture in the Kelvingrove was just mind blowing; the organ was mind rattling in a beautiful, melodic way; and the staff were incredibly helpful. 

The Zoology Dept at the Huntarian was quite honestly awe-inspiring for me, purely because they had just a few things I had never ever heard of much less seen.

They had the tusk from a Narwhale, which had me totally stumped for a good half hour because it wasn't labelled, and just looked like a gigantic, straight spear made of bone. Which would be fine, but what creature on earth has a dead-straight tusk over 3 metres long and about 8cm at the widest point down to less than 1cm at the narrowest?

Well obviously, it's official; Unicorns are real. But I wasn't hugely satisfied with that solution.

After doing laps around the table it was mounted on trying to find the misplaced tag for it, I saw a picture of a group of whales, all with an 'extended tooth' ie - 'giant dead-straight tusk'. Amazing. 

They also had a hanging display of Baleen Plates. Now, I saw the sign long before I saw the plates, and had to triple check to make sure I wasn't about to get all excited over nothing. See, the plates they had were over 3 metres long. Which is dandy until you realise that they belong in the mouth of a whale, and look tiny in that mouth. . . Talk about a reality check. Baleen plates can be anywhere from .5 to 3.5 metres long, and can weigh up to 90kg each. Yup, the whale these belonged to was on the seriously-large end of the spectrum. 

All in all, I highly recommend Scotland, and loved the whole experience, with the exception of about about 30 minutes in the Botanic Gardens, but that's another story. 

Bye for now! 

More of the playground, upping the standards.

A Sculpture out the front of the Kelvingrove.

One of the installations inside the Kelvingrove - I loved this one.
The artist pulled a ton of faces, photographed himself,
 and then made hundreds of floating heads with the expressions!

Obar Dheathain

After a week in Glasgow (posts still to come), I went to my friend's hometown of Aberdeen for a day. The mouthful you see as the post title is the Gaelic version of 'Aberdeen'.  As a point of interest - because I was getting this wrong the entirety of my time in Scotland - the Scottish Gaelic is pronounced 'gallik' not 'gaylick'. Apparently the pronunciation 'Gallik' is the Celtic language native to Scotland, whereas the language referred to by the pronunciation 'Gaylick' originates in Ireland. Who knew? 

Built almost entirely of granite from the most 

impressive monuments to the smallest tenements, Aberdeen is understandably a very grey city. This being said, it has a mind boggling number of flower beds and hanging baskets overflowing with bright blooms, stationed all over the city. It is Scotland's third most populated city, and has earned the nick names 'granite city', 'grey city' and 'silver city with the golden sands', the last one being because, as a seaport (the largest in the north-east of Scotland), it comes equipped with a lovely beach.




Aberdeen thrives primarily because of the oil industry, and also happens to have one of the busiest heliports in the world. Oil in the North sea was discovered in the 1970s, and since then Aberdeen has acquired the nicknames 'Oil Capital of Europe' and 'Energy Capital of Europe'. 




During the mid-18th to mid-20th centuries, Aberdeen's buildings incorporated locally quarried grey granite, which, because of such a high mica content, sparkles like flecks of silver in the sun. Granite was readily available, as it is the geological base for the North-east of Scotland; and also extremely durable. Once people had figured out how durable and practical it was, granite high demand, and was exported to London in particular for road surfaces. By the end of the 19th century Aberdeen was the world centre for the granite industry, and I seem to recall my friend saying that for a while, it was mandatory to build in granite, homes and offices alike. 

The manga-style statue, wish
I'd found an explanation.

On my one day visit, I experienced a street market sampling of Black Pudding, White Pudding, and Haggis. I actually quite liked the Black and White puddings, but wasn't overly sold on the haggis. All I could really distinguish flavour-wise was the pepper, but my tongue informed me that it was offended and I should cease this taste test immediately. 
Claire made sure that I saw inside the Art Gallery, which had an interesting and alternative display of arts, including a stick which someone had gone to the trouble of inserting human hair into - 'the Hairy Stick' - which, according to it's design justification, represented the fragility and pain of human relationships. I remain unconvinced and far from impressed...

There was also a manga style sculpture which I did really like, and a painting of a modern-day representation of Jesus on the cross depicting a cows skull wearing a barb-wire crown in front of a cross, with someone holding two butchers knives poised to strike on either side. Yes, I know, it sounds positively barbaric, and I wont deny it was quite a disturbing image. But it was a thought-provoking one, and the more I looked at it the more I liked the originality of the idea, and the daring portrayal of such a sacred and admittedly barbaric event. It certainly made you stop and ask "whoa, what's that all about?" 

Inside the Art Gallery is Cowdray Hall - with a memorial to soldiers. It is a peaceful place with some stunning and intriguing sculptures. 

Next on the list was Claire's favourite place to take tourists - Dunnottar Castle. A gorgeous ruin in Aberdeenshire; perched on a cliff overlooking the North sea 50 metres below, and surrounded by rolling green hills that are occupied only by beautiful Friesian cows. In keeping with the Scottish theme, I'll include that the Gaelic name for Dunnottar is Dùn Fhoithear, which means 'Fort on the shelving slope'.  

Shows how isolated the castle is -
good luck invading that in a hurry!

The ruins themselves date around the 15th and 16th centuries, but the original castle dates back to the middle ages. Its strategic position made it similar to Edinburgh castle in terms of defenses, and in the 17th century the Scottish Crown Jewels were hidden from Oliver Cromwell's army there.
Dunnottar Castle was the property of the Keiths from the 14th century, but went into decline when the last Earl decided to take part in the Jacobite rebellion in 1715, thereby forfeiting his titles. 


After this we went to Aberdeen University, specifically because I wanted a photo of the library. Now, this library design was given a certificate of excellence, and its seven storeys are collectively nothing short of jaw-on-the-floor impressive to behold, so on that front I'd give it ten out of ten for aesthetic appeal. As a functioning library though, out of ten I'd give it a minus three. You may be thinking this is a bit harsh - surely a library with seven storeys can only be a good thing?
Well, I agree, but for one flaw in the form of a giant hole. Oh yes. Smack bang in the middle of this engineering marvel is a sort of atrium, which by the way, 20% of the libraries books had to be removed to accommodate. So the students frantically studying as far up as the seventh floor have the privilege of being able to hear the conversations being held in the cafe on the ground floor. How delightful. Nothing like the endless buzz of conversation and laughing to remind you of the fun you don't have time for, and of course help you concentrate. 

Inside the library, looking up from the ground floor.

I can only conclude that whoever designed the library was either a creative genius who has never needed to spend time in one and is therefore ignorant of the 'silent' concept, or has spent so much time in one resenting the silent rule that when given the opportunity, he decided to ensure silence was unachievable. Since every student who ever needs to study there will curse the designer, I sure hope it was worth it...



I quite liked Aberdeen. We walked through a tiny area called Footdee, pronounced 'fittie' by the locals, which was gorgeous and quaint with tiny cottages and beach style houses with brightly coloured rope-knot door mats and flower beds; and beautiful vases, ornaments and flower boxes in the windows. In a children's playground on the other side, I was surprised to find a sea mine, complete with hertz horns. Dormant of course, but I do find its location in a children's playground slightly curious - can you be certain its dormant? Apparently you can. 

What did the conversation for that decision sound like I wonder?

"Now gentlemen, where shall we display this sea mine?"
"Well Doug, how dangerous is it?"
"Glad you asked Bob, a sea mine is designed to blow up ships and submarines - very impressive stuff"
"Right. And uh, what triggers it?"
"Oh, see those horns sticking out? It lies dormant until something hits one hard enough."
"Gosh. Is it safe?"
"Of course it is. Some of the ones from the 1940s can stay active for decades, but we don't think it's that old."
"Oh good. In that case, how about putting it in that playground round the corner?"
"Excellent idea Bob! All in favour..." 

Déjà Burgh...

After a fab week in Glasgow, I thought I'd better go back to Edinburgh to refresh my memory and make sure I wasn't imagining things. 

So, at some point mid-morning, Claire and I hoofed it down to the bus station and hopped on a coach back to Edinburgh. We arrived around lunch time and were informed by our bellies that food was a priority, so I made a beeline for a hill containing an awfully steep and agonisingly long set of stairs, but housing a lovely cafe at the top. I knew I had been there quite a few times by this point but when the staff recognised me and greeted me by name, Claire was no doubt starting to wonder just how much time I had spent sitting in a cafe the previous weekend...

The Scott Monument

Having silenced our growling stomachs we decided to climb up the Scott Monument. It only cost £4 to go up, and has an amazing view of the city. Good thing, too. Once you've puffed and fought your way up the increasingly narrow spiral staircases, emerging triumphant at the very top to force yourself onto the sardine can that is the landing, which is holding at least three times as many people on it as can actually fit - there's no going back down. 

   

Views from the top of the Scott Monument

Picture, if you will, the circular landing around that very top spire, packed so full of people that bits of them are poking out between the bars. They have just climbed 287 steps to get up here, bare in mind. Now imagine the combined hilarity and panic when someone says "excuse me please, I'd like to go down" from the side of the landing furthest from the only door.

Much snarling and gnashing of teeth ensues as the entire mass starts to rotate around the spire, until eventually the person needing to exit makes it back around to the door. Not somewhere to go if you've got personal space issues or a fear of heights.

View from the top, all 200 feet of it...

So, having just walked up 287 steps, Claire graciously let me convince her that walking up Arthur's Seat with her lack of jacket and my lack of two functioning feet (my right foot ceased to function several weeks ago) was an excellent idea. Up we went. It was quite a long walk since I was, for all intents and purposes, semi-lame; but we got there and wow, what a view. And what a wind! 

While we were up there I noticed a fair few iron loops hammered into the rock, all of which had padlocks clipped on them. Since there was no chance of King Arthur coming along, the loops looked incredibly happy to be there, anchored in stone, and I can only guess they were for attaching something to the hill (perhaps yourself, given the wind), and that people were trying to start another padlock trend. 

The mysterious padlock trend...

Seriously windy! But a great view of the city.

More views from Arthur's Seat

Another iron loop. Not exactly a sword,
but certainly not going anywhere.

On Sunday we would head back to Glasgow via Stirling Castle. We stopped off at a cafe for breakfast, which turned out to be the most entertaining breakfast I myself have ever experienced. I ordered the 'yoghurt and granola' and also a croissant, since usually the granola-yoghurt combo is served in a small glass or ramekin, and I was starved.

As you can imagine, I was very confused when I was presented with an entire cereal bowl full - to the brim - of granola, and a tiny milk jug full of yoghurt. Now imagine my confusion when I was given a large soup spoon to eat it with. To be fair, I was going to need a shovel to get through all the granola, so I could sort of understand the giant spoon; but for my first meal of the day, when my mouth has only just figured out what to do with itself, the last thing I need is a wider one. 

So, I asked for a dessert spoon. The waitress explained, very apologetically, that they did not have dessert spoons, only soup spoons or teaspoons. Since if I switched to a teaspoon we were likely to be there for the next decade, I opted to stick with the soup spoon. 

Now let's ponder this for a minute. In the event that you are running a cafe and are forced to choose between soup spoons and dessert spoons, and 'soup of the day' does not feature on your menu, whereas cake and granola do, why in heaven's name you would choose the soup spoons? 

The Granola/yoghurt/honey combo...
as combined as it would ever be! 

Anyway, not to be daunted, I dug around in the bowl for a brief moment wondering if perhaps there was more yoghurt underneath and the little jug I had been given was in fact extra. But no. A recurring question between us for the next week was, "would you like some yoghurt with that granola?" Well yes actually, I would. Not to worry though, they gave me an equal portion of honey (in a nice accessible ramekin dish, curiously). It was at this point that I discovered the soup spoon was too big to fit in the tiny jug to get the yoghurt out, so I was reduced to inverting the jug and attempting to launch the contents onto my granola by way of force. 

Having unceremoniously dumped as much of it onto my cereal as I was ever going to and added the honey, it became apparent that I would now be requiring a cement -mixer. Claire had long ago finished her breakfast and could no longer look at my plight without dissolving into fits of giggles, and I was just about crying with laughter myself. Who would have imagined such a  deliciously simple breakfast could be made so complex? What a hoot.