Travels Part 2: Edinburgh

Sunset in Edinburgh Marchmont

It was time to leave Harris for the second part of our trip: a week in Edinburgh, followed by a few days in Helsinki, and then the long, long journey home.

We’d said our goodbyes, stuffed things back into our bags, and negotiated the notoriously tricky security line at Stornoway Airport. We were sitting on a tiny plane waiting to taxi to the runway.

Ten minutes later… we were still sitting there.

Twenty minutes later… we were still sitting there.

The pilot came on the radio and said he was going to turn the plane off and turn it back on again, in an attempt to fix whatever mechanical issue was causing the delay. Unfortunately, the old on-off-on again trick doesn’t work as well on Embraers as it does on iPhones, and a few minutes later we found ourselves traipsing down the aircraft steps and back into the airport. Continue reading

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DorkyDad’s Last Transmission From London

The movers are here now.  I type this against the background chatter of ripped masking tape and heavy cardboard boxes being assembled by rough, experienced hands.  Tonight this flat will be empty save for two beds and the three of us.  In just under 60 hours the plane will lift off from Heathrow, bound first for Dubai, then on beyond to Melbourne.

We are away to Tasmania. Continue reading

Edinburgh

The Shore Leith

So we are back from Edinburgh – the final stop on the whirlwind world tour that we’ve been making before the big move. It was an easy, sweet and comfortable week, which we spent surrounded by many of the people who know us best. It was an oddly calm and unemotional reunion with the city I once loved so much I dedicated to an entire A-Z to it on this blog.

DorkyDad stayed in the centre of town, and spent most of the week focused on his festival shenanigans. I did steal him away for dinner at our favourite fish restaurant in Leith one evening – the first Dorky date night in a year – and I also made it along to watch the final of the BBC Poetry Slam that he was hosting. Continue reading

Where I Live

Lovely Michelle at The American Resident has just started a new linky called Where You Live, and this week’s prompt was ‘If I visited you for a day, where would you take me? One place. And why.’

How could I not take part in that?

In most of the places I’ve lived before, I would have been spoiled for choice with this question.

Tarbert, Isle of Harris

In Harris I would have wondered whether we should go to the beach, roll our trousers up and shriek as we splashed in the clear, cold waters of the North Atlantic. Or whether we should get fish and chips in the village, which we’d eat sitting on the wall that overlooks the pier – the best spot to watch the ferry come in.

Eventually I would have settled on showing you the big boulder on the hill behind my Dad’s house, right beside the lower loch. With a large flat top like a table, and ledges that stick out like shelves below, that rock was my imaginary childhood teashop. I would put my pretend cakes in to bake in the pretend oven, before serving them up with pretend cups of tea and coffee. There was an indentation in another nearby rock, which would fill with water on rainy days, and that is where I would do my dishes. It made my heart sing when we went to Harris last year and DorkySon ran up the back hill, headed right for the same spot.

A touchstone, both literally and metaphorically. Continue reading

Street Art: sell it to me

This is an updated version of a guest post that originally appeared over at Thinly Spread last year. Big thank you to Christine for allowing me to republish it over here.

I don’t know if you’ve been following the most recent drama surrounded Banksy, but these two stories story sum it up quite well. Basically, a Banksy mural ‘disappeared’ from a wall in London, and fairly shortly afterwards it appeared for auction in the States. A debate has raged about whether street art belongs to anyone, whether it counts as theft if you remove art that was created illegally in the first place, whether street art makes sense if it’s removed from its original setting and context, whether preservation of street art is something we should be trying to achieve… and numerous other questions along those lines.

Personally, I think that street art really does only make sense if it’s, erm, in the street. Take a look at the incredible evolution of this piece, which provides a a visual documentation of the feud between Banksy and Robbo, and would not have been possible if an art collector had come along and removed it in its first incarnation.

In relation to the most recent debate, I think that an artwork that was widely interpreted as a comment on last year’s Jubilee celebrations makes much more sense if it’s left on the wall of a Poundland in Haringey than it would do in the living room of a wealthy collector, but that’s just me. I don’t make any claims to be an art expert, I just like to look at it. (And point you in the direction of posts that support my view…) Continue reading