Camping in the Snow

This week I learned that Segway and Segue are different words. I've been mentally segwaying between my conversation topics for some years now. It's quite an internal culture shock adjusting to the change.

Always wanted a Segway, or one of those awesome things that's like a Segway but with no holding on*. 

Hello! It's Tuesday, and here I am. I am not dead. I did not wind up with frostbite, or burn down a tent with the candles. I'm a bit sleepy and a bit of a snot machine, but not the full snot factory that I was yesterday. All is well.

This week's post will take the form of a "What I Did at the Weekend" story. Did you have that at school? In Primary School, there was that Monday morning bit where someone would tell the rest of you what happened at the weekend. Where all the other kids would have stories that included eating at McDonalds and going to Flamingoland with all their friends, and my story would include being a bit crap at ballet, going to Church and sitting in my room re-reading Little Women because I didn't have any friends? Anyone? Nope.

This blog post is an attempt to right that wrong, and to stick it to my Primary School classmates. Because my weekend was awesome!

This weekend was the first ever AUSDS Camping Trip!

13 people, 3 tents, 2 nights in Ballater. Plan.

Then a week ago, this was the forecast.



Then it got worse. Sleet, Snow. That kind of thing.

We went anyway. Because we are brave and stupid

So this is how it went.

Wednesday evening. Start packing the car.

Ok, so I was a bit keen, but this was the first outing of both of our funky bell tents, under the auspices of Rowan Tree Tents.

Thursday evening. Go dancing, keep packing the car. Thursday may have been a late night.

Good job we don't have any friends. 

Friday lunchtime. Freedom! Escape, add petrol (to the car), point the car in a westward direction and drive for a while. Contemplate roof boxes.

This is Ballater, it's all Victorian and quiet and lovely. It has a very good chip shop.

One day, there will be a train station somewhere, in which there will be a loo that only I am allowed to use. 

Here follows a whole bunch of photos, because that's much more interesting. Also because it's nearly 8 already and I have too much else to do. We had an awesome time.

Not pictured: The entire suitcase full of alcohol, the snow, the rain, the puddle the little tent wound up in after someone pitched it with the ground sheet sticking out from underneath the fly, the cosy evening socialising with everyone in one tent, L sleeping in 2 sleeping bags, 2 layers of thermals and a poncho, the rush to strike the tents in the dry, the group hugs, the bloody snow!

We survived it. In 48 hours I only took my woolly hat off to shower. All the spare blankets L and I own got used. I've only really just got the feeling back in my fingertips. So here's the promise, you guys. Tell me when you finish exams and when you have to leave Aberdeen. We'll find the sweet spot when most of you are free but still here, and we'll take you camping again somewhere else, when it might even be warm.



* Seriously, check this out

If I were an Oyster...

Where did the phrase "the world is your oyster" come from? And what exactly does it mean? I've always interpreted it as generally meaning that you have the opportunity to go and do lots of impressive things, such as the mood takes you. But oysters? Because they're fancy and apparently nice?

Never tried 'em. Don't much fancy it either!

I looked it up. Good ol' Shakespeare. Of course.

For me, it was an unnecessary bit of trite and unfounded "inspiration" delivered repeatedly to me and the three other "clever" kids at my school. Go forth and pass your exams and solve world hunger and cure cancer and stuff. But no pressure. Not that I'm sore about it or anything.

The world is probably not my oyster, but it might be something. Some other, less pretentious metaphorical shellfish perhaps? I'm a lucky bunny. I have a job that brings in money, and I have some time when I don't need to be at that job earning that money. This year that time might not get to be in the summer, but there's Annual Leave to be had at some point. I don't have children or pets or other people who are dependant upon me, and L is up for most of my adventure ideas, so I have quite a degree of freedom, when it comes down to it. I am not for a minute saying that having children or pets gets in the way of having adventures, but there is a certain luxury in only having to worry about me.

The world, alas, is not quite my oyster. But if it was...

Do you ever play out that hypothetical conversation -  If time and money were no object... where what etc?

I do, very damn often.

And this time, I've written a list. As is the form with my lists, it is not in any order, save that in which it tumbled out of my head right now. It is not exclusive, and shall no doubt be added to far faster than I can tick things off.

• Iona

More specifically the Bay at the Back of the Ocean, Camas Cuil an t-Saimh. 

I have been here before. It's amazing. L hasn't and I feel that this is something I should make my responsibility to right. What's more, since I came here as a teenager, the island has gained a campsite! We have the makings of a plan. 

In the very background of this photo, just on the horizon, you can see the sombrero-shaped island known as the Dutchman's cap, which you should ask me about sometime, somewhere that isn't the internet.

• Sandwood Bay

Just imagine it on a bad day.

A good friend tells me I should pitch one of our bell tents here for him. I've told him fine, so long as he charters the helicopter to drop me there.

• Brunei, I think

I'm lucky enough to have been to Brunei. In 2005, I think. We were meant to be learning about the rainforest and culture and things.

Somewhere on this map is the bit of jungle we lived in for a couple of weeks

Disposable film cameras don't fair too well in rainforests, even the ones that you're meant go swimming with and take underwater. These are all the pictures I have, really, and they don't do it justice.

This was either the bit of river we used for washing in, or the bit we collected water from. Actually might have been both, come to think of it.

And I think I want to go back again some time. While there's still some jungle left. I think I want to go back. I'd a be a bit nervous that, well, I wouldn't have a clue where to start, but then I didn't have a clue that last time either.

• Poland

Krakow looks awesome. Something about a dragon, right?

• New Zealand

L promises she'll take me, and I'm going to hold her to it.

• Portsoy harbour

It's just such a pretty place. Actually most of that coast is gorgeous. Come for the ice cream, stay for the prettiness. I've camped at Sandend a few times now, and made it in to the sea every time. I'd love to get hold of a kayak and a (very well sealed) packed lunch and explore every little bit of that coastline.

• Reykjavik

Because I think I'd like it.

• The Azores

When was maybe about 14, there was talk of us going to a folk dance festival in the Azores. It fell through, but not before I'd got very very excited about it.

• Alton Towers

My list, my choices

• Toulouse

Any chance to hang out with these guys, really. Plans are in full swing for our trip in June. In the meantime I'm practising my left-footed Lilt and trying to figure out how to make my sewing machine do buttonholes. I mean, just imagine getting to dance here.

That'll do for now. Taking suggestions in the comments.

OTBTBS: Obligatory Tiny Bedtime Broadswords

This week - highcuts, travelling with weapons, and where the hell is that Squirrel?. 

Picture the scene. Lunchtime. Me, at my desk. Ham and chutney sandwich, strawberry yoghurt*. Open blog, new post. Oh crap, what will I write this time? 

Stupid empty yoghurt

Instant Messenger enters the scene.

[14/04/2015 13:11] Me:what could i blog about this week?

[14/04/2015 13:19] L:Um... missing the castle ceilidh? Learning Broadswords?  OTBTBS?  Failing to buy trainers?  Getting Daisy back on the road?  Painting things green?  Chisels and chiselling and what an excellent half-birthday-present-buyer your Jones is?  All the exciting things that have arrived for you by post this week?  How we are failing at vegetables?  The feelings attached to sending someone off with your car?  Your incredible tea-pouring skills?  The mystery that is the location of the Tiny Squirrel?  Your trepidation at going to get your hair cut again?  Whether your gym trousers are appropriate to wear on holiday?  How holidays are nice?  All the places in the world that you want to go?

[14/04/2015 13:20] Me:
Can i copy and paste that and put it on? 

[14/04/2015 13:21] L:
Sure, although I expect a writing credit, or at least a footnote.**

[14/04/2015 13:22] L:
How about I attempt to make my own marshmallows?

Lemme count now. 16 things. Rather a lot but I'm game if you are. 

In my current work-based state of mind I'm quite tempted to give them all issue log item numbers, link the related items, assign them categories, priority-sort, assign effort points, tally them all up and then tell you it'll take too long and suggest you might just fancy buying a newspaper instead.

Sorry, back in the room.

1. Um... missing the castle ceilidh? 
2. Learning Broadswords?  
3. OTBTBS?  
4. Failing to buy trainers?  
5. Getting Daisy back on the road?  
6. Painting things green?  
7. Chisels and chiselling and what an excellent half-birthday-present-buyer your Jones is?  
8. All the exciting things that have arrived for you by post this week?  
9. How we are failing at vegetables?  
10. The feelings attached to sending someone off with your car?  
11. Your incredible tea-pouring skills?  
12. The mystery that is the location of the Tiny Squirrel?  
13. Your trepidation at going to get your hair cut again?  
14. Whether your gym trousers are appropriate to wear on holiday?  
15. How holidays are nice?  
16. All the places in the world that you want to go?

Numbers 2, 3, loosely associated with 8, 14 and 15

I have a new highland obsession. If I were 17 and it were a person this might be a full blown teenage crush. But I'm not, and it's not. 

This week I am attempting to learn the Argyll Broadswords. Or a quarter of it, depending on your definition of what makes a whole one. 

Here are some real highland dancers doing a completely different version. 

A fair amount of my Sunday this weekend was spent bouncing around in a small circle with 3 friends around 4 dismantle-able swords Whilst being out of breath, looking quite confused and occasionally swearing. It was great fun.  I'm at  a point now where I have a bit of an idea which things I supposed to be doing, and in what order. Next up is managing to do all of those things, whilst not forgetting what they are and in what order they come. After that I have to achieve some sort of aerobic fitness to have any chance of pulling it off in a couple of layers of costume, in June/July in the south of France. 

To this end L and I have created the notion of OTBTBS - our daily Obligatory Tiny Bedtime Broadswords. Obligatory because if we don't make ourselves practise this crap, it'll never happen. Tiny on account of the oppressive ceiling height. Bedtime because, well, that's when we have time. So yes, we have created the bizarre daily ritual where L and I bounce around our living room at about ten each evening, do the sort of pretend highland where your elbows never leave our sides, intently chanting things like "toe, heel, toe, heel, point, point, get out of my corner" to each other. 

I think if you do this right a portal to another world will appear in your living room.

So there's that. 

The flip side of that is that my legs have stopped working. Both of them are having none of it. Not sore as such, more ineffectual. Between Sunday's Highland and Scottish Country rehearsals, two OTBTBSs and the two slow kilometres I managed to run this morning my legs seem to have given up. Every time I got up to leave my desk today it was touch-and-go as to whether they'd keep me upright or not. At least twice I had to sit straight back down again and then try again very very slowly. God knows what my colleagues think.

Numbers 1 and 10

The St Andrews Castle Ceilidh happened on Sunday. Or so I'm told. I hedged my bets for too long and somebody else bought all the tickets! I hope you had fun. I told there wasn't any fire and no-body got up on the top of the pier and I got to go to bed on time, so it might have worked out for the best in the end. What my bet-hedging, ticket-not-having meant was a logistical problem of us having offered other ticket-holding Castle ceilidh-ers a lift. That's a crappy sentence if ever I wrote one. Sorry. So we leant out our little Spoyk. He still got to go! Ten minutes on hold to the insurance company and a slightly nervous handing-over of keys and all was well. 

Castle Ceilidh 2009, when you still got daylight, fire and heights

I am rather sad to hear about the lack of fire or perilous heights, never mind not having the combination. I am minded to build a dramatic cliff-side castle in the hope that future generations will get to dance in it and then parade around with fire. But I'm not particularly good at the long con so that might never happen. 

Ok, where are we?

1. Um... missing the castle ceilidh? 
2. Learning Broadswords?  
3. OTBTBS?  
4. Failing to buy trainers?  
5. Getting Daisy back on the road?  
6. Painting things green?  
7. Chisels and chiselling and what an excellent half-birthday-present-buyer your Jones is?  
8. All the exciting things that have arrived for you by post this week?  
9. How we are failing at vegetables?  
10. The feelings attached to sending someone off with your car?  
11. Your incredible tea-pouring skills?  
12. The mystery that is the location of the Tiny Squirrel?  
13. Your trepidation at going to get your hair cut again?  
14. Whether your gym trousers are appropriate to wear on holiday?  
15. How holidays are nice?  
16. All the places in the world that you want to go?

Numbers 6 and 7, you might get to find out about next week.

Number 4 - I have big feet and a stingy budget, and a propensity to wear out trainers very quickly. 

This is a problem. I've come back round to the viewpoint that I'll make some cheap fixes to the shoes I currently have, and worry about replacing them later. 

Number 5 - yes

She's gone to Halfords (because every other bike shop in this town and the next couple were booked up for weeks) for new brakes. We think this time we've got the Useful Man (who thinks Daisy is awesome) and not Mr Idiot Man (who we don't like). Current plans are to give her a good ride out maybe this weekend or one of the next couple.

Number 8 - mostly fabric, but also this funky case for my funky new laptop.

Felt, and leather. No neoprene in sight.

Number 9

Anyone want a cabbage? We have spare. 

Number 11 you can come and find out about if you really want to. 

Somehow L and I have been co-opted on to the Church "Social Committee", we think through some sort of Affirmative Action programme. There is going to be something called a "Daffodil Tea" there on Saturday. Not understanding any of the things that might happen at such an event, I went for the safest bluff I could think of, and offered to pour the tea. 10am. High Hilton Church. Moral support much appreciated. Come and find out what one is, it'll be fun. Daffodils are poisonous, right? Why would you make them in to tea? Still new to all of this CofS malarkey. 

Number 12 - have you seen him?

Number 13 

14 - Probably.

15 - Yes.

16 - All of them. 

Actually, maybe just most of them. Let's save that for a whole epistle of it's own. This is a little thought triggered by having watched a re-run of this programme where Terry Pratchett talks about dying and how we should save the Orangutans. In which he goes to Borneo, where I once ventured, possibly in 2006, and want to return to while there's still some jungle left. That's worth a whole post, surely? I'll write if for you some time. 

Number 12.2 - Good news! Here he is!

Guarding the china, of course.

See ya.

*Seriously why is it so hard to get hold of unadulterated yoghurt? I am reluctantly about to break in to a yoghurt which is the Diet Coke of the yoghurty world. I get why there is a market for fat-free yoghurt, but there is also surely a market for real yoghurt with all the energy left in. It's me. I am that market. Why would you go and make a tasty yoghurt then come along afterwards and strip all the tasty back out again. What's the point in even eating it when it's not going to keep me alive for any longer!? Thank you. 

**Yay woop L. 

Seriously, which way is up?

Question time for you all. Why does everyone seem to think that eggs have a right way up? 

Happy Easter Everybody! I like Easter. It has a good mix of (1) Yay Jesus, (2) holidays (at least for some of you), (3) chocolate, and (4) a refreshing lack of obligation to come up with cards and presents for everyone you know.

I am currently sitting on my bedroom floor eating a Creme Egg, despite my tea being nearly ready, because I am a grown up and I get to choose.

All of the evidence I can find seems to point to the popular notion that "pointy-end-up" is the right way up. Chocolate eggs, Easter cards, even the barcode on my Cadbury Creme Monstrosity is all geared towards the eggspectation that eggs should be orientated in one specific way.

Question everything, peeps. Why? 

Eggs in real life don't do that. Chickens don't wiggle them around in the coop till they're pointy-end up. If I were a chicken (or indeed any other nesting bird, let's not discriminate here), I would be going out of my to keep the pointiest end pointing somewhere other than at me. Put an egg down on a flat surface and you'd be very lucky to balance it the right way up, even boiling they'll wind up on their side. I just google image-searched that to make sure. Man am I hungry now.

This epiphany came to me the other day, whilst eating a Creme Egg, the victorious spoils of a very cute Easter morning in which L hid tiny plastic eggs (containing sugary goodies) all around my stuff. Further complicated by us being in a shared dorm in a youth hostel at the time. Everyone has their own way of eating one. Me, I prefer the spoon approach, but bloody Cadbury are making that increasingly difficult with their ever-shrinking eggies. With no spoon close to hand I resorted to my normal plan B, which involves biting off the smallest amount of the top and removing the insides with a fair degree of precision. TMI? sorry.

Lots and lots of these. In my shoes, in my wash-bag, in my Grannie's old knitting bag. Everywhere! Most are now sadly empty. 

So there I am, about to bite the "top" off a Creme Egg. Boom, it comes to me. How do I know that this is the top? I could bite off the other end (spoiler, I did), but would I still think of it as the bottom? Yes, I sat there, on Easter Sunday, quite early in the morning, trying to work out if it was inappropriate to bite the arse off an egg. I hope the rest of you were doing something more noble like curing cancer or feeding the poor because Jesus did not die and rise again for that.

So here's the deal. We've all got it wrong, you guys. I've done the research on this. 

There are even threads like this about which way up to incubate your eggs, and it's not pointy-end-up.

I even googled this:

Go on, educate yourselves

They don't even start off egg-shaped! Everything we know is wrong.

Blunt end first. Which at best is diagonally if my grasp of avian anatomy is anything to go by.

So the only way in that pointy-end-up might conceivably be "the right way up" would be if the poor hen layed it very very precisely straight down on to the egg cup. And chickens don't do that. If that summer in Nethy Bridge taught me anything, it's that chickens are only outwardly stupid. It's an image they've been carefully cultivating for years. Really, they're sharp, speedy, vindictive creatures that will do most things to thwart you in your plan to steal their tasty potential babies. And whichever way they come out, eggs don't stay pointy-end-up for long. They wind up sideways and normally hidden in the deepest, darkest, poopiest corner of the chicken run. Or in the compost heap, or under your car. But sideways. Cos of gravity, and a clever evolutionary accident or design that stops your proto-chickens rolling way before you've counted them before they've hatched.

I'll try and be sensible next week.