| The Forth Bridges |
[Nov. 16th, 2009|01:57 pm] |
I went home for a visit yesterday - just a brief one night kind of a thing in Falkirk. The US campaign has taken up most of my evenings of late, or I might have come back for longer, done the Edinbourgh thing, what have you, but as it was I could only manage a night. I found Leuchars again yesterday morning, at around twenty to twelve, and although I had to wait for an hour before my train arived, the time flew by as I wandered round and round the platform under a clear blue sky and bright November sun.
I felt at peace with the world, and reveled in the light which I've been missing of late in my dingy room at Gregory Place. Ploughed up feilds, bare branched trees and clear harsh bird calls. I skipped about a bit, energy running down to my feet that scuffed and tapped on the tarmac, I was of the present and thinking about the past. Cheesy as it is I was thinking of that Simple Minds song - I'll be alone/ dancing you know it. It's that strange bittersweet to be the last left kicking around this little town, to remain when most others have gone journeying. It is a bit sad, but strangely encouraging - lonely but cheerful.
So I went home and had dinner with my parents and Jonners. It was comfortable, comforting, and the day stretched out (although now it seems to have been no time at all) in the oposite way from my usual days up here, which go in the blink of an eye, but seem to have been falling for weeks.
Back across the firth of Forth, the Anstruther fish bar and now, in my room. I have to change, steal more from this existance than iplayer and cigarettes. And although I am procrastinating by writing this, I hope it will serve to focus my mind on the next few weeks, their potential and possibilities. I'm signing off now - I have a lot of Greek to catch up on.
OVER |
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| Natives |
[Oct. 28th, 2009|01:26 am] |
The tactile dactyls, words I must omit
And lack of place I must admit
And losses and unreasonable divides
Which break our backs and split our sides
Out of place and out of time
This hit and stick and slide
This fit and brick and hide
This grace and grime
Her in her green oils
And I crafted carefree
The bold crevice of insulair
The vast depression - and
Who cares? |
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| Cabin Fever |
[Oct. 7th, 2009|09:10 pm] |
The bubble - my god is it insular. My flat is a pressure cooker of work - living with Phd/Mlitters is like living with five Hannah Beckers - everyone working their arses off. Except me, naturally.
I dont know if I like it here. I don't know if I can do the work - the only thing I am reasonably confident on is, ironicaly, the greek. But a couple more slipups like today and that could all go.
I keep feeling low, useless and listless. I dont know if this was a good idea. |
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| Gregory Place |
[Sep. 21st, 2009|11:32 am] |
I've been back in St Andrews now for four days. On Friday, a berucksacked figure burst out of the bus and walked down an empty Market Street. Rachel was standing outside Luvians, greeted me with keys and pleaded that she'd promised to have coffee with a friend. So I wandered over to her house, let myself in and read a newspaper.
After an hour Rachel arived, after coffee had turned into G&T and we turned our attention to the buisness of the day - namely drinking. I wont go into the details of this alchoholic adventure, but needless to say it resulted in me feeling rather hungover on Saterday morning, as at quarter to nine I trudged into town to attend the Robert Graves conference being held in the School of Classics.
The papers were rather interesting - loads of stuff on facist Italy and Augustus; on the line between fiction and history; and on dominant women. I must confess, however, that I was delighted when I discovered the conference would not be running on Sunday, and that the other two days were to be spread out over October and November. Clever people reading complicated papers with sources in half a dozen languages you don't speak and english which at times appears almost as uninteligable: a mental workout if ever there was one.
So yesterday I just had to grab my keys and move in. The room isn't so big, but it isn't as small as Albany, and the high ceilings and big cupboards are a deffinate improvement. Oh, and the closeness to town. I even have a view of the West Sands if I look out the corner of my window.
My flatmates are a diverse and entertainig bunch - they are as follows. Julia, a small argumentative Italian; Page, a Canadian jaz-singer and trivia boffin; Stephen or Stephan (not sure of the spelling), a French Phd in psychology who appears to own a quantity of fois gras; Jo, a secretive Asian sutddying buisness.
There is an empty room next to me, and workmen appear to be fixing the window. I dont know if anyone will be moving in there or not, I suppose we must just wait and see. I went out drinking with Julia, Page and Stephan last night, I am as a result mildly hungover. And that is worrying because I havent been drinking much. Maybe just a little tired after so much exertion after so much inactivity.
Feel free to come up to visit. |
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| Wickfest Reccy |
[Aug. 12th, 2009|03:17 pm] |
Dearest Bods,
I was in NB last week, or rather a small caravan site nearby. There is a place called Yellowcraigs along the beach which would be perfect for camping as there are lots of dunes/seaforrest places where we wont get bothered by the pigs (or so we must hope).
The question really is how far we are willing to walk from North Berwick (and, therefor, how far we will walk back. It takes me 45 minutes to walk from Yellowcraigs to NB without a bag. I think it'd take me just over an hour with full kit of camping gear, booze etc. Of cource we need to factor in the fact that I am a long-legged walking machine so it could be up to an hour and a half treck, although I must emphasise that this would be taking it very easy with lots of space for stops.
Actualy as far as I can recall many pof the atendees are DofEers of old, and probably wont be phased by this. Still, for those who are looking for a more laid back alternative it is simply a case of walking along the beach from NB until we are reasonably sure the piggies wont bother us. Yellowcraigs is, in my opinion, worth the treck as a prime location, but I understand that the les energetifc amongst us might want to sacrifice location to ease. ;)
So - facilities. Well, at Yellowcraigs there is a public toilet hidden in the dunes open, as far as I can tell, from 9-5. This means that late night evacuations would be au naturel. The nearest shop would be in Dirrelton, approx twenty five minutes walk away. There is also a rather cool castle there which can be fun to break into at night. Other than that there are woods, as I said, dunes and general seascape. Lots of shrimps actualy, maybe a shrimping net would be in order.
On that point equipment might be a concideration. We need tents and to decide who is going in which one. I have two spaces in my luxury tent, a vintage Vango (as used by Heriots DofE types). It is technicaly a four man, but I want space. First come first served for berth.
I can get us a parafin lamp, and possibly a stove. Cooking pots for sure. Everyone should supply themselves with cutlery, mug, plate/bowl. Sleeping bags and ground mats would be good.
I shall republish this on an event thingy or something, as I am aware that there are maybe only two or three of the people going who will actualy read it here.
WICKFEST |
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| Student |
[Jul. 30th, 2009|04:40 pm] |
So hail my bods, my happy peeps, hail!
Once again I am spending my time wrangling with the confounded apparatus of accademia, whalloping it with the spanner of reasonableness and tweaking it with the screwdriver of deviousness so that the blasted thing works the way I need it to.
I've applied for accomodation, faffed with the webmail account, looked at how to pay my fees (and tried to find a way out - there isn't one apparently) and been in constant comunication with half a dozen administrators.
Even my matric card needs a new photograph and a hundred other things I haven't got. Still I will bludgeon my way through this extraordinary level of beurocracy, safe in the knowledge that it will abate just after I run through younger hall thrusting peices of paper at matriculation time.
I am now back in Falkirk typing this on my new second-hand IBookG4. It's crappyer than my last computer - smaller, slower, smaller hardrive, and white rather than the nicer silver of my old PowerBook, but as said free computer from government blew up at the begining of the summer this little thing will do. Actualy I am very grateful to my parents for buying it (although it does represent the my last two birthdays and a christmas.) I've got the harddrive out my old comp in a caddy now, also, so I can still play with all my old files.
Back in Falkirk and thinking of the move to Edinbourgh. Got to give my parents enough time so that they dont feel too alienated, but not too much time or they will want a telephone call a day when i go to uni. Need a healthy balance sort of thing.
Well, here's looking at you, St Andrews. |
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| These are the days of miracle and wonder - this is a long distance call |
[Jul. 24th, 2009|12:10 am] |
Today has been a good day for me as I have been told that the University of St Andrews is about to offer me a place on the Classical Studdies MLitt cource (I received an informal email to let me know the offer is in the post). This means that after not knowing for so damn long I am now sure what I will be doing for the next year.
Now I cant say that my motivation to studdy in St Andrews is an entierly good idea in and of itself, certainly it isn't as exciting as going travelling or suchlike, but I know that this is something that I need right now: I need a year to recuperate and reform my ideas, gain some perspective, and embark upon the world anew. Perhaps I'll continue in accademia to the Phd and beyond, or perhaps I'll go on my travels and see some of the world, but right now I am in no fit state to deal with anything more complicated than studdying for a qualification. As Gally always said "it'll be all right once you get to University."
And I mean to give this a damn good go. I've spent years playing down my own abilities, never putting in the effort to excel in my studdies, scared, perhaps, that if I really did try I would find I couldn't hit that top mark that from my comfortable cant-be-arsed armchair I can dismiss as something I could do but didn't. It's time to thirst for the first and also to get the peice of cast iron crap that is my brain to do something to earn its skull-rent.
This then is a form of declaration: I'm going to go back to university and this time I will work. Oh I'm up for having some fun too, but no more wasted moments staring into space: every minute will be packed with reading, writing, playing music, and ledgendary socialising. Every minute counts because this time, ahem, I'm footing the bill for it.
God they really will let anyone in though, wont they? |
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| Two Weeks to Go |
[Jun. 6th, 2009|02:33 pm] |
Well, after tonight I will have only two weeks left working at the Cassa. The last six months have not been a good time in my life, although there have been times like little chinks of light penetrating the gloomy workshop of my existance as bit by bit I peice together my finances and my soul. Summer is upon us, and I need a break. Time to step out, leave the work behind, and try out the prototype, Tom II (I suspect this will be more like Tom VII), on a rickety but hopefuly succesful voyage to St Andrews.
I'm also looking forward to my Nile Cruise, I was thinking about it in the shower this morning. Ancient tombs and suchlike - old things - and a shipful of dry martini. Then Sweeden, outdoors, pickled fish and whatever spirit.
The only woe is that my reference still hasn't been forthcomming from Ralph Anderson, and as a result it is looking less likely that I will be able to return to St Andrews. Still, Paris could be promising, and there are other universities and other times. Tonight's shift, then two weeks, then free. |
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| I'm Going in for the Kill - I'm doing it for a thrill |
[Jun. 2nd, 2009|10:41 pm] |
Television is taking over my life, but likewise my life is taking over television. From the familiar pseudo-eighties car-journey red and blue of La Roux "In for the kill" video, to the Take That soundtrack to Stardust, a film that I might not have already remarked upon as important, but which contains such a level of whimsey, fantasy, nostalgia, romance and Romantacism that it wont suriprise any of you to learn exactly how much I like it. I love it.
But one televisual excerpt might not have the familiar sentimentalism one would usualy associate with my tastes. This film is American Pie 2. I think ITV or some similar digitalised corporation have the right to rescreen this, and I've noticed bits of it again and again in my channel hopping? Surfing? Spinning.
Well it is about the only film my old PC ever managed to negotiate with Kazza. or kaZZa or however it was spelt. I remember watching it, in my darkened bedroom, coffee, joss sticks, wiskey, smokes out the window. I was sixteen and of cource I was caught in the love story.
And, if anything has endured from then (and I suspect at times an awful lot more than might be apparent, even to me) it is that I am caught.
I don't seriousely think I have much of a shot at connecting with the world around me. I cant engage. Now perhaps this dissconnection is a blessing in disguise, maybe this is some high and lonely destiny, but I doubt it. Twenty two, like sixteen, is far to young an age to give up on humanity. Still, I cant shake off this sensation, looming fateful, I cant connect. But I'm caught by any loose thread of emotion.
This was supposed to be a more light hearted post about telly, but as is often the case nostalgia and reverie have garrotted your humble narator.
I like suspending disbeleif, and I am far too good at it. I'm too hot. Bloody weather.
My head is fucked. |
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| Diary |
[May. 26th, 2009|03:23 pm] |
After a drunken old time of it in St Andrews I packed my younger brothers possesions into the back of the car and started back for Falkirk. I was depressed, it was bucketing rain, and Radio 4 was telling me about the problems in Israel. I searched each signpost for Kincardine, dip and dazzel as the night drew over and the darkening clouds bucketed. I had left again, St Andrews, where everything had ended. I have always lead a purposless life, but I think that was the last possible point at which I could enjoy it - before graduation. Even returning to visit I can't feel the same, I don't have the security of knowing I will just arse around for the next month, and that tediouse inevitability - Falkirk - will consume five out of seven.
Today my Dad had a clearout and gave me a diary for 2009 which he had never used. I've been looking for one to organise up and comming dates in, as I used to do this on my computer (since deedit). Things are looking up - my future work at the Cassa only takes up four sheets (eight sides) of this little book, and I have carefuly marked my last night, when I have to give notice, Graduation week and holiday on the Nile. So however dim and dingy this section of my life may be, there is an end in sight.
My current worry is for my MLitt applciation. I have done all my bits - the postgrad people received them and forwarded them to the school of Classics, but one of my referees has STILL NOT WRITTEN THE REFERENCE. This, in fairness, is because he is as lazy and forgetful as me, and is also why I asked him to be a referee. In fact I really am falling on my own sword with this one. I cant wait to have it all set in stone one way or the other. Either they will let me in - yay - or they wont, in which case I have saved a side a good amount of money that I wont then be spending on tuition fees and can instead divert into some travelling. It really is win win - so why cant they come to a decision?
My mood is optimism. |
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| All by myself.... |
[May. 9th, 2009|01:45 pm] |
It would appear that I alone seem to post on lj anymore. Lj is fast becoming cyberjunk. I beleive in the cause, however, and look forward to any postings that may crop up in future. For the meantime, I have decided to do a general apraisal of my situation (not the rather negative pros/cons list again) and try to, typing out loud so to speak, work out how I should proceed.
Firstly my university application. Now I haven't finnished it yet because, however much I might say I can get my arse into gear for a cause I beleive in, I generaly speaking wont. All this week I've been saying to myself "just relax, you're in your split shift/evening tv and bed stage of the day, wait till Saterday when you have more time." Of cource I woke up this morning deciding to do it tommorow when I dont have work in the evening and can REALLY devote some time to it. It's a form by the way - I need to fill in a form, print off a CV I've already written and lift a section of 2,000 words from my dissertation as an example of written work. Let's see - it's ten to two - I might still do it.
But the worry is that I might be putting it off because I don't really want to do it. I mean, I would give ANYTHING to be at University right now. Exams? I laugh in the face of exams - hahaha! Admitedly I don't usualy laugh when the results come out. I wonder, though, if going back to St Andrews is too tame.
Now I feel a little fragile at the moment, and I want somewhere safe. I need to regenerate, rejuvinate, get out of it for a while. Also I need to learn, as my brain has stagnated to an apauling extent. Rotten, totaly rotten. Yet have I leaned another language? Gone travelling? Built up a rich tapestry of experiance? Have I fuck.
I suppose I better go fill in that form. Despite what I have written above my overarching sensation this afternoon is hope. I have faith in the future, and I think that a world of wonderful things are going to happen and soon. |
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| FOCUS |
[Apr. 27th, 2009|07:36 pm] |
I am locutus of borg
So my bods, friends and groovey people, what is going on?
I tell you what. Tom has cleared half his overdraft, and at the end of June will have freed himself from this goddawful bankerish slavery known to many fools as "the real world". I then intend to go to Egypt on a Nile cruise at the begining of July with the rest of my family. I then intend to move to Sweeden where I will do gardening and similar such chores and swim in a big lake. I will be back in Scotland for my birthday at the start of september and after that I will hopefully return to University to studdy for an MLitt. If they do not acept me I will be moving to Paris to live in a bookshop and drink dangerouse quantities of Absinth.
LISTEN UP ALL THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE WORRIED THAT I MIGHT NOT HAVE EVERYTHING TOGETHER:
It is fixed. My life, I mean. The fix is in. Nothing can fuck it up now. |
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| Lifestyle |
[Apr. 22nd, 2009|02:46 pm] |
Pros
Living rent free - free food
Have my afternoons free
Have paid off almost half my overdraft
Going on holiday at the begning of July
Despite me being a bit crap with them recently - I still seem to have a fair few decent friends
I'm applying to go back to university - going to learn more
Reading lots at the moment, and listening to more music
My plants are growing reasonably well
Cons
Living in Falkirk
Work split shifts - no free time in the evenings or in the middle of the day
Earning less than I did in Jersey
Detest my job
Find waiting on others for a living, well, a bit of a kick in the teeth - I don't ask for much, just not to be doing something so menial after graduating from what is suposedly one of the better universities.
I'm an emotional fucktard who cant deal with people
I suspect I might be going insane. Not kidding - scared shitless over this one.
Have been told on the quiet by a member of the classics dept at St Andrews that I might be remembered less than favourably by a few people in the department. He sugests I apply to the University of Bristol.
My computer is broken, I suspect, beyond repair and I now have to type my entire dissertation again by hand and rewrite my CV.
My joints and back all ache - I dont feel well and I'm finding it almost impossible to get registered with a GP. |
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| ...Glasgow Central - Next Stop, The Same Old Place |
[Apr. 14th, 2009|12:09 am] |
The answer is you - it was and will always be
The answer is you - and certainly not me
When I arived on the train from Maybole after a couple of days stopped over at Culzain, I marched quickly through the now cold and unsavoury late night Glasgow. Across and onto Buchannan Street, past Borders books, on up and round to the right down the alleyway with the flaming torch brands outside the celtic pub and into Glasgow Queen Street, humming the above lines under my breath.
(Those who read this are mostly, and quite coincidentaly, music fanatics, but for those who arn't get a copy of "Call It Something Nice" by the Small Faces.)
I don't know what the answer is, but one thing is for sure - it's certainly not me. But I realised, in a moment of acute nicotein pangs, the most substantial part of myself that I could remember.
Now I'm not saying I'm defined by smoking (a view expressed before now by Lewis), in fact I deny it. But after having quit for a couple of months I wanted a cigarette whilst I waited on my connecting train. The shops were all closed, and there was nobody smoking outside the Bucchanan Street entrance. Thankfuly there was someone out the George Square end. A cheerful "can I buy a smoke off yeh mate?" quickly procured me a gratis Benson and Hedges Silver. As I puffed on this miserable cigarette it reminded me of so many I had enjoyed so much more. Camels in my first year, rollies thereafter. I was broght across the years and of a sudden sat in the courtyard of the Pear Tree, confident and exuberant in a cloud of cheap Hamlet cigar smoke Sunday evening. I was with the trains of schooltime, another brief commute into the past.
Oh please dont grow, don't grow to depend on me
Dont lean on me 'cause I might let you down
In that moment I grasped, tenuousely, something of me. Some say we're characters and personalities, some say we are immortal souls. Some say we are animals and some, although we probably shouldn't beleive them, that we are incarnate Ailiens from a distant planet. What we are for sure, however, is history and memory.
This means that nostalgia is healthy. Maybe. Because we are re-afirming our identities every time we trawl over our past. I cannot help what has happened, I cannot go back and fix bits. I cant even go back to the good bits and live them up again. These things are set - they were and will always be, but what I do now will be my memory tommorow. In a sence I feel a duty to my future self and to making him whoever he is. I also know I am to a large extent copping out. All you need is hope.
So here's another rambling and cryptic message. If any of those who might read it take away anything, look up the song. I'm still humming it - it's a good tune and decent lyrics.
Look for the light that's so bright you cannot see
Look for the light, but don't look for me |
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| Good Life if you don't Weaken |
[Mar. 29th, 2009|10:10 pm] |
Hello,
I must prefix this by stating that I am drunk. My parents have insisted that I buy my own booze, and for economy sake I have bought gin and vermouth. So, a few martinis down the line, I am drunk. It may or may not be their fault.
So, hello.
*takes a sip*
How are you? Is your life good? I walked round a loch today, and there was this tree, this old tree, it was cut about by tractors. What I mean is the shrubbery was non-existant, trampled under traction. Chevrons? Lots, all over the ground, the marks by which the urban ranger can identify heavy plant machinery. So this tree I was talking about.
The problem is colour. You know about colour. I mean, you must have some way of discerning the differing hues emblazoned on your retinas. Colour.
So it was pink. But also brown and grey, the pink hue seemed to hang like some chivalric emblem on the egwash-cracked bark. Here was a tree that spoke to me of Dumyat, Wallace, Falkirk Council and school. When you see something painted by a colourist, what does it mean? Bravadobold.
Excuse me whilst I drink some more martini.
So, this thing I was talking about involves sunlight. You must also read St Ives by Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson. Being French and a spy and loving a girl in Swanston isn't bad.
So,
Hang on, I am repeating my introductions. This is an unedited text. I'm going as far as to correct typos when they occur (frequently), but leaving in everything written. When it is thought it is.
Oh god. Life, love, these things are difficult in the modern era. The difficulty is finding sufficient drama to acompany one's emotions. But it is there. That tree for instance. Good tree, been there years, what does it mean?
Fuck knows, but I like it, and that is the main thing.
I never learned how to ljcut
So. Life is good is it? Well, for me it probably should be and is. I am going to do my driving exam on Wednesday. Hopefully I will pass. This will mean I can drive - whoop dee doo Basil.
So I can do that. Also I am applying to do an MLitt in Classical Studdies at the University of St Andrews. Whoop dee dah. So There is Stuff.
But most importantly I beleive in a few things.
One of these things is god. Don't argue with me about god. I have god down to a tee. S/he exists. There is a sustainer. It may be christiasn, it may be pan. I dont know. I love it. Whatever it is. I love green things and water.
I also beleive in plot. If a novel doesn;t have it it can fuck off. I can hear enough ecumeniucal shite from my younger brother without reading it too. I like it when love wins through against the odds.
So sing Beatles. Hey, Tai, hope I haven't commanded anything I didn;t have a right to,. You will excuse these little idiosyncricities. Sing.
I love, and am filled with love. Sometimes it might look like hate, sometimes it might look like letchery, but still at all times there is a kernel of solid love. There is a core of friendship and comeradery. Acknowledge that there is a problem, pain, hell on earth and I am there, with you, to valiently hide and cower.
If anyone has access to a log fire, let me know. Becase flame and hearth and home make life and love and settlement. God.
Bring us all back. Give us this day hearth, honey, bread, wine, community and togethernes. Four corners? Fie!
Bring all together, right now, over me. |
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| A Night Out |
[Mar. 5th, 2009|11:52 pm] |
To celebrate me finaly getting a job (albeit as a waiter at the Casa, what I did when I was sixteen) my mum and dad took me out to Champney for dinner this evening. Sweet bloody nostalgia - I hadn't been there in two years. Just the same, same feel, same food, same everything. Just a sence of loss. I dont know, maybe it was because Jonathan wasn't there, or I was older, or I remembered being there with SL, but it was a little, well, haunted in there.
Good being haunted - it's happening a lot to me these days so I should get used to it. We went to my Auntie Mada and Uncle John's afterwards. Good to see them again - not since last summer. It's all so much.
Wish me luck for tommorow - back to the Casa. Looking forward to it. Dreading it. Nostalgia bordering on the haunting. It's painful. |
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| The Great God Pan Is Dead |
[Mar. 4th, 2009|08:03 pm] |
The above is the title of a song I wrote today. I'm rather pleased with how it's gone, even if it is a tad melodramatic. The recording itself is, well, dodge. I mean, dodge guitar, dodge piano, increadibly dodge vocals and harmonising. Yet as something to work on (and knocked out from conception to perfunctory mixdown in an impressive two and a half hours) it's not too bad. The solo/bridge is still not done, and frankly bits of it could do with re-recording. Also I need to get some pan pipes on the go (or maybe, ahem, my trusty school recorder), but recording that kind of thing is always a bugger. Also feel I need to use some weird keyboard sounds and/or guitar solo. I probably shouldn't.
I still haven't worked out how to post sound files. If any of you are on msn I can transfer you a coppy of the work in progress. |
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| Sound |
[Mar. 4th, 2009|12:02 am] |
Well, at the moment I am rather self-indulgently listening to the compilation of sample sounds I made this afternoon. I've been experimenting with the noises I can make with my electric keyboard when plugged into different effects pedals and amps. Wah-wah keyboard is rather fun.
The best results, however, came form micing (how should I spell that? Miking? Miccing>?) up non-synthetic instruments. Great wailing far-out recorder was surprisingly good, and my inspired rythm section, a microphone stuck inside my beach guitar and stuck through an amp with reverb, was really rather good.
The problem with these experiments is that they dont provide anything much to listen to. Firstly, in order that nothing would clash on the track, I kept it mostly in cminor (except when i did some experimental pitch bending on the keyboard. Which worked in a sort of Withnail music at the end way...). However this ment that it didn't really go anywhere, the track is just me jamming with myself. Also the electric guitar playing was rather shoddy as I wasn't sure where I was going with it and had picked a key that fitted the other instruments better.
Tommorow's mission is to mic up my hundred year old family heirloom piano. Also I need to write an actual song, because however much fun this might be it doesn't make for properly fun listening. Hmmm, I wonder if there is a way I can embed the track I did today on lj... don't hold your breath... |
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| Light on Dumyat |
[Feb. 22nd, 2009|12:20 pm] |
It was a bright, boisterouse, exuberantly sunny day. Much the same kind of weather we're having in Falkirk today. You know what I mean - adventure weather, bright sun and walks, pints at tressle tables, the Famouse Five, burgeoning possibilities and cool green places. This weather, when applied as it was to St Andrews, served to heighten my nostalgia. Humming under my breath - This time tommorow/where will we be...leave the sun behind me/Watch the clouds as they sadly pass me by/Seven miles bellow me/I can see the world and it aint that big at all - walking up from John Burnett Hall (I had been visiting my brother), up that road I used to walk from Melville to the centre of town. The grass. And the churchtower, basking so peacefuly. I always feel that buildings in sunshine are basking, soaking it up. Like old rheumatic bones they need to be soaked, warmed, given life. So I caught the bus, and out through bright Guardbridge I rode.
Leauchars, a place that has more nostalgia than almost anywhere else for me, it is an alpha omega, rite of passage, the conduit of St Andrews, the threashold of the bubble. And it has its own hidden age, the age of steam, the shabby bits of unused rail, the old set of points for St Andrews. The holidaymakers, the Blytonesque schoolchildren, hampers, paste and brillcream. I grabbed the bench at the end, where the sun shone in under the canopy. Picking the strings of my trusty beach guitar, Blackbird, Withnail, twelve bar.
It was Bigby who woke me from my reverie. He'd caught the bus after mine - didn't know I was in St Andrews, how was I? Usual chit chat, we got on the train. He was off to a masked ball. Only in second year. Lucky git.
I switched at Haymarket, the half-brewed Edinburgh air hitting me like a sack full of memory. And more grass, more sun, baked Victoria Street and fragrent Meddows. Coffee from stalls, jokes with the old crowd, more exploration. I got on the train, and it was back to Falkirk on the old school run. I read a bit of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the galexy, but I got distracted when I started thinking about the fact that the guy whose words I was reading was dead.
Back to Falkirk. I enjoyed a bit of TV and then bed.
Sitting in the Cellar Bar on Friday night, after David had gone walkies, and before the anthropologists arived, I sat quietly with my guinness and thought. Some of it was depressive, and I probably looked something of a stereotype sitting on my own at the end of the bar. But I also thought of escape and adventure. There are hills and rocks and seascapes, woods and moors and old old buildings. And I know that there are friends who might come with, and so here it is -
We need more adventure, and fewer cares. |
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