Back to my usual positive mood
Eric was very positve about the session this morning, all smiles which was nice. I get feedback from him tomorrow. And tonight is Scottish Country Drinking Night!!!! Yo!!

Being observed by the Director tomorrow - he 'wrote the book'. (Literally. And we're talking proper books here; I've used Eric's publications at MANCAT and in Italy). Opportunity! Challenge! After all, what's the worst that can happen? Well, I suppose the worst that can happen is that he tells me I'm a disgrace to the teaching profession and calls security to have me escorted from the building....

Hoots
I've taken to honking the horn as I drive over the border at Gretna over the last two years. I don't know why, but I get a real sense of optimism and positivity as soon as I get back north of the Solway. Yesterday I was listening to Dave Pierce playing a lot of really exciting banging techno tunes - just the sort of adrenaline-pumping stuff you want when you're tanking down an empty road into the Southern Uplands sunset. (Yes I know I'm 20 years too old for that stuff, natch). One of Pierce's callers said his previous night out clubbing had been fierce, a use of English which must surely be described as larging it....

Prawn for Medics
Involves amongst other techniques backchaining. This with Alex from Taiwan:-

Me "'ceptive"
Alex "'ceptive"
Me "'traceptive"
Alex "'traceptive"
Me "oral contraceptive"
Alex "oral contraceptive"
Me "now class, all together, 'ceptive...."

A deadly weapon in the right hands
I try to use humour in the classroom, but on this course with the medics I've not quite found the moment. A couple of days ago Christa, a German gynocologist in her 50s was pronouncing womb with a 'b'...... (dot dot dot - now think on't...)

Two west african doctors are walking down a hospital corridor. One says to the other:-
"Well I'd say it was.... 'woooooom!'"
The other one says:-
"No it's definately woo-oo-oo-ooh-ombbbb'
(This goes on for some time).
Then the matron comes up to them and says:-
"You're both wrong gentlemen. The correct pronounciation is 'womb'"
And the first doctor says
"Lady, I'm sure you've never heard a water buffalo fart, much less underwater..."

Oh well, possibly best not. As for:-

What the difference between a vitamin and a hormone?
You can't hear a vitamin.

Please let's not go there. And don't lets have a word about acute angina either.

But I may quote the great Tommy Cooper. (Imagine the voice please).

"Went to the doctor, I said, 'doctor, every time I do that (raising his arm) I get a pain all down here'. And the doctor said....................:-

'Dont do that.'"

Like all the very best gags, there's a certain magical pearl of wisdom in that one. Just don't get me started on... two race horses, sat in a pub, one says to the other....

That book's overdue, m***********.
I think it's a major error to underestimate George Dubya. That's why I get so thoroughly pissed off with endless email circulars portraying the guy as a buffoon. His politics are utterly terrifying and he seems to have a few problems with the English Language, but that doesn't necessarily make him stupid. Somebody on Radio 4 put their finger on it this morning, saying something like "it's important not to confuse being inarticulate with being stupid" (actually even as I write this it begins to look like a circular argument).

Anyway, in the light of this, it was edifying to hear a soundbite of Bush on the radio yesterday, explaining why US warships were being stationed off West Africa.

I'll swear he said the idea was to protect librarians.

Lately it occurs to me, what a long strange trip it's been

So one of the great things about Edinburgh is the second-hand record shops along Nicholson Street (well, actually Nicholson becomes Clerk - where Hogshead and the other record shops are - and Clerk becomes Newington, but its all the same street.) I picked up a copy of American Beauty by the Grateful Dead yesterday - it came out in 1970, so say Mandi and her mates played it to me a year or so later, it's only 30 years I've been wanting it. I may eventually buy Dark Side of the Moon - not to mention Bullinamingjar by Roy Harper in a decade or so.

Hired a Corsa and drove home to Broadbottom to an empty house, listening to sublime Dead songs....

I'm teaching medical students. Yesterday we discussed the concept of Phantom Limb Syndrome. My hair got incredibly long in Italy - I couldn't cope with investigating the Lexical Field "at the hairdressers" ("vade en vacanza yet?") so I hadn't had it cut there or since coming back. I've had my hair tied back to attempt to look respectable for work this week, but not very successfully, so I went and got a haircut from the talented Susan at Baileys Barbers (also on Nicholson/Clerk/Newington).

Now suffering phantom pony tail syndrome...

Robert Louis Stevenson explains
Why I don't live here year round:-

NOO lyart leaves blaw ower the green,
Red are the bonny woods o' Dean,
An' here we're back in Embro, freen',
To pass the winter.
Whilk noo, wi' frosts afore, draws in,
An' snaws ahint her.

I've seen's hae days to fricht us a',
The Pentlands poothered weel wi' snaw,
The ways half-smoored wi' liquid thaw,
An' half-congealin',
The snell an' scowtherin' norther blaw
Frae blae Brunteelan'.

I've seen's been unco sweir to sally,
And at the door-cheeks daff an' dally,
Seen's daidle thus an' shilly-shally
For near a minute -
Sae cauld the wind blew up the valley,
The deil was in it! -

Syne spread the silk an' tak the gate,
In blast an' blaudin' rain, deil hae't!
The hale toon glintin', stane an' slate,
Wi' cauld an' weet,
An' to the Court, gin we'se be late,
Bicker oor feet.

And at the Court, tae, aft I saw
Whaur Advocates by twa an' twa
Gang gesterin' end to end the ha'
In weeg an' goon,
To crack o' what ye wull but Law
The hale forenoon.

That muckle ha,' maist like a kirk,
I've kent at braid mid-day sae mirk
Ye'd seen white weegs an' faces lurk
Like ghaists frae Hell,
But whether Christian ghaist or Turk
Deil ane could tell.

The three fires lunted in the gloom,
The wind blew like the blast o' doom,
The rain upo' the roof abune
Played Peter Dick -
Ye wad nae'd licht enough i' the room
Your teeth to pick!

But, freend, ye ken how me an' you,
The ling-lang lanely winter through,
Keep'd a guid speerit up, an' true
To lore Horatian,
We aye the ither bottle drew
To inclination.

Sae let us in the comin' days
Stand sicker on our auncient ways -
The strauchtest road in a' the maze
Since Eve ate apples;
An' let the winter weet our cla'es -
We'll weet oor thrapples.

Have you felt like that sometimes? I know I have. Off to weet ma thrapple.

Anniversary time
It was one year on Saturday that I did my first Blog entry. Funnily enough it was written from an Edinburgh cybercaff where I was idling and wondering what to do with myself. Plus ca change, boulabaise a toutes heures, prix de mille francs as they say. I'm just rereading some early entries. There's a preoccupation with doing Munros which I'm glad to say I don't feel inclined to follow up (or walk up) this year... The very first entries are all a tad serious, I haven't settled into the style, not sure who the audience is... still not, you could be anyone out there... but probably aren't.. but if you are do get in touch... Nice stuff about William McGonagal, and I have some thoughts of a pilgrimage to Dundee in the next couple of weeks... Another opportunity to show this picture of the kilt shop on Nicholson...

(I walked past yesterday, Bogart and Gable - in kilts - have been joined this year by Charlie Chaplin - in a kilt)...

However, the finest moment of this first year probably remains The Corryvrekin Adventure...

More "sad, boring and banal" (ta KS) naval gazing soon.

Thank you Garry
I'm sitting in EasyInternet, which has a Costa Coffee attached. Today's Doonesbury hits the mark very nicely.

This one will run and run
Got the Fringe brochure yesterday. Sure to catch the tabloid's attention is going to be a show called "Ladies and Gentlemen". It's being performed at the Victorian underground toilets opposite the National Gallery on Princes Street. Persoanally I think this is outrageous; as it it there's nowhere else you can take a leak for about a mile in either direction...

More HtAM
I'm doing a quick web search on the unlikely spelt Herald Froy. It turns out the dreadful How to Avoid Matirimony was written by Keith Waterhouse, who should have known better. Obviously somebody thought it was funny though... while some evidently very sad person has bothered to post this hideous piece of grinding dialogue:-

"They may be small and helpless, but by golly they're enemies just the same. What exactly are these babies up to? What subversive ideas do they exchange with the women who pause furtively by their prams? What fiendish codes are they tapping out with their so-called teething rings? What signals are they passing on to single women with their pudgy little hands?
Stabbing at the passing bachelor with rattles and other offensive weapons, are they saying: 'Here, sisters, is another man untrained in the matter of bottle-feeding, his elbow untempered to the correct warmth of a baby's bath, his mind blank to the symptoms of nappy rash?' Is there an international gang of babies determined to make fathers of us all?
Who knows? But it is certainly true that all women, even those brazened by years of sharp lights and hard music, go all oggy-woggly-goggly at the sign of these juvenile agitators."

It's familiar. It would be, I must have heard it at least 73 times.

I also had a nose around George Street last night - still can't be absolutely sure about where the Royal Arch Halls were, but probably now Lloyds Bank. I wonder if they kept any of the interior? This site claims the place was demolished to make way for a car park, but there's no way that could be true on George Street. It did remind me that the RAH was due to be demolished when we used it, which explains a whole lot about why we had the run of the place (including the sanctum). Theres a nice picture of a bit of psuedo egyptiana (ooer) as well...

Hoots at the Hilton
Forgot to mention that the celidh was a blast on Thursday. Lots of my mates were there, great to see everybody. It's the fifth time I've been and its always the same, but it felt good. Haggis OK, but the neeps and tatties could have been better. Band now swopped accordionist for fiddle player, for which one offers a silent prayer of thanks. Guitar player still wants to be Larry Carlton and still keeps throwing in little jazz riffs in the 8some reel when he thinks no one will notice. Probably nobody but me does. Social organisers now dragging up to do Grease medley rather than last year's Kylie routine - I will have to watch this four more times this year. All in all good craic, and great to see Fiona, Kirsty, Michael, Anthea, Mike, David, Caroline, Caroline... and Caroline.

Q Whats the difference between an accordion(ist) and a cattle gird?

A Most people slow down when they drive over a cattle grid.


Yet another phonological moment
Also nice yesterday to see my boss from last year, Anne. However, this year I'll be working for Pauline who I knew by sight from last year. And I learnt I'm going to be the Course Director for the Medical Students course! This is not as grand as it sounds as I'm also the entire staff for the Medical Students course...

Like Anne, Pauline has a delightful accent which, while not Morningside, is certainly posh Edinburgh. It took me a while to work out what she had in mind when she told me that for these students grammar was important, but what they definately needed was plenty of prawn.

Where th'art is

This has been my last year:-

June - Sept 2002 Edinburgh
Oct 2002 - March 2003 Broadbottom 'working on own projects' (aka skiving)
March - June 2003 Italy
First half of July Broadbottom, doing up buy-to-let

And why am I recording this? Because I have the strangest feeling about coming to Edinburgh after spending just a few weeks in Broadbottom after coming back from Italy, that this is the coming home; the Burg feels like the Base (in a way that the Bottom doesn't). It's not unreasonable; I've spent the same amount of time in each of the three places this last year. And I (and Sue) have really had enough of Broadbottom. We don't come from there, I get ill after a week or so there and the area away from the village is full of morons in shellsuits who can't even speak properly (loaded issue on ideolects there, but let's not visit it for now).

I have a long history in this city. I first came here for the festival in 1976. My school friend Hugh Gubbin's parents rented rooms for the summer in Stirling University with another family and invited me along. The adults must have been saints, putting up with 7 teenagers (Hugh had a brother and sister and the other family had three kids.) Hugh and I got the train into the city to see shows. I was studying Coriolanus for 'A' level English, and one of the things we went to was a musical based on it called Marcius. The show was in a peculiar venue called the Royal Arch Halls in George Street in the New Town and presented by the Middlesex Polytechnic theatre group. It was very bloody awful.

Five years later I was back at the Royal Arch Halls as a member of the said Middlesex Polytechnic theatre group. I did the sound for a show called How to Avoid Matrimony. It had been written by the same two guys that wrote The Young Ones - but that's the Cliff Richard Musical from the early '60s rather than the Rik Mayal/Ade Edmondson vehicle which was actually out at about the same time as we were presenting this lamentable piece of theatical shite (and explained why my TV owning friends kept saying "hello Vivian" to me in that particular and - at the time - totally baffling way). HtAM was quite breathtakingly bad and hopelessly irreleveant to the millitant sexual politics of the time - its feeble sub-Carry On plot involved the lead character (for reasons I never understood a tosser in a cravat called "Herald Froy"- possibly an anagram for "Total Wanker" - suggestions welcome) running around trying to shag a lot of Debs, Working Class Girls with Hearts of Gold (and brains of lukewarm chip oil) and other assorted female stereotypes without them chasing him into marriage. The whole thing looked from another age - and this in 1981. It was even worse than Marcius.

I had to watch it 73 times. (I counted them all). The brain dead LuD lovie drama creatures performing didn't give a second thought to what actually offensive sexist bilge they were presenting, but a lot of my mates did. A feminist friend asked me how I could bear being involved with the thing (I think she was meaning politically rather than aesthetically) - but it was my ticket to a summer in Edinburgh. So where are these people now?

But the Royal Arch Halls were amazing. They belonged to some strange Scottish sect of Masons. Upstairs was the Egyptian Room, decked out in pharonic painting, all sphinxs and hieroglyphs, while in a cupboard we discovered ceremonial swords and regalia. While trying to puzzle out the dumb waiter, we came across a locked room, but which you could be lowered into through a hole in the ceiling. The room was 12 sided, with each wall painted for a sign of the zodiac, and a gas jet kept an eternal flame burning in the centre. All very wierd and symbolic. Guess who was stupid enough to be lowered in there? (Teen slasher movies are not in it).

Sadly the Royal Arch Halls are now long gone. Being on George Street (five minute's walk from where I'm writing this in EasyInternet in Rose Street) they kept the facade, but must have gutted the actual building. I would imagine the Royal Arch (whoever they were) would hardly want their mysteries devulged to the hoi poloi and archetecture students anyway. Shame. When Sue and I came to the festival about 5 years later I worked out its space was now a bank, but last year when I looked I wasn't even able to identify which building it had been with certainty. Maybe I just dreamt the whole thing.

Because I was watching the show every night (and twice on matinee days - strange how I lost all inclination to work in the theatre ever again after this) I didn't actually see that much of the festival that year. But I was young, and a wild time was had - large amounts of beer were drunk, strange substances were sampled and maidens were deflowered.

Oh, all right, one maiden. (Which is a whole lot better than no maidens at all).

All this before I'd ever even heard of Broadbottom.

Big love and respect to Annie from Cumnock.

Back in the Burg

It's a foggy old day - scotch mist? a "soft day"? back here in Edinburgh. I'm in "That Cafe", my least favourite cybercaff by far, but near the accommodation in Tollcross. I am not going to spend all summer blogging in Cybercaffs this year, I swear. (Just most of it...?) Just got a nice email from Stefania in Trento - suspicions confirmed about the uselessness of my former employers...

Feels funny to be back. It's far too soon since I was last here to feel nostalgic. In a way, coming home (?) to Edinburgh after nine months away doesn't feel that different from coming home to Broadbottom after three months in Italy.

I popped into IALS - various friendly faces. Off to the celidh toningt - I think its going to be a good summer. Even the train journey was tolerable...

Piccies!!!!!!!!!!!!!
After hours of strugling with Yahoo Photos, the best photos from the Italian Trip are now on a slideshow here.

"We both"
Went for a heavy night on the red wine last night and somehow put together a tune on the 4-track; 86bpm prgrammed beats, some strings and a bassoon line(!), clean wahed guitar, real bass and some heroically depressing lyrics which might be a dialogue between an anorexic girl going off to shoot people and her parents. Listening to it today, it really isn't that bad, with a lazy summer of angst feel. Not sure about the Yamaha 'DJ' samples though. Tried to MP3 it for distribution but the mix vanished into sludgy noise which is probably just as well as I'd have ended up trying to send it to people... possibly the wrong people... I'm looking forward to going to Edinburgh, but I'm going to really miss the Blue Room for those 9 weeks. When I'm away I always end up making plans for music projects - this autumn they're going to happen!

RIP Hunf

It's been a week. My venerable Escort finally fell to bits around me so we scrapped it. I'm not going to replace it for a while. Feel remarkably good and liberated about being a pedestrian. Edinburgh starts again on Thursday. I'm looking forward to being a non-motorised urbanite and hiring cars to bob about (as Brenda puts it...). Straight off I'm saving for two new tyres it needed and this months road tax. Feel like I haven't walked anywhere in months, but then there's sharing public transport with the great unwashed...