It has been very intense of late, I know that more than most. But I’m not going to apologise. Instead let’s go down the life goes on cliché for a moment or two.
I’ve added a new article to the Writings page. It was my entry for this year’s Scottish Book Trust project. The theme was home, and I was reasonably hopeful. But they’ve picked a couple of dozen from the 500 or so entries, and my piece won’t be in the book. Still you might enjoy it. It’s called Range on the Home, the last article on the list.There’s elements of landscape and history in there, if I remember correctly. I really must go and read it again, for it’s been a while.
It was that same SBT who launched the recognition for my Iona article a couple of years ago. Recently the readers of Wanderlust‘s online forum have been enjoying it too. But I was surprised to find the other day, a link to the article on the front page of the website. It looks as though it might be printed in full in this month’s magazine; which is thrilling, though The Genealogist’s response was a little less enthusiastic shall we say.
The irony is that my subscription to said marvellous magazine was a victim of a cull on magazine subscriptions a year or so ago. That decision was nothing to do with the quality of the product, but more a recognition that I was finding less and less time to actually read the various magazines that came through the door, reduced to skimming articles and focussing on the book reviews.
Besides, my attempts at writing had been changing direction, quite consciously, with little travel opportunity as family life gets busier. I realise that I haven’t been on any Scottish island since that BBC interview on Iona after the SBT project. Now that is something I do need to remedy, and quickly.
But it won’t be this weekend, for, as it happens, we are off on a wee journey, islands beyond in fact. I know there are Borgen tours, and ones for The Bridge; The Killing too; I may return with a big woolly jumper. And I’ll probably have to endure Tivoli. I may even post a few notes on location. Yes we’re having a few days in Copenhagen, some time away, all four of us, to mark a certain birthday.
Timed to avoid the vote it kind of scuppers any plans to head to Wigtown for the book festival. And it means that other ritual at this time of year, the Christmas Cake, is also likely to be delayed a few days. That said I did manage to pick up some cranberries and blueberries the other day. Coffee with FirstBorn, after Boy Urchin and I left the afternoon football (four nil home win), took us to the American Whole-Foods outlet on the south-side. Once I saw the pecan & cranberry sourdough bread I knew we’d need a basket for a few other bits and pieces. So the cake project has started to rumble.
The garden too is still here. Despite good intentions the only activity yesterday, I was utterly exhausted, was to feed the chickens and lock them up at night. Walking round the side of the house in the gloaming, two cats rushed past, the younger ones for old Jake rushes not these days. I startled something under the kitchen window and what a surprise I got. I nearly tripped over it. Snuffling around in some plant pots and fresh mole diggings was none other than a badger. He scuttled off towards the swings though there’s no exit through the fence in that direction. Of course I had no torch with me.
The new chicken run is secure, over the fence in the field. Old Brock will need to be a better tunneller than the mole to get in there, he said hopefully. Life, as they say goes on, and continues to throw up surprises and delights where least expected. I’m off out to buy a copy of Wanderlust. Might even cycle into town.