I’ve not got any, even though apparently one third of Scots aged 26-40 have at least one. Ok, so I fall out of that age bracket, but I reckon I’m unlikely to fall into the ‘inked up’ category at this stage of my life; although you never know, didn't David Dimbleby take a rush of … Continue reading Edinburgh Tattoo
I phoned my friend the other night. It’s a bad time of the year for him, the marking of an anniversary that makes him sad. ‘It was a night just like this,’ he told me, ‘gorgeous, still, warm; swallows skimming the grass. I sat out late enjoying an evening that lasted forever, and then the … Continue reading Happiness
I was out on Sunday evening with J. and P., to listen a band. They have quite a following, so the pub was hopping. Everyone was cheerful, spilling with friendliness, more alive because of what music does to us: administers a shot of adrenalin. August night, under a red moon, 2001: U2 playing to an … Continue reading Please, Mrs. Avery
Last weekend I went to see Scottish Ballet’s 50th anniversary performance of ‘Spring!’ (billed with an exclamation mark). Ever since, I have been fixated with and thinking about the human body. I’m doing it now: sitting in the window seat of a café watching a woman walk past carrying three striped hula hoops: yup, she’s shaped … Continue reading Bend, Bounce, Bound
My walls are being rattled, my ceilings tremble as they’re pounded from above, and loud thuds are studding my early morning dreams. I suppose it can't be sovery early when the builders get going, up there, with their sledge-hammers and mattocks, but I’m no early riser. ‘Up there’ is the flat above me, where - … Continue reading Rattle Your Walls
In both the religious and the secular world, November is the month of remembering the dead: the ordinary dead, the glorious dead, the forgotten dead. Remembrance Sunday fell this month and people are still wearing their poppies (a smattering of white now joining the red). They are probably worn for different reasons: to respectfully call … Continue reading Past Glories
There’s an Irish jig called, ‘I Buried My Wife and Danced On Her Grave’. Awful, isn't it? Lovely tune though. There’s another called, ‘Get Up Old Woman and Shake Yourself’, and then there’s, ‘When Sick is it Tea You Want?’ Tunes are normally played in sets of three; I’m thinking those three would be quite … Continue reading The Happy Mistake
That’s Edinburgh’s festival season wrapped up for another year. I walked down George Street last night at dusk as teams of William Wallace lookalikes - shaggy-bearded, strong types, strung with leather tool belts - disassembled the pop up street bars and stages. All twenty-two temporary venues that took weeks to piece together will be popped … Continue reading Our Revels Now Are Ended
“I just don't get it. Never did. Does nothing for me. Can’t read it, can't write it, can't understand it.” J. and I were out on the dock with his guitar, singing; exchanging songs, old and new, and in between times we’d chat about this and that. ‘This’ was why I liked to write, and … Continue reading Lyrics of Life
Last night it was 34 degrees at 6pm (feeling more like 40 with the humidex) as I walked through downtown Ottawa on my way to the opening night of Bluesfest. I arrived here two days after Canada Day, just missing out on the day of national pride. But, aside from waving the red and white … Continue reading Straight From The Heart
