scotchneat.ca

As I’m typing on my laptop, which, oddly enough, is on my lap, I look to my side and see a remote control, a cordless phone, a Blackberry and an iPod trailing down the couch.

Hello, first world!

The great thing about ferrety eyes was they never changed from being ferrety, so you couldn’t read much there.

– Bill James, Pix

of a woman walking down the street wearing a heavy brown dress, patent  black boots and a fir-trimmed hat on a 32-degree day.

Not poetic, just crazy.

Though I didn’t intend to be quite so participaction, I’ve logged quite a few kilometers since Tuesday. Tuesday night I walked to the library. Wednesday night I walked to Melle’s, then over to Barleyworks, then back to Melle’s and then back home. On Thursday, Melle and I walked to Victoria Park, and then that night Melle, Andrew and I walked about 20 minutes each way for fireworks. Then today, Melle and I drove out to Cambridge to walk a trail by the Grand River.

In summary:

- Tuesday: 5.6 km

- Wednesday: 8.5 km

- Thursday: 12 km

- Friday: 12 km

That’s 38km+ in 4 days. Tomorrow, my feet shall rest.

“One woman’s airport bookstore,” Tipsy scowled, “is another woman’s beautifully paneled library.”
Windward Passage, Jim Nisbet

On the way back from Scotland, I was in need of some additional reading material, so I bought Alison Weir’s examination of the fall of Anne Boleyn. Melle commented later that I don’t really get the principle of airport book shopping.

I visited my friend yesterday on the farm, where she’s raising ducks and chickens for sale/eggs. It was very exciting but I think the chickens could smell the city on my shoes – they were very interested in pecking at them.

One chicken – whom we think is a girl – has decided that she is special. She jumps onto my friend’s arm when my friend comes to feed all the chicklets, and likes to be carried around like an accessory dog, and she even likes a little scritchin’ (the chicken, not my friend).

However, there is this one little duck that stole my heart. He came out of the egg with a bent neck, almost a complete 90 degree angle. Looks very uncomfortable. But he’s running around with all the other ducks, and eating and drinking and generally getting into mischief just like everyone else. Neither my friend nor the incubator thought he’d make it through the first night, but there he is.

I’d make a terrible farmer, cuz I’d want to name him Bob and make friends with him.

Watched Stephen Hawking’s lecture – “My life in physics” on TVO last Sunday night. It’s incredibly exciting that he’s here in Waterloo, though I’m not quite over my tantrum in Perimeter’s direction for not having a public lecture where we could see him in person. Cuz half the people in the “invite only audience” were clearly a) not understanding a damn thing he was saying b) bored c) a politician of some sort.

The night started off with a series of speeches from PI dignitaries (Mike, Turok), politicians (Uncle Dalton, Clement), business people (VP from BMO) and the requisite bilingual Mistress of Ceremonies (which sounds kinkier than it is). Mike was good – he emphasized why theory leads to pragmatic benefits and made sure to emphasize how important private funding is to the program (since Uncle Dalton was in the room). Turok was his usual self – unpolished, happy to have his friend Hawking there, and such a breath of fresh air after the Howard Burton era.

Where it got interesting though was in the political speeches. Beside the fact that Tony Clement can’t do public speaking (or French) to save his life, both he and McGuinty were at pains to reference God in the context of physics – i.e. that the pursuit of cosmology and quarks and the like are pursuits within or of the wonders of God.  McGuinty even went so far as to compare Hawking to Sir Thomas More, of all people, via a quote from Man For All Seasons. Now, I was wondering what Hawking would have said at that point if he could fire off a quick comeback without having to peck it out on his voice machine.

Yes – Hawking also mentioned God in his speech. He argued that, back in the day, when the Big Bang was a theory in competition with the solid state theory of the universe, it was objected to because people thought it was appealing to a Genesis view of the birth of the universe. Of course, time, brilliant minds and “luck” have given us more answers about how this might have occurred through the evolution of the universe and more mystery in that we still don’t have all of the answers.

Nonetheless, it felt like a size 10 foot in a size 5 shoe, at least to me. And the only reason I can think of for the references to be so heavy-handed was appeasement. They are politicians, after all, and how dare we spend money on that godless science stuff.

Hawking’s speech itself was both a history of the field’s big names, and a brief walk through the many important areas of discovery that he’s been involved with. Some of the audience got his jokes, but it looked like many of them weren’t even aware when one was being made. I’m sure some were disappointed he didn’t touch on aliens or anything controversial.

New Scientist Review

He did put in a plug for his support of Perimeter at the end – as he should, now that he has his own wing. As he says, just bringing together all these minds from all over the world has got to be a step in the right direction.

For the last leg of our tour, we went to the seaside – West Coast. Ayr is a cute little town that is great if you like to golf and if the weather is nice. Unfortunately for us, neither of us likes to golf and the first day we were there was miserable.

From the train station, we found our B&B after getting turned around a few times and a bird shit on my arm–one thing you should know about Ayr is that they aren’t very imaginative in their urban planning, what with Beresford Street, Beresford Road, Beresford Crescent and Bellevue Lane, Bellevue Street, Bellevue Place and Carrick Road where we stayed had 5 different names, so have a map and don’t get too drunk. Chalmers B&B was lovely and our room was spic and span with crown moldings to die for. It was my turn for the little bed. Even though it was windy as hell and a bit rainy, we headed out to find the Tourist Info and seaside.

Had lunch at a funky place in the downtown area called The Treehouse, and it poured while we were in there. We were the only people except for a crazy dog-walker that ventured on to the promenade in the afternoon and all we got for our troubles was a sand facial. I was envisioning a nice walk on the beach and maybe some lounging but it was not to be.

No one but us, the wind, the sand, and a crazy dog-walker

So in the end this day was a bit of a bust and if I had to do it over again, I’m thinking we would have booked elsewhere. Dinner was a pleasant surprise though – quite authentic Italian at a seaside hotel – the Ariabiata sauce was fresh and the olive oil was thick enough to run a luxury car. After dinner we had a yen for dessert and whisky and found the Beresford Wine Bar & Art Gallery which was marvelous in the way that only fabulous gay owners can muster: really interesting art on the walls, gorgeous cufflinks on the owners and sprite of a waiter who had a quick wit and a firm grasp on the nature of whisky and sweets. A real gem.

We caught the local bus the next morning out to Culzean Castle and Park. This was a very different castle experience, in that a) the castle is intact and b) it’s set up as it was in the 18th Century, which is pretty damned recent in castle time. The 500-acre estate includes a deer park, swan pond, walled gardens, walking trails in woods and across fields, as well as a stretch of beach. The castle has been in the Kennedy family since the middle ages (not those Irish Kennedys, one of the guides was quick to point out). But in the time-honoured way, some gambling, some drinking and all around profligacy left the clan in a situation: taxes owed were more than worth of estate. Ergo, now it’s a “national trust treasure”.

The castle approach - nice pile

A Kennedy helped Mary Queen of Scots off her husband Lord Darnley in 1567, and it was another one who was arrested for drunk driving and go over 20 mph in the 1920’s.

The castle itself was redesigned and extended in the 18th Century by Robert Adam in the grand neoclassical style and it’s this phase of its life that has been preserved. We couldn’t take pictures inside (again) but the furnishings and design were quite something–gave me additional fodder for my imagination the next time I read some late 18thC parlour lit.

The grounds were gorgeous – we walked many kilometers I’m sure, through the gardens and to the pond and then I also found some crazy path through the woods to the steps down to the sea. The day was gorgeous as well -sunny and mid-20s, so it was quite a nice wander. By the end of the day, however, I think we were feeling it in our feet after a week of “hills go up”.

Walking down into the formal garden at the castle

The end of the walk down to the beach

For our last dinner in Scotland, we went to the Carrick Inn up the street from our B&B. Dinner was good – and I had Cullen Skink as my appetizer, which is the very Scots version of chowder I guess, with smoked haddock (very good) and potatoes in a cream base. Definitely the kind of thing that would warm your innards on a cold and wet night. When it came time for my whisky though, our waiter, who was all of 16 (and looked 14), was at a loss on recommendations. I asked if they had any Caol Ila so he went off to check with the bartender. Came back and asked me if I meant “Kahlua” to which I replied, “what kind of Scot are you? Kahlua?” In the end, I had to walk over to the bar myself to find a suitable selection. I mean, really.

And that was it, pretty much. Our next morning was a leisurely breakfast before heading off to the airport (where I did find my Caol Ila, and a big bottle of it at that).

All in all, a wonderful week away.

Full photo album for Ayr & Culzean

I was much anticipating our nutters tour – also known as The Da Vinci Borders Tour. My priorities being a) to see Rosslyn Chapel and b) to make fun of said nutters I was hoping would be on the bus with their tattered copies of the tripe disguised as a novel by Dan Brown, trying to give each other secret handshakes and muttering about Albinos.

If you want to read something interesting with conspiracy and Rosslyn Chapel, do yourself a favour and pick up Foucault’s Pendulum instead. But I digress.

Unfortunately, instead of enjoyable nutters, we got stuck with a touring group from Denver comprised of a gaggle of teens and their cougar escorts who did nothing to dispel the stereotype of American females for those who know them only from episodes of Wives of… and slasher films. The ersatz leader insisted that the tour guide read the oeuvre of Diana Gabaldon because she’s awesome! and her books are awesome! and historically accurate!

The only other people on the bus were a lovely couple from Cornwall who were equally horrified.

Also unfortunately, Rosslyn has been under construction/renos for quite a long time now so the outside was fully obscured by scaffolding, and once inside we weren’t allowed to take photographs AND the barrel ceiling was all covered up.

But back to the beginning. Our tour guide was a bit of a sprite with a nice lilt and the gift of gab, when he wasn’t giving us tmi on the troubles with his cousins on his father’s side.

We drove out into the lowlands and down to the borders first to take in Scott’s View over the Tweed Valley – reported to be one of his favourites. From there, we stopped on some back country road and followed a path through a small wood (trespassing on some poor farmer’s land, I’m sure) to “the original Wallace monument”, which our guide introduced as “Homer Simpson in a skirt and an abomination”. He certainly is a shambles: his kilt’s on backwards and it’s about as short as a Denver cheerleader’s, and he’s got a bit of a paunch.

Reminds me of a little of a lake outside Dublin owned by the Guiness family

Mostly Simpson, but maybe a bit of the Iliad in there as well.

We then headed into Melrose for some time to visit the Abbey there and have lunch. I quite liked Melrose Abbey – known to be the resting place of the heart of Robert the Bruce (only his heart, after it was taken on a grand tour to Spain on a botched pilgrimage to the Holy Land), and also boasts the only known gargoyle of a pig playing the bagpipes. I took a lot of pictures at the abbey, since it had much that I like – ruins in a peaceful setting, a graveyard, some dead knights, and remnants of medieval tile that are to die for.

Open air beauty

can't get these at the Home Depot

While eating lunch in a little town square, we were visited by some rooks – like a bucolic cousin to the urban pigeon – who were pretty sure they were fooling us about their interest in our dessert.

Keeping with the templar theme of the day, we went to a small templar chapel outside of Rosslyn. In fact, I think it was called the Temple Chapel. Chapel is a ruin, but it was one of the most interesting graveyards I’ve seen in a while – wonderful folk art on the headstones. It was also in this little village where the guide related a story that there was a bell that chimed all of the time, but the villagers stopped it up with a rope once the famous “templar treasure” was found beneath the chapel. Heard later on the way back to the bus, “so they really tied up the bell? who found the treasure?” Sigh.

These are his kids (hopefully)

Finally, we made it to Rosslyn. It did not disappoint despite the tarps and scaffolding. I got to see the Apprentice Pillar! And the maize! And the green men! As well as the light spot on the wall where the Da Vinci hollywood types put some well-meaning props. I spent a lot of time reading through the plaques that highlighted some of the many wondrous things in the chapel. They are hard at work removing the grey slurry that was put all over the original golden sandstone in a misguided attempt at preservation – and it will be something to see in the sunlight once the original facade is restored. There is a scrolling picture tour at the official site if you want to see more.

We made it back to Edinburgh early afternoon and later headed over to The Grain Store – a mid-priced restaurant on Victoria Street off of the George IV bridge (which you wouldn’t know was a bridge unless someone told you, since it’s elevated and completely full of buildings – very cool). It specializes in local foods, and I thoroughly enjoyed the meal: awesome scallions with fresh peas and bacon, followed by a lamb ratatouille & potatoes.

On the way home, we stopped at The Malt Shovel–great name for a pub–for some scotch. Excellent thistle stained glass while we were enjoying our whisky.

My conclusion on this day? I could live here. No problem.

Photo album for Nutters Day

Went for a walk after work today and went through a walkway to a little park in the neighbourhood where you can see into people’s side yards and backyards. One house had what looked like a duck couple at their coy pond, until I got closer and realized they were the most lifelike garden gnome-duckens that I’ve ever seen.

I can’t figure out if it’s because they like ducks, or if this will keep away other ducks.

In any case, I was coming back around the block and I saw what looked like their gnome-cousin in the form of a squirrel, frozen in a “stand” position. Until I was exactly in front of him and he suddenly sprang forward and scared the living crap out of me.