Tuesday, 11 April 2017
I really have little interest in watching sport. There are a few exceptions which I do try and watch and enjoy: the Oxford and Cambridge Boat Races (brilliant now that the ladies race is given as much TV time as the men's), the Grand National and The Golf Masters from the stunningly beautiful Augusta National Golf Club.
Having been born in Liverpool it's inconceivable that I wouldn't have come into contact with the Grand National. Almost everyone used to have a flutter (usually as a member of a workplace sweepstake) and may, so far as I know, still do. My family made a (minor) killing in 1956 when E.S.B. won the race. My maternal uncle's initials were E.S.B. Enough said!
This year I knew one runner: One For Arthur and I knew about him because he was the only Scottish trained horse in the race and the owners, registered as Two Golf Widows, managed to make the Scottish news before the race.
I decided to have a flutter and then realised that to do so I'd probably have to set up an online betting account so abandoned the idea. It's a shame because my intended £10 would have netted me £140 which would have provided a case of an acceptable red. Hey ho.
Then on Sunday night I stayed up to watch the enthralling final round of The Masters where the last people on the course, Justin Rose (England) and Sergio Garcia (Spain), battled it out and at the end of four rounds and 72 holes were level so went to a sudden death play-off. They are friends and their respective partners (wife and fiancée respectively) were very obviously friendly as well. I would have been very happy for either to win but Sergio in his 74th Major event managed his first Major title.
There was an added poignancy because it would have been his fellow Spanaird the late Severiano "Seve" Ballesteros's 60th birthday.
I was pleased that he won. However what was really heart-warming in this age of business which is called sport was the wonderful attitude that the defeated Justin Rose displayed.
Friday, 7 April 2017
It's probable that CJ will identify this Diptera but if Adrian had still been in Blogland I'm sure that he or one of his readers would have been on the case tout de suite. My best guess is a Cynomya mortuorum but I could be way out. Diptera are really not my strong point. It was on a Grape Hyacinth in my garden today. I thought it was rather beautiful.
Monday, 27 March 2017
Every answer to a question by a journalist on television these days seems to start with "So..." Am I the only one who finds that intensely irritating.
And whist I'm on the subject of irritating things can anyone explain the rational behind the practice that seems to have developed in the UK (I have no idea whether other countries/cultures also have the practice) of clapping oneself in a situation where one would usually expect other people to do the clapping.
Friday, 24 March 2017
Wednesday, 22 March 2017
Many of you, my dear readers, will know what a Weegie is but many of you will not. A Weegie is a Glaswegian. The Scottish equivalent of a Liverpool Scouser. The difference being that Weegie has an obvious link with the term Glaswegian and Scouser has no grammatical link to Liverpudlian. (I do like rambling introductions).
There has been a rumour for the last couple of centuries that the folk from Lewis are a dour Presbyterian lot. Presbyterian many may be. Dourness is, however, fading fast and, even then, I'm not sure a many deserved the accolade.
Some years ago a number of statues began to appear in Stornoway. This is one of them. Recently someone with a sense of humour (and probably with Glasgow connections) has tried to outdo the Weegies as their own game.
So what, you might ask, is the Weegies game? It is adorning the head of the Duke of Wellington statue outside the Museum of Modern Art in Glasgow's Royal Exchange Square with a traffic cone.
Monday, 20 March 2017
This week we visited the Huntarian Art Gallery. I enjoy going back every so often to see the Whistler collection and a few other special pieces. Often there is a special exhibition and I never cease to be amazed when I find something new to see in a work I've seen a dozen time before.
Anyone who knows the work of the American artist James Abbott McNeill Whistler (1834 to 1903) will have their favourites (assuming they like his work). His most iconic works (I think) are his life-size portraits which started with The Symphony in White No 1. The Hunterian has a significant number of these portraits. However whilst they are wonderful works (they have a vaguely Pre-Raphaelite feel about them which attracts me) far and away my favourite work is a small portrait apparently unusually done in one sitting entitled Dorothy Seaton, A Daughter of Eve (1903).
There are a great many versions of this image on the internet including an enlargable one on the Hunterian website at the last link I have given .
This is how I see it:
Saturday, 18 March 2017
One of the things that I do when I am in someone's house is look at their book shelves. Books interest me. In fact books interest most people that I know.
I was recently reminded of an incident about 40 years ago when I was living a few doors away from one of my colleagues. We were both new to the Isle of Lewis and were both from the North West of England. Our families had become friendly. We often shared a car into work.
One day I was in the friend's house waiting for him to get ready (I am compulsive about being on time. He wasn't). I started looking at the books on his bookshelves. When he came into the room I said (and I have absolutely no idea why I said) "I hope you don't mind me looking at your books." To which he responded that he most certainly did. Of course I thought he was joking. He was not. He went on to opine that it was a violation of someone's privacy because you could tell too much about a person from their bookshelves.
I suppose that he was correct but I certainly hadn't seen that coming.
Would you object if I was looking at your bookshelves and do you think I would learn a lot?
Wednesday, 15 March 2017
Where does time go? Where do people go? On this day 15 years ago (and it seems like such a short time) the mother of CJ and me died at the age of 93 with all her faculties. It was her decision to, as she believed, join her husband and many of her friends.
Today the father of a very close friend died. A few days ago a friend in New Zealand died. All during one's life people die but as one gets older it is those of the same age who start dying and somehow this brings one's mortality to one's notice quite forcibly.
This first photo was taken in the early 1930s by my Dad. Mum would have been in her 20s.
I have blogged this photo before. I took it perhaps over half a century ago and it's a photos of which I've always been quite proud.
This photo was taken in the caravan we had towed up to Scotland in about 1960 and somehow the dress doesn't reflect the fact that the caravan was in a waterlogged caravan site at the foot of Ben Nevis. Mum hiked (tramped) and camped all over the English Lake District and Wales but somehow always seemed to be beautifully turned out.
This photos was taken on the same caravanning holiday in Killin. I've spared CJ and me the embarrassment of our photos being shown.
How things have changed.
Monday, 13 March 2017
A short while ago Rhymeswithplague wrote a post entitled On approaching the end of one's time on this planet, plus Davy Crockett which, amongst other things, asked the question as to how one should approach life at that time. Bob is a person with strong religious beliefs so some of the comments inevitably revolved around achieving salvation.
My comment was that my motto is simple: carpe diem. As I am atheist I don't try and please a deity but to live as I have always done trying to be considerate to those other humans (at one time I would have said 'my fellow men' but I understand that is frowned upon nowadays) with whom I share this planet. I don't expect or seek salvation. I'd just like others to show me the same consideration.
To which Bob recommended the short poem "Abou Ben Adhem" by Leigh Hunt for my reading pleasure. As for the not seeking and not expecting, his hope was that I will be pleasantly surprised.
I was astonished because I had not thought about that poem for many years but I responded that some of my Mother's teaching obviously rubbed off on me because it was one of both my Mother's and her Mother's oft quoted works. Not that either of them were atheist.So, for those of you who are not familiar with the work here it is:
Abou Ben Adhem
By Leigh Hunt
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?"—The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
Saturday, 11 March 2017
Until I read Lee's recent post I'd forgotten how unusual the expression 'Bring a plate' must sound when one first arrives in Australia or New Zealand (and perhaps other places of which I am unaware). It is the usual practice when going to a party or when an organisation such as a croquet club is having a function or tournament for guests or members of the host club to 'bring a plate' of food.
It became my standard offering to make a cheesecake. Why? Because the first time that I can recall doing it was for a croquet tournament the club of which I was a member was holding. That must have been in about 2007 and it led to the following incident.
When I came into the clubhouse from a game I was met by a lady from a visiting club who, loudly and in front of all present, asked if I was Graham. That is my name so I decided on an honest approach and admitted as much. "Then marry me!" That, I have to admit totally threw me. I looked around at all the amused faces hoping for help. Of course none came. My obvious perplexedness (I'm sure there's no such word but I'm equally sure that you'll understand what I mean) caused her to ask if I was the maker of 'the cheesecake'. I confirmed that I was. So she repeated her offer of marriage. She was wearing a wedding ring but as she was obviously older than I she could have been a widow. Anyway I took a gamble and said that I didn't think her husband would approve. "Bugger him!" was her response.
At this point I should explain that the term "bugger" is not regarded as a swear word in New Zealand and I doubt very much that many people even know its legal meaning. It is often used by ladies of a certain age without as much as a batted eyelid.
A couple of years ago I was at a tournament and the said lady was talking to a friend. I said 'Hello' as I joined the group and she looked at me and said "Do I know you?" My friend told her that she had once proposed marriage to me. She didn't bat an eyelid; looked me straight in the face and asked if I had accepted. "No." I replied. "Your loss." she retorted and carried on with the conversation.
Of such memories is life's rich tapestry made.
Wednesday, 8 March 2017
For the last few years when I have spent much of my winter in this country I have looked forward to spring. Before the decade of winters spent in New Zealand I didn't think about winter in a negative way at all. I worked during the day and I hunkered down at night and did winter things. Now the days when it's dark until after 8am and dark again by 4pm have begun to pall. More than that, though, is the uncertainty of being able to leave the Island. Winter gales often stop the ferries and even, on occasion, the planes. However as I can't take my car on the plane and, being over 70, I can't hire a car at my destination I rarely fly unless I'm going abroad.
This year we've actually had one of the sunniest winters on record although that hasn't stopped the gales and rain from playing their usual part in our lives.
But there are signs of Spring. Yesterday the Blackbirds were singing their hearts out as the light faded and I heard a Wren. Today I saw a Wren in the garden and the frogs decided it was party time and the first spawn appeared about 10 days earlier than the last time I can recall the event.
Tuesday, 28 February 2017
When I was in Inverness a few weeks ago with my son Gaz we stayed at the Glenmorriston Hotel on the bank of the River Ness. I used to stay there years ago when it was far less "upmarket" than it is now. There were no Singapore Sling cocktails available 'back in those days'. After an excellent dinner Gaz and I decided to take advantage of the very cold, crisp late evening air and go for a walk along the river or, to be more accurate, along one bank and back along the other.
|The view from my bedroom window|
|Looking back towards the hotel (not in view) and the Castle. The old Highland and Islands Development Board offices between the camera and the Castle are now luxury apartments|
|The road bridge from the town centre towards Loch Ness and Fort William|
|There are a lot of churches on the river's banks|
|One of several footbridges|
|Just a closer view|
|Just a wider view|
Friday, 24 February 2017
Monday, 13 February 2017
Yesterday we went to the Kelvingrove Museum and Art Gallery. I love going there and have blogged about it many times. Today I looked, as I always do, at some of my favourite paintings by The Glasgow Boys and then, whilst listening to the afternoon organ concert, wandered around the gallery on the first floor looking at familiar sculptures and, in particular, at the faces. I have probably blogged about these statues before but when I concentrated on the faces I could just concentrate on the emotions captured in the materials.
This face is from a statue entitled The Sunflower carved in Portland Stone by Gilbert Ledward in about 1932.
I don't think that I've ever shown this one before. It's entitled Paul and Virginia and was carved in about 1841 by William Calder Marshall. It depicts a scene from a French poem with Paul carrying his devoted playmate over a raging river. She later dies at sea and Paul dies of a broken heart.
The next is a bronze cast for a gravestone. It is entitled Memorial to a Marriage by Patricia Cronin. The explanation follows the picture.
Syrinx (the beauty who attracted the unwanted advances of Pan in Greek mythology) by William Macmillan was awarded the accolade of Best Sculpture of The Year in 1925 by the Royal Society of British Sculptors.
The Spring Tide of Life by Robert Colton in 1903 depicts the children gazing from the crest of wave as if into a wonderful future.
Of course anyone who has followed my blog for any length of time knows of my love for the sculpture entitled Motherless by George Anderson Lawson (1832 - 1904). Few sculptures show more emotion than this.
Lastly is the face of the Rt Hon the Lord Macfarlane of Bearsden KT who was chairman of the Kelvingrove Refurbishment Committee amongst many other things. I just thought that it was an 'interesting' face. When we had finished wandering we went down to the restaurant for coffee. I showed Anna the photo and asked her if she know who it was. "Of course" she replied "I was sitting near him at (her granddaughter's) school production recently." That was not an answer I had expected but it reminded me of the six degrees of separation which states that everyone in the world can, supposedly, be linked with everyone else in not more than six steps.
Sunday, 12 February 2017
I've not seen the film La La Land. It definitely seems to be a Marmite film. YP loved it. Frances Garrood held quite the opposite view. I've been holding back on expressing a view until I've seen it. However at The BAFTAS this evening (the first time I have ever seen the BAFTAS) when I discovered that I had never even heard of most of the films mentioned, La La Land swept the boards. It seems that Marmite is definitely in favour at the moment. I shall watch it with interest.
Tuesday, 7 February 2017
Last week Gaz and I went to Inverness on Monday morning and returned on Tuesday evening. On the outward journey across The Minch at dawn the weather was idyllic and I managed the following photos as we sailed into the mouth of Loch Broom towards Ullapool.
Then as we exited Strath Garve by road and saw the lower slopes leading towards Ben Wyvis the mist and frost gradually got thicker and colder.
Sunday, 5 February 2017
It's Sunday. My 'day off' from my recent day job at my son's house. As a full-time job it comes to an end this week as he's going back to the superyacht that is his home for two months out of every four. The house is almost finished. I will miss the day job very much indeed. However I will get back to the very full life that I had before.
This morning, after a late and very enjoyable night out with my son and his wife and family at Stornoway's finest restaurant, I'm sitting in bed with hot water and lemon and doing some catching up in Blogland before getting on with the day's tasks (which include finalising the designs for my next project: gutting and putting in a new kitchen).
I'm not sure why but something prompted me to see what I'd written on this day back in 2008 (the second year of my New Zealand blog). It was brief and to the point and reminded me (almost) of the unpredictability of Lewis weather.
It's very hard to understand how bizarre the weather is here at the moment. Two nights ago I had the air conditioning on for a short while before I went to bed because it was too warm. Yesterday morning it got up to 31.5 deg on the deck and I was working in shorts alone. This morning on the Croquet Lawn I was wearing long trousers, a body warmer, a fleece and a windproof jacket! Tonight I have the air conditioning on to warm the Cottage. We are supposed to be having a record hot, dry February according to the forecasters. Eh?
Wednesday, 1 February 2017
This post is plagiarised from (or written with apologies to) Mrs Slapthing at Mental Meatloaf.
Until relatively recently no one at all knew anything about my politics. I am not, and never have been a person who has been involved in Politics although I worked in a 'political' (but not party political) environment all my bureaucratic life. Theses days I still avoid politics whenever possible. Listening to people argue about politics makes me switch of the radio or the television assuming that I hadn't switched off before the programme.
That being said, I just wanted to thank the former President of the United States, Barak Obama, for his service to the world. He and his family have been an inspiration to many. Listening to him speak has been as positive as politics-related experiences get. He has shown the best combination of patience and power that I have seen at the helm of any country in a very long time.
The fact that President Obama and Michelle have been such real, warm, and accessible people has made many people all over the world happy that that family was in the White House.
It's so easy to think of the ruler of a country as some cold, tense person "up there" - but President Obama made it seem like having a family, a real life, and a wife that he loved was also possible while taking on the problems of a nation. He could walk with kings but not lose the common touch.
So many of us around the world thank him for that, and for all he has done to help not only the USA but people all over the world.
Many are afraid that the USA and, therefore, inevitable the world, is heading for a huge disaster. I would love to believe that is not the case but I'm not holding my breath.
In days to come, I think the rest of the world will be though.