Spilled Notes

Exmoors

I am a trek leader with the Edinburgh University Exmoor Pony Trekking Section (if you're ever in Edinburgh you should come out with us) which basically means I get to go out trekking with cute fluffy ponies in the beautiful hills south of Edinburgh.  Today was my first trek of the year, and it was actually sunny!  But cold, very cold - there were remnants of snow glistening on the hilltops.  It was a good trek, but I'm now exhausted and have cold feet - even after a hot shower.  One of the ponies, Zippy, clearly decided he wanted to be inside the tack shed, not outside in the mud, and climbed in!  I turned around and saw the back end of a pony disappearing - he headed straight for the food bin, but luckily couldn't get into it.  He tried it again twice more - obviously he didn't get the message when we made him leave the first time.

 

Arch of Heaven

I found this Scots phrase for a rainbow in the online Dictionary of the Scots Language, and thought it was so beautiful that it deserved to be shared.  I also found a lovely phrase for a fragmentary or imperfect rainbow - a silk napkin.  The image above (please excuse how bad it is, I only had my mobile on me at the time) shows a rainbow from North Bridge in Edinburgh, just next to Calton Hill.  I remember once walking back across the Links from Bruntsfield (no doubt after a trip to the chocolate shops) and seeing a rainbow that seemed to end at Appleton Tower.  Anyone who has ever seen Appleton will know that it's not the pot of gold you would expect at the end of a rainbow!  

My partner and I seem to see rainbows a lot when we're together, but also when we're not.  When we were travelling up to Edinburgh in September, and were on opposite sides of the country, we both saw rainbows in the same afternoon.  There's something so happy about rainbows; however grey and wet it is (and this is Edinburgh!), seeing a rainbow, even if it is just a silk napkin, always makes me smile.

Lepus dustus

You could be forgiven for not having heard of this species.  In fact I hadn't, until my partner and I came back after Christmas and found a small colony of them living in a corner of our bedroom.  A lesser-known relation of cuniculus dustus, better known as the dust bunny, the dust hare can grow to an enormous size if left unchecked.  Ours are threatening to take over the rest of the room, and have definitely outstayed their welcome, so it's time to turn to Dust Rodent Control (otherwise known as Henry) to save us.

My Small Orchestra

Andres Segovia once said that 'the guitar is a small orchestra'.  If that is the case, then an entire miniature orchestra has been staring at me reproachfully from the corner of the bedroom for the past fortnight. What with unpacking, sorting the bomb site that was (until very recently) the cupboard, washing mountains of clothes, fighting off the lurking dust hares, and, oh yes, that annoying thing called 'work', I just haven't quite got around to it.  But yesterday evening I actually felt like playing :-O So I got out my incredibly creaky stool, which sounds like it has a small creature trapped somewhere in it, retrieved my footstool from the clutches of an aspiring dust bunny, and began.  It didn't go as badly as it might have done, in fact some (small) bits went rather well.  I think I need to go to a guitar recital to inspire me.  I remember going to see Craig Ogden performing Rodrigo's 'Concierto de Aranjuez' (the second movement is quite possibly my favourite piece of music of all time) a few years ago, and walking out feeling invigorated and wanting to pick up my guitar and play for hours.  Or maybe I just need to find a new and exciting piece of music to get my teeth into.  I've just found a wonderful site with literally thousands of free, downloadable sheet music for classical guitar, so perhaps there will be something there.

An Elephant in the Room?

I love my flat in Edinburgh, but sometimes I really do wonder what the people upstairs get up to. Last year I was convinced I lived beneath a herd of elephants, and was hoping that my new flat would be somewhat quieter. But it was not to be. I don't know what they do, but it doesn't sound like it should be done at about midnight. My partner and I have come up with several possibilities. They either a) have a home gym (we've heard them on the rowing machine several times); b) have a home gym but have to move all the other furniture in the flat to be able to use it; c) have an obsession with rearranging their furniture late at night at least twice a week; d) are obsessive-compulsive feng shui practitioners; e) have a bed on casters (like we do); or f) have a pet elephant. I'm not sure how an elephant would cope with the spiral staircase in the building, so maybe that's not so likely! On the subject of elephants, if you're ever in Edinburgh I would highly recommend a visit to Elephants and Bagels, a relation of the more famous Elephant House (although you're more likely to be surrounded by students than tourists, HP fans and authors). Their warm bagels are just the job on a chilly Edinburgh day.

Ladies Who Dance Together

Having not danced since September, my partner and I decided it would be good to find somewhere to go in Edinburgh. Having hunted around on the net, we found a social session in Leith Town Hall, which sounded like the sort of thing we wanted - nice and relaxed, no pressure - so we gave it a go. On our arrival, we found a large, rather empty hall, with a lot of couples at least 30 years our senior. The first dance was a waltz - great, something we can do! But as soon as we stepped onto the floor, we very nearly became ballroom roadkill! They were all amazing - fast, with lots of fancy twists and things - think Strictly Come Dancing. So we spent most of the hour watching, interspersed with a few dances. I think there were murmurs going around though, as one gentleman came over and asked if either of us wanted a partner - we politely declined, but that wasn't the end of it. A little while later, just as we were about to get up for another waltz, another gentleman came over and very insistently asked (or maybe demanded would be the correct word?) one of us to dance. As L usually leads, it fell to me. It wasn't quite as bad as I expected, and he even helped me out when I was clearly doing the wrong steps (as he was doing things I've never done before), but when it was over he said he'd be back for a dance with L later. It was time to plan our escape. I think seeing two women dancing together clearly perplexed the rest of the group. Another gentleman came over (just as we were preparing to leave) and asked if we usually danced together. When we said yes, he paused for a moment, and then said - 'There's a competition every January in Blackpool for...ahem... ladies who dance together'. Slightly floored, we nodded and smiled (this seemed the safest option). If we hadn't already been plotting our escape, this would have had us tunneling through the perfectly polished floor. We made a hasty exit into the chilly Leith night and waited for our bus home. Hopefully without the almost overpowering scent of vodka this time. 'Ladies who dance together,' repeated L with a wry smile. 'Now there's a euphemism I haven't heard before.'