How difficult is it to have a conversation? Not difficult at all you might say. Only I’ve noticed recently that it can be fraught with interruptions and that each train of thought is derailed so many times the point being made is infinitely diluted to the merest nothing; a cosmic vapour; sound bombs lost in a chilly October wind.

Example 1

The Scene: City Centre Car Park with Husband

The Scenario: Constant noise/situation pollution stamps out all attempt at sustained conversation

Upon exiting the car, I being a conversation (can’t remember what about now…) Having parked on the roof of said carpart, we have to walk downstairs, passing through a stairwell that stinks of piss. I hold my breath. Doors are opened and held and closed. I carry on my thread of conversation. We have to show our car park token to an attendant and wander along the busy platform of the train station. Falling back into step, I continue, only to be interrupted by a tannoy announcement about a delayed train. OK – carry on. The tannoy announcement is repeated. Start again. Refuse free newspapers/magazines, and wander along the street. Building work, pneumatic drills, noise pollution so loud we can’t carry on a conversation. Walking uphill, people in front smoking so I get a lungful of second-hand smoke. Thanks. I forget what I was saying and give up.

Example 2

The Scene: Shopping with the Mothership

The Scenario: Visual disruptions make conversation futile

Me (with burning desire to off-load facts): “So, you know how I told you about [key topic at forefront of mind]…”

Mothership: “Erm, remind me again. Ooh, look. Aren’t they lovely. Shall we go in [passing a shop window]?”

Me: “OK. Yeah so remember…”

Mothership: “Oh before I forget did I tell you I won £5 on the Thunderball again? I meant to say on the phone. It really is better than the normal lottery. Anyway, go on.”

Me: “Right, well the thing is…”

Mothership: “Is that [random person] over there?”

Me: “No.”

Mothership: “Sorry. You were saying…I must just nip in here to get those special porridge oats actually. Hang on a minute.”

Me: “Shall we go for a coffee so we can sit down properly?”

Mothership: “Good idea. I’ll just nip to the loo.”

Me (internally): Why do I bother?

 And it’s not just these scenarios that leave me irritated by interruptions and unable to converse. Restaurants are places where many crimes against conversation are committed.

Picture the scene – you meet up after work for a mid-week meal out OR set out on ‘date night’ for a romantic evening. Shown to your table, you order drinks, bit of chit chat, peruse the menu, then the evening can begin. Soaking up the atmosphere, recounting anecdotes from the day, catching up on conversation…until they bring out the bread rolls and butter, swap some cutlery about and perhaps uncork a bottle of wine at the table. Then the candle – if not already – has to be lit/swapped/snuffed. All of these interruptions take place at non-consecutive times, giving you just enough time inbetween to start out on a protracted thread of convo, but stare awkwardly at each other for the duration of the interruption, de-railed and confused.

“Are you ok for drinks?”

“Bloody fine – we’re having a convo, yeah?”

Then the meal arrives. Great stuff. Starving. Start eating, then just as you have a mouthful of food, they come over and ask if everything is OK.

“Mmmph. Thanhgihgks.”

When you finish eating, you just want the plates cleared and they are NO-WHERE TO BE SEEN, OR, you’re so thirsty and need another drink and can’t do anything to grab someone’s attention.

Dessert. Maybe. You’ve got a few questions perhaps about what each one includes/entails/is made of. Your heart is set on the mouth-watering-brilliant-super-seductive-whatever-with-ten-cherries-on-top. Oh but they don’t have that. Didn’t they say when they gave you the menu? Ooops.

Right, just the bill then. But everyone is gone; in hiding. It’s like a ghost-town and no-one wants to rattle your chains. You’re so full, you’re glad they didn’t have that sumptuous-sounding dessert. But now you just want to get home/get to the pub/lie down and die in super-soft pyjamas.

Not for nothing will they notice you now. You’re over as far as they’re concerned. If you aren’t ordering anything more and they’ve pumped you for all the coffee you can drink, what’s the point in wasting their energies on you? Until you start getting your scarf, hat, gloves and coat on. That does it. The conversation though? What conversation.

So it’s just the interminable wait for the card machine to crunch through your plastic; everyone staring at it, willing it to work, to spit out the thin papery trail of your romantic evening as you suck on a mint. Unless you want to add some gratuity?

No, I WANT TO BE LEFT IN PEACE TO HAVE A PRIVATE CONVERSATION!!!!!!!!!!!!

1 Comment | In: Lifestyle, Wannabe Journalist | tags: carpark, city centre, conversations, interrupted, interruptions, noise pollution, restaurant, Shopping. | #

I just downloaded some pictures from my phone and rediscovered these beautiful flowers that compelled me to capture them in a little frame of time. They can be found in the Kibble Palace within the Botanic Gardens, which I visited recently with my friend Rachel. I hadn’t visited for years, which is usually the way when you live close to something. Tragic.

There is a whole amazon-jungle section complete with the dense canopy of exotic leaves and palms you would expect in tropical climes. An unmistakable musk of undergrowth; sweet and laden with promise permeates the air, the occasional droplet of condensation smacking onto the flora below. 

On the day we visited, there was a section cordoned off with the kind of plastic tape the police use to protect a crime scene. I wondered if someone was going to jump out in front of us and shout: “There’s been a murder!” in full Glaswegian patois, shooing us away with a gruff eyebrow and a bark worse than death. No one did. But it definitely got me to thinking that the Kibble would be quite a good place to commit a murder:

• Relatively quiet
• Lots of cover from plant life
• Soil to bury the evidence
• Hosepipes lying around to wash away footprints/blood

I’m not even into CSI but I do have an over-active imagination… Luckily on this occasion we got in and out safely, suitably inspired by the plants and flowers on display.

I particularly loved these specimens as they look so perfectly formed, so intricate; almost as if they have been carved from wax with a precision tool. A waxwork museum dedicated to flowers. That would be well worth a visit!

No Comments | In: Lifestyle, Photography, Wannabe Journalist | | #

It’s true: my mind is an ever-collapsing sand dune of ideas, inspirations, needy rants and buried treasure in the form of secret, detailed amazing memories that may or may not be completely fictitious. It is subject to the merest hint of a breeze, reshaping thoughts and feelings and plans. It simply cannot focus, instead sniffing and somersaulting into new territories like a greedy ferret.

Recently I have been extolling the virtues to anyone who would listen – and many who weren’t – of OneNote. It comes free with the Microsoft Office suite (2007 onwards, or you can buy it as a standalone package), and has quietly revolutionised my burgeoning collection of ideas, quotes, favourite words, things to do, places to go, secret recipes…everything in fact.

OneNote is an application that allows you to create multiple online ‘Notebooks’, linking pages, ideas and research together. I dabbled with it a few years back but was wary of its ‘handy hints’ and offers of help. Wasn’t a simple word document just as good Actually, no.

I stumbled into OneNote again recently and was re-inspired by notes and tit-bits I had collated in my initial foray, and subsequently forgotten about. I could pinpoint the exact dates too – OneNote automatically saves that information for you. Not just a snappy name then.

*** Disclaimer – I am in NO WAY associated with Microsoft or working on commission *** Read more …

3 Comments | In: Lifestyle, Wannabe Journalist, Writing | tags: brainstorm, creativity, docs, files, google, google docs, microsoft, mind map, mind mapping, notebooks, one note, onenote, organising, pages, planning, tabs. | #

I knew I’d enjoy it, that I’d relish every second and wouldn’t want to leave. It was like the pinnacle of self-actualisation, where thoughts and words and worries and dreams cease to exist as the body transcends reality and your soul plunges and soars with the jets of the Hydro Pool.

Being a 5-Star Spa, the moment the elevator transported us to minus one and we emerged into the sparsely lit vacuum of mood-lit elegance, the trigger to relax seeped through our veins. As I devised a secret code for my personal locker equipped with water, towel and robe, I could only begin to conjure the experiences that awaited us beyond the wooden door.

The Thermal Spa Experience: Birthday Treat for Mr J.

Image Copyright: The Townhouse Company Limited Read more …

No Comments | In: Lifestyle, Wannabe Journalist | tags: 5 star spa, blythswood hotel, blythswood spa, blythswood square, crystal steam room, glasgow, hydro pool, ice flakes, laconium, relaxation, sauna, saunarium, spa, tepidarium, thermal experience, vitality pool. | #

One of my favourite beaches in the world is the remote beauty to be seen at Lossiemouth in the north of Scotland. My Dad has been taking me there for years now; a scenic afternoon jaunt and maybe a snack at the fabulous 1629 Restaurant. Or is it the 1828? I always get it mixed up.

Normally we walk right out along the beach, picking up shells and maybe having a quick paddle. The water is never what you could describe as ‘warm’, but on this particular occasion even the wind was bitingly cold so we gave the beach a miss.

I took some pretty pictures of the harbour instead – I find the little fishing boats and bigger tugs so fascinating with all their vibrant colours, interesting names and collective intrigue. Sadly, Lossie Harbour is no longer the thriving fishing port it once was. Dad remembers visiting as a young boy and being taken in by the busy bustle of men at work; the lively port atmosphere; the smell of the fish and the harbourside banter.

On the day we were there it was threatening rain, but the boats just bobbed about quietly as always. Serene and reassuring. We got ice cream on the front from Miele’s of Lossie, and sat in the car to eat it. Many people were doing the same just to get the full effect of a day at the beach, despite the lack of sunshine. Lucky Dad still has his big black umbrella…

No Comments | In: Lifestyle, Travel, Wannabe Journalist | tags: 1629 restaurant, beach, boats, fishing, harbour, ice cream, lossie, lossiemouth, marina, miele's of lossie, port, rain, sea, seaside, shells, tugs. | #

When I look back with less-than-fond memories of my school days in the Highlands, I remember the appeal of going ‘down the street’ at lunchtime to find mischief, buy illicit cigarettes and sniff out some more appealing fayre than the school canteen had to offer. On a recent trip back in time, visiting my Dad who is well-suited to the rural pace of life, I found some interesting bits and bobs on the bright and shiny High Street of Grantown on Spey.

First up I spotted The Craft Lounge. If only it had been there when I was at school! I couldn’t wait to peek inside and found a veritable cornucopia of crafty gifts and mesmerizing craft supplies. From the felted owls that would do nicely as pin cushions, to the black and gold spotty ribbon I just had to have, Dad couldn’t get me out of there. I also bought faceted floral buttons, a necklace making set and some grey ‘button’ earrings of the kind I have always craved.

Moving along to Donaldson’sthe hardwear-cum-giftshop, I was looking for those spring/wire devices for displaying decorative plates on the wall. They had them in many sizes and only 59p each? Perfect! I splashed out on three. I also spotted some to die for cup-cake cases in metallic red, black, turquoise, gold and green. If only I had spotted those in time for my party eh? Perusing the shelves I pawed at hanging baskets for fruit and veg in the kitchen, olde-worlde clocks, bottle-cleaning brushes in an array of sizes and jam-jar lids with pretty paper covers. It’s another world of giftery and useful knick knacks that I just wouldn’t have time to browse usually. Maybe the rural life would suit me? There is always something going on.

Next up we popped into The Flower Box, which is all kitted out with pretty bird boxes and crates of flowers sitting on the pavement outside. I felt like I was having a Provence moment. From there it was into Chaplin’s Ice Cream Parlour for a chocolate milkshake made with a scoop of real ice-cream floating in the tall Knickerbocker glory glass. I fancied another but social etiquette forced me to decline.

A trip up to the good old Grantown Post Office even had me checking out the shelves – scrapbooks, stripy paperclips, coloured pens, chalk, sticky tape and Christmas decorations. What an exciting array to tempt you on the way to pick up a stamp! I also recognised a few of the other shops – Marjorey’s the hairdresser and The Candy Box the sweet shop.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

Grantown on Spey is approx 35 south of Inverness, or 12-15 miles north of Aviemore. It has some pretty woodland walks, lots of Christmas lights with a New Year Street Party to rival any, my old Grammar School, a caravan site, Marjorey’s the hairdressers where I had my first (and only) perm, a fish doorknocker on someone else’s door that may or may not be a family heirloom and my Dad.

No Comments | In: Lifestyle, Travel, Wannabe Journalist | tags: donaldsons, grantown, grantown on spey, high street, highlands, ice cream parlour, marjorey's, the candy box, the craft lounge, the flower box. | #

On a recent visit to my Dad’s in the wilds of the Cairngorm National Park, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when re-discovering a certain piece of household equipment which is almost deserving of a place in a museum. Or at least the Christmas table.

Perhaps it could feature in a display on ‘The Way It Used To Be’ or a humorous retrospective of ‘The Domesticity Of Yesteryear’?* Either way, I don’t think they make them like this anymore.

The item in question is a Hoover hoover (or Vacuum Cleaner to be properly PC), all wired-on blue bag shaft, scuffed ceramic face and original red Hoover logo. It is a classic; a true vintage relic!

As Dad relays the story again of how ancient this (working) Hoover really is, I marvel at the manufacturing mavens who produced such a quality piece of equipment. I mean OK, he doesn’t vacuum everyday, or live in a palatial mansion with endless corridors of oosie carpet…but it’s still impressive.

Purchased for £14, it was already second-hand; a reconditioned model my parents bought when they were first married and setting up home together. As in before I was born. I am thirty.

Every year Dad takes it to a special Hoover Man for a service and had the foresight to stock-pile the relevant dust bags some years ago when extinction of said bags was a threat on the Hoover Horizon. His faith in the Hoover’s longevity is comforting and nice; a metaphor for a generation of trust in quality workmanship. 

This unassuming, slightly battered appliance is ripe for retirement in my opinion, but maybe it will have to carry on for another few years? Here’s to the next thirty!

So when I told Dad about the Make Do & Mend vintage market that I am attending on 21st May at Platform in Glasgow, we both came to the conclusion that ‘making do and mending’ is obviously in my blood. How marvellous.

*If any museums are interested in the purchase of this fabulous example of Hoover history, feel free to make us an offer!

No Comments | In: Lifestyle, Shopping, Wannabe Journalist | tags: glasgow, hoover, make do and mend, platform, relic, second hand, vacuum cleaner, vintage. | #

Striking new designs spanning elegance, sophistication, bridal, pretty, sweet and fun from the Dainty Dora Shop in Folksy. A pick of the favs:

No Comments | In: Shopping, Trends, Wannabe Journalist | tags: accessory, bridal, brooch, buttoniere, corsage brooch, dainty dora, elegant, fabric, fashion, folksy, fun, necklace, pin, sophisticated, summer, wedding. | #

Now the magnificence of beautiful sunshine has broken; dribs and drabs of rain and oppressive cloud hovering and ready to strike, it seems like the perfect epoch to diatribe about umbrellas.

I have had a turbulent relationship with umbrellas in the past, and for the last year or so, have shunned their brittle frames and inadequate waterproof canopies for the reliable services of my trusty black trilby. Oh yes, as others struggle to keep their brollies right-side out, buffeted by high winds and dodging other umbrella-flaunters with their lethal spokes, I stride purposely, unhindered, hands free and just a little smug.

Cutesy-Whimsical from Paperchase

That was until I visited Paperchase in Waterstones. It had been a while, so instantly I fell in love with their delightful, quirky designs and needed a reason to buy. Function perhaps? Then I saw it – transparent stick-together vinyl with a red plastic handle, red edging and cutesy Japanese print. It’s really a child’s umbrella but then I think of myself as a bit of a child. Their stuff appeals to me, despite being rather giraffe-like; I love small things. Teensy teapots, children’s books (and umbrellas!) and I always eat with a small spoon. It makes things last longer. Only nice things. Like ice cream, jelly and multitudinous desserts. Mmmm.

Anyway, so I’ve not had an umbrella for a while but I just had to have this one. It is a long-handled affair, the kind you take out on a day when it is already raining otherwise you just end up looking like a buffoon carrying a long-handled umbrella .The kind of day you might leave it on a bus? Read more …

2 Comments | In: Lifestyle, Shopping, Wannabe Journalist | tags: fox frame, le chat noir, marks and spencer, paperchase, paris, tiffany butterfly, tokyo trippers, umbrellas. | #

Now I know this train of thought is a little over the top, but a few weeks ago sitting in Morrison’s Cafe down the road, it is how I felt. Don’t get me wrong – the cafe is great. The perfect hangover cure, they do all day breakfasts, their prawn salad is spot on, generous portions, speedy service as you would expect. But somehow, when my Husband decided to buy a packet of pre-buttered sliced white bread to accompany his breakfast, I felt an incontrollable Look Of Disgust creep across my face.

I tend not to eat white bread myself, seeing as it makes you tired via the spiking of blood sugars and all other manner of digestive ills. Now and then I don’t mind it toasted if it’s there, in front of me. Buttered and warm and smelling that delicious buttered toast way.

But this sad little packet seemed to stand for all that is wrong with the world – war, famine, fraud, lying, cheating, alcohol abuse, pet abuse, terrorists and all manner of other terrible iniquities. Perhaps the beige-gray marble effect of the plastic table didn’t help. The bolted down picnic-style seats. Is it just me? Maybe I was having a bad day.

*NB. I still LOVE Morrisons Cafe and Husband enjoyed the bread tremendously, and will likely buy it again. It was fresh and tasted nice. “Leave my bread alone! There’s nothing wrong with the bloody bread!”, was his only defence.

No Comments | In: Lifestyle, Trends, Wannabe Journalist | tags: bread, bread makes you tired, buttered bread, morrisons cafe, sliced bread, sugar spikes, white bread. | #