Tribute

This statue of James Clerk Maxwell is on one of the main streets in town. He was a famous Edinburghian scientist whose work with electromagnetism led to great advances in photography and electricity, and whose equations are apparently second only to Isaac Newton's in importance. 

He also, apparently, invented the pizza cutter. Who knew?

Alfred Hitchcock must have visited Scotland at some stage.

As an Australian, I am used to encountering strange and sometimes terrifying wildlife in daily life. You have to deal with all sorts of creatures, and take it in your stride (although spiders, especially huntsmen, are a particular source of fear, and nothing will ever lessen the shock of coming face-to-face with one in the shower. I'm shuddering just thinking about it.) One really noticeable difference between Australia and Edinburgh is the general lack of insects inside and outside the house, although this may have been a winter-related thing.

 

However, while Australia seems to have more animals, reptiles and insects that will kill you than most other places in the world , there is something in Scotland that truly terrifies me: the massive birds.

Like Brisbane, Edinburgh is home to pigeons and seagulls. Unlike Brisbane, however, these pigeons and seagulls look like they've been on steroids, and that they could easily take down a small child. 

An Edinburgh pigeon would be easily twice the size of a Brisbane one, and the seagulls are even larger, proportionally. The sight of three or four seagulls gathered around bags of rubbish on the street is vaguely sinister, and I get the feeling that they're plotting something. 

There's also a pigeon that has taken to sitting in the tree in our garden, staring at the house. It's always there, looking at us, and it gives me the creeps. 

The other day, I peered out the window and couldn't see it in the tree. I smiled to myself, happy that it had decided to stop harassing us....when I spotted it on top of the roof of the office block next door, staring back at me.  I know it's completely irrational, but I get a really bad vibe from that bird.

The situation wasn't helped on the weekend when we were walking by the river. I came within millimetres of receiving a 'present' from a bird, and when I looked up into the trees, I saw it was a pigeon.  I know they look alike, but I could swear it was the same one that sits in the tree outside our house.

The weirdest, though, is some unidentified bird that looks like an enormous Willy wagtail, which I'm pretty sure are native to Australia. I have no idea what on earth they are doing in Scotland, but these things are HUGE. We once drove past a flock of these on the ground, and it was just weird.

There is really no way to properly describe these birds, and even photos do not do their massive size justice. Just be warned, if you ever plan a trip to Scotland, that there are many unexplained phenomena about, not just around Loch Ness.

Art and Arthur's Seat

Hi all. It’s currently 15.2 degrees at about 3:30 Sunday arvo. This is the warmest it’s been since we arrived and is another sign that spring is here. Birds have started twittering, bare branches are budding new leaves and the days are getting longer. The change of seasons seems to be so much more rapid here than back home. It’s exciting. We can’t wait for the long summer evenings when it stays light until 11pm-ish.

Since Max is now back home, we’ve been able to get out and about so much more and have been living it up!

Last Friday of the week before last we went after work for dinner and ended up a place called ‘The World’s End’ in the Royal mile. They advertised that they served the biggest and best pieces of fish on the mile. C. had the fish and it certainly must have been close to the biggest piece of fish I’ve even seen served at a restaurant: it hung about 10cm over either end of the plate. Of course, it was heavily battered and is not something that you can eat too much of. The Scottish do like their battered takeaways. I had haggis, neeps and tatties again, this time with a whisky cream sauce, and it was excellent. C. had a taste of haggis and commented that it didn’t taste too bad. I was very proud of her for trying it, although I have major doubt that she’ll ever eat any again. I also had a pint of Dark Island ale, one of the countless real ales that are on tap over here. I mention it specifically only because it was so unbelievably good.

The following day we tackled the Royal Museum of Scotland. It has 6 storeys and we only managed to get through 2 of them in 4 hours. The good thing is that we have plenty of time to see the rest of it. There are lots of interesting Roman and Viking artefacts, although after a while it became a bit of overload. There’re only so many Roman swords and helmets that you can look at before the eyes start to glaze over. We took side trip in one of the ‘fun’ parts where we saw Dolly, the world’s first cloned sheep, and a real Gemini space capsule.

On Sunday we woke up to find it had snowed during the night, much to our surprise. About an hour later it was snowing again, this time quite heavily. This seemed to be putting a dampener on our plans to walk around the New Town that day but, after having been stuck at home nearly every weekend for a couple of months, there was no way we weren’t getting out of the house.

We drove to the gym first then went back home to get changed. By the time we set out just after lunch all of the snow had melted and it wasn’t all that unpleasant being outside, apart from being a bit windy and sleety at times.

We walked around Stockbridge, the New Town, and visited all sorts of charity, book and other shops. The highlight for me was I J Mellis, a cheesemonger. I could have spent a long time just lingering over the wares but we only bought one thing, a chunk of gorgonzola that I now have come to realise is the best cheese. Ever. We ate it mashed onto slices of a baguette that we bought on our way home. Bliss.

This weekend we decided to visit the Gallery of Modern Art. As has been noted oft times, the enjoyment of art is highly dependent on the perspective of the observer. Our observation of some of the art was that it was complete tot. But good luck to the artist: if they can convince someone to give them money for a metal pole sticking out of block of concrete and get them to believe that it highlights the fragility of the ‘human condition’, then good luck to them. They certainly then are artists, alright, just maybe not the type they are purporting to be.

Having said that, there was a quite a lot that was interesting and different. One of artworks that fit into the ‘different’ category was a lamb preserved in a glass tank of formaldehyde. I can’t remember if there was a point to it, but the tank obviously wasn’t perfectly sealed as you could smell the formaldehyde went you entered the room. [Note from C: I think the point was to illustrate the fragility of life and show humankind’s relationship with death. But it just made me feel sorry for the poor little lamby.]

After the gallery, C. got her hair done while I wandered around exploring, looking at shops and buying some work clothes. When we met up again, we went to Crombies, a ‘Purveyor of Fine Meats’. They claim to have over 100 types of sausages. We couldn’t help but be reminded of Kel Knight. I wonder if Crombies inspired the character? We purchased 3 different types: Pork and caramelised onions, Northumbrian leek, and Whisky, hog and wild thyme and had them last night with greens and mashed potato. Pretty dang tasty.

Due to Edinburgh’s place as a centre of culture, science and the arts throughout history, it’s not unusual to stumble across places of note while just walking down a non-descript street. That happened yesterday to us while walking home. We went past a terrace house with a plaque that said, ‘The Icelandic National Anthem was composed in this house in 1874’. So now you know.

Today after going the gym, we climbed to the top of Arthur’s seat, the highest point in Edinburgh, located in the Holyrood park. It’s mostly easy going with just a couple of steep sections, but having just come from the gym, we were glad to get to the top and rest. We probably needed it to work off the sausages, haggis and battered fish of the last couple week.

Only a week and a few days until we head to Nuremberg, so we’re starting to get excited about that.

On the whole we are missing Max but not missing the restricted lifestyle. We feel like we’ve only now begun to enjoy ourselves properly here. More fun on the way!

Max Update

Just to let everyone know, Max has arrived safely!

We are relieved that he passed through the first stage of quarantine with no problems. I think we were both holding our breath in case the paperwork that took so long to complete wasn't up to scratch.

G's mum has been in contact with Max's carer, who says he's doing well and has eaten. Yay!

This should be the last Max-related post for a while.

In other news, after our lovely warm weather of last week, it's snowing today! Exciting!!

So long, Max.

(This is a joint post, though G wrote most of it.)

Yesterday was a memorable day for myriad reasons, though mainly because we took Max down to London in preparation for his big flight home on Tuesday. It was a reasonably early start and we were both a bit on edge as we had to drive Max to the vet for his final checkup at 9:30, wait for the Gerry the vet to give Max a final check and to fill in the paperwork, drive back to somewhere near home (hoping we could find a street park) and then get a bus in to the station for an 11:30 train. This was actually plenty of time if everything went smoothly and mostly, it did. However, as mentioned, we were a bit on edge, and this was not helped by the snail’s pace at which Gerry read every single word of the import /export forms and painstakingly filled them in. Initially, he said, ‘Let’s do the final check now and you can come later for the forms.’ That idea got kyboshed pretty quickly. There was not going to be a later.

The two forms were about 15 pages each, and had about 20 different places to write the current date in. Every time he went to write the date, he paused because he kept forgetting what it was, and meanwhile the time seemed to be flying by incredibly fast. We both were slightly terrified that we had missed some test or other requirement and that he would say, ‘Oh, Max can’t go back to Australia because of xyz….’, so when halfway through filling out the forms he suddenly put down his pen and looked at us without saying a word, our stomachs lurched. ‘Listen to that woman,’ he said, referring to a lady talking in reception that we had only vaguely been aware of. ‘Some people just don’t listen!’ After telling us the backstory, which we weren't the slightest bit interested in, he picked up his pen and started writing again. Meanwhile, we each gave ourselves CPR to restart our hearts.

A bit later he said, ‘Right. I’ve got to go and photocopy these forms for my records. I’ll have to use the copier in the shop next door although the owner opens up when he feels like it so it may still be shut.’ If the shop was closed, he’d nip into the MP’s office next door and blag the use of their machine.  Evidently, though, the shop was open, as he came back soon after with his copies and dished out our documents. We paid the bill and scrammed. The consult fee was only about £28 which was great considering it took about 1 hour and Max also was given worming tablets.

We ended up getting to the station in plenty of time, just before 11, but only because we were early to the vet and had kicked things off at 9:15. Otherwise things may have been a bit more tense.

We managed to get two seats together all the way to London which was a bonus. We had booked separately as work paid for G’s ticket (he worked in London on Tuesday. A good scam) and our reserved seats weren’t near each other. Max was very well behaved, apart from his usual insistence of lying down with a body part sticking out into the corridor. I think he was hoping someone would stand on him so he could pull out the old ‘How could you tread on a poor little puppy?’ routine and facial expression again.

The train was on time and we transited from Kings Cross out to Terminal 5 at Heathrow on the Tube. All good so far. We made our way to the taxi rank and were pleasantly surprised that there was no queue, fools that we were. There were 3 ‘taxi ushers’ hanging around gasbagging, a clear case of overpaid and overstaffed. One of them asked where we were going in his best broken English, and after C had repeated, ‘Horton’ three times, he gestured to the first cab and said, ‘You sort out with driver.’ Well, what’s the point of you then, mate?

C explained to the driver that we wanted to go to Horton, only a couple of miles away, drop Max off, and then return to Heathrow. ‘£55. Each way.’

We then explained to the driver what he could do with £55 each way, anatomically speaking, and we walked off while discussing other options.

After asking at information, we were given some numbers for minicabs and arranged for one to pick us up and return us to Heathrow. (As we walked off, we overheard one of the information booth staffers say to the other ‘I'm sure they mean the quarantine station, not the kennels...’ with a clear ‘they are so stupid’ inflection in her voice.)  

Over the phone we told the minicab people that we had to go to Horton to drop our dog off at kennels. Quote: £25.

Slightly better than £110.

While we waited for the minicab, we called the kennels to let them know that we were nearly there. At the same time, we asked for their postcode, just in case. (Explanation for people unfamiliar with the British postcode system: essentially, postcodes in the UK are specific to a single street, or even a single building in the case of some cities. If you know the postcode, you know exactly where you're going. Much more precise than in Australia, where postcodes encompass four or five suburbs!)

The minicab turned up in due course, we hopped in and drove off. Oddly enough, the driver didn’t ask where we wanted to go although the address we had given over the phone had been very non-specific. ‘Okay, so we’re going to Horton,’ we said, slightly bemused.

‘Yes. I think I’ve been there once before.’ We weren’t convinced, so, after a short pause, asked ‘Did you want to know the postcode?’ No response.

We seemed to be generally heading in the right direction and after a couple of minutes the driver gestured off to the right and said, ‘It’s just over there’. C mumbled out an ‘...okay?’ Then things started to get weird. We approached a roundabout and did a complete circle. And then another. And then around we went for a third time. We finally exited and started heading back to Terminal 5. Clearly, he had no idea where he was going. This whole time his phone was ringing continuously with a bizarre ring tone that sounded like a techno/reggae/sitar fusion with a woman’s voice saying, ‘Hello? Hello?’. He may have at this point answered the phone and received some directions.

After slowing down, practically parking and then doing a U-turn on what was effectively a freeway, we went almost completely round the roundabout again, and then somehow ended up a short time later, much to our surprise, at Airpets Kennels. Surprising, because it was not where we wanted to be. Once again: ‘Would you like the postcode?’ This time he chose to hear us and after 10 minutes we arrived at the right kennels. Before leaving the cab, we repeated four times, ’So you’ll wait here until we get back?’. He seemed to get the message and it’s unlikely that he would have driven off given that we hadn’t paid him yet, but we were still a little nervous about leaving our bags in the car.

The parting was abrupt and brutal. The lady who met us showed us around to the back and we put Max in a cell. All steel bars and concrete floor. We wish she had just taken him off us reception so we wouldn’t have had to see the conditions of the place. We now know why most boarding kennels won't actually let you see where your dog is going to stay, but simply taken him off you at the reception. As G described it, you could see the other dogs standing in front of their cell doors, running their little steel mugs back and forth across the bars while singing mournfully ‘Nobody knows the troubles I've seen...’ 

The last sight we had of Max was his little face staring at us, his expression clearly asking ‘What have I done wrong?’ Both our hearts ached.

We then signed a form and left. Abrupt and brutal.

Thankfully, the minicab was waiting for us and took us back to the airport. The driver still only charged us £25. I think it would have been a lot more if they had gotten the address right in the first place.

On a side note, one other event of note happened while we were at terminal 5. While walking around, G had noticed an ever-increasing discomfort in his right foot. So, while stopped in a lift, he took his shoe off only to find a huge piece of what looked like lint compacted from a washing machine. About 10cm by 2cm. How it suddenly appeared in his shoe was inexplicable. We had a laugh later on thinking about how the piece of lint probably spent the next few hours going up and down a lift at Heathrow.

The trip back into London seemed very long and was quite tiring. A dinner of pizza and beverages with M. was a pleasant end to the day and, as we didn’t start eating until about 9pm, was most welcome.

Max is due to fly out in about 3 hours so hopefully everything is order with his documents. Fingers crossed!