When I found out we were going to be leaving Edinburgh, I made a mental note that I should try and do some kind of personal guide to the place. An Edinburgh Alphabet. After ten years there, I’ve seen some of the best and the worst of the city, without ever making much effort to document it in a coherent way. I scribbled a few notes down, but never really found the time to do it properly. Now that we’ve left, it has actually become easier to think about. A bit of distance is making me reflect on the things I miss, the most important memories, and what it is for me that really characterise Edinburgh. This is very much a personal thing rather than a comprehensive guide, and I can’t guarantee the factual accuracy of anything I write, but here’s the first installation: A through to C.
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Category Archives: Scotland
Transition
This time a week ago, we were tucked into a wonderful – really wonderful – room at the Malmaison in Edinburgh. DorkyDad was using the free WiFi to check his emails; I was chilling out on the massive bed. Our request for breakfast in the room was hanging outside the door.
Our ‘last supper’ that evening had been at Fishers in Leith. DorkySon tasted sticky toffee pudding for the first time in his life. We drank wine, and had a wee wander along the Shore before heading back to our room, which looked out onto the twinkling water. Someone, somewhere, was setting off fireworks.
Earlier that day, a big truck had pulled up outside our house. DorkySon was beside himself with excitement. He said hello and shook hands with Andy, Mickey and Norrie – three perfectly named removal men – before I took him to spend the day down in Portobello with his Granny. I didn’t think he needed to see his life being packed into boxes.
We didn’t need to see that either, really. I distracted myself by making the guys endless cups of tea, and hoovering the empty rooms. DorkyDad and I went to say cheerio to some of the shopkeepers in Marchmont who have become good friends. There was a lot of backslapping and ‘it’s not goodbye, it’s see you later’.
I can’t believe that was only a week ago. Tonight we are sitting in the living room in our new place. I haven’t committed our new address to memory yet, but when I emailed it out to friends I got several replies saying that even Eliza Doolittle would struggle to say it correctly. There are a lot of aitches.
It has been a busy week. Two hotels, two trains, too many taxis to count, DorkySon’s first sighting of a red London bus, several large glasses of wine, and a lot of Peppa Pig videos on the iPad.
Mickey came back tonight – and packed some of our stuff back into the truck. Our table wouldn’t fit through the door of the new flat. Nor would my wardrobe; and there is no room for most of our books. They are going into storage for six months, somewhere near Dartford, until we find our forever house.
This is not a forever house, but it is fine, for now. It is comfy, and cosy. DorkySon has already taken over the hallway with his trucks. We have music in the kitchen; fresh flowers in the window (thanks Mum), and some of our pictures are up on the walls.
A new place always takes time to get used to. I planned today’s activities around a trip to the library, and DorkySon was jumping up and down with excitement at the thought of finding some new truck books. When we got there we discovered that it is, inexplicably, closed on Wednesdays. But instead we went for a walk and found a duck pond, and then a grand wee playground with a pirate ship.
I have been bowled over by the generous welcome of other mums in the area. We only got our internet connected yesterday, and from the one email I sent introducing myself on the local NCT list, I’ve already had a dozen replies with offers of coffee and walks to the park. I got chatting to someone in the queue at WH Smith this morning, and came away with a nursery recommendation.
God knows there have been a couple of wobbly moments. I am trying hard to define this new place by what it is – and the kindness of strangers makes that so much easier, I can’t wait to hear some personal recommendations for places to go – but I have had one or two moments when I’ve only been able to define it by what it’s not. It’s not the house I’m used to. Michael is not my butcher any more, Eddie is not my fishmonger anymore, and after tonight, the removal men are not coming back. It’s not Edinburgh. Not Scotland. And my Mum doesn’t live down the road anymore.
As DorkySon would say, that smells like poo.
But I think if we get some more pictures on the walls, and I reply to all those lovely friendly emails, and we go to the library on Thursday next time instead of Wednesday, we might just be alright here. It’s a big old adventure, and I’m willing to give it a shot.
I was planning on having a load of photos to go with this post – I kept my camera away from the removal men, with the intention of documenting our journey – but then I left it switched on all night by accident and ran the battery down before we’d even left the hotel in Edinburgh. I discovered that on the train, just as we were passing Cockenzie and DorkySon jumped up, pointed out the window and said “Look, look, it’s Granny’s ocean!”
That was the first of the wobbly moments. I’m hoping there aren’t too many more to come.
The Gallery: Faces
The theme over at The Gallery is ‘Faces’ this week. We actually have until next week to do a post, but as we’re moving house in the middle of next week and I’m likely to be offline, I thought I’d get in there early.
I was torn between a ‘pretty‘ picture and an ‘interesting’ one but in the end decided to go for interesting. I know this is not a photo that everyone will love, but it’s an important one for me for a couple of reasons.
The guy is called Lewis, and he is something of a local celebrity. He can often be seen walking up and down the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, or sitting on a bench in the centre of town and chatting with a crew of assorted other characters. He is very friendly, and has some good banter, although has also been known on occasion to hoist up his kilt and bare his arse to tourists if they try and take a photo without asking his permission.
I think he has a brilliant face – brimming with character. You can tell that he is someone who has really lived. The slightly aggressive look in his eyes is tempered by the jingle bell and badges on his hat. And really, who wouldn’t want to grow themselves some awesome facial hair like that?
I like this shot because it’s the first time I ever approached a ‘stranger’ in the street and asked to take their photo. I got quite into street photography for a while, but to begin with I always took candid shots rather than asking for permission. I ended up torn between frustration at not being able to get close enough to people to capture anything very interesting (it’s quite hard to blend into the background when you’re pushing a pram with a noisy toddler in it…), and a slight feeling of unease I couldn’t shake off about taking people’s photos without them knowing.
There are some brilliant street photographers in Edinburgh. And also some brilliant opportunities for honing your street photography skills during the Edinburgh Festival, when there are all kinds of people wandering around the streets desperate to have their photo taken! But hardcore street photography, really getting into people’s faces and capturing them up close without permission, is not something that feels right for me.
This style – more street portrait than street photography, I guess – is the focus of the 100 Strangers project which encourages photographers to get out of their comfort zone and take pictures of strangers, but approach them for permission first, and have a chat to find something out about them. It appeals to me greatly, although I haven’t committed to doing a full 100 shots yet. If I did, I think I’d try and find Lewis again, and ask him to be my first.
What a face.
See how other people have interpreted the Faces theme over here on Sticky Fingers.
Thieves, Nosey Parkers & Snobs: Our Prospective Buyers
I am firmly of the mindset that my house is a fortress. It’s my safe place. Family and close friends are always welcome, especially if they come bearing white wine and gossip. Meter readers and tradesmen are tolerated, as long as they show up when they’re supposed to. Salesmen, market researchers and god-botherers shouldn’t even waste their energy walking up the path.
With that in mind, you can imagine how much it has pained me over the last few weeks to allow a constant stream of strangers into my home. They have poked in our wardrobes, commented on our decor, and traipsed mud and grass all over our carpets. One of them even stole something (yes, really. But don’t get me started on that).
‘Prospective buyers’, they call themselves. Usually they are polite enough to call our estate agents first, and then show up at a specified time. But sometimes they just spot the For Sale sign, and wander into the garden on the off chance that we’re in and they can have a look around. Sometimes they make an appointment but then show up early, ring the doorbell, and wake DorkySon up mid-nap. That never makes for a good introduction.
In the current property market I shouldn’t be complaining about having viewers, and I’m not really – we are genuinely very grateful to be getting people through the door at all – but that doesn’t mean that I can’t also share some of the conversational highlights from the most bonkers of the buyers to cross our threshold. Take it as a given that where I don’t have an answer to whatever inane comment or question I’ve just been given, I’m thinking something a bit sweary and rude.
Viewer: Was it you that put up those boards outside?
Me: Boards?
Viewer: Those brown boards in the garden.
Me: Umm yes. That’s called our fence.
Viewer: Well your cornicing is lovely, but I don’t know why on earth you painted the gold bits. I have a similar style in my house and it’s much nicer all in white.
Me: …
Viewer: Why on earth do you have this as your bedroom? It’s so big and light, it’s obviously supposed to be the drawing room. Why waste it on a bedroom?
Me: …
Viewer: Well we’d really like to put solar panels on the roof, but do you know how we’d ensure that the electricity was divided evenly between the three flats.
Me: Umm, no.
Viewer’s Wife: I think you’d probably just have to put on three times as many panels as usual.
Viewer: Christ, you’d need another roof to accommodate that.
Me: …
Viewer, looking out the window: Oh dear, that’s tree is rather menacing isn’t it.
Me: Do you think so? We’ve always liked it.
Viewer: No. No, that just won’t do. Very menacing.
Me: …
Viewer, settling into my rocking chair: Now I think I’ll just sit down and make myself comfortable for a minute.
Me, slightly taken aback: Mmmm, okay. Let me just go and let the next person in.
Viewer: No wait a minute, I wanted to ask you something. I was looking at your family tree. Is that a Cornish name?
Me: No I don’t think so.
Viewer: Oh, I think it might be. But anyway, where did you meet your husband?
Me: We were working together at the university.
Viewer: Gosh, that sounds very naughty!
Me: …
Viewer: When was the house built?
Me: Oh I don’t know. Maybe 1850-something
Viewer: Gosh no, that can’t possibly be right. I’ve been looking at the maps of the area from 1870 and the house isn’t on there. And look at the shape of the windows. They couldn’t possibly be earlier than 1870.
Me: …
And my very favourite of all…
Viewer: Is there anyone here from your estate agents?
Me: No, why, can I help?
Viewer: Well I don’t think they’re representing you very well. Come out here a minute (beckons me onto porch)
Me: What is it?
Viewer, pulling a compass out of his pocket: Look at this. The north point on your property particulars is off by 5 degrees. FIVE DEGREES! That’s not doing you any favours, is it?
Me: …
The Gallery: Colour
I was totally bowled over by the kind comments on my entry to The Gallery last week, on the subject of home, so I’ve decided to give it a whirl again this week. The prompt is Colour…
Autumn is my favourite season by a mile. Eva Wiseman did a brilliant piece in the Observer the other week about why she too is a fan of the fall, but one of the few things that she didn’t mention was the colours. It’s a brilliant time of year to get out and about with your camera – wait for a crisp, bright day, wrap up warmly, and then head out to capture some of those fantastic umbers and ambers and burnished browns.
I tried to limit myself, but it was tricky… sorry!
This is a deliberately out-of-focus shot so that you concentrate on the colours rather than the details of the trees.
This is the road that goes past our house.
I love the green and the gold together in this one.
My lovely buddy Kez Dugdale, who is now an MSP, has got a canvas print of this leaf hanging in her office at Holyrood.
Umm, yup. As I said, I love Autumn and all its wonderful colours. I’ve also been known to sit at the dining room table and cut up leaves into heart shapes. Now you know how I spend my time when DorkySon’s at nursery. Don’t judge me.
To see how other people have interpreted the colour theme, head on over to The Gallery at Sticky Fingers and spend some time browsing the links.
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