Edinburgh Fringe: The Halfway Point

August 12, 2011 By in Scotland Tags: , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

We’re halfway! Or almost. It may be only one week into the Edinburgh Fringe, but on Sunday the third issue of Fest magazine will be sent to the printers, with only two further issues to go… and by Monday afternoon DorkyDad will have done five of his solo spoken word shows, with only four more shows left in the run.

There is plenty fun left to be had, (and hopefully the sun will make an appearance at some point too), but here are some of my highlights (and a couple of lowlights) so far.

Highlight: Fest writer cuts out the middlemen

This made me laugh. We wanted to do an interview with the wonderful Neil Gaiman for the Kids section of Fest. Stevie – the writer who was assigned the job – spent several days trying to track him down – through the Book Festival Press Office, then Neil’s publishers, then his PR, then his PA…  They were all very friendly, but noncommittal because Neil was ‘travelling’. When her calls weren’t returned, she finally resorted to sending him a message on Twitter, and within an hour they’d got a time and venue set up. Seems he was in Edinburgh after all. Props to Stevie for tracking the man down, and props to Neil for responding so positively. You can read the interview here.

Lowlight: Rain

There’s really not a lot to be said about the rain, except that it is ever-present. It makes everything harder – flyering, queuing, getting DorkySon’s pram into any of the outdoor venues, finding somewhere to have lunch – and I hope it goes away soon.

Highlight: I pretend to be John Hegley, briefly

I was lucky enough to spend half an hour interviewing John Hegley, who is also in town with a show. We started chatting about social media, and I mentioned seeing that he’d joined Twitter a few days earlier, and was already up to 2500 followers. “Well yes,” he said. “But a friend set me up and I don’t really know how to use it. There’s something I want to say to all my Twitter followers today though. If I give you my password will you send it out for me?”

Umm…

So he wrote what he wanted to say in my notebook (and, amazingly, it was exactly 140 characters long….), and then he wrote down his password. And when I came home, I logged into John Hegley’s Twitter account and sent a Tweet on his behalf.

I’m still scratching my head about that one. What an amazingly trusting, lovely man. You can read the interview here.

 Lowlight: Rioting

Okay, so the riots didn’t spread this far North. You can see the full extent of the Edinburgh riots here. (You really should watch that, it’ll make you laugh…) But the city is full of Londoners at this time of year, and it wasn’t much fun for them to sit several hundred miles away, watching the news footage on TV and wondering if they were going to have homes to go back to. Nearly a week on, and most comedians have incorporated something about the rioting into their show, but it still cast a shadow over proceedings for the opening weekend.

Highlight: Fest’s Kid critics cut everyone down to size

‘How cute!’ everyone said. ‘What a nice idea’ they cried. Yes, everyone thought it was a great idea to have children – aged between 5 and 10 – reviewing children’s shows for Fest… until they started to read the submissions.

“I did get bored as it was a bit too long.”

“One of the actors sometimes forgot their lines.”

“I only give the show one star.”

Personally, I think they’re some of the best reviews I’ve ever read of the festival. Completely honest, to the point, and BS free. The kids aren’t self-conscious, they don’t dress things up with long words, and they write for themselves rather than their audience. If there’s any justice, they’ll be back again next year.

Lowlight: Celeb Spotting

I’m not doing very well with this yet. I’ve seen Mark Watson walking up some steps in George Square, and Stewart Lee pushing a pram through the rain in Marchmont. Meanwhile my friends are putting pictures of themselves with John Malkovich up on Facebook. Must do better.

Sorry for the lack of blog posts at the mo. Hopefully that gives you some idea why. Normal service will be resumed in September.

Live In The Now August

August 7, 2011 By in Family, Poetry, Scotland Tags: , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Pink blossoms on a blue background with the slogan 'live in the now'

Although Scribbling Mum will no longer be hosting the link-up, I’ve decided to carry on with the tradition she started of doing a monthly Live In The Now post. This is partly a look at what’s to come in August, and partly a reflection on 2011, since we’re now well into the second half of the year.

There is a stack of empty pizza boxes by the front door, that haven’t yet made it out to the recycling bins. Mounds of clean but unfolded laundry are piled high on every available surface. Our plates are shifted from dishwasher, to dinner table, and back to dishwasher again, without ever making it into the cupboards. Welcome to the Edinburgh Festival. Continue reading →

Marks and Me

August 6, 2011 By in Family Tags: , , , , , 27 Comments

This was originally featured as a guest post over at Scribbling Mum. Thanks to lovely Caroline for giving me the opportunity to post there before she made the decision to stop blogging herself. Her excellent posts will be much missed.

I am finally resigned to my fate. After years of fighting it – of squeezing myself into clothes that were the wrong shape, shoes that were the wrong fit, and underwear that was just too darn small – I have accepted that my natural match on the high street is, in fact, M&S.

For too long, I have associated the place with the fashion disasters of my schooldays and teens. A flick back through my parents’ photo albums reveals an astounding number of sartorial horrors – palazzo pants, t-bar sandals, furry gilets, pinafore dresses, hypercolour t-shirts, and polyester, calf-length culottes – that all originated from the sweaty confines of M&S.

Until recently, it represented everything awkward about growing up. It’s where I stood, shoulders hunched, cheeks burning, being measured for my first proper bra. It’s where I argued with my mother about how short my skirts could be and how high my heels could be. It’s where I first had to confront the issue of whether to wear a bikini on holiday.

So for the last ten years, I’ve given M&S a wide berth. I have tried, at times, to be a sparkly-socked TopShop girl. I have bought neutrals in Gap, jeans in French Connection, and, most recently, have been living in leggings and smocks from Boden. I have not exactly been setting the fashion world on fire, but nor have I stooped to the florals and pastels of Per Una.

Recently though, things got a little desperate. I needed a wedding outfit. I tried all my staple places. I spent hours walking up Princes St, and then hours walking back down George Street. I found nothing. Nada. I was waiting for the bus home, wondering how the heck I was going to jazz up an old outfit; most of the dresses in my wardrobe had barely fitted me pre-baby, they were unlikely to be any more flattering now.

Anyway, by some coincidence, the bus stop was right outside M&S. And with twenty minutes until the number 41 was due, I figured I had nothing to lose. I might as well take a look.

It took about three and a half minutes to find a perfect dress, which came with a matching shrug. There was a bag and a bracelet hanging an aisle away that both went perfectly with it. I nipped upstairs for a new bra and pants. And then thought I may as well take a peek at the shoe department, where I found a pair of heels that were both cute and comfy.  The whole bundle was less than a hundred quid, and I still managed to catch my bus.

It pains me, massively, to realise that I have become an M&S mum. My husband says sometimes, in jest, that my sense of style hasn’t quite yet recovered from my student days… but the truth is probably worse. I haven’t quite accepted that I won’t be one of the truly yummy mummies – the ones who wear skinny jeans three days after giving birth. I would like to be an Angelina or a J-Lo or a Gwyneth, with a baby on one arm and a Balenciaga bag on the other. I would like to smell of Chanel No 5, instead of strawberry yoghurt. And I would really, really like to be able to walk in heels. But a quick flick through those photo albums – a glance at those sandals – should have been enough of a clue that it was never going to happen.

So I have come full circle. I am back to good old Marks and Sparks. I am learning to be okay with that. And tomorrow I’m going back for another outfit.

Our Electronic Incompatibility

July 31, 2011 By in Family Tags: , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

This post originally appeared over at Sylwia Presley’s site, as part of the BritMums guest post match-up. Given how many gushy posts I’ve put up here about how fab DorkyDad is, I figured he wouldn’t mind just one confessing the only real trouble-spot in our relationship…

DorkySon son spent the other morning walking round the house saying, “The small one is the iPod. The big one is the iPad.” At 27 months, his grasp of technology is somewhat terrifying.

He is more than capable of turning on both the iPod and the iPad, unlocking the screen, and scrolling to find whatever app he wants to play with. Sometimes it’s Jelly Doodle… sometimes it’s Create A Car…  sometimes he just likes to tap on the clock and see what time it is in Melbourne. He can keep himself happy for hours tapping away on the touchscreen, and has even executed a couple of actions (perhaps by accident, but who knows) that I didn’t previously know about.

It is just as well that someone in the family is tech-literate, because it is not a skill that DorkyDad or I have. In fact, it is one of the very few areas of discord in our marriage; we suffer from severe electronic incompatibility.

For two people who both pride themselves on being clear communicators, it is extraordinary that we seem unable to have even the simplest conversation about technology without it descending into argument. With computers in particular, it’s like we’re talking two different languages. DorkyDad will ask me how to do something, but he asks in such a roundabout way that all I can do is stand and look at him blankly while I figure out what exactly it is he needs. Usually it’s nothing more than how to add an attachment to an email, or re-name a file, so when I’ve eventually decoded his jargon, I’ll walk over and try to show him… but then he’ll get hacked off that I’m standing too close and breathing in his ear. So then I’ll stand a little further back, and try to talk him through it… but to anyone who’s not an IT expert, it’s pretty difficult to do that without seeing the screen. He shakes his head at me, and scowls, and shouts that he doesn’t see the menu option that I’m talking about. So I’ll offer to sit down and do it myself… but he’ll just keep grumbling for a minute before slamming his laptop shut, and muttering something about doing it ‘another time’.

We have the same problem all over the house. DorkyDad will accidentally sit on the remote control and make the TV screen go blank, and it’ll take half an hour of arguing before I can wrestle it out of his hands to fix the darn thing. He’ll unintentionally do something to his iPod that leaves it stuck playing the same track again and again… and I’ll find him jabbing his finger at it angrily, but achieving nothing. At the moment our printer is out of toner… and in all seriousness he suggested buying a new one rather than trying to change the cartridge. Given the tension it’s probably going to cause I am (almost) tempted to agree with him.

The thing is, nine times out of ten, when he wants help with something tech-related, I know how to do it, I just don’t know how to explain to him how to do it. I am quite sure he would say the same of me. Our electronic gulf is so wide, I am not sure there is much we can do about it, except keep muddling along, and trying not to throw anything too big at each other. Remote controls are probably okay, laptops not so much.

Our great hope is that within a few years, DorkySon will have advanced his skills even further, and he will be able to fix things for both of us. He can act as the mediator, the computer expert, keeper of the remote control, and changer of the toner cartridge. For that, the current smudgy fingerprints on my screen, and cookie crumbs on my keyboard, are more than worth it.

In the interest of fairness I should say that since I wrote this, DorkyDad has, in fact, been out, purchased a new toner cartridge, and replaced it, all by himself… However, he’s also bought a new phone that he’s trying to get to grips with, so wish us luck with that! 

DorkyDad does the ‘Gator in Galway

July 18, 2011 By in Family, Travel Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 7 Comments

DorkyDad and I are just back from a wonderful weekend in Galway, celebrating the wedding of two very good friends. DorkyGranny was kind enough to babysit, so it was just the two of us (and 100 other guests, obviously!). Other than the wedding itself, which I don’t think I can write about yet without being too gushy, here are a few of the noteworthy moments.

No DorkySon!

Packing to go away without DorkySon was stranger and more stressful than I expected it to be. “Oh my gosh, I’ve no room for nappies. Oh no wait, I don’t need nappies. And I probably don’t need all those Organix oat bars either. Hmmm, I wonder what make-up I’ll wear at the wedding. Ach, I’ve loads of space, I’ll just take it all. And what jewellery am I going to wear? Ach, I’ve still got loads of space, I’ll take all my jewellery with me too. Where’s that Peppa Pig magazine? Oh, I don’t need that, do I? So I can take a book! And my camera! And my iPad! And all my bras! No, I probably don’t need all my bras, I’m only there for three days…. three days, hmm. I wonder if we can cram everything in or if we’ll have to narrow it down. Can we have Guinness and oysters for lunch AND a traditional pub meal in the evening, or can we only choose one? I wonder if we have to book ahead. Or maybe just wait and see how DorkySon’s feeling. Oh no, wait, he won’t be there. I might get a massage! What should I wear in bed? I wonder if they’ll have shampoo or if I should take some miniatures. Oh gosh, the last time I used those miniatures was in hospital after having DorkySon… When I’d forgotten the nappies. Must remember nappies this time… Oh no, wait…” And on it went. I guess I’m normally so busy remembering everything I need for DorkySon that I just throw a few things into a bag for myself without thinking about it. I hadn’t realised how much easier that is! I also hadn’t realised that even without DorkySon there, we would continue to point out tractors and diggers to each other, which is a little worrying…

Irish Cabbies!

Irish taxi drivers are the best. Truly. Our first one – Patrick – picked us up at the airport and headed off in the direction of our hotel, only to stop at a petrol station 200 yards down the road so he could buy a bag of sweets to share around the car. He then spent ten minutes talking about his biggest claim to fame, which is that his uncle appeared in some of the crowd scenes in The Quiet Man. Our second cabbie – Sean – spent the whole journey shaking his head and wondering what the world has come to. Apparently his son is at university in the UK and one of the lecturers there is a cross-dresser. Nothing wrong with that, he was at pains to add, but having seen the man he just wishes that his mini skirts were a couple of inches longer. Our third cabbie – Joe – has 21 grandchildren, and can remember every one of their birthdays, although it almost bankrupts him to do so. Bless you, Irish cab drivers, for the most entertaining car journeys I’ve had in a long time.

Food and Drink!

So what do you know, Guinness really does taste better when you drink it in Ireland. And much like we Brits enjoy talking about the weather, the Irish like to speculate often, and at length, about just why that is. Unfortunately, DorkyDad and I did not find a definitive answer, but we did enjoy testing the stuff in several bars and pubs, just to be sure that standards weren’t slipping… We also enjoyed  amazing falafel from the Gourmet Offensive stall at Galway Market (I know, I know, not exactly traditional Irish fare, but awesome nonetheless), and the best seafood chowder ever at O’Grady’s on the Pier, which we slurped while sitting in a window seat, looking out over Galway Bay. Add to that an amazing four course wedding meal, and potato cakes with black pudding for breakfast three mornings on the trot, and I’ve discovered than it’s not just in the States I have to watch my waistline…

Dancing!

So you know at the end of the night at a Scottish wedding, the band or DJ plays something like Auld Lang Syne or Loch Lomond so that everyone can join hands for a big old lovely sing-a-long? In Ireland, the last song of the night appears to be the theme from Riverdance; so all the drunks can get up on stage and indulge in some tippity-tappity-foot-stomping shenanigans. It’s a beautiful sight. On the subject of dancing, this may be one to add to the ‘Things They Didn’t Tell Me About Parenting’ list – or indeed, perhaps just one that I should keep to myself – but it seems that my post-birth pelvic floor is no longer up to the task of letting me pogo along to the Proclaimers’ 500 Miles. Two years after DorkySon was born, I suddenly realise why I should have spent more time doing kegels. My shame at being unable to relive the songs of my student days without needing a change of knickers was made even worse by DorkyDad’s impressive dancefloor exploits. He surprised us all with his energetic gator dance. He got a shout out and a round of applause from the lead singer in the band. And his new favourite expression is ‘cutting some shapes’. I am praying that there is no photographic evidence of my experience, but extensive evidence of his. ..

And a few random, unrelated discoveries: If you want to buy a Maori style hand-carved bone necklace, you don’t need to go as far as New Zealand. If you want to go to Galway and dine on the Orient Express, you can do so. And when the religious traditions in your country don’t allow for condom machines in your public toilets, the slightly bemusing alternative appears to be vending machines that dispense Toffee Poppets. Cead Mile Failte indeed.