Getting moving again

Ka and myself are in York today, checking out the local architecture, walking the city walls, experiencing the ghost tours, taking a stroll along the Real Ale walk and checking out the view over the River Ouse.
Or at least we should be…
Thanks to the current batch of storms, spinning trampolines and transport disruption we spent the majority of our morning sitting, shivering, on the cold hard metal benches of Central Station, watching the large clock hanging from the rafters, the pigeons circulate overhead and the various Central Station Rail attendants milling about, having a good old laugh at all the waiting commuters sitting around.
After watching, supposedly, funny videos on youtube of Scottish blokes filming trampolines spinning down the street in the wind and storms before Christmas, it wasn’t particularly pleasant to wake up on one of those days finding yourself having to go somewhere, even if it a wee two night trip away to York.
On our first visit to the station, at around half past nine, there was a reasonably sized crowd of expectant passengers moving around the Station’s innards, going from shop to shop, buying coffees, taking seats on the metallic benches to await further news and queuing in the various ticket offices to try and find out more information. A looping recorded message was continually playing over the tannoy, as Ka and myself took our seats to wait.
A few hours, we thought, then everything will have calmed down and will return to normality. Like the festive season, all the fuss will be over before we know it and things will all get moving again.
The recorded voice repeated something along the lines of “all rail journeys are now suspended until further notice”, as pairs of reporters circled around arriving and leaving commuters, one reporter with a large mike and the other with a giant television camera perched on his shoulder (I’d have thought those would have shrunk a little by this day and age?).
My stomach was grumbling before I was about the trains.
We left, had a large breakfast round at The Social on Royal Exchange Square and relaxed a little before heading back to the station to catch our, now hopefully operating, train.
As it happened, the only thing operating was the 30p machine to get into the loos.
Dad had drove us in after we had stood at the bus stop for around twenty minutes in the strong winds. He had called before we had left, offering his driving services, but we had refused, underestimating the craziness of the weather that was to meet us outside, as we forced our way through the winds towards the main road. I pulled Ka’s two day supplies and my two shirts and boxer shorts in our silver case behind me.
My suspicions should have been aroused, before leaving, by the paddling pool lying vertically outside our kitchen window.
As we left the flat, it was like entering some kind of war zone. A greener Libya. Wheelie bins lay over the entirety of the street, potato peelings and lidl carrier bags ferociously circling the surrounding roads like angry animals. Things, objects, stuff that certainly wasn’t leaves, flying past your face as you walked.
As we battled through the wind we passed a large, half obliterated, giant trampoline, lying over the pavement, poles spread and shaking, netting twisted and ripped, having obviously blown from a garden somewhere in the vicinity. I briefly considered filming it but decided it had probably carried out it’s best ‘You’ve Been Framed’ moment already.
We then inadvertently stepped on to a large, jagged half sheet of glass, laid across the pavement. Moments later we came across various other debris such as blocks of wood and more shards of glass. It wasn’t until we made our way further along the street that we noticed that one of the blocks of flats had lost half of it’s close entrance porch. It looked as if it had been half demolished. One side of the close box and it’s door remained standing along with it’s security entry code box, it’s wires flapping and flailing wilding in the wind.
One of Calderwood’s biggest trees was lying sprawled over a pavement, blocking our way to the main road, it’s ripped edges still spawning shreds of splinter like a giant fresh wound.
After seeing the devastation and realising there wasn’t going to be a Number 20 along any time soon, we called Dad. He had offered, I shrugged.
Following a quiet Hogmanay with some Morgan Spice and Jools Holland, we spent New Years Day at the Leckie household for dinner, where Mum had volunteered herself as driver. Angela and Steven worked hard in the kitchen feeding the McGarvas and Reids a large dinner followed by various games and quizzes, including Pictionary Catchphrase and a 30 question 2011 quiz, cobbled together by yours truly.
Ka, Morgan and myself won the Catchphrase with two winning sketches of ‘Wearing your heart on your sleeve’ and ‘Cloak and dagger’, these whole two points fending off any competition there might have been from the other assembled teams.
The 3 Wise Men were the triumphant team in the 2011 quiz. What you may have thought to be an ironic turn of phrase for Dad, Colin and Steven’s team, turned out to be more than fair play as they beat the Christmas Belle’s, Betty, Jillian and Lynsey Ann’s team, by a whole one point. This one point may or may not have been down to the fact that the girls didn’t know that Paddington bear preferred marmalade sandwiches to Marmalade itself. An unfortunate mistake, and one that cost them dearly, causing a little dispute, a bit of an argument and a lot of noise, and any noise made in Angela and Steven’s high ceilinged living room can’t be good for the neighbours. Voices just gather in those giant, high walled rooms, accumulating at the ceiling and rebounding off the walls just like a large rubber bouncy ball of noise.
The noise was made worse by Dougie’s complaining about the handing out of bonus points for Kevin McAllister’s full name and no such point for Silvio Berlusconi’s, which he hadn’t even got right anyway.
All fun and games.
As was today, rearranging our trip to York in the Central station ticket office.
It’ll have to be a mere one night stay now, and that’s if we get there at all. We should jump on to one of those spinning trampolines! They might get us there quicker.

Hiking and jackknifing

The snow is finally melting. We are now driving on actual tarmac rather than spinning around on half a foot of compressed snow and ice. I've never been so happy to drive unhindered in my life. No more digging my car out of a giant layers of snow or walking home to East Kilbride on the expressway. Well, not for the moment anyway.
On Monday night, after the biggest snowfall in decades, the expressway, the main dual carriageway into and out of the East Kilbride, had become near inpassable due to the weather.
Barry, Paul and myself walked home to East Kilbride, abandoning the cars in the work car park, hiking up the dual carriageway under a ghostly mist which hung down threateningly over the faded lights standing tall overhead in the darkness over the thick snow covered road, among the abandoned cars and the fellow walkers.
The road going into East Kilbride had been clogged up not only by the weather but by a Morrisons lorry jackknifing and the remaining traffic piling up behind, slowing to a near complete standstill. Not sure what was slowing all the outgoing traffic on the other side of the road up.
It may have been another jackknifed lorry. A Sainsburys one maybe. The two drivers having it out in the middle of the road. The abandoned cars all over the expressway only parked up to watch the big fight. Harry Hill shouting from behind a temporary desk in a nearby field.
Usually this dual carriageway would be buzzing with life. Traffic of all shapes and sizes blasting up and down it on either side. Hiking home on it all seemed very surreal. It reminded me of 'The Day After Tomorrow', the rather drab, silly movie with Dennis Quaid, in which he plays a climatologist who goes out in search of his son after a giant storm which throws the world into another ice age. Or something. Storms, snow, people collapsing in the snow. The collapsed people puffing and gasping, accidentally brushing some snow aside underneath them only to discover that their lying on the glass roof of central station. At which point it starts cracking...
Either that or a snowy version of 'The Day of the Dead'. Zombie like figures stumbling about the snow covered expressway wondering what to do.
It all puzzled me a little. We're on the expressway. That town over there, which you must of been driving towards with the high rise flats, is East Kilbride. These are legs. Those things at the end are feet. Why not try that walking thing?
Okay, there may have been the slight issue of abandoning your beloved motor, but it was either that or sitting in the beloved motor for an extremely long time which, in the end, would make it extremely unbeloved.
For instance, Ka hates Gillian's poor little car now as a result of sitting on a roundabout at Hamilton's Asda car park for at least three hours on the same night. Sitting anywhere near Hamilton's Asda is horrifying at the best of times what with all the Zombies that usually shop there.
Unfortunately I often find myself parking in Hamilton Asda, thanks to Ka who works in the town, and unfortunately I think my parked car has been hit by a 'fellow' shopper at least 50% of the time. Not because of my parking, you understand, but because most drivers in Hamilton, cannot drive nevermind park. They simply put their pedal down, turn the steering wheel and hope for the best. A seven year old in a dodgem would cause less damage to another vehicle than a Hamilton Asda shopper.
Anyway, thanks to the weather and the congested traffic the threat of having to spend the night at work became all too horrible to bear and Ka and Gillian sat it out, eventually getting home four and a half hours later than planned. It's amazing what folk will do in order to not spend the night at work.
It's also amazing what folk will do when not at work. Apparently there's folk going round in Kent somewhere nicking snowmen!

At it again

He's at it again! Ka and myself opened our eyes this morning only to hear the monotone groaning of our Sing Star Neighbour's voice yelling along to music again with some mates. What is it with this guy?!
Ka said that she'd heard him come home with friends at around 2am and they had been singing on and off ever since. Don't get me wrong. I don't mean to sound like a miserable old git who doesn't enjoy the occasional sing-a-long but this guy and his mates seem to make a worrying hobby of it. They're not even good singers. If I was waking up to Andrea Bocelli shaking the walls with his voice every morning I wouldn't mind so much as at least he can sing. We don't even recognise what the neighbour is singing now it's that bad. I'm amazed I had not woken up through the night. It must have been the paint fumes that knocked me out.
Yesterday I spent the day painting the bedroom walls and ceiling, freshening the place in time for springtime. Which is supposedly on it's way but by the looks of this weather it looks a bit far off yet.
Snow again? Jeez. I actually swore with dread on Tuesday morning when Ka opened the curtains to a newly restored white world. Once again I was faced with the winter battles of climbing the snow covered street in our rather stubborn car.
As I left on Wednesday morning our neighbour Kay was leaving her flat, in the next block up, with her two wee girls. Kay is a rather nice neighbour whose always full of smiles when you meet her, even though I have inadvertantly ignored her and her happy, waving kids on many occasions whilst being out and about. Though I'm not sure whether they'll be quite as friendly anymore.
Kay and her two sprogs were in the car before me as we made our way up the hill to leave the street. After a few moments of driving Kay's car slid and stuck and I sighed internally as I realized I'd be next. The Toyota kept going though (thankfully under my control and not some missing part) and I could barely believe I was still moving. Steering the car around Kay, who was waving from her front seat, I realised that if I slowed, or even stopped now it could be disasterous for my chances of getting up the hill. Assuming Kay's waving was as a greeting or a 'overtake me' wave I smiled and made sure I waved back as the car kept on climbing through the snow. It was only then it occured to me. Maybe Kay had been waving me down? Maybe she'd been wanting a shove? I knew my own car would go into it's usual sleety wheelspin if I was to stop on the hill, so after a few moments of weighing things up in my head, I kept going, leaving the neighbours in their small car behind me. I hope Kay didn't swear in front of her kiddies.

Relation onslaught

Christmas is over again. Back in the office feeling sleepy this morning after struggling to get out my street again. After a few beers last night I was dreading another hangover but woke up bright as a button, showered, slurped down a cup of tea and then headed out, feeling quite good in the bracing, ice cold air. Unfortunately the air was not the only thing that was icey. The snow which, has lasted longer than any previous snowfall I can remember, has now mostly turned to ice. The car was skidding around on the spot again trying to leave the street and Ka had to get out of bed and give me a hand, revving as I tried to shove the car over the icey patches. She came to my rescue in her polka dot dressing gown and a neighbour, whose missus was waiting to leave the street behind me, helped me shove the car into motion. As the car shunted forward into a normal form of movement I thought Ka was going to keep on driving at one point, not seeming to slow down as she got to the top of the hill. I thought her anger at being woken out of bed had finally sent her over the edge and she'd just keep on driving regardless. Leaving me and her cosey bed behind her and venturing out into the wintry world with only her polka dot dressing gown for comfort. Fortunately she did stop though and let me take the car on to work, leaving her at the top of the hill to go back to her bed. Hopefully she left the door on the snib.
We were in Mum and Dad's last night as they held a wee party for Christmas. When we were growing up the family would always gather on the Boxing Night, each adult volunteering their house to the relation onslaught every year. In more recent years this trend has slipped for whatever reason but Mum and Dad decided to have everyone over this year, just a little later than the usual Boxing Night. Most of the family gathered, driving up through the hills of snow to Chapelton and had a nice catch up, which included some snow shovelling, Ka and Kenny attempting to build a snowman, the traditional Christmas quiz, hosted by Dad, and the usual giant buffet prepared by Mum. Our team, the Troon Tortoises, ended up coming in last in the final quiz results, being narrowly pipped at the post to second place by Charlies Angels team. Lynsey Ann was on top form though remembering Scotland's last entry into a international tournament and all four Teletubbies among other answers to questions which left Tom, Mum and myself floundering. We still say Pluto was a pointer dog though and not a bloodhound.
This was all after a very sleepy Boxing Day in which Ka and myself sat through Christmas tv overload, too tired to do anything else after a late night on Christmas night. Suffering after the excesses of an excellent Christmas day hosted by Mum and Dad. Their dinner was fantastic, eleven of us round the table, wearing musical ties and fluffy halos. The pea and ham soup was a particular highlight along with the moments of madness including the lighting of the pudding and the fighting over the family china. All great moments which can only occur at family meals.
As i sit in the office I wonder when we'll be allowed out, since there is nothing to do. The sun is out now, so as the ice melts away hopefully some of this sleepiness will.

Being SAD

It's four thirty in the afternoon, it's pitch black outside and I may be suffering the effects of SAD. Seasonal Affective Disorder. The now seemingly medically recognised type of depression which descends on many people at the beginning, and continuation, of the winter months. This condition makes you depressed, uncomfortable, negative, full of guilt, tension, despair and just generally low. In fact, very much how you feel after watching an episode of Eastenders. In other words, you quite simply cannae be ar*ed. According to the doctors it's all due to the fact we don't get much sunlight in the winter months. This would presumably be why Scottish people are well known for being consistently miserable - a theory, I hasten to add, that I don't always agree with. Apparently there is now also a Summer version of SAD which is called Reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder. A version where you presumably walk around ecstatically happy or still morose and depressed, walk around backwards, beeping repeatedly.
Of course, all this depression could just be down to the fact I'm trying to cover for my Line Manager, while he is off being a Dad to a newborn. Taking grief from aggrieved sales folk seems to sum up the job, certainly in the latter half of the week. The Doomhamers are a particularly grumpy lot and I've no idea why. I would perhaps put that all down to SAD as well if it was not for the fact they speak to us in the same 'off the sole of their shoe' manner all year round.
Since writing the past two paragraphs I've now been to the gym and feel great again. So I don't have SAD. Or at least, if I do I've found an easy enough cure. Doctors everywhere should take note. It's nothing to do with fancy light bulbs or happy drugs. All you need if you suspect yourself of suffering Seasonal Affective Disorder is a good kick up the jacksy.

Woolly thoughts

The family and I were all up to five in the morning on Friday dancing, drinking, playing table football, and wearing balaclavas. Yes, balaclavas! After dinner Kenny pulled a box of his old stuff down from upstairs that had been collected by Lynsey Ann as she had moved into his old room. This box contained all sorts of strange memorabelia from his younger days including drawings, hand written stories and comics, old teddy bears and embarrassing headgear. In among a pile of old baseball caps were the two matching sets of balaclavas and gloves that Mum had knitted for Kenny and myself when we were young. For a time, in the Scottish winter months, Kenneth and myself trooped to school in home made woolen brown balaclavas. Only one pair of the gloves had survived the years and the string of wool that joined the two gloves was long gone but it didn't stop us trying them on for size. I always used to think those joined mittens were revolutionary. My Mum's own invention, sitting at home, knitting furiously coming up with all these weird and wonderful designs. Of course I learned later that quite a few youngsters had them and probably just didn't let on. The line of cord leaving one mitten going up your arm around your back and down your other arm holding the other mitten to the other hand just in case you got confused with the whole 'how to work a pair of gloves' idea. The balaclavas no longer fitted either. Does anyone still wear balaclavas? I mean anyone that's not exploring the Arctic, driving a Formula One car or robbing banks or generally causing some form of terror? The brown balaclava itself was enough to induce terror in anyone. Poor Mum, she just wanted to keep us warm. Now that I've written this I'll probably get a new one now for Christmas!

Scottish sunshine and bloodcurdling screams

There ain't a cloud in the sky over Central Scotland today. Maybe summer is finally on it's way? Now that I've said that, it will probably be teeming with rain again tomorrow. Looking out the office windows at this different, brilliant blue sky makes me feel like we could, in fact, be in some kind of foreign destination. An office plucked from the middle of Scotland and transported to a strange land where the sun feels warm against your skin and you can barely look up into the sky without having to shield your eyes. Then I hear the heavy hum of the printers downstairs and the battling fork lift trucks outside and am pulled back into reality once more.
The fork lifts are particularly busy at the moment, dealing with todays batch of titles, running off the press downstairs. They scoot about the parking lot outside with their piles of newspaper titles, manoeuvering in and around the trucks and vans as if competing in their own version of Robot Wars. The occasional yell from one of the operators echoing up and around from somewhere in the distribution area.
The operators and factory workers yell so loud sometimes, their voices reverberate around the factory. Once, one of them yelled with the most terrible, bloodcurdling noise I'd ever heard. Truly horror movie worthy. It was so loud I wondered whether he was being eaten alive by one of the printing machines as I worked or flattened by one of the enormous rolls of newsprint which stand ominously around the factory floor. Maybe he'd banged his head and fallen on to one of the conveyor belts which line the walls, waking up at the precise moment when he tumbles off the track into the recycling paper shredder. Perhaps one of the fork lift trucks had took a wrong turn and skewered one of the operators on the factory floor with one of it's forks.
As I sat imagining these various and horrible deaths I could not help but notice that nobody else in the office had seemed to pay the least attention to this terrible noise. To this day I wonder if it may have even simply been all in my mind. A horrendous, mental, cry for help on one of my twelve hour shifts perhaps? Looking at the long lost Scottish sunshine outside through the window, I think all us office workers may well be having similar frustrated screams of pain right now.

Hell freezing over

Well, the whole of Britain woke up yesterday to snow. England panicked. Scotland sort of... shrugged. We all knew it was coming. The weathermen had forecast it. But still England seemed to panic. A whole three or four inches had fallen during the night in England, and around two in Scotland and by watching the English news you'd think another Ice Age had descended upon us. lf three or four inches of snow had hit us in Scotland overnight, we'd all have got up as usual and struggled into work, barely making the headlines. But when England gets it all hell breaks loose... or freezes over. There were news reporters standing on the banks of the Thames in yesterdays news telling us with serious, grim faces how this particular wall had over five inches of snow on top of it. Headlines, newspapers, the internet bulletins, all yelling about disasterous weather conditions, idiot drivers unable to cope, buses, trains and planes all ceasing transportation, electricity and gas supplies abruptly stopping, Boris Johnson pleading for more grit lorries like a very boring Bob Geldoff, schools and companies closing down, the shops of Oxford Street deserted and football transfers not being able to go ahead... in person. Unbelievable. The English get a wee bit of snow and suddenly think it's The Day After Tomorrow. Staying at home with the curtains drawn, the lights off, gripping their children tightly to their chest and praying for a miracle, thanking their lord for the great life they had led until those moments. My Aunt Ann, who live down in London sent me some pics via email of the wondorously uncommon snowfall in her area of Fulham. She was more excited than anything else. Anything to enable her to stay out of the office, I suspect. On getting out of work early, I also went out and took some pictures. Some of the women in the office were a bit panicky, of course. Let's face it, we all know what women drivers are like at the best of times (joke!).
On returning home I decided to park our car at the top of our hill, as we live on a steep street, and leave it in a safer place for the night, and a place that would be easy to manoeuvre out of in the morning if there had been more snowfall. Moments after parking, as I sauntered over the snow covered grass to our street, I heard a sudden squeal. Spinning round I froze, (not literally), as a BMW came down the hill, directly in front of my safely parked car. The BMW then started to drive at an alarmingly strange angle, it's rear heading straight for my freshly parked car's headlights. With a scrunch of ice and snow and a strange deathly silence the large car spun over the road in a 180 degree angle, nudging itself over the pavement infront of the Toyota but thankfully grinding to a rather unstable halt. Not being outwitted by some feeble snow, the BMW driver then decided to reverse determinedly half way down the street, as if to prove something to himself, the snow and any onlookers. After a few moments of pretending to be in complete control the driver hesitantly slowed to another, this time semi controlled, halt and performed a nice, sensible three point turn. (The only time you'll see 'nice' and 'sensible' in the same line as 'BMW driver' probably). If that BMW had slid any further, that would have been absolutely typical.
The snow is now gone, though, and we can all relax again. We did not get the predicted further foot of it during the night as forecast. A lot of scaremongering weathermen, if you ask me. Bring back Michael Fish, he used to tell you when things were definately not going to happen, but actually would. It's far more exciting that way. These new guys tell us whats going to happen, and it doesn't. Mr Fish would never have done that. He would have just came on and denied everything and then it would all have been a pleasant surprise in the morning for us all to wake up to.
"Oh, look everyone, it's been snowing... and there's a , er, BMW encased in my car bonnet... Quick call Jackie Bird!"

Black and white

Weather. Always a good conversation piece for folk when your struggling for subjects to talk about. On my way to work today it very much felt like winter was most definately here. The sky was clear with only the occasional strip of cloud hiding the luminous pale blue hanging overhead. These are the kind of winter mornings I like though. Freezing, but light and clear with the sunlight streaming through the tree tops over the edge of Calderglen. The sunlight in stark contrast with the cold temperatures. It is not as cold as it will get though. Today it has been around 5 degrees celcius but tomorrow the weather report is saying it will be more in the region of 2 degrees celcius but with less cloud. It is strange how I feel more at home in the winter weather than in the sweltering heat of a good summer. Perhaps I was an eskimo in a former life... or a penguin. According to religions, such as Hinduism or Buddhism, a human is supposed to be a higher form of life than the animal which would mean I must have been a good penguin in the former life. Maybe I caught lots of fish and shared them out to all my penguin pals. Not everything's black and white though.
The BBC Trust have finally got round to giving their final decision on the Russell Brand/Jonathan Ross nonsense stating there was no justification for the errors that were made in the production of the programme concerned. Really? No way! Who pays these people? Oh, yeah, that's right. US. It's been over three weeks for them to state the obvious. As the 'innocent' female concerned said on the news tonight - we are all so bored of this story. Why is it still in the news then? As I said when it first blew up in the gutter press three days after it actually happened - get over it. There are more important things to concern ourselves over. Getting Ross back on the telly! I've got to go out tonight now because there's no Jonathan Ross on!
Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe had a great ten minute piece on it, on Tuesday night, in his usual entertaining, sarcastic, indomitable way. The guy is a genius. Another guy with a similar humour is the brilliant Jack Dee whom I just happened to catch getting interviewed on This Morning yesterday. Not that I usually watch this Morning or anything... I was just finishing my breakfast tea with a bacon buttie. He was talking about his new series of Lead Balloon, his drama comedy series on BBC Two. Regretfully, I've not caught any of this series yet but it looks pretty good. May have to check it out.
The new car is flaimin' filthy. How come dirt on a car shows up more on black paintwork? You'd think it would be the opposite wouldn't you? I always thought it would be a nightmare owning a white car. JP says it's the salt on the road. Salt on the road? Haven't even seen any salt spreaders on the roads yet, firing it's load of grit at your windscreen. Soon we'll be scraping the ice off the windows and getting high on de-icers again. Could the snow be on it's way?

Comedy Gala and rivers

Having a great week this week as I'm not in work! Woohoo! No work, nilch, nada. Wake up, when I wake up, get up, when I get up, do whatever, when I decide what whatever happens to be at the time.
Yesterday included going out for brunch at the local and then heading into the country's capital to check out some of the Fringe and head for the Comedy Gala 2008 in aid of Waverly Care. This was a night in the city's Festival Theatre on Edinburgh's South Bridge Street. A great night of at least twenty comedians getting up on stage and giving either a taste of their own fringe show or just a general outburst of their usual stand up banter for approximately ten minutes each. Each with their own styles, outlooks and moralistic approaches to life the variety of talent made it top class entertainment from the likes of Michael McIntyre, Mark Watson, Jim Jeffries and so many others. McIntyre was the host for the first half of the night and possibly, for me, one of the most entertaining comedians of the lot. Sean Grant and Stephen K Amos were also a great hoot. Definately worth looking out for in the future if not tomorrow when we head back in to Edinburgh for more Fringe fun including an appointment with Joan Rivers at quarter to midnight. hey, the woman might be seventy odd but is still hilairious, or f***ing hilairious as I'm sure she'd put it (followed by a walking stick pulling her off the set of 'Loose Women' by the neck). Looking to head in around five for something else to take us up to the 'witching' hour though and hopefully it will not be p*ssing down with rain tomorrow.
Just before settling down to watch the stupid and fun Kung Fu Panda there we fought our way back to East Kilbride through torrential rain on roads that could be easily mistaken for rivers - and Ka was driving?! Sure, she's a skilled driver now (thanks largely to my Master like teaching) but I do not think she'd expected to be driving a glorified river rapid vehicle before she passed her test. The wee clio seemed to transform into Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on the back roads from Hamilton, swimming through the roads rather than driving. Unfortunately my hands were too busy gripping the side dash to be waving cheerily as any passers by. Unsurprisingly there were few passers by except in other struggling vehicles. The expressway was jam packed, probably due to flooding, so I instructed Ka to take the back road route from Hamilton over the small stoney bridge round the back of St Leonards. Unfortunately this is where the trouble began as each of the roads up to the bridge was a flow of gushing, swirling, flooding water as if ever river and stream surrounding EK had simultaneously burst its banks like some bad Pierce Brosnan disaster movie. However, just like some bad Pierce Brosnan disaster movie, we pressed on against all odds and survived finding the deepest water of all more or less on our doorstep, outside our street on Maxwellton Road. So deep infact the Clio managed to gain another wheel from somewhere as a wheel trim managed to get lodged in our underside. This created a worrying, grating noise, the origins of which of course, we did not know about at the time and made me wonder whether the Clios exhaust had left us and spun off down the Maxwellton river. When we finally came to a stop, with smoke drifting up from under the Clio's bonnet, I did manage to free the newly acquired wheel trim as water dribbled down onto me from the pipes and, (thankfully still attached) exhaust. A journey we hope not to repeat in any way going to and from Edinburgh after going to see a woman called Rivers!

If I had a million dollars

Sun , rain, sun, rain, sun, rain. Evening. It's kind of confusing this Scottish summer. Usually when the sun comes out over Scotland people have one of two responses. Strip down to their bikini or continue to walk about wearing hats, jumpers and scarves and slowly die horribly in the sweltering heat. If I'm either one of them it would have to be the hats and scarves variety (as I don't own a bikini). Monday was by far the hottest day we'd had up here in ages and on my way up to the gym I noticed most folk were still walking about in their jumpers and jackets - even though the sun had been out, glaring down at Scotland, the whole day. Tuesday, however, we were back to rain and now, at the end of the week the weather doesn't know what the hell to do. Mum and Dad are away camping somewhere so I hope it's dry wherever they end up.
We completely missed this solar eclipse of the moon up here today, probably because of the afore mentioned rainclouds. Apparently Europe only witnessed a partial eclipse anyway but British astronomers caught some good shots which can be seen here on the BBC website (except from the one with the kids... and the dog - that's just silly). It was also in the papers today that they have found water on Mars. Which means the possibility that life was on Mars, even if it was millions of years ago. Mars could have had a whole other species of being long before the dinosaurs even rose up out of the ocean on this small, blue planet. The Phoenix space probe, which was sent down to the planet a few months back, dug under the planet's soil, the resulting samples of which were scanned by the orbiting Odyssey spacecraft. Science fiction this ain't. Either is the story on Richard Branson's Virgin Galactic taking bookings for his suborbital flights into space for the pricely sum of $200,000 per customer/tourist. The first flights are expected to be as soon as the end of this year. Let's just hope they're a little more successful than his attempts at flying around the world on his balloon! Branson is cool. I like Branson. He's an extravagant billionaire whose not afraid of what his critics sneer. What other multi millionaires invest millions in flying tourists out into space? If I had a spare $200,000 I'd sign up! It must be the coolest thing - to see your own planet from space... All of us running about, living our little lives, working, breeding, eating, exercising, reading, driving, watching, playing, wondering about our weather, when the whole enormity of the universe moves around us. Just to go to the edge of our planet's atmosphere, a mere toe in the bathtub, and get the slightest hint of that would be mind blowing. Anyway, getting a bit deep there... sorry.
A Happy Birthday should go to Morgan who was the grand old age of four this weekend. Morgan is Ka's sister's daughter to whom I am known as Uncle Michael. The title is very strange to me as I've never been an 'Uncle' before and it makes me feel ancient. Thanks Morgan and hope you have a great party tomorrow, even though you won't be reading this... as you can't... yet. Hope it's a nice sunny day for you but at the same time - Mum and Dad, if your reading, remember to pack the brolleys.