A new bike for £96!

Twice a year I take my bike to the service, because I found this shop that I quite like, and they are doing a much better job much more quickly than I could.

Inspired and encouraged by my friend Kat who for a while had a 90 minute commute each way by bike (in Britain!) I cycle on average a hundred kilometres per week, mainly through my own commute, so my bike parts wear quickly.

At my last service, more parts of my bike were replaced than remained and I ended up with a new bike that was still dirty enough to not attract thieves, but it's fast and the brakes brake beautifully!

Harrassed!

I spent a night in a jazz bar with friends, chatting and drinking, and not really listening to the music, when a guy touched my hip repeatedly, intentionally and knowingly against my wish. He followed me around the room so it was clear that this was no accident, and I started to shout at him to stop touching me. I deliberately made a scene to draw attention and show him that he couldn't get away with it. I was feeling quite brave, being tipsy, and having my friend Jack with me.

He shrunk back from me but didn't say anything, and his pal was very apologetic and angry at his friend which made me think that this might have happened before. I kept shouting for a bit and suggested they leave, but when his pal said that they had just got drinks and if it would be ok if they left after finishing the drinks, I said fine.

My other friend Calum came over and asked what the commotion was, and when I told him he went off and told the bouncer - even though I didn't want to make a fuss. I didn't really know how to feel about this. I grew up quite sheltered and have never been in a similar situation - verbal abuse or sexism, yes, but never actual sexual harassment! I wasn't scared - rather the opposite, I almost enjoyed shouting at that poor guy!

My friends asked if I wanted to take this further, but I thought that was disproportionate, especially since the guy was so taken aback when I shouted at him. For some twisted reason I didn't want to get him into trouble, and I think the fact that he wasn't white also played a role - I did think about racism in the police. But my main reason was that I didn't want the hassle of talking to the police this late at night in my tipsy state.

I was wondering though if I was letting other women down by not reporting the incident. Calum said it was absolutely up to me, and the three of us left soon after. We cycled together for a bit, and then stopped for chips, only that the chippy was closing up and we had potato fritters in a bun with ketchup instead, which was quite disgusting, but preferable to the only other option, a haggis pie in a bun, and actually quite nice. Sitting by the canal in the dark in the middle of the night eating greasy food was brilliant.

And then Calum's phone went. The jazz bar bouncer called - he had a police officer there who wanted to ask Calum a few questions about the incident. At 2.30 in the morning. I shook my head at Calum while he answered the questions. No, he didn't see the incident himself. No, he didn't know my last name. I was quite grateful. To him, for reporting it in the first place, but then letting me decide what to do or not to do, and to the jazz bar staff for taking this seriously.

Looking back (through the alcoholic mist...), it seems quite silly. That guy's touching my hip had more the quality of playing tag rather than anything seedy. But if I hadn't been with my friends and if the staff hadn't reacted as supportively, I might have felt very differently about the incident.

When I talked to my friend Nat about this the following night she said that these things happened all the time in some other bars and that the staff there wouldn't do anything. I wouldn't go to such a place! In fact, I was having this conversation with her in the same jazz bar, because I can trust that such behaviour isn't tolerated there. But the discussion must have left an impression. That night, I dreamed of being followed and threatened by a young, skinny, crazy guy with a knife - a Swiss army knife, would you believe it - and I woke up from shouting for help.

Oh well, Schwamm drüber as we say in Germany. I'm just not a pepper spray kind of girl.

Cobbler

I took some shoes to the cobbler to extend their lifetime a bit, but oh boy was that cobbler scary! This wasn't the experience I had had in mind at all!

The shop looked old-fashioned and no-nonsense from the outside, and not one of these chain stores that double up as key cutting services. It actually has an old wooden sign above the door saying "Gorgie Cobblers", how quaint! But instead of a frail old man with glasses and little hair, a tattooed brute "welcomed" me and refused to do any of the things to my shoes that I had in mind. In fact, I'm not actually sure what it is he is going to do - I was too scared to ask too many questions, let alone take my business elsewhere.

At some point during our short exchange he said to me "this is the heel." when I referred to the part in question as "the back bit of the sole". And he seemed furious about having to explain the correct term to me, or maybe he thought I wasn't taking his profession seriously. I certainly am now!

Heatwave!

The temperature outside has reached 24°C and it feels just like a few weeks ago in Athens at 40°C. Too hot. I couldn't find my shorts. I must have got rid of them since the last summer which was three years ago. I feel taken back to that time, my first summer in Scotland, when my impression of Scottish summers got seriously skewed.

But how lucky am I to have taken this week off work?! It's the Edinburgh Jazz and Blues Festival again, and I'm volunteering, going to gigs, hanging out with the musicians. Highlights so far were catching up with the other volunteers and staff, many of whom I hadn't seen in a year. Wandering from venue to venue, never knowing who I would run into. Announcing the bands to thousands of people at the free open-air event. Of course hanging out backstage with the musicians - so cool, I'm still getting star struck all the time. An amazing drum solo by EST's Magnus Ostrom, which might have been two, five or ten minutes long, I couldn't tell, but I wouldn't have minded if it had gone on for much longer - it was so good. Seeing him in his underpants before the gig. Cycling home at night in a T-shirt - no jumper needed! The discounts on drinks in the festival venues. All this music, all this skill!

Good times.

Pentlands once more

I hadn't been to the Pentlands in a few months, so it was high time to rectify this and blog about a Pentlands walk for the seventh time!

I met up with my man in Bonaly, where I had walked and he had taken the bus. For me, walking a few miles to get there was slightly faster than the bus, less hassle, and also quite nice. The walk took me through a former railway tunnel which is now part of the Water of Leith cycle path. The walls were covered in an interesting mix of graffiti and lichen.

We headed for the hills, meeting a bunch of sweaty soldiers on the way, who were running with heavy packs and big automatic guns in their arms. Shouldn't common sense around running with scissors also apply to guns? Those that weren't out of breath greeted us politely. Cheerful soldiers!

We then climbed higher and I couldn't wait to tell my man to turn around - because suddenly, this amazing view over Edinburgh opens up. He responded to it sufficiently pleased, and I rewarded him with a long break and a cup of tea. The secret to getting people into hillwalking is breaks and snacks. Lots of snacks.

After the initial climb the walking was fairly easy for a few miles along the Glencorse and Loganlea Reservoirs. Then, we had to climb a bealach to get up to the first of a couple of hills we were going to cross before descending to the pub, the Flotterstone Inn. The climb was fairly steep and I'm not sure how much my man enjoyed this bit, but a family with four young kids were ahead of us and made it seem easy. Only their little girl wasn't having all that much fun - she reminded me of myself when I was little and taken hillwalking against my will.

Over the hills and down again was great walking, and busy too - lots of other walkers, usually in pairs, and runners, usually alone. We finished at the pub with a nice coffee and then took the bus home.

The route, starting at my house at the top, finishing at the pub

Walk profile

Colinton railway tunnel

Low clouds over the Pentlands

 Big pack for all the snacks!

Edinburgh of the South

Work sent me to Athens a few weeks ago. I was accompanied by my boss, and we had a few meetings with members of the Greek government, the European Commission and academia. These meetings were slightly bizarre and much more political than I am used to in my day job, but I won't go into details here.

That week, Athens had unseasonally hot weather. But while I generally prefer my summers Scottish, I do enjoy going out at night in a hot country. I spent a few lovely evenings eating out with my boss with various views of the Acropolis by night.

Athens is also known as the Edinburgh of the South. The main feature of its skyline, the Parthenon on the Acropolis, looks just like the Scottish National Monument on Calton Hill.

We got a flavour of the social unrest troubling Greece these days. Demonstrations happen on a daily basis, and no one seems to know much about the different groupings demonstrating, who they are and what exactly they want. The military presence on Syntagma Square was quite disconcerting. I can't help but wonder if this is what awaits the UK if they don't get their shit together very soon.

Here are a few pictures, but really it was too hot to take photos.

Plato in the Academy of Athens

The guards in front of the parliament.

Imagine holding this pose at 40 degrees!

Loved the shoes.

Military getting ready for the nightly demonstrations at the parliament on Syntagma Square

Too hot to climb the Acropolis, so I explored Athens' "Traditional Plottery"

Dinner on Friday night, boss and I shared a litre of wine.

View at dinner