Brass

Britain has a long tradition of brass bands, originating in the coal mining industry (and other manufacture), where every company had their own company brass band. These would compete against each other, and today, most British brass bands enter competitions and championships, and there is a league system like in football. This means, that most British children who are learning brass instruments will at some point compete, and the general level of playing is quite high.

I joined a brass band in Edinburgh where people just play for fun. The players are quite good though. They are also very friendly, and go to the pub after each rehearsal. Today, I talked to one of the guys who practises his trombone several times a week, depending on the weather, on a hill in a large park near Edinburgh.

My flatmate tells me I can practise in the attic in our new flat. If I fit through the hatch.

Walls

Looking at paint colours for our new flat, my flatmate and I have opposite tastes. She likes pale salmon, I like greys. I hate pale salmon, she detests greys.

So we both did a personality test to determine our 'perfect colour trend'. We both got 'Coastline' (*click*). (A contemporary take on classic coastal decor, this colour trend celebrates shimmering seas and bold skies. Coastline is a laid-back look that combines flat blocks of colour reminiscent of oceanic horizons, with water-dappled painterly effects, using a harmonious colour palette.)

And no, we don't have a moving date yet. At the current rate of proceedings it might not happen until spring.

Festival fall-out

Oh yeah, this happened:

Some of our amazing volunteers celebrate 70 Years of the Edinburgh Festivals with Nicola Sturgeon and Roger Spence pic.twitter.com/sqrvIqAHh5

— EdinburghJazzFest (@EdinburghJazz) 16 August 2017

Another party at the beach

I was invited to an 'informal gathering at the beach'.

A dump by day, a romantic hidden beach by night

Wildlife

Longstone (where I live) is a jungle!

I keep running into my local badger when I cycle home at night, and the canal path is full of foxes, and earlier at night, rats.

And this morning, John was about to leave the flat when a magpie hopped down the stairs, past him, followed by our neighbour from upstairs who said that this was the third time this week he had to see a magpie out.

Jazz festival #5

I volunteered at the Edinburgh Jazz and Blues Festival for the fifth time - ten days of sleeping in, half-days at work, hanging out at gigs, showing people to their seats and the loos, keeping musicians happy and hydrated, pointing at things. Happiest ten days of my year, can't wait for the next one.

Spiegeltent on George Square / Edinburgh Jazz and Blues Festival

Spiegeltent during gig

Spiegeltent during sound check

Updates 2

So much has happened!

• I went on a few lovely walks, walk descriptions will follow. One of them in the Harz mountains in Germany, would you believe it? I didn't take many notes though, I was having too much fun with my two highschool friends who walked with me.
• I finished my Open University course on statistics - took a lot of time! I didn't realise it was going to go for a whole year when I signed up... Exam results will be out soon, I think I got 75-80% - we shall see. (Update on this update: it's 85% !)
• We're moving! My flatmate bought a new flat, one mile closer to town, with a tiny strip of grass (the garden) and a fox. We'll have a guest room...

Dancing on the beach

We were at my friend J's flat in Leith for some blues dance practice but then all went to a beach hidden behind an industrial estate nearby. J brought a battery powered amplifier for music, and we danced on the beach under a full moon and the late sunset. We had wine and threw pistachio shells into a fire made from driftwood and some smelly, chemically treated planks.

My blues-curious friend A who I had brought was delighted this was happening and so was I. She now thinks I'm the coolest person ever. And when we ran out of steam we just sat around the fire, chatting, each of the girls cuddling up with a boy in a blanket.

Back to school

I am early.

I find my way to the notice board and send some other lost souls theirs. My class assembles. Fiddle 1a. We are the second intake this year.

A dozen people from all walks of life. The youngest, a Canadian community gardener in her twenties. The oldest - hard to tell, there are three candidates in at least their seventies. One of them built his own fiddle. He used to play fiddle tunes on a cello to which he added an additional string. Some hesitant conversation and then the teacher arrives. Irish and ohmygod so hothothot.

Last term, my Uke class rehearsed in the language room. The occasional German writing on the blackboard used to tempt me to add something witty, but I could never think of anything witty. Today we're in the addiction room. There are colourful charts about cocaine, cannabis, "ecstacy" and other drugs, with beautiful illustrations, drawings and commentary. It smells funny here. Musty.

The class begins with a long round of introductions. There is another German. This fact we both take with the usual slight embarrassment that is common when German emigrants meet.

We learn to hold the fiddle and the bow, with a floppy hand. The teacher asks us to play the A string. I think I know which one is the A string, but what to do with the bow? The part of the bow that touches the strings is made of hair (horse? hamster?) and needs to be tightened before playing. But by how much? I shout stop, too advanced, and the teacher slows down. We take 25 minutes to tune three out of four strings. In the process we lose two strings which is not so bad considering how many fiddles there are in the room.

The difference between a fiddle and a violin is that you shouldn't spill beer on a violin. I like this relaxed approach to learning music.

Autumn is coming

... So I took some pictures.

 

   

Princess2

After the princess incident last week, today was another memorable cycling day. Most of my commute is on cycle paths, but there are a few short bits on the road. On one of those, a car turned in front of me, cut me off, and made me brake sharpish. Not great, but I think the driver realised how close it had been and will surely watch out for bikes next time. And I would have forgotten about the incident right away had not a taxi driver, who had witnessed everything, slowed down right next to me and asked me if I was alright. Awwww. Made my day.

Princess!

On my daily commute to and from work on the cycle paths, I usually have to navigate slow cyclists, dog walkers and their dogs, passive-aggressive pedestrians, angry mums, children, dog poo - which is all preferable to cycling in car traffic.

But occasionally, my timing is bad and I have to share the cycle path with high school children on their way home. Some ignore me, some make space, some jump in front of me or shout abuse after me. One boy once stuck a stick between my spokes - I don't think he meant to hurt me, he was just curious. Fortunately, the stick broke.

Today, I passed a group of adolescents who had made space for me, so I said thank you. And one of them said you're welcome. And then he shouted "Princess" after me!

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!

At the library

At the library, I asked to have my book extended. The guy grabbed it on both ends, pulled hard, and told me it just wouldn't extend, as hard as he tried.

Now, a British person would have politely laughed at that joke and that would have been the end of it. But of course me being me, I called him out on it, accused him of recycling that joke, making it obvious that I was German. So, naturally, he told me a German joke.

A young German soldier, newly drafted, is sent to a training camp for the first time. There, he acts very strangely. Over and over, he picks up leaves and rocks from the ground. He looks at them, shakes his head and says: "This is not it." "This is not it." Inside, he picks up pieces of paper lying around. He looks at them, shakes his head and says: "This is not it." "This is not it." The commander watches this behaviour for a while and then decides that this young man is not fit for service. He decides to discharge him. So back in his office, he hands him the discharge papers. The soldier takes the papers, looks at them and says: "This is it!"

I don't quite get it - what's German about this? Well, you'll be glad to hear that I wasn't mean enough to make the librarian explain the joke. Instead I politely laughed, thanked him and left.

Pentlands on a Sunday

So I made plans to go for a coffee with a friend and then the forecast looked good and he said we should do a walk and I thought ok, let's stroll across the Meadows or check out Arthur's Seat, but he was thinking bigger and said he'd pick me up and we're going to the Pentlands.

So nice to have friends with cars. And what a car!

Looking at Edinburgh and Arthur's Seat in the centre

 

I like a good fence in a photo

More fence

All my favourite Pentlands hills at sunset

My friend's car

Well, I don't approve of sports cars and I was a bit worried someone would see me in it, but I must admit it was pretty cool to get driven around in the countryside in a Porsche.

Neighbours

Today, I had a look at my list of things to do once I reduce hours or take a career break, kind of a bucket list. One thing on it was to meet the neighbours. (The other things are more glamourous, I promise! Like visiting the Montreal Jazz Festival, the big American National Parks, doing all the walks in Scotland, etc.)

I've lived in my flat for almost three years and I would recognise the people from only one of the 6 (or is it 8?) flats in my house if I met them on the street. And this is only because they have a big white hairy dog. And even with them I've never exchanged more than a "Hi" or a nod.

Apparently, there is one obese mystery guy living in the top flat, which he never leaves. And there's also a family with a girl of school age. Across the hall lives an old guy who is not very mobile and leaves his laundry to dry in the cupboard in the hall. Smells good. Downstairs lives another woman with a dog. In the other flat downstairs resides the local drug dealer. Judging by the clientele, I would guess coke but then what do I know.

So considering that I don't have very sociable neighbours, and that I haven't been very sociable with my neighbours either, it was quite a surprise when a neighbour rang at my door today to apologise for the noise they were making in the flat upstairs. He invited me up. I was a bit stunned - a neighbour is speaking to me! And I made excuses. But he was also very friendly, so I said I might come up later.

Just by listening from my flat I was able to follow the course of the party over most of the evening. There was football and then rugby and then just drinking. There was mostly blokes and they were getting drunk. After a long period of indecisiveness because I was feeling a bit shy, I decided at last to follow through and go up and say hi and introduce myself, which I had failed to do when he came down. It was on my bucket list after all!

People were quite drunk but still trying to make friendly conversation. German skills were tested. I got a good look around the flat and a drink, and I met the other half of the couple who had been living here since December. Nice guys, very polite, going to do the West Highland Way in June, so we have that in common. One thing to check off the bucket list.