Borders Abbeys Way 1

Another long weekend, another long walk. My friend, let's call him Joe, who accompanied me on the last one, was keen to do another one. Usually a mountaineer, this different kind of walking was a revelation to him. The full walk report is coming out soon!

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.

Music school

Folks, I'm away at a summer school of music in England for a week!

I packed all instruments I could find apart from the fiddle: the uke, trumpet, kazoo, rekorder (my favourite!), harmonica, and a borrowed music stand. Also my glad rags and dancing shoes for the gala dinner.

This is happening in a boarding school with the great name of "Giggleswick" in Settle in the Yorkshire Dales. Kat and I once walked from Settle to Malham (*click*) over the hills, arriving at Malham in the dark -  and I never blogged about it!

I am taking three courses: Ukulele, Jazz voice, and first steps in improvisation (trumpet). Ukulele should be easy and fun. Jazz voice is quite outside my comfort zone, and while I have done some improvisation before, the last time I touched my trumpet was probably five years ago. So, good fun ahead!

Pilgrimage 3

Monday: Wooler - Fenwick - Beal - Berwick-upon-Tweed

I still have the dorm to myself but I don't sleep too well anyway. But a full cooked English breakfast is waiting for me so I get up and make my way to the dining room. The table is set for two, everyone else is making their own breakfasts. My friend is nowhere to be seen so I order him some tea and am ready to take it to his dorm when he arrives. Phew, I didn't really want to set foot into a male dorm in the morning.

We say our goodbyes to the natural dying girls and the pilgrims, and leave to do the final stretch, 23 km (14 miles) to the coast. We won't be able to cross over to Holy Island today, because the tide will have come in by the time we make it to the causeway. Instead, my friend suggests we continue walking to Berwick-upon-Tweed, rather than taking the bus, from where we will take our train back to Edinburgh. This is a ridiculous idea, as it will add another 17 km (10 miles) to the day, so I agree.

We walk through Wooler and past a group of adolescent walkers who we soon leave behind, never to be seen again. We meet a gang of young bulls - or bullocks - the ones without balls anyway. They are quite friendly, curious and excited, mounting each other, and I'm feeling much braver when I'm past them and on the other side of the gate. Love is definitely in the air - three female sheep are at it nearby.

I'm feeling stronger today, slightly better rested, and we are leaving the Cheviots behind us - in theory, it's only downhill from here. We walk over a very old-looking bridge, Weetwood bridge, and a couple of ladies tell us it is medieval. We take a break on a grassy pillbox from the second world war. We visit St. Cuthbert's Cave in the woods, which has graffiti from the 18oos scratched into the large rocks, and we climb some boulders here.

When we leave the woods, a man warns us of another gang of cattle with offspring and offers us his stick to fend them off. We cross the field, and a group of people come our way, looking very scared and yet determined, trying hard not to make eye-contact with the cattle closing in. But the cows sense our fearlessness and leave us alone. We see the sea.

At Fenwick we carefully cross the fast A1 and then approach the rails. There's a phone here for calling the signalman to ask when it's safe to cross. He asks how many of us there are and how long it will take us to cross, and then he allows us to cross.

We watch the last cars on the causeway returning from the island before the tide comes in, and we make our way to the barn at Beal, a cafe, for a long break in the sun with a sea view. We decide to walk to Berwick-upon-Tweed. I'm not ready for the adventure to be over, and I don't know yet that it is another 17 km.

The walk to Berwick along the coast is lovely - at some point I take off my shoes and walk in the sea - my feet are loving it. They are complaining a bit though when I have to force them back into the boots. To keep our minds off the pain and the remaining miles we resolve to riddles and logic puzzles.

We pass a beautiful grand house on a cliff and I wish it was a hotel, taking us in, but we keep walking and eventually reach Berwick. We hobble into the town centre and have some food and wait for the train. A man is waiting with us and tells us that he owns the grand house on the cliff and runs it as a B&B.

On the train, my friend is absolutely shattered and can barely keep his eyes open. I'm actually not too bad and tease him by acting extra lively. We arrive in Edinburgh at 10 pm or so, and after 85 km (53 miles) in total, and 40 km (25 miles) today, I'm sore and I shiver from exhaustion, and I think this was an absolute beauty of a weekend.

Pilgrimage 2

Sunday: Kirk Yetholm - Hethpool - Wooler

It is Sunday morning and on entering the hostel kitchen, my friend gets me a coffee and fries me some duck eggs. That's the way to start the day! We chat with some grumpy Danish walkers, and with a girl who's doing the pilgrimage with her grandad. These pilgrims we will meet again.

We leave for our 20 km (13 miles) walk to Wooler - our shortest day. We soon have to climb our first proper hill, one of the Cheviot Hill range, and it feels much more strenuous than the previous day. Maybe the climb is steeper, but I'm also feeling a bit sleep-deprived and am less talkative than I have been. On top of the hill we take a break and a nap or two in the sun. When we continue walking we meet a bunch of Englishmen in an eerie forest plantation who tell us that we have already crossed the border - without noticing, we might even have taken a nap on it!

I  run out of chat, so I ask for most embarassing stories and uncover a goldmine! Of course nothing that I could share here.

We interrupt the day several times with long breaks and naps, but are still exhausted when, after a few lovely miles across a desolate moor, we arrive into Wooler where we shave half a mile off our walk by taking a shortcut on a road. The hostel is up a hill, but at least we each have a dorm to ourselves!

After a cup of tea and a bit of a rest, we freshen up and search for a pub for food. The Tankerville Arms, or the "Tanky" as the locals call it, is a mile down the hill, but the food is worth it. In fact, I get so excited about eating that I throw half a pint over my friend's lap. Oops. Sorry mate.

To make up for it I offer him a piggy- back up the hill back to the hostel but have to give up after a few meters. Also, the etiquette concerning arm placement of the piggy-backee is unclear.

Back at the hostel, we have more tea and a chat with the pilgrims who are also staying here, and with a group of three girls who are on their way to a course in "natural dying". This is about dying textiles with dyes made of plants, and has nothing to do with assisted dying.

A couple of retired Germans stop at the hostel to speak to the warden about something, and then join us for a chat about their trip through the UK. The man is originally from Peine, a German town near Braunschweig, where I lived for 10 years, and he is friendly and talkative, while his wife seems a bit shy with her English. They promise to stop if they see us hitchhiking tomorrow.

After all the walking, napping, and socialising, I am exhausted and ready for an early night.

Pilgrimage 1

Another long weekend, another long walk. Part-time working is paying off!

My original plan was to walk and wild camp in the highlands, but the weather forecast for the north looks unpleasant. Instead, I look south for alternatives, and discover St. Cuthbert's Way.

Following in St. Cuthbert's footsteps, this walk goes from Melrose Abbey in the Scottish Borders across the English border and the Cheviot Hills towards the sea, and over a causeway to the Holy Island of Lindisfarne off the coast of Northumberland. I convince a friend to join me, and as there is hostel accommodation on the way, we travel light.

Saturday: Bonjedward - Morebattle - Kirk Yetholm

On Saturday morning my friend awaits me with coffees at the bus station in Edinburgh. A bus takes us in 2 hours to Bonjedward just north of Jedburgh, where we join the trail at noon, walking 25 km (15 miles) to Kirk Yetholm. On the way, we visit and climb around in the ruins of Cessford Castle, and stop in Morebattle, where a Danish minister is restoring the derelict church building which in the meantime acts as a cafe.

There are no other walkers on the trail - but then we skipped the first leg of the walk (Melrose to Jedburgh), which most other walkers would have done on the Saturday, so we are one day ahead of everyone else.

Walking is effortless. It must be the nice company, conversation flows easily. I wonder if this will still be the case on day three.

We cross Wideopen Hill, the wind in the back pushing us up and over.

Walking into Kirk Yetholm in the evening, we find a wooden box with duck eggs for sale and buy some for breakfast. We have a chat with the locals about the merits of each of the two pubs in town, the Plough and the Border. The Plough sounds more fun, and indeed it is. We sit with lorry driver Mark who is at first a bit shy at admitting that he is collecting sheep to take them to the abattoir in Aberdeenshire, their final stop before Morrison's supermarkets. I think he's worried I might disapprove, because I look like a vegan.

While chatting and getting our food we also find ourselves in the middle of a lively pub-wide game of beer pong with the locals. Ping pong balls are flying high, and when we later check out the classier and much quieter Border Inn for a night-cap, the contrast is stark.

Back at the hostel I take a late shower and find a top bunk bed in the full dorm. The bunk beds shake whenever the girl below is moving, and despite an early start and a long day of walking, I'm not getting much sleep.

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 3

My old team won an award for SIMD16, our statistical publication last year (*click*). The award is a fairly big deal for statisticians, and as my friend G said, obscure awards are the best kind. Here is a curated selection of Tweets about our big moment when we picked up our trophy in London:

Awards and all

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...

Updates 1

To keep those of my lovely friends, who I talk to in real life way too rarely, updated on my life, here's a list - who doesn't love a list?

• Top 1 news: I was promoted and now have the best job ever. At the interface of research and policy, I support local and national government in using evidence to fix child poverty in Scotland. I basically find out and explain what needs to be done to address the things that cause child poverty, and how this can be monitored. As a side benefit, this job might send me to the Shetland Islands.
• Related to this, I found going through the promotion board very stressful and was extremely relieved once that was done. Once the first paycheck arrives I'll be even happier. Also, no need  to try and impress anyone at work anymore, I can let my work speak for itself. Liberating.
• I bought a bivvy bag - this is a waterproof sac in which you stick your mat, your sleeping bag, and yourself and sleep in the hills. To be tested soon.

Old flames

I met up with Campervan Boy. Remember Campervan Boy (*click*)?

He was the first man I met through online dating three years ago. I hadn't seen him since then, but after a weird coincidence involving me being at his workplace, and him giving me a butt dial, we arranged to catch up.

It was nice! I remembered why I liked him. He's a good one, a free spirit, unpretentious, cheeky. I also remembered why we didn't work out. But I'm glad we met - it makes me think that online dating wasn't a complete waste of time.

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.

Moffat hills in February

One week to go

I'm 30 days into my wheat free lent and I miss this:

Pancake Tuesday

Happy Pancake Tuesday!

It's pancake Tuesday, which means that from tomorrow, lent offers another chance for making up for a failed dry January! I haven't yet decided what I'm giving up, but there's one more night to sleep on it.

So, what are you giving up until Easter?

• Chocolate?
• Coffee?
• Alcohol?
• Social media?
• Complaining?
• Moderation?
• Your hopes and dreams?

Happy Chocolates-on-Special day everyone

This is what my flatmate got from her partner for Valentine's Day:

• a card outlining how weird and wonderful she is
• three bars of soap
• Swiss chocolate
• two blowtorches

Thanks for sparing me the pain and resentment of a slowly fading love

I was searching for an example of using the words "thanks for sparing me ..." and found an electronic greeting card saying something semi-witty, but it started quite poetically with this sentiment:

Thanks for sparing me the pain and resentment of a slowly fading love

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.