The Geese are Going

I was out for my walk yesterday when I heard the most tremendous racket. It took me a moment to work out that it was the sound of many many geese.

When I looked up I was quite awestruck. Lines and lines of calling geese, some of only half  dozen, others with maybe as many as fifty, all roughly V shaped, wheeling and coming together then moving apart again, all the while calling to one another.

 

This migration isn't anything I've really been aware of in previous years, although funnily enough I had a similar experience this morning. I'd opened the bedroom window in the early hours and woke up to another cacophony of geese. They couldn't be heard elsewhere in the house which proves the efficacy of the double glazing at cutting down noise if nothing else, and I nipped out into TWWCTG (the wilderness we call the garden) to see if I could spot any more birds. There were lots, more even than yesterday and I watched them fly along the sound which our house looks over, and at the end of it they all turned north and flew out of sight.

 

It was in some way a very melancholy experience, although they will doubtless be back in the spring, and I suppose I might even notice them returning.

Project 60 - Number Thirteen.

Yup, it's trying Yoga.

I have often wondered about giving this a go since it is supposed to keep you supple and also help with stress and anxiety. So spurred on by the Project 60 thing, this was the year when I actually signed up for a class.

 

I have to say that the Supper Room at the Town Hall, where the class is held, looks nothing like that beach  in the picture and nor do the students look anything like those in the picture either. But come on, it was never going to be like that! I did know.

 

I have been twice. There are ten classes in the session and I shall carry on until I have done the ten but I don't think I will be signing up to continue.

 

I didn't know quite what to expect, but I do know it wasn't what I got. It all seems a bit random and unstructured to be honest. Also, it was obviously developed for men and women with flat chests. Sadly I do not fall into either of those categories.

 

All in all I'd rather be doing Tai Chi. But it's another one off the list.

 

 

 

 



A Postscript to my Last (as they used to say)

Just after I blogged about the Polish paper I got the draft program for the conference, which initially filled me with fear.

Not only was I on a panel with my supervisor, but it was the first panel after the keynote speaker on Day 1 and, as the four participants are scheduled to deliver in alphabetical order, I am first.

What a way to start a conference career. I was horrified.

However a little reflection helped me put things in a better light. If I am first, there is no-one to compare me with. People are fresh and chances are they will actually listen. I get my presentation over and done with and will have no time to fret about it beforehand. Probably on balance best to be  first on Day 1 than last on Day 3. It helps as well that also speaking in that session is a very nice Czech girl I met last year at the World Congress, who is working on the poetry of another C20 Gaelic poet, Derrick Thomson.

 

Also, if my supervisor is on the panel he will not be visible to me in the audience as I speak which I would otherwise have found off putting, and equally he won't be able to ask me questions, awkward or otherwise. So all in all I am reconciled.

Paper for Poland

I mentioned a while back that I had had a proposal for a paper at a conference in Gdansk accepted, and that was all fine and dandy but of course what that means is that sometime between acceptance and the conference itself there are one or two things to do; arrange travel, book a hotel, write the paper...

Writing the paper is obviously  the bit that takes the longest. I won't say it's the hardest because actually the hard work is done when you submit the abstract since that says in 200 words what you're actually going to take 2000 words to say on the day so basically it's a bit of fleshing out (OK by a factor of 10 - well, I think it's a factor of 10) but that's not really difficult if you can get yourself to focus. And that's a big if....

 

However it was done last week. I also did some baking, sorted out a kitchen cupboard, caught up with some admin and correspondence, read a book (a real book that had nothing to do with study) finished two pairs of socks and a jumper for Marcus, booked my travel and accommodation and eventually there was no further displacement activity I could think of and I wrote the paper. I'm quite pleased with it (which is North East England speak for Actually it's damned good and people are going to enjoy listening to it and I'm probably going to enjoy giving it)

 

The small cloud on the horizon is that my subject  supervisor is going to be there too. Actually let's not kid ourselves, that's not a small cloud, that's a huge black shadow hanging over the whole thing. Who could have known he would be going? If I had known before I put in the proposal I wouldn't have done it, but the die is cast and as I have said to a couple of friends, I'm not important enough for him to want to spend time with me anyway, which is as reassuring as it gets. There are a couple of other people I know who are going so it will be them I look at when I speak, because they will smile encouragingly and everything will be fine. I hope.

 

Anyway it is still several weeks away yet, although I note with a heavy sigh that I do have a full supervisory meeting next Tuesday and Gaelic begins again next Monday morning. So that's all a bit of a car crash to 'look forward' to next week.

Project 60 - Number 12

Turns out this Project 60 is a bit like waiting for a bus. Weeks go buy without anything new, and then hey presto! lots at once.

Not quite sure what to call this one, so I'll just tell you about it. I went to the Orkney Sees Syria vigil yesterday lunchtime. I suppose it could be 'Standing up to Be Counted' or 'Political Activism' but whatever I call it, I certainly haven't done anything like it before.

It was cold and grey and did nothing for my sciatic nerve (except engender in it a deep pain) but when the OH expressed some concern for my wellbeing before I went, I pointed out, perhaps too tartly, that however uncomfortable I was going to be, at least I wasn't drowning in the Mediterranean. Which is, you know, a plus.

 

An hour is a long time to stand, and in silence, but we mostly managed it. There was plenty to watch as the vigil took place just in front of the Cathedral which is right in the centre of town. I was heartened by the number of tourists who walked up and put money in the box for Cal-Aid.

 

What I was definitely not heartened by was the subsequent behaviour of our local radio station, BBC Radio Orkney. Initially it put up a photo of the vigil, but after some 'vile and nasty' comments had been posted, they took it down. Seems to me, the right thing to have done would have been to leave the photo up, and block the vile and nasty comments. I'd hate to think the vile and nasty commenters were in such a majority that Radio Orkney was afraid to censor them for fear of losing its audience and found it easier to pretend that a couple of hundred folk had not given up an hour of their time in order to express their solidarity with those much much less fortunate than anyone who lives here.

 

I am happy to say that I was in blissful ignorance of this while it happened, so missed the vile and nasty comments; judging by what other people have said since, I suspect they chimed with the sort of thing you get on news paper websites like the Express and Mail every time they spin a story about the Migrant Crisis. I'm pleased I missed them.

An Antidote

As an antidote to the saffron cake I made some apricot crunch. I cannot in all honesty describe this as baking since there is no baking, or even skill, to it at all. You melt golden syrup, chocolate and butter in a pan. You mix together in a bowl some ground almond, crushed digestive biscuit, chopped dried apricot and sultanas. When the stuff in the pan is all melted you pour it onto the dry ingredients and mix them all together, then put it in a square tin and put the tin in the fridge for a couple of hours.

It's easy and it's gorgeous.

Which is more than can be said for saffron cake.

Saffron Cake

Today I made saffron cake for the first time.

Also the last.

It was so disgusting even the OH couldn't eat it.

It was so awful we threw it away.

Truly, we did.

And finally

from the Gaskell Society Conference -  a few pictures of the place we stayed.

 

It's called Cober Hill and it's in a small village called Cloughton near Scarborough. It was weird. Sort of like  a cross between a Youth Hostel, a not very luxurious hotel and a WEA institute. Built by a well meaning Victorian for workers to go and get rested and refreshed and educated all at the same time, it's now run as a centre for group holidays and so on, and some of the original ethos lingers on sadly.

 

The reception staff all need to go on a course called 'How to greet guests and make them feel welcome 101' together with a supplementary lecture entitled 'These people are customers and pay your wages, they are not a total nuisance sent to interrupt your cosy chat'. Equally the night manager might well take notice of the fact that tips will not be forthcoming if he is not in evidence, except behind a glass window that is firmly shut and has a Closed sign on it, at the relatively early hour of 9.00 pm. every evening and only comes forth to enquire if everything is going smoothly on the morning of departure.

 

Also a word to the Catering Department on Restaurant Management wouldn't go amiss. For the Conference Dinner, which obviously really is meant to be the highlight of the weekend, certainly food wise, I was sitting at a table where several people didn't get their choice of first course because 'it had run out'. The same thing happened with the main course. The really unlucky ones didn't get their choice of either course. Is it really beyond the wit of man to circulate the choices the day before so that demand can be gauged? Or is it just too much trouble?

The grounds were lovely though and offered a view to the sea - also a walk to it, had we had time.

 

 

 

 

Finally  a very happy memory of Saturday night's entertainment. Two retired consultants, one a gynaecologist/obstetrician and one an anaesthetist giving us their cabaret. The obs/gynae man had been a speaker in the morning, talking about C19 improvements in medicine in general and obs and gynae in particular ( interesting, but one of those hours where you do a lot of clenching IYKWIM!) Their act, honed over many years, was brilliant. I can't remember the last time I laughed so much, we sat in rows with tears of laughter rolling down our cheeks. So good. So funny.

How about...?

a couple of posts to finish off the Gaskell Society Conference report. Her are some photos of the trip to Whitby.

First off some 'exterior decor' snaps, taken up one of the many little 'yards' off the man street.

 

This is the sort of thing I'd love to do on my wall but it would just look stupid or cack-handed. I would choose the wrong shape or size of plant pot and then put the wrong plants in them, after which the plants would die and I wouldn't get around to clearing them out for ages. They'd be nothing but a horrible mess for 11 months out of 12. How great do these look though?

 

Ditto really for plants and tubs. We do have some pots, but they aren't as colourful as these. One year I may get myself sorted, especially as there's a man sorting out a little patio for us even as we speak. Or write and read, as it were.

 

The plaque on the house where Elizabeth Gaskell stayed with one of her daughters while she was doing some research for 'Sylvia's Lovers', and the house itself. Both house and plaque have seen better days but at least the plaque is now threre.  Only thanks to the efforts of  Dr J Billington, who was herself researching the Gaskell stay and was incensed to discover that a) there was no plaque and b) there was a plaque commemorating the visit of one Charles Dodgson Esq (aka Lewis Carroll) just round the corner. She says herself she's not sure if the Tourist Office quite knew what hit them the day she marched in and demanded to know why that should be so.  

 

For some reason nthat escapes me I didn't take pictures of the truly delightful tea shop where my Gaskell friend Kate and I had tea. She had some angel cake, I think on the grounds that she can't be bothered to make it herself, and I had chocolate cake, as they had run out of scones. It was an amazing place, quite Tardis like in its dimensions, very old, quite dark, and full of bookcases and unexpected sets of steps. Great fun, and if I'm ever back in Whitby I shall attempt to find it again. Possibly before they run out of their quota of scones for the day.