Stranger in a strange land

A lot has changed in the five years I've been away from the UK. Little things. Every now and then I found myself feeling much as I imagine a stranger would feel, or an old person who suddenly finds they haven't kept up.

In London I tried to board a bus only to find I should have bought my ticket from a machine behind the bus shelter. In a shop I tried to pay with Switch, then panicked when I saw that my card no longer bore the Switch logo. This was alright though, but then the cashier pointed me to a card reading machine on my side of the counter. Only on my third attempt did I get it in the right way round, then was asked to enter my PIN. "Is that the same as the one I use in the ATM?" I had to ask. It struck me as funny, but I've a feeling I just appeared rather stupid and confused.

Luckily I was taken step-by-step through the self-check-in process by a charming young man at Heathrow - see, now I even sound like an old dear. The new security measures in the airports were easier to deal with, as there were plenty of instructions for the uninitiated.

Nobody had told me that mobile phones were 'locked' into one network. And that was after I'd remembered not to call it a handphone. And so on. There I was, old before my time, a stranger in a familiar land.

Night bus to London

Edinburgh, 10pm, and Princes Street is teeming with half-naked children tottering about on stillettos. These girls are so young that the boys with them are still at the age where they're smaller than the girls. Nobody looks over thirteen, many look slightly drunk. Cheery barrel-chested policepersons stand in twos, flourescent yellow beacons attracting tourists who ask for directions or photos. More kids continue to carry each other, squealing with laughter, up the Waverley Steps from the station, spitting themselves onto the street, before slipping back into cool and mooching across to McDonalds. Suddenly I feel very old, and feel that I have been away for a very long time. Finally, I feel relieved to see at last the UK I have always known was lurking here, beyond, behind and within all the lovely places I have been to.

Compared to a bus trip in Africa, it was a doddle, but I have to say I expected it to be comfortable rather than just bearable. I will save the details for the letter I'm writing to Megabus and just tell you that I arrived dazed and delirious at Victoria at about six-thirty on Saturday morning.

The Falkirk Wheel

This is a really fascinating piece of engineering. The Falkirk Wheel is a rotating boat lift linking the Forth and Clyde canal with the Union canal near Falkirk, as you might have guessed. The canals have been reopened and renovated fairly recently, but the flight of eleven locks that previously joined them had mostly been destroyed and built over, so this boat lift was created to replace the locks. Apparently it used to take a whole day to navigate the entire flight of locks, but the new method takes less than twenty minutes.





Mum, Dad and I went for a look, read up a little in the information centre, then watched the wheel in operation. We declined the opportunity of a boat trip up and down again, and instead watched the workings which would not have been visible from the boat. The upper canal has been built out from the hillside, through which it has passed in a tunnel, onto an aqueduct that juts out over a large pool beside the lower canal. The boats enter the wheel area, which is then completely sealed before the wheel rotates, bringing one boat up to the top while another comes down.


We walked up to and through the tunnel and along the canal a little way, passing a couple of locks and a pair of very cheery lock-keeper types who chatted about this and that. I thought briefly about walking back all the way to Edinburgh along the towpath, but instead opted for a ride in the car, including a stop off and Marks and Sparks where we indulged in an orgy of biscuit buying. A grand day out.

Aberdeen

Aberdeen is a strikingly attractive city. Perched on the edge of Scotland, stacked full of grand granitic architecture, it gleamed in the sun. Big business-like ships somehow managed to dock right in town next to the bus station, and a ferry waited to set sail for Shetland. The grey North Sea bravely sparkled when it could, dog-walkers strolled along the beach, even the big oil-related installations sat benignly on the harbour front. Out by the beach the city gives way to a tiny old fishing village of tinier houses, small and bright like beach-huts. Walking the narrow paths between them felt like walking through private gardens, amongst the barbecues, potted plants and washing.


Of course, I'm sure Aberdeen has rougher edges, but everywhere I went was simply the epitomy of couth.
In honour of the city's grandeur, I have penned a wee poem with some help from the famous poet, Adrian Mole:

Oh, Aberdeen!
I had never seen
you before.
Your granite glistened grandly
in the Scottish summer sun.
So did the sea,
till it rained.

I had only gone to spend a couple of days with my friend Shona and her family. Then somehow managed to stay there a week. In fact, it was so nice I'm surprised I'm not still there now. In all the time I was travelling, there was always the issue of "Going home" - an issue that I had trouble dealing with, as I had and have no home. The home I pictured as I travelled was the flat in KL that is no longer mine. But at Shona and John's, I found myself at home.

It was great to chat, or relax with a book, or a glass of wine, fun to do homework with the kids, walk along the railway line, and specially to go and watch Maxwell play his rugby match. And that's despite the shock of being reminded that I am old enough to be mistaken for the parent of a 13 year old! I even braved my way through Lucy's seventh birthday party - possibly a rather more contraceptive experience.

This was not only a lovely slice of Scotland, but also a lovely slice of family life. Not to mention a wonderful chance to catch up with people I haven't seen for a year. Now I'm just trying to work out why I decided not to apply for that job there...

All roads roam to leeds

Mum, Dad and I headed to Leeds to see Simon and Ping. So here we all are, apart from Mum who must have been taking all the pictures. Small niece is Sophie, aged about 3. Smaller one is Catherine, who has been around for about a year. They live somewhere near Leeds, and we took an afternoon walk from their house, past the sewage works to some scenic village which is home to the Woolpack pub of 'Emmerdale' fame:

Now that I have met these new relations, I can disappear again to distant continents, safe in the knowledge that everyone needs an elusive aunt.