Day 59: Cannonball

There's a beach somewhere in Scotland made up of cannonball shaped stones. I can't remember where.

This stone makes me think of the failed attempt to introduce Rocket Mail to some of the more remote parts of the Highlands and Islands (tangential thought association of the day!)

I must have first heard that story whilst picking up perfectly round cannonball stones on that beach one day.

Day 58: First photos

I spent last night trawling through boxes of old photos and in amongst the decades of dodgy hairstyles and very questionable dress sense (if you can actually call it sense) I found this. The negative is probably long ago lost and I thought the print was too but here it is and I wanted to share it with you.

This is the first picture I ever took that I thought was of value. I was eighteen and travelling in India, I saw this little girl, completely beautiful in amongst the debris surrounding her and she shyly allowed me to take her picture.

Anyway, it means a lot to me to have found it again.

Here's another couple from the same trip, also newly rediscovered, that I also really liked.

Day 57: Pincer Movement

As you can see, I like playing with shadows.

Day 56: Star

Some abstract art for Thursday.

Day 55: 1970s Look

I liked the wood and chair combo.

Day 54: Mirror, Mirror, On the wall

I think the sign for the 'Through the ***king Glass' bric-a-brac and book shop needs renewing.

Day 53: Groovy Graffiti

On the Potterow graffiti wall. This caught my eye.

Day 52: Doric Pillars...

...and pesky traffic signage.

There's a good exhibition on about the art of printmaking at the National Gallery of Scotland on the Mound. My favourites were Head of Christ by Claude Mellan, an etching made with a single line circling from his nose out like the groove on an old gramophone record, thickening to give shading to the face, thinning again for lighter areas. Check it out on the link, it's pretty amazing close up.

The other ones I liked for pure humour, were William Hogarth's pair of prints called Beer Street and Gin Lane, showing Beer as the elixir of a productive and affluent life and Gin being the devil's brew, from which no good can come (sometimes I feel the same way).

It was considered dangerous, pesky, foreign muck. Ironic really since it's now considered as British as the Queen Mother.

(feel free to add your own punchline).

Day 51: Long shadows

I spent a great Saturday catching up with friends. Firstly, with the lovely Cluley clan for coffee and cake this morning. Then this afternoon it was skype, skype and away all the way to Swaziland. Turns out this blog is going down very well in one tiny corner of Southern Africa.

I was saying to my old friend Jo, over a cup of tea and about 10,000km of cyberspace, that what I love about blogging is the fact that it's like being the unashamedly batty old lady I have no doubt I'll eventually turn into - chatting incessantly but earnestly to myself, laughing at all my own jokes, showing my photos to all my imaginary friends - basically talking to the wall without much of a care in the world.

But you know, it's really nice to know that some of you are enjoying this.

I remember Solly the Afghan fruit and veg man on the Great Western Road in Glasgow once said that when you sit under the shadow of the apple tree for a long time it's difficult to leave.

I think he was talking about 'home'.

Day 50: Beach

I think there is a better way to do justice to all the different textures and colours in this beach scene but it's a Friday night, I've had way too much wine, some absolutely beautiful food (scallops, black pudding, samphire and sweet chilli sauce) so if anyone has any suggestions they are greatly appreciated.

I'm signing off. For tonight.

Day 49: Projection Poetry

They are projecting poetry all over Edinburgh this month and it's pretty cool.

I like to keep a couple of poems in my head just in case I need them.
Here's one of them.

Making Cocoa for Kinsley Amis by Wendy Cope.

"It was a dream I had last night

And some kind of record seemed vital

I knew it wouldn't be much of a poem

But I love the title"

Day 48: Cuppa tea?

Two chairs left out for the council pick up this evening.

Is it just me or does this look like a promising set design for Waiting for Godot?

Day 47: Precious

I'm reading Push by Sapphire this evening, the book the film 'Precious' is based on.

I felt the urge, and I can't really articulate why, to lie on my back and photograph the ceiling.

Day 46: Yellow sun

This could be my favourite so far.

Day 45: Girl with one eye

If you haven't discovered Florence and the Machine yet then I recommend you buy the album 'Lungs' as soon as possible. When you get to the song 'Girl with one eye' put it on full blast and dance round your living room like a banshee, preferable playing air guitar with a broom handle. Great therapy!

Day 44: Retro clothes

To be ironed with retro travelling irons.

Armstrongs is the coolest retro clothing store in town. If you're ever in the market for a high waisted, spandex jumpsuit or a Barrymore collared polyester shirt then you need look no further than here.

Day 43: Bianca Friday

Sometimes the only way to get the weekend off to the right start is with a Bianca Castafiore aria or two.

Day 42: Retro travelling irons

My friend Jane has the coolest collection of retro travelling irons.

If you could all please put on your best 1940s BBC wireless voice, gather your hair into some kind of elaborate array of ringlets (even the boys), get out your vermilion lippie (yes, you know you want to) and then continue reading the inscription.

Day 41: KFC

It almost looks pretty.

Day 40: Mile End coffee

Here's something fishy instead.

Day 39: Borough Market

... and the fisher man's friend.

Day 38: Southerndown

Yesterday we drove along the Glamorgan coast to Southerndown in Jane and Leonie's cool camper van.

This was the view. There was amazing texture in the rock and in the sand.

Day 37: Boyo!

Then it was Cardiff. This is the beautiful Welsh Millenium Centre. What an inspirational idea to etch poetry into the very heart of an arts centre. The English part of it says 'In these stones horizons sing'. It's awesome and when the light hits it at different times of day it changes colour. Saturday afternoon it was golden.

Day 36: Wanderlust

I'm backdating these because I didn't have access to a computer this weekend and I'm still dedicated enough not to want to miss a day on this 365 day journey.

I wanted to put up some pictures from the Destinations Travel Show at Earls Court on Friday. We had a fun time trying the Welsh toffee vodka, the Brazilian Kiwi Caiphrinia, filling out every coupon for a free holiday we could find, even those which undertargeted our demographic by about 20 years.

Here are a couple of pictures of the beautiful Trinidad and Tobago dancers that managed to smile through the whole day and one of me and my photo moment of the year.

Pic 1: How many flustered Chelsea Pensioners does it take to work a camera phone

Pic 2: Part mesmerized, part terrified, she couldn't quite work out which.

Pic 3: My 15 minutes of almost fame and 55 minutes of white wine slugging that followed. Thoroughly enjoyable from start to finish.

Day 35: Playing on the Putin

A quiet two-year old in the other room. Never a good sign.

"Isy? What are you doing?"

"I'm playing on the Putin"

(Her name for the computer). Very politically, intellectually aware household this is.

Day 34: London bound

Off to London tonight. For the big day on Friday but mostly just to hang out with this lovely little girl and her parents and granny.

May not be able to blog for the next few days and definitely won't be able to upload pictures so will be back to the blog-o-sphere on Monday.

Laters people.

Day 33: Find your voice

I like my saccharine sentiments with a hint of chilli.

Day 32: Ibrox is a Schiphol

This weekend on the bus I was listening in to a young guy on the phone to his friend talking football. In the course of their talk on season tickets, turnstiles, match schedules, stadiums, I heard the guy say to his mate, 'Ibrox is a Schiphol', and then again 'Ibrox is a Schiphol'.

I wondered what exactly that phrase meant, what benchmark within the footballing world did Schiphol represent. I didn't even know there was a stadium in Schiphol. All I knew was that there was an airport.

Then I thought how interesting it is that your knowledge of places and cities can be shaped and defined by your love of a sport or music or whatever. You know a place through a match you watched there or an event that took you there.

Then he said it for a third time - 'Ibrox is a shit hole'.