Snaps

Never thought I'd see myself doing this...but wanna see some of the snaps I took on holiday?





A tree, but not as we know it. Do you see the alligator in the wood? The alien species that has come down to watch over us...until the right moment Before it strikes and asks for 10%. Guess what I was watching last night?





I'm liking this one. Note the composition. Note how the trees frame the epic skies. Note how the small yellow sail (man made)acts as a counterpoint to the scale of nature. Note how full of shit I am.





There's something about this tree. What is it with me and trees?




This was taken at the pen that contained the Amur Tigers at the Highland Wildlife Park, Kincraig. Note how I skilfully caught the reflection of the people staring at the tigers and how they in turn become the exhibit. The tiger becomes hidden. The more we strain to see it, the more difficult it becomes to see. Like breathing, the more you focus on it the harder it becomes. The tiger becomes your breath and mists on the glass. Gawd, I am SO full of shit I should be locked up. But just for a moment you were going for it, right?

Prunes and tigers

Today, I’m like a prune. I have wrinkles on my wrinkles. I took son for a swim at a Leisure Centre at the McDonald Highland Resort in Aviemore. The cost for non-residents was £15. I explained to the receptionist that I only wanted a swim, not to take out membership. Her smile was frayed with impatience. Then, “There’s a wave machine.” She made a token effort to sell it to me and then raised an eyebrow that articulated exactly what was going on in her mind – “like I could give a shit, you wanker.”

My son was hopping up and down in anticipation of a dip. I handed over the cash and asked the receptionist if they provided staff with masks along with the uniform. She didn’t hear me. Probably because I’m a feartie and only asked it in my own head.

I was determined that we should get our money’s worth and we were in the water for ages. The wave machine was great fun and there was a slide that the wee fella pronounced the best he’d ever been on. Two hours later - the prune effect was achieved.

Yesterday was awesome. We went to the Highland Wildlife Park at Kincraig. They specialise in animals that are suited to the weather conditions locally and those whose numbers are in decline. Indeed many of the animals in situ are either extinct or approaching extinction in the wild. There are yaks, european bison, red panda, eagle owls, lynx, beaver, reindeer and loads more.

There is an area where you are able to get out of your car and walk about to look at the animals. There is also a stretch that you drive through and this is where many of the grazers are given space to roam. Driving through the main reserve we passed the Bactrian Camels, the Yaks, European Bison, red deer... and then we parked by the roadside to watch a small group of Przewalski’s Horses.
They are strikingly similar to the horses depicted in European neolithic cave paintings. Fossil evidence in Scotland indicates that wild horses survived here up to 3000 years ago but after the last Ice Age, the horses’ range became smaller and smaller until its last wild population was in Mongolia.
The Przewalski is presently being reintroduced to two main sites in Mongolia and they have re-established themselves well. Przewalski’s horses differ from domestic horses in a number of ways. Their skull is heavier and they have a thicker jaw as well as an upright black mane and no forelock. They are stocky with relatively short legs and a yellowish brown coat with black lower legs and a black tail. Just in case you were wondering.
And we can testify that they are also nosey feckers. We had the window down so I could try and take some photographs. One of the horses took this as an invitation to have a wee look at us – splendid specimens I could hear him say. I managed to get the window up just before it had a nibble at the wee fella’s hair. I have the horse saliva staining the length of my car window to prove it.

Headline act at Kincraig is undoubtedly the Amur tiger pair and their 3 cubs. They used to be known as Siberian tigers but apparently their numbers have retreated to a smaller area of the region; you guessed it, known as Amur. These are the largest tigers on the planet and to be mere feet (through thick glass) from ma and pa while the cubs (born on the 11th May this year) clambered all over each other was a thrill and a privilege. Pa Tiger was HUGE. Awesome is a word that is over used nowadays, but in terms of being able to watch these tigers so closely it is absolutely appropriate.

The WWF website says - In the 1940s the Amur tiger was on the brink of extinction, with no more than 40 tigers remaining in the wild. Thanks to vigorous anti-poaching and other conservation efforts by the Russians with support from many partners, including WWF, the Amur tiger population recovered and has remained stable throughout the last decade or so.

But poaching of tigers and its prey, increased logging and construction of roads, forest fires and inadequate law enforcement are threats that affect the survival of the species.


Another delight was the troupe of Snow Monkeys who have recently arrived. They were the most physically active attraction on the park and contentedly carried on with their lives in full view of the hairless bipeds on the other side of the viewing glass. Could’ve watched them for hours.

The wee fella was trying to work out the gender of several of the monkeys walking past. One large male turned away from us to present a close-up view of his hairless pink arse and a large pair of equally pink and hairless cojones...and this is why actors are always saying your should never work with kids or animals...
- Well he’s...my son began to say with the voice of a TV announcer.
- Don’t go there, I said quietly, trying to head him off at the pass.
- He’s definitely male, announced my son to the crowd around us.
- Yes and just leave it at that. I spoke quietly.
- ‘Cos I can see his big pink balls.
I should just have given in to the inevitable.

Oh – and for the record, two hours writing time yesterday and 1.5 today.

Holiday Stuff

It is now day 2 of my staycation and I am happy to report that I have indeed stayed in touch with my current novel. That’s 2 hours yesterday and 2 hours today. Woop, woop.

What else has happened during my Highland holiday? Yesterday was 23c and sunny/ cloudy. Today is 13c and raining sporrans and claymores. Where other than in Scotland can you get a summer weather variation like that? One blessing provided by the rain is that the pollen count is a good deal lower and I am able to move about today without feeling that the only way to stop the itching is to gouge out my eyes with my thumbs.

Other impressions of the holiday so far? Yesterday we were at the Osprey Centre at Loch Garten. They have a small building sited about 500 metres (actually it could be 600, 700, 1000 or even 1005 I have no clue and didn’t bother to ask, ok?) from the bird’s nest. The birds have some hatchlings and there is a CCTV trained on it (at last, a good use for one of these things) with live feed streamed onto a bank of TVs for the two-legged to watch. There are also a number of binoculars available for you to have a gander yourself. When I walked in to the centre the first thing that struck me was that the place had an almost reverential hush. Although it was full of people, they were all speaking to each other as if they were in a church or a library. Made me want to walk up and down the place doing a John Cleese walk while singing Waltzing Matilda. I settled for telling my son loudly TO COME AND LOOK AT THE BIG BIRDIES. To which, his reply was, you’re weird.

Red squirrels are being displaced all over Britain by those loutish, large, loud and greedy grey ones and lo it came to pass that a wee red one was sat right in the middle of the path to the car park. Around twenty humans stood at either side, afraid to move forward. We pointed cameras and spoke (again) in hushed tones. The wee red squirrel was completely oblivious to the giants that surrounded it, while he poked at a seed/nut/piece of crap on the ground. We humans were like cars lined up at either side of a level crossing. Eventually, with a swish of its big red tail the squirrel decided it had messed with our heads long enough and ran up the nearest tree. Where I like to think it had a right good giggle to itself.

BTW, the photo here for all of the common sense challenged is of a BLACK squirrel, courtesy of a Canadian chum. Apparently black ones are all the rage over there. See, I told you, Canadians are the nicest people.


Monday, and we popped in to Inverness ‘cos the wee fella had some holiday money and it was BURNING a hole in his pocket. He HAD to spend it. Oh – and I confess I went in to a bookshop and bought a book. I know, I know after I said I wouldn’t, but it was so lonely sitting there, on the shelf with all the others and I just had to pick it up and take it to the till and pay for it. For penance, I wrote 500 words when I got back to my lodgings.

I’m liking the new visitor centre at Culloden. On the way back from Inverness I managed to fit in some proper tourist behaviour with a wee detour to see it. My son asked who were the goodies and who were the baddies. Weeeeeeel, says I, glad you asked. I can now do my dad thing and try and educate you. See what I do to bring history alive for you? The Hanoverians had the British crown and the Stuarts wanted it back. So, Bonnie Prince Charlie sailed in to Scotland to try and raise an army against the government...but who were the goodies and who were the baddies, asked the wee man. ‘Sno as simple as that, son. His eyes glazed over until twenty minutes later he read a sign on the wall saying that although the battle lasted less than an hour it was actually extremely bloody.

If you ever have the chance to walk across the battleground itself – we didn’t today, it was still chucking it down – you’ll find it is an eerie kind of place. Muted. I was thinking of all the men who died there and wondering how silent the place would have been after the battle had ended and the dying had died - and how that sense of everything being a little more dim still shrouded the place centuries later. On the way out of the car park, my ipod was on shuffle and “chose” to play Fragile by Sting. “On and on/ the rain must fall/like tears from the sky/ like tears from the sky”. Can ipods on shuffle sense your mood, I wondered? In my head I put forward this theory that I have a sentient music machine. Until the next song totally disproved it – Marvin Gaye singing, the world is like a great big onion. Which, in case you don’t know goes like this...the world is like a great big onion, but with music and stuff.

Anyway – I have a book to read. See ya.

On Staycation

I’m having a “staycation” for the first week of my holiday this year. Like all words that become too popular this word annoys the feck out of me, but as a descriptive term it works.

And I had all these writing plans while I was off work. I was SO full of good intentions. As it happens, I am so full of shit. The weather was awesome for the main part of the week, so who could lock themselves on to their computer? And I had all those books to review for the website. And...and...and...

And this book isn’t going to write itself. Dammit.

So on week two of my vacation - the part that is not a staycation - when I head up to the Scottish Highlands, I have a plan. My son is not a morning person - frankly, he’s been a teenager in waiting since he was about 4. For the greater part of the day he is charm itself, but in the mornings ... Not So Good.

By the way, any prospective burglars out there. Don’t waste your time. Apart from having to tidy up before you find anything of value, I have a watchdog neighbour. She’s lovely but does “withering” very well and has the local police station on speed dial.

The plan for the awaycation is this...I set my alarm for 7 each morning. Write for a couple of hours by which my son will be stirring like some bear coming out of hibernation. I’ll feed him berries an’ shit like that and plank him in front of his Play Station for another few hours. Then lunch. Then we go out and take in the sights for a few hours.

In case you think I’m a crap parent, this suits him perfectly. He gets to sleep as long as he likes. He gets to play his games. He then gets to visit places on fast forward – just as he likes it. Everyone’s a winner.

Another part of this cunning plan is not to take any books with me. I know, I know, it will kill me. This is me gnawing on my knuckles at the very thought. No books. It’s like fish without chips; KFC without chicken; a romantic comedy without cheese.

I can do it.

Another distraction is of course, continued contributions to this blog. The plan here is to see how it goes, ‘cos the blogs don’t really take up that much of my time. Noooo, I hear you protest, they appear so carefully constructed and perfectly worded that they must take HOURS.

There maybe the odd post. So don’t stray too far. I don’t want to lose y’all. Sob. Missing you already.


Other questions have been pushing themselves round my head this morning. Like, where did the sun go? Who sent all this rain? (It’s like a freaking tropical storm.) And who has been wearing all my clothes and leaving them in the wash basket? Since I’ve been on my staycation (is it annoying you yet?) I’ve worn nothing but shorts, t-shirts and sandals. Yet I have a washing full of socks, shirts, jeans, jumpers etc etc. Frankly, I’m sick of it. Heretofore, from hereonin and going forward the plan is just to go about naked while I’m in the house. Think of the planet. I’m saving on water and on the soapy stuff. Besides the only people who ever come to my door are my son, the postman and door to door salesmen. My son has seen it all before, for the postie I’ll cover up with a towel and the salesmen deserve everything they get.

I have this trick I do. I call it The Lassoo.

Speak soon, Peeps.

Pear Ice Cream

Years ago when I was in the south of France on a camping holiday, I went to a cafe in the town of Cavalaire. Apropos of nothing but a chance to name drop, my caravan was next door to a very young Patsy Kensit and her pals. I reckon that’s where she got her taste for Scots men, but that’s a whole other blog.

One of the things I noticed while I was en vacances was that the fruit was bigger, more colourful and much tastier than anything we got at home. The pears in particular were amazing. And as I am often heard to say, you cannae beat a nice juicy pear. This particular cafe in Cavalaire specialised in ice cream. My pals chose while I studied the menu. One of the English girls in our company asked for a crepe. Stunned silence. She was too nice to be using that kind of language (too nice by far, if you catch my drift). With her southern accent it sounded like she was asking for a crap.

Eventually I chose pear ice cream and a few minutes later a very large glass container arrived holding a light green, glassy concoction that had me slathering like David Cameron over Labour’s latest fuckup (get over it, Davie-boy. You’ll never get the job). The pear ice cream came with a jug of water. Pourquoi l’eau, I asked in my best French. The waiter stared at me as if I’d asked for a crap. I was brilliant at asking for “trois coca” or “trois orangina”. I also had no small talent for asking for “du sel” for “les pommes frites”. Not so good at anything else. The waiter’s expression went through some changes before he considered that I just was one of those dumb Britishers who didn’t bother to learn god’s own language. Eventually pity won over scorn and he explained that the water should be used to refresh the mouth, because the flavour was so rich.

Aye right, I thought. Bring it on. There was a serious amount of ice cream here and I attacked it with gusto. I almost hesitate to use the metaphor – like the beautician faced with Susan Boyle’s eyebrows. The spoon from glass to mouth was a blur. Each spoonful was distilled, melting heaven. Ice cream as art. Then disaster. I noticed that my taste buds were becoming less responsive. The flavours were fading and I was less than a third of the way through. My gob was indeed in need of a rest.

I had a sip of water. My tongue was refreshed and - aaaaaaaah -once again able to cope with one of man’s best attempts at working with nature’s bounty. The next few spoonfuls were glassy green nectar. Chilled ambrosia. Then it was time for another sip of water before once again I lost the ability to fully appreciate the flavour.

This is a long-winded (but fascinating nonetheless as I’m sure you will agree) follow up to my blog on the reading marathon I embarked on at the weekend. If perfection is dished up to you as a constant, your ability to fully take in the achievement becomes tempered. Excellence becomes mundane and I’m too young at just over 21 to be jaded. Who’s that laughing in the corner? In essence it is time for a break from the reading. Besides, I don’t think ‘I haven’t finished my book yet,’ is an acceptable reason to pull a sicky. Nor would the boss believe I had a weekend break in Cancun and as a consequence required bed rest and the gentle ministrations of a student nurse.

...give me a moment to think that one through...

In any case, I’m half-way through Carlos Ruiz Zafon’s The Angel’s Game and my mind needs a wee rest from Barcelona and the machinations of Carlos’ quirky, wonderful characters. This is one of those occasions, just like the pear ice cream when quality should be taken in delicious spoonfuls, not in a binge.

As for Patsy and her pals...je suis un gentilhomme. And as everyone knows they don’t tell tales. Unless of course, suitable motivation is provided.