The Battle of Largs

The Sixteenth of February Two Thousand and Twelve. Thursday.

And so my long winter hibernation comes to an end. Yes, the blog is back. Next week I'll set about finishing off the Nanowrimo novel that petered out last November, but for now it's the usual nonsense.

Mind you, I was enjoying a long bath last night (you can tell when you're enjoying it, you don't notice the water's gone cold until your toes go numb) when Twitter led me to the wit and wisdom of The Bloggess (haven't figured how to make links on the phone app, you'll have to copy and paste - it's worth it (am now at home and have edited it so it becomes a link - yay!)). I believe the term is 'she's won the Internet'. I thought I can't even come close to that level of aceness, I might as well go back into hibernation.

Then I had some Norwegian cheese and got on with it.

I'm enjoying a brief sojourn in Scotland at the mo. I'm staying near Falkirk at a Travelodge near the motorway. Bit of a walk to get there - don't mind that - but unfortunately it's at one point of a triangle formed by it, Polmont town centre and the railway station. No cheap fried breakfast en route on my daily trips and no nearby shops. I wasn't going to pay Travelodge's obscene prices for UHT and a croissant so a visit to the Co-op (checking where the chippy was as we went) was called for.

Stocked up on the essentials: variety pack of cereal (it was Honey Shreddies this morning), bottle of proper milk (put on window sill to keep cool - see photo), Irn Bru, crisps, juice, gimmicky tubes of Heinz instant soup and cheese.

But which cheese?

Turns out the best offer was on Jarlsberg Norwegian cheese which is made to a secret recipe which is telepathed to a head cheesemaker ((insert Life of Brian joke here) they daren't write it down!) at fromageries around the world from the mind of of a preternaturally old Viking woman kept alive, lo, this past milennium by the cheese's life-giving properties.

At least I think that's what it said on the label. Tastes very nice, anyway.

This led me to investigate the links between Norway and Scotland. Famously, there's a strong Viking influence here. Also, the two nations went to war from 1262-1266 - over the Hebrides or cheese I can't remember which (I got all this off Wikipedia). There was a series of skirmishes, the most significant of which was The Battle of Largs, the conclusion of which was indecisive (although it favoured the Scots). This is commemorated in Largs by the daubing of Scots pickle on a life size cheese longboat every year, although a rise in lactose intolerance has seen this practice diminish in recent times.

Anyway, I'm off to Brodick on the Isle of Arran today. I'll be sailing from Ardrossan, not too far from Largs, but unfortunately I won't have time to pay a visit so further research is impossible.

On a happier note today's third photo is of a small leaflet left by some religious nut while I was eating my Quorn chilli the other night.

More soonliest (no, honestly (as sung by Lynsey de Paul, the theme to the sitcom with John Alderton (but not the sequel 'Yes, Honestly' starring Liza Goddard)))

Aquae Sulis

The Nineteenth of September Two Thousand and Eleven. Monday. 

Let’s start off with some Divine Comedy. 

I have a very compact and bijou flat, with all the mod cons (I even have a kitchen in my living room – how space age is that?) and apart from the damning cold which is once more beginning to encroach upon us (the tiny wall-mounted electric heaters are barely adequate) it suits my current needs quite nicely. 

Where it falls down a bit though is in the hygiene stakes. Not just the general unsanitary detritus you’d typically get in single male accommodation. No, it’s just that if I want or need to have good scrub I have only a shower with which to do so. 

A shower. 

Oh, how I long for a bath. I like a good soak. You can have a nap, read a (comic) book, listen to the radio. Have a bit of a think while all the while getting cleaner, it’s marvellous. 

It’s a tricky equation getting the temperature right, mind. In anticipation of a good hour-plus long soak some discomfort might be experienced as you fill the tub with piping hot water. That scalding sensation will only last minutes and it is necessary to endure it to ensure as long as is possible is spent in the water before it becomes cold enough to give you various muscle cramps. 

These days I only ever get the chance for a bath when I’m visiting my parents or I’m on holiday. I’ll say one thing for my old friend Travelodge, they usually do you proud on the tub front. I got a good soak with my copy of Action Comics no1 in Edinburgh recently (not the original 1938 edition, naturally, but Grant Morrison’s superb entry into DC’s line-wide reboot (yes another Morrison title forming my Fifth Comic Book Recommendation). In fact, I think that was my last bath to date. 

The parental bath is good, but there your time will most likely be curtailed as you will not have sole use of the bathroom. Still, I like to get as long in as possible before someone starts hammering on the door.

When it comes to very long baths we all aim to emulate the Captain of the Golgafrincham B Ark off of The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He knew how to drag out a bath. Let's see him in action:

Sigh.

Off to bed I go, and in the morning - a shower. But in my dreams I will be fully immersed and in the company of a rubber duck.

More soonliest.