Me and Bobby McGee

There I was sitting in La Plaza de Armas watching the world go by and thinking I should be doing my Spanish homework but putting it off for a few more minutes to enjoy the scene around me whilst avoiding all the kids offering to shoeshine me out of existence, when along came this beautiful young girl and sat herself down beside me and starting singing "Fever", which I'm sure is a song you are all familiar with from years gone by. A lovely wee tune I think we can all agree on.

I could hardly believe that I was giving this young woman fever all through the night being as I'd only known her for a few minutes and I'm beginning to wonder if maybe we'd met in some other existence. But I guess she must have had someone else in mind.

We got chatting and she told me her name was Haylly, which is a Quechua name, though she does not speak the language. She loves singing , it's her passion and is hoping to get some gigs locally with some jazz/blues group she knows.

Then her friend Albero turned up with his guitar and happy attitude. He's an architect student in his third year but not at classes because of the teachers/lecturers strike. We got to talking about music we all liked and books and stuff. He is a Morrison fan, Jim not Van. Don't think he knows much Van. But he likes to call himself Al Morrison, as a tribute to the late Jim. So Haylly says, but she may have been in jest.

Meantime she has taken his guitar and is playing away happily and singing some Beatles tunes. She said she knew some Dylan songs but then began to sing a Janis Joplin song I'd never heard before. I asked her if she knew "Me and Bobby McGee", which she did and a couple of minutes later she is singing and playing it for me. She knew the whole song, beginning to end, and it's not a short song to remember. She sang it beautifully, and a few wise people stopped to listen.

You can find Janis Joplin singing it on YouTube. Or even Kris Kristofferson himself, its one of his finest songs, if you don't Sunday Morning Coming Down and Help me make it Through the Night, and a few others which escape me right now.

I just love being in Cusco. It's moments like these and many others that make it all so worth while, never mind the joys of spending time with the kids at La Policia. I cannot imagine any beautiful young girls back in Edinburgh, stopping by to sing me a song; though there was one time when someone sang Lakes of Pontchartrain for me in a private, intimate performance but that was different, we were both young and beautiful. I still am of course. You can still find a very young Paul Brady sing that particular song on YouTube.

Albero was telling me he was an anarchist himself and didn't think we should have to work for a living. He was taken aback when he heard that I'd had the misfortune (or fortune depending on how you see it) of having worked for 40 years. I don't think the idea appealed to him and I could see the sense of what he was saying as we sat there in La Plaza listening to Haylly serenade us.

I showed him the book I was reading "The Wild Places", as he was fond of all things natural, mountains and rivers and stuff. He produced a mathematics text book from his bag, and said "for me this is beautiful". Impressive young guy, hope he finds all he seeks in life. I'm sure he will make a fine architect. My second architect of this trip.

Haylly, not to be left out of things, produced her current reading, which turned out to be some book by a fifteenth century Italian philosopher, name of which and whom I forget, but had an introduction by Borges, who was a fan.

Enough rambling for now. I might put a picture of Haylly up but I'm not sure as I'm in it as well, and don't wish to upset my readers. I handed my camera to Albero to take a photo, which is not something I would normally do, but he decided to include me in it as well, so I took one of him.

Teachers are still on strike, after two weeks. There were big demos in Lima and other cities yesterday, but not in Cusco, or at least not that I'd seen anyway. The workers united.

Padre Donald

The boy with no name is still at La Policia de la Familia, but is now called Antonio, but still no contact from parents or anyone else. That's him in the photo with another volunteer who is helping out there too. He's a lovely wee chap and seems content enough. Hopefully he will be found a place in a good orphanage soon, with lots of love and care on the go.

Guido is still with us. Goodness knows where he will end up. He says he is very bored which is no surprise really. He's been stuck there for a long time, weeks in fact. He seems to have toned down his aggression. He's a very bright intelligent boy. Whenever we play memory games he always wins. I get them to read some poems to each other from a book I bought for them which consists of poems about Peru and its history etc. He can read a poem beautifully and next day he will remember some lines from it. Such a shame his life chances are so restricted. Lets hope he will meet someone who can help him achieve a little of his potential.

That's him in the middle of the game of twister. And yes I know there shouldn't be three of them playing all at once, but the boys make their own rules which they like, and game ends with a total collapse and no winner, which amuses them.

I met the man who paints The Stadium of Light the other day in some cafe where I was helping him make his order. That's where Sunderland FC play for those not acquainted with English Premier League. He tells me he's met Steve Bruce who was very amiable and chatty, but he's not yet had the pleasure of meeting the saintly Martin. So that's a nice job to have. He's in Peru with his wife to do the Inca Trail, but he was suffering badly from the altitude. I told him he needs about four or five days to acclimatise, so fact he was off to the trail next day didn't seem too encouraging. I didn't know when I told him five days that he was off the next day. Geordies are softies don't you think?

My hairdresser here in Cusco is called Juan. When he heard my name he told me he knew one other Scottish Donald, except he was a priest called Padre Donald. Takes his confessions etc. So good to see that us Scots and especially the Donalds are doing our bit. I guess he will be a Celtic supporter so will look out for him tomorrow watching the gemme in some Irish bar.

Fun and games at La Comisaria

Gabino Aguirre Segovia

It rained in Cusco yesterday. Lets hope that climate change hasn't brought forward the start of the rainy season. Having said that it's a fine and sunny this morning, so maybe yesterday was a one off. I would hate to think the rain is following me around the world. Surely the heavens have sent me enough rain this year back in Edinburgh to do me a life time.

However perhaps the rain and the heavens brought me a piece of good fortune. I was sheltering under the eaves of a cafe in Plaza San Blas as I waited for my pal Ernesto to show up. As I was standing there watching the rain teaming down and folk running to cover their stalls and disappear for shelter I was joined by this old guy, well as old as me anyway, and we got into conversation as one does, about the weather and climate change and stuff like that. Funny how the weather is always a great way to get to know people, don't you think?

It was looking as if we would be there for some time and no sign of my pal so we introduced ourselves. Turns out that he is a Peruvian artist called Gabino Aguirre Segovia who paints and works with textiles. He told me that he is 80 years old and when I expressed some degree of astonishment he stuck his hand in his pocket and produced his DNI card ( that's his national ID card). He was a warm welcoming guy and happy to converse and tell me about his life and put up with my Spanish.

He has an exhibition starting tomorrow in Salon Contemporaneo de le Municipalidad del Cusco and he has invited me to attend the official opening at 7 o'clock tomorrow night. When the rain eventually stopped he went to his car and brought me back a copy of the catalogue and an invite. I will of course be going along and maybe even buy a painting, which he assures me are "muy economical". I can roll it up and stick in a tube to carry back to UK in my suitcase. I'm sure they will be able to provide such things at the exhibition and I can go back to collect it when it finishes on 29 September, just before I go back to Lima. Well lets see how it goes anyway.

Gabino is one of those older guys whom I find an inspiration as I get on in years myself and look to my retirement in a few months time. I've been lucky to have met a few people like him over the years, to provide inspiration and ideas. So Gabino helps me look forward to the next part of my life, though he doesn't realise it. Let's face it I guess I have far fewer years ahead of me than I have to look back on, so it's incumbent on me to make the most of them and to take all the inspiration I can find to help make the next few years as good as those that have disappeared in the distance. Where do all the years go to anyway?

Bob Dylan has been an inspiration to me ever since him and I were young together, give or take a years or two. Some day soon I will write about how I got to know Mr Dylan as it's a nice wee story, so if I forget someone should remind me. I reckon my relationship with Bob goes back pretty near fifty years, with all it's ups and downs, though mostly ups, and now as we both get on in years and he produces some of his finest work at the age of 70 he is even more of an inspiration. Thank you Bob, and thanks too to the person who first made me listen to him. You know who you are!

I have to leave this post now, but I will write about someone who has inspired me on a personal level over the past few years in Edinburgh in a later posting.

The trip to the womens' collective/micro business was postponed at last minute but will be back on next week. Hence no report on it so far, but more soon I hope.

Saturday

Saturday morning and I've been up since 7 o'clock. My dawn chorus here is the noise coming from the rail shunting yard nearby which fortunately coincides with my getting up time, though of course one would prefer a more avian type chorus such as I'm blessed with in Edinburgh.

I've been watching the Man U game since 9 o'clock which I guess means a 4 o'clock kick off back in Manchester. Chicharito missed a penalty after 5 minutes but we're now three up and Powell has come on for Giggs and Van Persie for Scholes. Very satisfactory. I see Arsenal are going well this season. Wonder what Van Persie will think if they win the league this year?  Powell has just scored a goal which Scholes himself would be proud of and Buttner has his first.

Last night I took a taxi home from La Plaza as it was a bit late and don't like to walk home much later than 9.30 or so, unles I've got company. Taximan was as per usual in a hurry.  I keep telling the taxi drivers that it's quicker going down Ave El  but they see to think they know best so they go another route.

This takes us round the back way and along a very narrow one way street with tall buildings either side so it seems as if the buildings are crowding in on top of you. Can't remember what it's called.  It has a pavement (sidewalk) down the left which is no more than a ledge really but folk still walk along it. Along the other side the pavement is a little bigger, maybe about two feet or so.

The Spaniards didn't think of Peruvian taxis when they built on top of old Inca streets. This particular street is always busy with pedestrians on both sides, and there's a club or disco half way along so at night it's even busier. This doesn't cause my taximan to go any slower as he belts along swerving round the pedestrians as we go even though he can see a queue of cars at the end waiting to hit the main drag.

Once we hit the main road we are diverted by the traffic cops and go another way altogether which takes us right into what seems to be a riot going on. Streets are crowded with people and still we go full steam ahead. We hit another queue of traffic, mostly other taxis which he tries to overtake going into oncoming traffic and when this doesn't work he goes inside, nearly taking out a few rioters (as I thought they were).

I asked him what was going on and turns out it was a rock concert crowd waiting to get in or maybe coming out, but in any case very excited. Meantime a policeman on a motorbike is riding alongside us telling this guy to hurry along even though we were in a line of traffic. Father Ted came to mind as I'm thinking to myself  why are you telling this mad fecking fecker to go any faster? But your man gave it a shot as I knew he would.

We eventually reached a street I knew and we were home safely. I was in such a state of excitement myelf I gave the guy a one sol tip for his heroic efforts. This is a lot as taxis here do not get tips as a rule.

I'm off to get a Peruvian haircut now and meet a pal at two o'clock. Man U have won and Stoke have managed an excellent draw with City. So happy days. ps I have some news for  USA readers regarding Pentwater so look out for that as I know some of  you have been know to spend time there.

Maté de la Felicidad

I've been eating in Restaurante Granja Heidi now for a few years and always have their house maté (infusion) which is made to their own secret recipe. It consists of seven different herbs and you can have honey added, if such is your desire, but not mine as it makes it all too sweet. It's a delicious maté and better for me than chicha morada, which, though also delicious, has lots of sugar added.

Anyway, the point of all this, is that the restaurant owner insists on keeping the ingredients a family secret. He has had botanists coming from all over the world but none have been able to identify all of the herbs, which he says are not uncommon, which I guess must be the case as he would not be able to find enough if they were truly unusual.

He tells me that South America's most famous botanist (Argentinian I think he said) has identified most but not all of them. The poor man must be in some state. He will go to his death bed wondering. I had been hoping to write on my blog what it was made of, but as you can see this is not going to be possible. So we will all just have to wonder, bit like the coca cola family, don't you think.

I was in La Bondiet cafe last night awaiting my pal's arrival. So decided to try their fresh fruit salad (ensalada de fruta), which was absolutely enormous. It consists of nine different fruits and comes in this huge bowl along with a little jug of yogurt and a bowl of granola. Because it was fruit I decided it would do no harm, but of course fruit has lots of natural sugar, so when I got home my sugar level had gone through the roof and remains so this evening. What to do?

Today I got chatting to a lovely young woman, Lorraine, from California. We were photographing the same building, except she was doing it from a professional point of view as she is an architect and designs hotels, and she's working on one now in Cusco. We had a nice wee chat about the state of the world and went our ways. She's off to do the Inca Trail. A credit to her country I thought.

Finally for tonight I thought you should know that the street I live in here is named after Peru's greatest cyclist, Ramon Zavaleta. All I can find out about him is that he took part in the men's road race at LA Olympics in 1984, but didn't manage to finish the course. So not quite up to the standards of our own Sir Chris, though I am told on good authority that he did win some important races in South America.

Boy with no name

We had a young boy in La Policia de la Familia today, picked up from the streets of Cuzco last night, abandoned there. He's about eight years old and unable to speak or explain anything. He clearly has learning difficulties. No-one knows who he is or where he is from. A boy with no name or identity. He answers yes (si) to all questions, and just smiles at you, with his big brown eyes.

Unless his parents come for him, which seems unlikely now, he will eventually find his way to a good orphanage where he will be looked after and given some of the love and affection he needs. Poor wee chap was so dirty and hungry and cold, it having been a cold night last night and there being no such luxuries as heating for these kids at La Policia.

As the saying goes it fair makes you think. Police women were quite nice to him, but I had to ask them to take him for a shower, which they did and managed to find him a pair of cleanish trousers and a top. So he was much better though dribbles all the time.

I'm busy with these kids every morning and enjoying it, though enjoyment is maybe not the right word to use, when I see all these kids in such conditions and so distressed and worried and tearful. So not enjoyment but a certain satisfaction. I wish I could spend longer with them but its just too tiring, and my diabetic control could be better, so all in all a morning there is good going.

I've bought a beautiful new book for them tonight so should have some educational stuff for them tomorrow.

Today I saw this young couple in my regular restaurant, the girl wearing a Keele University top, so went to speak to them about my visits there back in the sixties, and my nights in the students union there, where I saw many bands, including the great Pentangle, just after their first album was released, maybe 67 or 68.

Well it turns out that she goes there and that they come from Stoke on Trent, where as some of you may know I spent three very happy years. Such a small world don't you think? They were a lovely couple doing the tour. They had never heard of Pentangle, but I guess that's no surprise, but they promised to seek them out. I guess there must be some of their stuff on you tube. However they were Stoke City supporters so we had a wee chat about our passion for the potters.

I was going to tell you about the six women from USA but it's late so will leave that for another day. Tomorrow afternoon I'm going on a visit to a very special project juat outside Cusco, which is a micro finance business type thing helping some of the poorest women hereabouts provide for their families. So looking forward to that and more later.

Cusco, Andy and an Aussie Intervention

There I was sitting in a cafe in Cusco last night trying to follow the tennis on the Grauniad's website, having watched most of it at my apartment, when this Australian woman joined me and was insistent on conversation, which normally is fine by me, but when it's the last set and our boy is about to make history, well one could do without these pesky Australian women causing a diversion. But I was typically polite and switched off my iphone in order to give her my full attention.

Turns out she was in Cusco with her parents and they were heading off to do the Inca Trail in a couple of days, so I was able to give her the benefit of my experiences on the Trail, which I did in 2005, would you believe? Well yes you would I'm sure, seeing as I say so. She had sent her parents off to bed to rest, them being 60 years old (youngsters really), and she had popped out to see Cusco by night.

Anyway to cut a long story short I explained about my predicament re the tennis and she was very understanding so we followed the last couple of games on my iphone together and then had a wee shouty of yippee and celebratory cup of latte, though she preferred cappuccino, and then we discussed why Australia no longer produced great tennis players. We didn't know, but we were able to remember lots of names. She told me she was an accountant, and she was pleased to hear that my wee brother was one too. She tells me he must be very rich being an accountant in Edinburgh and that.

Cusco is as beautiful as ever, hot during the day but cold at night, one needs to wear different clothes in the day to those for night time excursions. My friend Miller has left Cusco and is now working on a cruiser in the Mediterranean so I miss his company and Spanish assistance. I met for a few hours last Thursday in Lima, before his flight to Europe, Milan via Amsterdam, on Friday. Needless to say he was very excited and maybe a bit nervous. His first time for so many things. Lets hope all goes well for him.

I'm writing this in my apartment, which now has wifi, new large flat screen tv and brand new suite. Very cosy, and wifi is great addition to my comforts. How did we manage in the centuries before wifi one can but wonder? Not be very techno myself its a complete mystery to me and having been able to do so much online is astonishing for a slight techno phobe, though getting better as time goes by.

I've started my Spanish class with Ana Maria as my teacher, and two other students, one from USA and other from New Zealand, so we're very cosmopolitan. Was trying to explain to Ana Maria about the delights of haggis, but not with much success, though she says she likes the sound of it. This came up in an exercise on el imperativo negativo, and don't ask me how we got there.

I've also started work in La Policia de la Familia yesterday. More later, but Guido was there. Apparently he's been in and out since my last visit last year. What a boy! A trifle aggressive but a nice kid none the less. Needs some loving care in his life but his chances of that at the age of 14 is zilch, lamentably.

Lima once more

Back in Lima once more but only until Sunday when I'm off to sunny Cusco which is just as well as it's a cloudy Lima that I've arrived in. Hopefully when I'm back here in October Lima will be back to normal weather.

Teachers in the state schools are on strike just now, at least for a few days. Not sure if it's well supported but it has got the government all excited and of course the strike has been declared illegal. Funny how it's the same all over.

Shining Path have made the news here as one of their leading lights seems to have been shot dead near Ayacucho. He's known only as "William" as he's used so many identities in the past. They haven't been able to establish his true identity so far but they insist they've got the right man. One can but wonder though.

Only other important piece of news involves the famous cats of Miraflores. One of their number got stuck up on the church steeple but the priest wouldn't let anyone climb up to rescue him. There is now a big argument going on, mainly on Facebook and twitter as to what should be done with the cats. There are numerous abandoned cats here in Parque Kennedy and folk continue to dump there unwanted cats. Some folk want the cats to be allowed to continue living here and some don't so they fight it out, though not quite coming to blows. I believe things have got quite heated though no blows exchanged so far.

This is being written on my iPad and it's not exactly brilliant using the Blogger app. Will have to try without using the app. The problem with it is that I can't see what I've typed as I go along.

TEMPEST

A new Dylan album is always an important event in all our lives. One still gets that thrill of anticipation waiting for the first listen that one just does not get with any other artiste.

And I feel even more excited than normal waiting for his latest, which will be released in about ten days time. The man is over 70 now and no sign of him hanging up his guitar and putting his feet up. For which one can only feel truly grateful not to say inspired.

Reason for this post right now is that I've just seen the album being  reviewed on BBC2 and Paul Morley almost wetting himself with excitement as he couldn't wait to tell us all how brilliant it is. As good as Blood on the Tracks or even Blonde on Blonde he said. Which is high praise indeed.

In fact all the reviewers were ecstatic about it. Morley also called Bob a psychedelic historian, whatever one of them may be, it sounds like fun anyway. I hope that's how it's spelt, it's a long time since I've had to use that word.

It's a double album, like Blonde on Blonde, for those of you who remember such pleasures. One song, about the Titanic is said to be 45 verses long, but I think what's her name was probably exaggerating, just a little. Also has Bob's tribute song to his friend John Lennon, which for me is enough on its own to warrant the wait.

So all in all I'm even more excited than normal waiting the big event. As I will be in Peru at the time of its release I think I shall have to buy it from iTunes, and get the cd when I get back to UK. Await further reports on here asap.

Olympics and Festivals

Olympics over, Edinburgh Festival about to end and summer rolls along to a wet conclusion. Time for me to head off to Peru methinks. And to write a post on here! Hope you've all not been missing me too much.

I've enjoyed watching the Olympic games. Opening ceremony was beautifully done, and very funny. Good to see old Queenie has a sense of humour too. I thought asking her to do a parachute jump was a bit much at her age, but she seems to have survived it quite well, though I'm suspicious that may not have been her in the helicopter at all. We should be told, but the truth will out one day.

James Bond was excellent, (Scottish too) but best of all was Mr Bean, making a mess of Chariots of Fire. How those musicians kept a straight face through it all is a mystery to me. The whole ceremony was a credit to one and all, including those of us watching, as we did pay for all the fun. Where else in the world would they pay such a splendid tribute to their Health Service? The few places that have one, that is.Well done Danny Boyle, and you're almost Scottish too, though Manchester is just as good.

Highlight for me was second Saturday when Mo won the 10,000 race. I was going to the theatre that night to see Samuel Beckett's novel "Watt" as adapted for stage and acted by Irish actor Barry McGovern, in a production described as flawless, inspired, immaculate and suberb, by Joyce McMillan in the Scotsman. I absolutely agree with her judgement. Brilliant piece of theatre, maybe best Beckett I have seen and I've seen a few over the years. Guardian also gave it a 5 star review, calling it "astonishing: rhymthic, chiming, luscious.... "

Immediately before going to the theatre I joined a few hundred others in Festival Square to watch the 10,000 race on the giant outdoor screen there. It was just like being at the games for real. We all cheered Mo on, which seemed the right thing to do,but quite surreal, and I'm sure he must have heard us down in London. We all celebrated madly when he won, so easily. Much better watching with a crowd than sitting at home in front of the tele.

After having seen Watt, and on a bit of a high I went back to Festival Square and joined the crowd to watch Ussain and his Jamaican pals win the relay. It seemed like a stroll in the park for the boys, but we cheered them on anyway just in case. UK having made a mess of things as per usual. And USA trailling,  which was nice for them. Great night had by all, though I reckon mine was best. Theatre and Olympics at their best in the space of a few hours, and the sun shone for a change. Cannae beat it, as Stuart would say. Tam's pal I mean, for those of you who listen to Radio Scotland.

Other festival highlights were Mark Thomas in his one man show about his father, very moving, funny and sad; Bill Paterson in a play at the Traverse called "And no more shall we part" which had me in tears at the end, though not quite so many tears as the woman sitting beside me, to whom I had to offer comfort and assistance. She was deeply affected as was everyone else in the theatre one way or another.

I also enjoyed Stewart Lee, comedian, one of the best in UK, and so much better than the likes of Frankie Boyle. Saw Stewart with my big brother who also enjoyed it. Very funny man, Stewart I mean, though big bro is too. So look out for him when he's back on tele, but meantime there are a few longish clips on You Tube for your delight.

I also went to couple of things at the Book Festival. Liz Lochhead with my good friend Anne was a joy, and I spoke to Liz afterwards and she promised to read my blog. So just in case: I thoroughly enjoyed your show Liz and love your poetry, and have done over many years. Thanks for signing all my books of yours and the new one which will go with me to Peru next week. It's about time they knew about you over there. Though your sweet melodious Glasgow accent is a big part of your attraction, and your charm and wit of course. But your poems won't do them any harm to get to know. I might need to explain a fair bit though.

And finally I went to see Robert Macfarlane at the book festival with my good friend John Llewelyn, who introduced me to Macfarlane's books, for which a big thank you John. Hard to decribe Macfarlane, but his latest book is called "The Old Ways, A Journey on Foot". It's nature and travel writing combined with a bit of philosophy, random musings, history and biography. At his reading he spoke a lot about his time up on Isle of Lewis,where he met Ian Stephen, whom I went to school with, and with whom he went for a sail down the Minch. Remind me to tell you the story about the Blue Men of the Minch sometime. We tried to get to speak to him and get his signature at the end but there were too many waiting so we had to leave it, but maybe next time.

Thanks John, and thanks for all the chats in our cafe, and all the writers you've told me about. Especially Macfarlane and Edward Thomas, whose poems I've now got on my Kindle you'll be pleased to hear.

Mother in her younger days

 

A real olympic bicycle

 

A couple of jokes

Fiftyseven people from around the world have viewed, and  hopefully read my blog in the last seven days, so the cailleach is now known world wide so to speak. I'm sure she would be very impressed. A cailleach is an affectionate word for an older woman up the on the Isle of Lewis.  I'll maybe write more about her another time. She deserves her place on the interweb thingee.She would certainly be impressed to know that her church, The Free Church of Scotland, now has a Facebook page and a Twitter account. We all have to move on I can just hear her saying and I reckon my father would have been tweeting away all night, putting the world to right.

Madonna, another older woman, was performing in Edinburgh last night. In order to impress her audience she had to play with an AK47 assault rifle and a six shooter on stage, which says it all about the quality of her shows nowadays, nevermind the lack of respect and bad taste involved. Best give it up now, if you need an AK47 to hide the crap. Or else try a guitar next time; an ability to play one often impresses in these parts.

Those of you who love football, and there are a few, will be pleased to know that a statue of Denis Law was unveiled in Aberdeen City this week. He was born there but of course made his name as a player with Manchester United back in the sixties when I was a boy. Who can ever forget the names Charlton, Law and Best? Indubitably the greatest attacking strike force that the world has ever known, I'm sure you will all agree.

I see that Best was selected by the BBC as one of their "New Elizabethans", and was profiled by James Naughtie this past week on Radio 4. Naughtie recalled the description of Best by Hugh McIlvanney as "having feet like a pickpocket's fingers". Paddy Crerand said that he could turn an opponents blood inside out with his twinkle feet. ( the twinkle feet is from me and not Paddy). Incidentally Hugh McIlvanney was one of the greatest ever sports journailists. You can find lots of his stuff online. His brother was the Scottish novelist William McIlvanney, whom I once heard speaking here in Edinburgh, and whose best novel is probably "Docherty", but the Laidlaw books are pretty damn good too. Try "Strange Loyalties" if you like a good detective story.

I was even more pleased to see one of my all time heroes, the late Paul Foot, nominated by BBC as one of their new Elizabethans. The BBC even remembered to say that he was a life long member of SWP, but you can hear the sneer in Naughtie's voice when he says it. He was a finer man than most you will ever meet James my man. Paul was a brilliant journalist, a revolutionary socialist, and what I will remember him for most, one of the greatest public speakers I have ever had the privilege of hearing. If he were alive now I'm sure he would be busy exposing all the criminals who run our banks and big cosporations. What a parcel of rogues they are.
On a lighter note a couple of jokes courtesy of Chick Murray, a famous Scottish comedian:
He was walking down the road one night, man comes up to him and says "is that the moon up there?" Chick says "I don't know I'm a stranger here myself."

I was walking along the street in Glasgow and I walked into a lamp post. It was so dark inside the lamp post I decided to walk out again.

A Centenary

Today, 14 July 2012, would have been my mother's 100th birthday had she lived, so it's her centenary year, as it were. This posting is by way of a wee tribute to her. She was born on Bastille Day in 1912 and also on the same day as Woody Guthrie who inspired our old friend Bob Dylan to such heights over the years. She would have heard Woody and Bob many times over the years.

Especially Bob of course, as he was constantly listened to by my brothers and I on that old Grundig reel to reel tape recorder we had. It was not bought for us to listen to Dylan but was almost exclusively used for Bob appreciation purposes. It died with a Dylan tape in it's jaws I believe. Which is the best way to go I think we can agree.

She was of course a secret Dylan admirer; how else could she have put up with him all these years droning on day and night? I think my father in the end became a fan too and preferred Dylan to Calvin. Well almost. He never said that he didn't so that's proof enough for me. I think if he thought otherwise he would have told us before the end. Plus he never complained about God being on our side, so what more proof is required.

Friday was mother's day for making butter in the summer months, which were always hot and sunny as I recall. She had a big wooden butter churn which she used to thump away on, holding it firmly in place with her legs, the cream oozing out from the top of it to be deliciously tasted as it turned into butter. She made crowdie at the same time. All stored in her own invented cold store as we had no fridge in those days. Luxuries like fridges came a lot later. 

Monday was her washing day as it was for all, or most, of the women of Tong. It was a bit of a race to see who got the washing out first, as I recall. I can still see her with the clothes pegs in her mouth hanging out the sheets in a howling gale. In the early days all the washing was done by hand, it took some persuading to get her to accept that a washing machine would be a good idea. And then getting her to switch from the old twin tub to an automatic was an almighty struggle too. She never made it to an automatic dryer.

She had many favorite phrases, all in Gaelic needless to say. My big brother Coinneach, when he was in primary school came home for lunch for the first time, our school dinners being even worse than they are now. He was none too pleased to discover that she was having such a quality fare while he had to eat school rubbish. He demanded to know, "do you always have such good food yourself everyday? "Am bidh biadh math mu seo agu fhein a h'uile latha?" Excuse my Gaelic those of you who can read it. But you get the drift I'm sure. This kept her amused on and off, for fifty or more years and was used in many situations, as the occasion required. And you may be asking what it was that Coinneach liked so much. Left over potatoes nicely fried on her old frying pan and maybe a fried egg. Haute cuisine.

If I reminded her of this story she would often tell me, again, about  the time it snowed so heavily the snow was drifting and she was determined that Coinneach should not miss school, so she gave him a piggy back, a distance of nearly a mile. I don't know what she did with myself and my wee brother Neil. Maybe she tied us up and left us. I wonder if Coinneach remembers the trip. I guess he must have made it to school as he's still around now.

She kept hens and we often had chicks in the summer and a vicious big cockerel wondering around. It was always good to have a broody hen around to keep the cockerel calm, and stop it from biting Neil, who was as I recall the victim of a vicious cockerel attack one time. Attacked for no reason he claims to this day. Mother dressed his wounds and he survived. Traumatised for ever though.

One time I was sent me off to meet my father after he finished work. She was worried as to my safety as she was sending me with our cow, for an altercation with a big bad bull. I forget how old I was exactly, mid teens I guess, but obviously old enough to be trusted with walking this cow to meet it's lover.

I couldn't understand why she was so worried. It was an uneventful walk with the cow, who was called either Tiny or Daisy, and I met my father as arranged at the farm where the bull resided. Once the bull had done it's naughty business with our poor wee cow and we were half way down the field heading for the gate and the bull came thundering down the field after us I soon understood why my mother was so worried for my safety. We made it to the gate, just in time. I managed to open it to let my father and the cow through and shut it as the bull screeched to a halt on the other side. Obviously a sex starved bull.

She used to bake scones, bannocks and pancakes of the highest quality, and make pastry for her steak and kidney pies. I never did like kidneys though. She made rhubarb jam. She wore big black wellies when it rained. She had an old coat which she insisted on wearing long past it's sell by date. It took some persuasion to get her to throw it out and move on. She used to light oil lamps when the lights went out, as they often did back then. I can still smell the oil lamps burning away in the window.

She read the bible for us every day before we went to school. I don't think my brothers paid enough attention or even listened at times. I found it difficult to concentrate or even listen too, if not all the time a lot of the time. She would read it from beginning to end and then start again. She even did the begats and begots in the old testament.

She used to knit socks for us to wear in our wellington boots and very warm they were too. Made from wool left over from Harris tweed weaving by one of the neighbours. She moved on to knitting jumpers, though not from Harris tweed wool, but not with a huge degree of success. They were certainly not fashion items, though warm, but better than the ones my late aunt used to knit. Bless her.

I could go on about her. She was the best mother in the world, just like all mothers are, despite their faults. I wouldn't wish any mothers reading this to feel jealous obviously. She's probably surprised that I'm posting on my blog about her. She never wanted to be the centre of attraction, just the centre of her family. I don't know if they have blogger in heaven, but if they do all we can say is thank you mother for all the years.

She was buckets

and water flouncing into them.

She was winds pouring wetly

round house-ends.

She was brown eggs,black shirts

and a keeper of threepennybits

in a teapot.

Norman MacCaig

In Bloomsbury

I'm in London for Marxism Festival and meeting up with some old friends and remembering others who are no longer with us. I'm staying in London University halls of residence which is very central and close to all the action which mostly takes place in UCL, just round the corner from me. I've just had my inclusive breakfast and its raining slightly so thought I would pass the time writing a wee post on the University provided PCs.

I heard a Greek revolutionary socialist, Maria Stylou, speaking last night at the opening rally of the festival. Inspirational she was and about my age, so there's hope for us all. She is staying in the same halls as me and was having breakfast at a table beside me this morning so naturally went to thank her for coming over from Greece to give us a few words of wisdom. A lovely lady.

As it happens I'm reading Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels just now, which is set partly in Greece during and after the Second World War and then in Canada, Anne being Canadian. It's a book I've had for some time, years in fact, but never quite got round to reading, and I'm so pleased I've managed it at long last. She writes like a poet, and a historian and a geographer. "I wanted a line in a poem to be the hollow ney of the dervish orchestra whose plaintive wail is a call to God. But all I achieved was awkward shrieking." 

If I've finished the book I shall give it to Maria before I leave here on Monday; maybe I should have given it to her this morning as a wee gift from Scotland. But you don't think of these things at the time.

The part of London I'm staying in is called Bloomsbury, which is of course where Virginia Woolf used to live and where her books were written; Mrs Dalloway had her party and did her shopping round these parts as I seem to recall. There's a Virginia Woolf memorial and bust near here, I think, so will try to see it and take a photo for you all.

Did you know that Edward Wilson, who was one of the five who went with Scott to the South Pole, borrowed a book of Tennyson poems to take with him to the Pole and then carried it back with him to rerturn to the person who lent it to him, presumably. It was discovered with their frozen bodies when their tent was found. Weighty book for sure. Wilson came from Cheltenham.

Mixed Up Confusion

I see that I've only written two posts on my blog for the whole of June so I guess you've all been wondering what's become of me. Or maybe not. Anyway I'm still here in Edinburgh and looking forward to my trip to London next week to take in some talks at the Marxism Festival, meet up with my nephew Iain hopefully and see some old friends.

I'm usually reading two or three books at any one time, not together I hasten to add,  maybe we could call them my daytime book and my evening/bedtime book and my other book. Sometimes my books can swap places, so my daytime book is picked up when I'm thinking it's my evening book or vice versa. This can cause serious confusion.

This must have been what happened yesterday when I'm trying to work out who this new character was who suddenly appeared in The Hours by Michael Cunningham was.  I couldn't remember any mention of the character before, until I realised that I wasn't reading The Hours at all but had picked up my evening book instead. Problem solved.

I'm thoroughly enjoying The Hours, don't know why I've not read it before. Maybe something to do with Virginia Woolf, as the book was inspired by her book Mrs Dalloway. I think I will have to go back and read Mrs Dalloway now, though I suspect it was the effort of trying to read To The Lighthouse that left me with an aversion to Woolf. But must try again now that I'm older and hopefully wiser.

Will have to watch the movie of The Hours too; I think Streep won an Oscar for her performance in it or if nor was at least nominated. Missed it somehow. And speaking of awards, Cunningham won the Pulitzer Prize for the book, at a time when he was regarded by some as a gay writer. On winning the Pulitzer he said :  I couldn't help noticing that I finally write a book in which no one sucks cock, and I win the Pulitzer Prize. I think maybe with tongue heavily in his cheek as it were.

I'm writing this on an iPad in the Virgin cafe. I'm thinking about buying myself an iPad, so am checking it out to see how it feels typing more than usual on the touch pad and so far so good. I reckon it should do me for my travels. So a trip to the Apple shop in Glasgow is on the cards, there not being one in Edinburgh town. Will have to decide whether to buy a Kindle as well. and yes I know the iPad has a Kindle app but I have my reasons.

Tonight I had dinner with my friend Emer and I'm home now so will finish off this post. We ate in the Abbotsford Bar, which is one of Edinburgh's finest. Worth a visit for the superb island bar, though we ate in the restaurant upstairs as the bar was so busy. Always a good sign, methinks.

On my way home I pass by the Oxfam charity shop and would you believe it they have a window display of Virginia Woolf books. Including Mrs Dalloway, so shall be paying them a visit tomorrow morning.

For those of you who don't know his reportoire "Mixed Up Confusion" is a Dylan song, from early years and on Biograph album/cd.

President Humala visits my kids

Today I've been thinking about the working kids of Villa Maria, in Lima, not that they are often far from my mind. I keep in touch with their lives through Flor, whom I phone regularly. Good practice for my Spanish as she speaks not a word of English.

I would love to be with them today, in Lima, as they are being visited by President Humala, the recently elected president of Peru, who apparently  wants to see for himself the work being done with these kids in Villa Maria. Flor is very excited needless to say, so who knows what might come of it. More funds one can but hope or more support of one sort or another.

I'm hoping Flor will be able to take some photos which I can post on here. So good luck Flor and all those brilliant kids.

Last night I went to see Jaws in the Filmhouse. The film has been digitally remastered and is better than ever. If you have only ever seen it on TV you should take this chance to see it on the big screen. It's superb, Spielberg at his best. Scary, funny and moving. Made me jump out of my seat and scream at one scene. Go see, it's a treat.

Today it's been raining heavily in Edinburgh, so been listening to James Joyce's Ulysses on BBC radio. They are broadcasting a dramatised version of it spread over today, which is Bloomsday. So happy Bloomsday to one and all, and don't worry if you missed it today, there is a podcast available for downloading at your leisure.

I hope you all saw young Welbeck's goal last night. Goal of the tournament methinks, and Walcott did pretty well too, which is nice, as he seems like a good kid.

Gatsby

People keep reading my blog so I guess it's time I wrote another post for you all, in case you desert me. Reason for paucity of posts recently: my absence on a short five day break in Stornoway, more of which another time.

I've been re-reading The Great Gatsby this past week. I thought it was only right that I should re-read an American, having done a Russian last year. Some books just have to be read more than once, and Gatsby is definitely one of those. It's a masterpiece of the twentieth century. Every paragraph, is a gem. One of those books that has to be read slowly to savour every genius sentence.

It's a long long time since I first read it, so I'm finding things that I probably wouldn't have noticed first time round, such as the fact that Gatsby first met Daisy in Louisville, where in real life Fitzgerald met Zelda, which thirty years ago or however long it was, would have meant nothing to me, but now seems like a place I know, as my nephew Keith is now living and working there. And who incidentally got married to the lovely Trish yesterday, in Kentucky. Congratulations to you both. First wedding mentioned on my blog.

Gatsby was taken to Duluth by Cody to buy him some clothes suitable for life on his yacht. Dylan fans will know Duluth as the great man's birthplace, so quite  an important place in his story. Maybe some day I will visit, or again maybe not. Time running out, in so many ways.

There's a new movie being produced just now with DiCaprio playing Gatsby. I can't imagine that he will quite match up to the Robert Redford version, but should be interesting nevertheless. He just does not have Redford stunning good looks and neither is he such a great actor, but time is on his side. If you haven't read the book you should do so before seeing the movie. No movie can ever do justice to Fitzgerald's prose.

I will finish with a quote from the old man. Have you ever tried to describe a first kiss with a loved one? Here's Gatsby (Fitzgerald) describing the first time he kissed Daisy:

He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.

Just heart stopping, although Nick, who is telling us this story, describes it as appalling sentimentality, which seems a bit harsh. But don't you just love that bit about waiting and listening to the tuning-fork struck upon a star, before he kisses her? Read the book nice and slow and enjoy.

Norman Mailer's Daughter

The Chilean writer Roberto Bolano returned to Chile after an absence of 25 years, he had to leave after being arrested in Pinochet's coup, and he was at a party where, he says he was talking to another writer, of the minor variety, who, much to his astonishment told him that she was in psychoanalysis and her analyst was no other than the daughter of Norman Mailer. Why she should have been in Santiago at that time he had no idea, but he was even more astonished to learn that two of the others at the party were also undergoing analysis with her. |

" If we were in Mexico, it would make more sense: there's a tradition of outrageousness there that encompasses a sub-genre of bizarre visitors." says Bolano.

I rather like that sentence, and can just imagine Mexico being like that. If you've read The Savage Detectives you will know what he is on about. Think I must visit there some day soon.

But the idea of Mailer's daughter being there and doing therapy or whatever for these people is unreal. At the same time as Bolano was visiting Chile Pinochet himself was under arrest in London. But that's another story.  

Tomorrow I'm escaping the jubilee festivities here in Edinburgh, with a wee trip north to the land of my birth: Isle of Lewis for those of you who don't know. So looking forward to that, and who knows I might even write a post from there. Or even post a nostalgic pic or two.

Another joke

I was writing a story for this week's class, but ran out of time, so had to brutally kill off one of the two main characters in order to be able to hand in a completed piece to the good professor, later that night. Which was a bit of a shame as I was getting quite fond of her. But the sun was shining in Edinburgh as I wrote and just had to go out to sample it. Sunshine is such an unusual phenomenon, one feels the need to make the most of it while it lasts. Having said that the hot weather persists so maybe there was no need to kill her off after all.

My pal John, who gets first sight of my efforts, told me it was a case of sudden death, which is true in lots of ways. He didn't see it coming, which is understandable; as I didn't either. Maybe I will go back to the story and finish it off as per my original idea. But I'll see what Colin, our esteemed teacher/professor, has to say about it first.

He read out another of my efforts last week, and the class spent a good forty five minutes discussing it, constructively I thought. It's a very strange feeling listening to folk talk about you like that. I kept wondering if these people had nothing better to do with their time. But apparently not.

Recently saw The Dictator, the new Sacha Baron Cohen movie. Very funny, lots of bits in very poor taste, not to everyone's liking I would imagine, but I think he's a very funny man. Simon Hoggart liked it in "hilarious film" he says.

And finally a funny one, also courtesy of Simon Hoggart. Sign seen outside a ladies toilet at Bristol Airport: "During a terminal evacuation, red lights will flash...."

Tambien la LLuvia

I went to see this film on Saturday, Tambien la Lluvia (Even the Rain) and have to say its one of the best films I've seen in a long time. So thought I should tell you all about it as it's only on at the Filmhouse until Saturday 27th May. But if you're reading this in South America  you should buy the DVD, unless you get lucky and see it in a cinema. The film is exciting, truly inspirational and deeply moving. 

It was scripted by Paul Laverty, who usually works with Ken Loach, and tells the story of  the making of a film about the Spanish conquest and the first native rebellion against them in South America in Bolivia in 1512. But unknown to the producer and director the local actor they choose to star as the leader of the rebellion against the Spaniards is also involved in a real life  rebellion against the privatisation and takeover of their water supply by foreign capital, including a British company.

This modern day rebellion happened in Cochabamba, Bolivia in 2000 and the people won in the end. The film brilliantly manages to show how the  exploitation continues 500 years after Columbus by other means.

Luis Tosar was superb as the producer and Gael Garcia Bernal was excellent too as his director. But the stand out performance was from Juan carlos Aduviri as the native rebel leader. Here's a link to the trailer and more info

http://eventherain.com/

W.G.Sebald

There are some books you read which are so brilliant the experience is almost physical, indeed orgasmic if I may say. It doesn't happen a lot but when it does it's a rare feeling; a tingling sensation. Is that what an orgasm feels like? There are a handful of authors who can do it for me, and I'm sure you will all have one or two who do it for you. Some we save for special occasions; when a good book is life's only cure. I think I'm going to rescue the semi-colon from obscurity. It's not been used much by me recently; so just to show there are no hard feelings will use it in this post. I'm sure there are rules for it's use but if so I don't remember them.

I've been reading W.G. Sebald's book Austerlitz which is as good as or maybe even better than Rings of Saturn, which I think I've mentioned before. He's one of the best authors I've ever read; his death so young was a sad loss to the world of literature. I'm sure he would have gone on to the Nobel prize had he lived. He was killed in a car crash at the age of 57 in 2001.

Austerlitz is not about the famous 19th century battle of that name, but the name of one of the two main characters in the book, the other being Sebald himself in fictional form. Austerlitz came to the UK from Prague in the Kinder transport in 1939 and ended up living with a family in Wales. The book is the story of the various meetings between the storyteller and Austerlitz and how Austerlitz recovers his story and his family story under the Nazis. It's deeply moving and a work of genius.

As a writer Sebald is unique. There is no-one else writes quite like him. There are no paragraphs or chapters in the book; the text is interspersed with grainy black and white photos which act like breaks and are incredibly effective. The book reads like a true story, which it might as well be.

I recently went to the Filmhouse to see a film called Patience (After Sebald) which is based on his book The Rings of Saturn and was made by a Grant Gee. Superb film making. I can only repeat what Mark Kermode said about it in the Guardian "great triumph.... manages to bewitch, bother and ultimately bedazzle"; "quietly extraordinary movie".

It's now available on Amazon, but I would read the book(s) first, though Kermode says he still hasn't read any Sebald; his loss obviously. I'm very happy to have got to know this writer; it's thanks to Will Self, whom I heard talking about him some time ago, and he was full of praise.

And finally a joke.

Went to see a very good play at Lyceum Theatre on Friday, "The Lieutenant of Inishmore" by a guy called Martin McDonagh, born in London, parents Irish immigrants. The play is essentially a full frontal attack on Irish republican groups such as  INLA and the Provos. It amazes me that he still lives.

Apparently he couldn't find any theatres prepared to put it on when he wrote it back in the mid nineties. It was eventually put on in 2001 in a protected performance, whatever that means. The main character is a mad psychopathic ex INLA member who has to form his own splinter group as he's too extreme in his methods for the other madmen of the time.

He loves cats though, which proves his downfall. It's a darkly comic work, very funny and superbly acted by all the cast. Emer thoroughly enjoyed it too. The only woman in the cast was a fine singer who gave us a few old republican songs, e.g. Patriot Game. The provos must have hated it. Not the song, the play. A great night out. If it comes your way go see it.

Recently saw the Marley movie, which I might have mentioned before but no harm in mentioning it again. Needless to say it was a fine movie, lots of concert film, well worth seeing and a must if you're a Marley fan. Went with my pal Leighton, who is more of a classical type, but he enjoyed it a lot, or so he told me.

Also went to see "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen" which was quite an ok movie, funny in bits, and of course with our own Ewan Mcgregor in the lead role, whom I'm very fond of the boy. Love his accent, needless to say. But there's more to him than the voice. He's not the world's greatest but he's done some fine stuff over the years.  Kristin Scott Thomas is terrific as government PR woman, straight out of "In the Thick of it".

I had lunch with my old friend George the other day. He reminded me of an old joke, which he says he first heard from me about 20 years ago.

Did you hear about the dyslexic, insomniac, agnostic? He lay awake all night wondering if there was a dog.

Sunshine on Leith

I'm writing this on a Apple pc in the Virgin Lounge in Edinburgh centre. Just wanted to try out an Apple pc and what better way than to post on my blog. The Virgin Lounge is provided free of charge by our old friend Richard Branson and an excellent facility it is too. But only for Virgin customers which I suppose is fair enough. Free coffee, newspapers, pcs and iPads for all to use. Nice views of Edinburgh and very comfy chairs. I will definitely be coming back here. Thank you Richard. But Virgin is still a funny name for a business. I remember when you first started using the name, way back in the mists of time and thinking it woud never catch on. How wrong can one be? I do think we could do without your portrait though, fine painting that it is, it does seem a bit vain don't you think.

There would appear to be some cup final taking place in London today. Don't really mind who wins today as Hibs are playing in the Scottish cup final soon against Hearts, and that's the important one, obviously. Hibs haven't won the cup for over 100 years so we will all be getting right behind them. Is it not briliant that Celtic and Rangers are not involved? Yes of course it is.

I was just thinking that Hibs fans have the best song, "Sunshine on Leith". Written by our own boys from that Scottish institution The Proclaimers. Great boys and great songs.  I once sold a Socialist Worker to one of them. He used to live in my street, many years ago.

If you don't believe me about thier songs, have a wee look in youtube and I'm sure you will be convinced.  There is just no other football song to compare to it. Celtic have that dirge of a hymn from Liverpool that they have purloined, and Rangers sing about some Queen they need to save, and as for Hearts, who knows what they sing.

So lets hope "Sunshine on Leith" is heard worldwide later this month. If only for my pal Emer and all the other Hibs supporters who have been kept waiting way too long for some glory. The Proclaimers have a new cd out too.

Sun is shining on Edinburgh/Leith so better go and enjoy it while it lasts. Apple pc is rather cool. Maybe need to buy one? What as well as an iPad? Madness!

"Strangely Moving"

Days are nice and long here now in Edinburgh, but why is it still so bloody cold? Should be a law against cold weather after May begins.

My creative writing class is back in full swing now, and there are a few newcomers, though already some drop outs. We started term with fifteen but only nine turned up last night. It is different to other classes I've done as you just can't hide, and if you don't do the work there is no point turning up. So I guess folk just find it too much. I think it would probably be the same for me if I was working full time. Now should that be "was working" or "were working"? Or do both suffice?

My latest effort seemed to go down well with teacher. It's called Rivals, and he described it as "strangely moving" "very well observed and realised portrait" and "dialogue was believable and effect". So am pleased with that, especially as I set out to write a story using mostly dialogue between the main characters to tell the story. But it's hard work. Very hard work, but satisfying. The hardest bit is getting the idea for the story, but once I know where it's going I'm off with it.

It's not often that Scotland produces a world champion, and in Stephen Hendry we had one of the greatest snooker players of all time, seven times champion of the world. He's announced his retirement this week, so thank you Stephen, a fine champion indeed. Though obviously not as good as Alex Hurricane Higgins, who was the best of them all, but shame about all the fags and the drink. I remember watching him win the world championship in 1982 when he beat Reardon, who had beaten him in the final a few years previously. I saw the final on a big screen in a hotel bar which belonged to Chic Murray, and whose name now fails me. I was with my pal Paul, and we were the only two in the bar supporting Alex. We very nearly got lynched. Memories indeed.

That's all for now. Must go for a coffee in Cafe Nero, and finish my book.

Ben at Firhill Stadium, his dad behind him

 

Lunch with Ben before the game

 

Day out with Ben

Last week I had the considerable pleasure of going with Ben and his dad Garry to see their team Partick Thistle FC play at Firhill Stadium in Glasgow. Thistle are one of the lesser teams in Scottish football but with a long, proud and fine history. I see from their website that their two major honours were to win the Scottish Cup in 1921, beating Glasgow Rangers at Parkhead, of all places, and then in 1971 they won the Scottish League Cup beating Celtic in the final.


I had a great time with Ben and Garry. Ben is a fine young boy, aged 7, almost 8, and it's a privelege to be in his company. Thank you Ben and Garry, too, of course. Who knows, in years to come, when I'm long gone Ben might read my blog and be reminded of the game. The result was a draw but Thistle were the better team and deserved to win, I thought.

Before the game we went for lunch to a fine cafe in Dumbarton Road, I forget the name, and then the boys took  me for a walk along Byres Road, where I spent many days, and even more nights, many moons ago, or in the seventies to be precise, having fun and games and getting into various scrapes with Ben's grand dad, who just happens to be my wee brother, though not so wee, now or then.


I notice that Byres Road has it's own entry in Wikipedia, so if you want to find out more about that glorious street, thats the place to go.


Some of the old bars and cafes are still there, such as the Aragon, where drinkers used to queue in the street on a Friday and Saturday night to get in; and the Curlers up the road  full of BBC staff from the studio in Queen Margaret Drive getting pissed;  and Tennents Bar, where I worked for one night. And no, I was not sacked after one night, it was only a one night contract.

The University Cafe is still there down near the bottom of the street, still, presumably making the best bacon butties in Glasgow. A bacon buttie, for those of you from abraod, is a Scottish sandwich with bacon. Great for the Saturday morning hangover, not that one has these anymore, but the memory is pleasing to my senses.

Thats all for now. Tonight I'm going to see the Bob Marley movie, so really looking forward to that. It's had a very short release here in Edinburgh, one week only.

El Sueno del Celta

When I was in Peru last year Mario Vargas Llosa had just published  "El Sueno del Celta" ( The Dream of the Celt), which I'm looking forward to reading once it's available in English later this year. I don't think my Spanish is up to reading Vargas Llosa just yet, though I can make a reasonable stab at it. The book is based on the life of Roger Casement and his exposure of conditions for the people  the Peruvian/Brazilian/Columbian Amazon lands under Western imperialism and of course his life in Ireland and in prison in London before his execution. It will be interesting to see what Mario has to say about it all.

W.G. Sebald also writes about Casement, amongst many other things and people in his book " The Rings of Saturn" which I may have mentioned before in a previous postings, but who deserves as many mentions as he can get. People who know about these things say he would have gone on to be awarded the Nobel Prize had he lived. Sadly he was killed in a motoring accident in 2001.
He managed to write some truly great books before he died, including one called "Austerlitz" which I'm about to read, maybe will be my next book. I bought it last week and it's on the list. I'm currently reading "Arthur and George" by Julian Barnes, which seems to be based on a true story involving our very own Conan Doyle, who is the Arthur character. Lovely little number, thanks to Emer for the present.

Sebald also writes about Conrad and his upbringing and his eventual journey to the Congo as a sailor on a Belgian ship. A trip which became the source for  "Heart of Darkness". The Congo is the link to Casement who also went there and wrote a report for the British government about the conditions he found there, which were truly horrific. Ten million Africans are said to have been killed by the Europeans in what can only be desribed as an act of genocide. I don't think even Casement knew the extent of the brutality but he knew enough to know that he had to try to stop it. Of course the British government tried to suppress his report, as did the Belgians, who were the chief destroyers of that part of Africa.
It was at this time that Casement was sent off to South America. Just to get rid of him as he was a beginning to get on their nerves. They also gave him an honour, as he was awarded the CMG. another establishment ploy to silence individuals who are getting troublesome.

But they probably wished that they hadn't bothered sending him out to South America. He sent back reports on conditions in the Amazon areas of Peru, Columbia and Brazil, which were as bad if not worse than those he found in Congo. The only difference this time being that the company doing the exploitation was the Amazon Company, which was British owned and based in London. Whole tribes were wiped out of course and huge tracts of land destroyed in the search for profits.

The British government tried to silence him again by giving him another honour; he was given a knighthood and became Sir Roger. But he refused to compromise.

The rest is history as they say. He was hung by the British government for his support of the Irish republican cause. The prosecutor at his trial was an Ulster loyalist protestant called Frederick Smith, who was also the Director of Public Prosecutions. So the outcome was inevitable. And of course they used his diaries to divert attention away from all he said about the Congo, Peru, Brazil and Columbia.

Dreams of Dylan Thomas and Stalin

I suppose it's about time I wrote another blog post for this blog. Don't know where all the time goes. I'm having a break from the writing class as it's Easter holiday at Edinburgh University. So no stories getting written either. We go back to classes in a couple of weeks.

Meantime I've started going to a Spanish conversation group with an organisation called Yackety yak. We meet in various cafes round Edinburgh, such as Henderson's and Bia Bistrot and chat. One meets all sorts and one has to be careful what one says. I offended a royalist recently. Which was nice. In retrospect. But the practice is good for me. Need to keep at it as my other class is over until September and it's so easy to forget what I've learnt up to now.

I've been reading some more Roberto Bolano recently, amongst other things. He's a Chilean writer, who died in Spain way too young. I read his book "The Savage Detectives" some time back and it's one hell of a memorable book. Highly recommended, if you have the time and I would suggest it's a good idea to find the time.

He tells about being arrested by the military in Chile in 1973 when he was 20 years old, at the time of Pinochet's coup. If I remember correctly he was held for ten days in a gym which was being used as a temporary prison at the time, as the army ran out of room in the prisons. He found some English language magazine where he read an article about the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas.

That night he had a dream that he saw Dylan Thomas and Stalin in a pub where the customers usually played arm wrestling, but Thomas and Stalin were having a drinking contest, with Thomas drinking whisky and Stalin drinking vodka. He doesn't say who won, but I like to think that old Dylan won. He doesn't explain what the dream meant to him, or maybe he does in some other place in his writings.

I wonder if he knew Victor Jara or if he ever met him? I guess he must have done at some time. Jara was also arrested by the military in Chile in 1973. But he was less fortunate. He was a poet, singer, writer and guitarist. He was held in Santiago stadium, which I think has been renamed and is now called Victor Jara stadium, and as a special bit of torture the soldiers smashed his hands and fingers so he could no longer play guitar. But he continued to sing. They finally killed him but not before playing Russian roulettte with a gun held to his head, until finally a bullet was fired.

Many years ago my pal Iain MacDonald wrote a song about Jara which and his death in the stadium. I still have the album, though it sits unlistened to for many years as I don't have a working amp anymore. I often wonder what became of Iain? He was in the old Communist party for a while back then. I would love to see him again and see where life took him.

Thats all for now. More tomorrow.

Sixty Five Thousand or More

There have been 65,000 books published about the American Civil War since it ended in 1865, which is more than one a day, at the last count, and still rising. The War ended at a place called Appomattox in Virginia in case you ever wondered, when Lee surrendered to Grant. How many Americans have ever heard of it? I'm told not many, but maybe my sources are dodgy.

Lord knows who reads all these books, someone must or they wouldn't be published I guess. So if you are planning to write one beware of the competition.

One of the best, if not the best, not that I've read the other 64,999,  is a book called "The March" by E.L. Doctorow, which is a great read, and highly recommended. It follows Sherman's march through the South to the sea, which involved a fair bit of pillaging and destruction as they went along as well as a few mighty battles with the Confederates. The song "Marching through Georgia" will never seem the same.

Whole cities were burnt and ransacked and  the army got bigger and bigger as the freed black slaves and refugees followed along. Anyone with an interest in the history of the Civil War should read this book and if you're not you should read in anyway because it's beautifuuly written and a great story. Powerful stuff.
I didn't know until some time after I'd read the book that he had used Sherman's journals and diaries more or less verbatim in his account of the march. He takes you right in there into his psyche. Or so it seems.

I hope you all like reading about the books I read. I know some people must as there are still qiite a few readers around. I seem to have picked up a reader(s) in Honduras, Austria, Columbia and Greece, which is nice. Wish I knew who you all are.

Not much has happened this past week in Edinburgh. Teacher read out another of my stories last week, very strange feeling. I think I wrote my best one this week so am keen to see what he has to say about it. Though I don't think I'll be giving up the job anytime soon. Well at least not before next year.

Explico Algunas Cosas

This week I've been reading W.G. Sebald's book "The Rings of Saturn" which is a very fine book indeed. Difficult to describe but definitely worth seeking out. Originally published in German so probably now available in lots of languages. It's about a journey he made round the coast of East Anglia where he lived for twenty or more years. It's part fiction, part autobiography, part history, and reflections on imperialism and life in general. Very well written in translation.

Am also reading Alice Munro's book " The View from Castle Rock". The Castle Rock in question being Edinburgh Castle. She's known for her short stories which I recommend but this is more of a family memoir. Though I've only just begun it I know I'm going to enjoy it. She is distantly related to James Hogg, who wrote "Confessions of a Justified Sinner" and was also known as the Ettrick Shepherd, because that's where he came from and he was a shepherd as well as a poet and novelist. Alice Munro's family came from the same part of Scotland before they left for USA and Canada, in nineteenth century.

I'm reading The Essential Neruda, Selected Poems in Spanish with English translation, side by side. A fine book indeed. Reminds me a bit of Sorley Maclean in fact. He spent time in Spain, knew Lorca and joined the Republican movement.His poem "Explico Algunas Cosas" ( I explain some things) is based on his experience there.

"banditos con frailes negros bendiciendo
venian por el cielo a matar ninos,
y por las calles la sangre de los ninos
corria simplemente, como sangre de ninos."

That's it for today. Neruda is worth reading in the original Spanish if you can or in English translation. Go for it...

Dylan in Princes Street

Yesterday as I looked out my kitchen window it was raining in Morningside yet when I walked through to my bedroom, not a long walk I should add and looked the window there it wasn't raining. Which was strangely satisfying if not very interesting. I suppose the rain has to stop somewhere and as well to stop over my building as anywhere else. This morning The Pentland Hills were all covered in mist which has now cleared and the hills are looking fine as usual. I often think how lucky I am to have that view from my apartment, and to have been enjoying it for all these years. To have shared the view over the years has been fine too, but now it's all mine.

Am listening to the fine Janice Forsyth on the radio as has been my delight on a Saturday morning for a good few years now. She is my favourite presenter on the old BBC. She has a fine taste in music and does some great interviews. Now the bosses at the BBC have announced that they will be scraping her prog in the summer to make way for more sport and news, as if we don't have enough already. Let's hope they come to their senses and leave Janice alone.

I've been busy writing my short stories so not much time for my blog recently. It takes a long time to write a  story and teacher has us doing one a week. Just like being back at school except it's not really, if you know what I mean, Even less time for housework, which is a bit of a bugger or a pleasure, depending on how you look at it.

Yesterday I went to the recently renovated Scottish National Portrait Gallery with my young friend Fiona, whom I've known for far too long to be mentioned here, but thanks for reminding me Fiona. And what a brilliant job the renovators have done. It's now a superb gallery, to add to all the other galleries and museums we have here in Edinburgh. If you haven't been yet it's definitely worth a few hours of your time. I will have to go back as there is so much to see.

There's a special exhibition called The War at Sea which is all about the First World War as seen by Sir John Lavery,who was a kind of official war painter. All the paintings are from the area around Firth of Forth and North Sea. Mostly of sea battles and preparations for battles and defences. The paintings are on loan from The Imperial War Museum so won't be there for long. I recommend you see it, it's educational and surprising in many ways and the paintings are brilliant.

This is longer than it was meant to be but I must mention a video which they are also showing at The Potrait Gallery. It's called "Eriskay, a Poem of Remote Lives", which was made by Werner Kissling and is the first film to be made with a Gaelic soundtrack. Hugely nostalgic for me. The film can be found on the Scottish Screen Archive website if anyone is interested.

Finally imagine my pleasant surprise to see a photo of Bob Dylan, taken in Princes Street in 1966, when he was on tour that year and played Edinburgh. I think my big brother saw him on that tour,  but of course as he didn't play in Stornoway I missed him that time round. Bob is looking good as usual, and so very young and handsome. He adds something special to Princes Street, genius I think it's called.

A Short Story experience

Last week I had a short story of mine read out in public at a creative writing class I go to at Edinburgh University. This is a first for me.  I've been attending the class since the beginning of the year and these were the first efforts our teacher had asked us to complete. He told us to be prepared to have it read out to the class, but I was just not expecting him to choose my humble little effort. 


The first couple of weeks we did various different exercises building up to our first completed short story two weeks ago. He aims for a story a week, which is hard going I can tell you.

Having my story read out in public was a weird, strange, exciting, incredible experience. I can't really begin to explain how it felt. When I realised it was my story I just wanted to flea the room. But then thought oh well what the hell just got to go with the flow.

Our teacher used to be with the 7:84 Theatre Company and is now  lecturer in drama, so he knows how to do a public reading , which I think kind of helped. As he was reading it I kept thinking to myself did I really write this stuff?

Anyway I don't think it's a great story by any means and as he read it I thought that there were a few things I would change. But I don't think I will, as it's my first effort and I reckon it should be left the way it is. 

The teacher, Colin, wrote some constructive comments, and says it's a very good first effort. But I reckon he says that to all the boys, and girls, of course.

The End

To The Traverse Theatre on Saturday night to see The End which is based on Beckett story of the same name.

It was one of those theatre experiences that just sears into the brain to stay there forever. Totally unforgettable. I've seen lots of Beckett but I reckon this was just about the best I have had the privilege of seeing. Wish my wee brother had been there, as we've seen a few Becketts together over the years.

It's a one man performance, by an actor chappie called Conor Lovett. And he was immense. He made it sound as if he was making it all up as he went along. Perfect timing. As if he was struggling to find the right words.  Simply incredible. I have never seen anything like it before. You just had no sense of him having done this before or told the same story before or indeed that he was acting.

A magical performance. Totally believable. Lovett is just superb. I could hardly breathe half the time as I watched him seemingly struggle for the next bit he wanted to tell us. And of course he had Beckett's dark sense of humour to help him along. It was very funny in parts and of course deeply tragic.

I just can't praise Conor Lovett enough. I spoke to him in the bar afterwards as he was on his own for a bit. He lives in France with his wife, who directs him.  He was telling me that there is a Beckett festival in Cork, Ireland on St Patrick's day, 17th March, when he is doing Molloy, Malone Dies and The Unnameable over 200 minutes, with two breaks. I'm very tempted to go.

If you ever get a chance to see him doing his Beckett, don't miss it. Unmissable. Satisfaction guaranteed.

"Aqui esta encerra el almade....."

One would think that a piece of music called "A Pastoral Symphony" by an English composer called Ralph Vaughan Williams, would be all about the English countryside and take you to the Cotswolds or some such place. But that's not the case. It comes in fact from his experience of the First World War in France, where he served with the Medical Corps having enlisted at the age of 41. The trumpet solo was tremendous, the best part of the evening for me. Incredibly moving.  His inspiration for this part came from hearing a French bugler practising his calls, when he was out on the ambulances.

It was the first piece played by Scottish Sinfonia when I went to hear them in Edinburgh recently. I don't often listen to classical music at home, but the live experience I really enjoy. Even though I mostly don't have much knowledge of it, I find it very uplifting, and inspirational, even if at times my concentration does begin to drift and I find myself in another world.

My pal George plays the cello in  the orchestra so it's really through him that I find myself at Scottish Sinfonia concerts. He's a fine cellist to boot. Thanks George, long may you bow that cello. Does one bow a cello?

The second piece for the evening was Elgar's Violin Concerto, which I enjoyed but found more difficult. Still the challenge was worth it. I think Elgar liked a bit of excitement in his love life and said about this work : Aqui esta encerra el almade..... (herein is enshrined the soul of .....) and admiited that the five dots stood for a woman's name, not his wife either. She was called Alice as was his wife, funnily enough.

Anyway a fine evening was had. ps the violin soloist was Daniel Bell, excellent he was too.  

Shame and Carnage and a Bit of Full Frontal

Must be time for me to write something on here. I see that quite a few readers are checking my blog most days so I guess I should give you all some reading material.

Here in Scotland the days are getting longer and brighter. This used to be my mother's favourite time of year and now it's mine too. The whole world seems so full of possibilities, it's good to be alive.

For those of you reading this in Peru or anywhere near the equator the idea of the days getting longer may not be an easy concept to understand. But trust me that's the way it is. As I look out my window in Edinburgh the sun is  still working away and I can see a thin pale sliver of a moon hanging over The Pentland Hills, saying goodbye to the sun as it decides it's had enough for the day and sinks into the western sky.

Best film I've seen this past fortnight was "Carnage". It's witty, funny and entertaining. The dialogue just sparkles along at a pace. Cristoph Waltz is just perfect. He has a way of looking with that cynical sneer of his which I just love, the film is worth seeing just for him alone. Jodie Foster is excellent despite what may have been said in various smart arse newspaper reviews. I will see it again on DVD.

"Shame" was thoroughly entertaining too but very different. Not many laughs. If you like your actors starkers then you are in for a treat, as Michael Fassbender gives us some full frontal nudity to keep us going for a while. With a name like that it's only to be expected I suppose.  He acts pretty good too. There's a tremendous version of "New York New York" sung by Carey Mulligan as the Fassbender character looks on, in tears, which luckily I was able to hold back this time. There's a clip on YouTube should anyone wish to hear her. Great film and definitely worth seeing.

War Horse with Lewis

Went to see the Spielberg movie War Horse with Lewis last Saturday. I guess it was inevitable that it would all end in tears. He knows how to manipulate the emotions does  old Mr Spielberg.

Actually the tears began well before the end, in fact a few minutes into the movie I could feel things welling up and soon enough the tissues had to come out. I wish I could cope a bit better with this kind of manipulation, but I'm afraid that's the way it is so just have to get on with it.

In fact the experience is quite cathartic if not even enjoyable.  I remember being reduced to a sobbing wreck by Toy Story 3, which I saw in Lima, though not too many people noticed, maybe because they were busy hiding their own tears. Hard to believe that a bunch of toys having a hard time could leave one so emotionally exhausted, but quite frankly it was a great movie and fully deserving of tears, of joy as well as loss.

Lewis seemed to enjoy the movie too and he also had a tear or two to hide. It reminded me of going to see ET with Iain and Anna way back in the early 80s. Both of them and their uncle Don were slightly overcome and Anna had to be comforted, quickly followed by Iain who had been putting a brave face on things by hiding under the seat. I think that was the day that Anna began to chant "Maggie Maggie Maggie Out Out Out" as she thought the cinema queue was the start of another anti Tory demo. If you are reading this in Peru you maybe wont get the reference to Maggie. Let me know if you want to know more about her and will maybe post something to explain.

For those of you who have not had the good fortune to have met Lewis he is my nephew Keith's son. I feel very privileged to be able to spend a little time with him. Thanks Keith. Lewis is brilliant company and keeps me entertained with his stories. I picked him up in Irvine last Friday and we drove to his grandparent's house, a journey of about one hour twenty minutes. He spoke non stop all the way there. I just had to make the occasional interjection and he just kept on talking. He even noticed himself that he had rather a lot to say, but he just kept on going. Amazing. He wanders from subject to subject as the mood takes him, one minute football, then school, then family stuff, then films, games, whatever takes his fancy. I just love him to bits.

He is doing a project for his school about the Second World War, so the movie maybe gave him an idea or two for that. I gave him some stuff I had from my father's world war 2 "archive", including one of his medals, to show in his project. Apparently Keith had always wanted one of these medals when he was a wee boy himself,  though I've no recollection of this. But I guess K would agree it's going to good use now. Lewis has promised to look after the medal and pass it on to his son some time in the future.

I have no idea how this posting got here from War Horse. If you are looking for a good movie to see I can recommend it... tears are optional of course.

Christopher Columbus

I don't suppose anyone wants to read about my shopping, or housework or ironing so I won't mention them. Though I should say that I find ironing most relaxing especially with some good radio to listen to and here in the UK we are blessed with good old Radio 4. Although if I'm feeling particularly virtuous I listen to one of my Spanish Cd's, thereby improving my mind, keeping fit with the iron and getting nicely pressed shirts into the bargain.

For as long as I can remember I've had books in my life. I just can't imagine life without books. When I was a boy there were always books in our house, though not necessarily ones that I would be reading nowadays. There was a cupboard to the right of the old fireplace, with it's peat fire burning away, which was full of my father's books. There was a pile of old bibles in Gaelic and English, though mostly Gaelic, and the rest theological works of one kind or another. He used to read all these heavy theological works, by reformed theologians, whose names now escape me, other than one called John Owen, who was particularly keen on "justification by faith". He used to get all these books from some book club he belonged to. I should remember the name but I'm afraid it's gone. He must have had more books than many ministers had.

There was also a ten volume encyclopedia, with beautiful red covers which I remember him buying from some salesman who came round the doors. I still remember reading it and being enthralled by the stories and pictures  from all over the world. I especially remember a photo of the Taj Mahal impressing me enormously and thinking that one day I would see it for real. I still have that dream. I don't remember any pictures or stories from Peru or South America, but I guess there must have been some

One time I'd been reading about Christopher Columbus and his trip to "discover" America and the next day old Fury, our headmaster, and a whole other story, but you can guess from his name what kind of fellow he was, asked if anyone knew the name of Columbus' ship. How he thought that anyone  from that bunch of scholars should know it is beyond me, but you can imagine his surprise when I was able to tell him. In case you're interested it was called the Santa Maria.

There was also some lighter reading such as accounts of the escapades of various Presbyterian missionaries as they sought to convert the world, and especially Africa and India, to their very own version of Christianity. And of course we had "The Pilgrim's Progress" by John Bunyan, bits of which I still remember. Such was our Sunday reading material. Though as the years passed we diversified a bit by going to bed early on the Sabbath and reading illicit material such as Biggles Flies West, or some such.

I started writing this thinking about my reading habits, but ended up somewhere else, so will have to come back to my love of reading at another time. 

"The Artist"

I know I've promised to keep my blog going on my return to UK but somehow not quite getting round to it, or else always finding something else to do which at the time seems important, like cleaning or ironing or just generally time wasting. I must spend hours just dithering and generally messing about. So now that I've started I plan to continue. Though what I'm going to write about I have no idea. Life in Edinburgh is not quite the same as life in Peru, interesting to me but maybe not to anyone else.

Last night I went to see "The Artist", which I reckon is a minor masterpiece. I went along thinking this could be a real test of endurance but left absolutely enchanted. It's a love story, a romance and a comedy set in the 20s as the talkies are taking over the world. It's the story of George Valentin, a successful movie star who falls in love  with a film extra who goes on to be a hugely successful star in the talkies. He refuses to have anything to do with what he sees as a passing fad, and the film is the story of his slow but inevitable fall to the bottom.

It's a sexy movie with no sex. Just a few kisses. The moment they meet on set at the beginning and fall in love is beautifully done, and you know it's going to be a great night of cinema.

By the end, I was in tears, but tears of joy and happiness. It's a truly uplifting experience. If you are a dog lover this film has one of the best doggie performances you will ever see. He is called Uggie, a very suitable name for him too. He is a brave, funny wee dog, who deserves the doggie Oscar if there is such a thing, and if not one should be introduced just for him.

I've never heard of the lead actor, guy called Jean Dujardin, but he has a touch of Rudolph Valentino and Gene Kelly about him and a touch of genius. The lead actress  is South American, Berenice Bejo, and she is simply beautiful, and a fine actress to boot.

Go see this movie and if the ending doesn't leave you moved (maybe even to tears like me) I will give you a refund.

The night before I went to see the Sherlock Holmes movie with Robert Downey Jnr playing old Sherlock, though not so old of course. It's all fights and explosions and nothing like the Sherlock I remember from my youth. It's good to see Robert though looking in fine fettle and not at all like a jailbird. There is a very disturbing scene where Stephen Fry appears stark naked, with his great big fat belly hanging down...  just not good Stephen. Next time I see you on IQ I will have to  try not to think about it.

It's not a patch on the BBC version with Benedict Cumberbatch which is one of the best things on tele right now and definitely worth watching.