Spring fashions

Last weekend the trees around us suddenly dressed themselves in their new finery. Our exposed situation means that it’s mainly hardy natives that grow well. And while some cheeky chaps from other parts of the world survive, and bloom and come into leaf earlier, the natives know best and hold their finery until fairly certain that harsh frosts won’t blast their tender shoots. So last weekend they decided to put on a display, like models showing off the latest fashions, and this afternoon they looked very cheerful in the sun, although like much of spring so far the breeze is chilly.

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Exhilarating

The boat was a Turkish gulet, twenty-three metres in length, called Bonita da Madeira, made from rich coloured woods and stainless steel, with masts that soared towards the sky. At the stern, we lounged on blue plastic covered mattresses formed into a relaxing seat. The relaxing aspect was further enhanced by a glass of Madeira wine – such a welcoming gesture as well as a great promotional tool for both boat trip and wine.

No fog horns, just a jingle

Videos are on my mind. Not the neatly packaged and enticingly or garishly labelled bought from a shelf in supermarket or shop, or downloaded or streamed to computer. But a short promotional video, shot, assembled and brought into the world by me to publicise my novel Any news from India?

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A little slice of immortality

Good news always makes a day go with a swing, puts a smile on your face, a bounce in your step. Makes your fingers dance on the keyboard. My good news this morning is that one of my short stories, Bowler and bunnet, felt and fascinator, has been shortlisted for the H G Wells Short Story Competition, the theme of which was class (to be interpreted as you wanted). http://hgwellscompetition.com/2015/09/21/junior-and-senior-category-competition-shortlists/comment-page-1/#comment-430

So happy to have achieved this as my story will now be published in their anthology. Whee!

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A hint of Poirot

Forty six years ago the rail line that ran from Edinburgh, through the villages of Heriot, Fountainhall and Stow, then the Border towns of Galashiels, Melrose, Selkirk and Hawick and onwards to Carlisle – the Waverley line – was closed. The government of the day, looking as always for budget cuts, waved around a report into the railway network, little changed since Victorian times, and decided on implementation of the suggested cuts.

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My love is like a red, red…

Robert Burns, regarded as Scotland’s national bard, wrote his poem likening his love (one of many, as Rabbie was something of a lover of the ladies) to a red, red rose. But in these modern days of technology, when we indulge in a bit of nostalgia by collecting memorabilia and junk from the past, and when we perhaps equate love with something different than what many might see as a hackneyed and mushy red rose, I wondered what other items our love might be compared with. So here goes.

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Quietly buzzing

I’m sure I’ve been inside before. I must have…surely. Yet I can’t remember when. And the vague memory flitting round my mind isn’t borne out by the interior. I’ve heard it said that visitors often know places better than local people, and it wouldn’t surprise me if this were true. So much of our surroundings we take for granted, and if we have visited once, small hand clutching the larger hand of parent or grandparent, we somehow never get round to visiting again.

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