Rudders at Home

As stated, I want to live here. Doesn’t that look like a nice, peaceful place to be? I wonder if we could get a good deal on it.

Probably not. But I suppose that’s ok – I don’t think I’d like to see this place in winter. Plus there would probably be some sheep thrown in with the bargain and I don’t think I’d like the responsibility of looking after the furry things.

This is a photo I took in Glen Coe last year when my parents were over visiting. We spent a good amount of their holiday enjoying the lovely sites that Scotland offers up, and both my dad and I were camera crazy.

This specifically is one of the Three Sisters in the range there. I don’t know the technicalities of it all. I just like how that tiny house makes the background look so striking and massive.

More pictures from our holiday North (notice the capital “N”) can be here, in the Gallery.

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Earlier this week, I went with a couple girls to a cheese tasting. It was a tutored tasting, which Neal’s Yard Dairy do near their shop there in Borough Market. A tutored tasting is where they give you a number of cheeses to taste, and they walk you through tasting them. At this one, they gave us an overview of where the cheese comes from, explained the process of making the cheese, and why the cheese you’re eating now tastes different from the cheese you ate before – among other things. I would hate to spoil the surprise if you were to go on your own!

It was a brilliant night. It’s not cheap, but it was pretty good value for money. We had ten good sized pieces of cheeses to try, plus red and white wine, artisanal bread, and other munchies which they were not stingy about at all. The picture below should give you an idea on portion size – that’s a fairly normal sized plate they’re on.

This tasting focused on mountain cheese. Going clockwise from 12 o’clock: Reblochon, St. Nectaire, Stillsitzer Steinsalz, Ossau-Iraty, Gruyere, Comte, Grand Jura, Kirkham’s Lancashire, Salers de Buron, Lincolnshire Poacher

Because I forgot my camera (yes, again, I know!), photo courtesy of Ruth, one of the nice girls I went with.

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Last night, I attended my very first ceilidh. It’s pronounced “kay-lee” and it’s a type of Scottish folk dancing. Basically, it’s square dancing, Scottish style.

I’ve been trying to convince Paul for ages that this is something we wanted to do. He didn’t seem to be too keen on the idea. However, when I got two of my girlfriends to come along and booked tickets, he didn’t have any excuse not to go.

We had such a good night. Basically, you show up, have a drink and then the dancing started at 8. There was a band with a caller, and while they don’t call the whole song, they do walk you through the first steps. So, it was really very beginner friendly.

It was very similar to the square dancing I did during one summer when I was younger. The steps were a bit more complicated, and there was a lot more spinning involved, but I think that just made it even better! There were a number of different kinds of dances. Some took 4 couples, some took more depending, and there were also couples dances and one where Paul danced with one lady on each arm! Isn’t he the charmed one?

My favorite dance was definitely the one where I ended up flying! Two couples go to the middle of the square and the ladies put the arms over the men’s shoulders and then you go flying off into a spin! If I could remember the name of it, I’d post a link. Unfortunately though, I was too caught up in the moment to remember the names of any dances.

I don’t know what I expected, but it was so much fun. I am a bit disappointed there wasn’t any dancing like this going on, though! The Ceilidh Club organizes these things, and it was a pretty nice setup. It was a group of really friendly people, folks who just wanted to dance and have a good time. Paul’s already to agreed to go again, and I can’t wait!

I just wish I had remembered my camera.

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I live a conflicted life sometimes. Ok, not really, but I do play a vicious game of “am I a local, am I a tourist” every now and then.

Sometimes I see tourists on the street during my roam to and from work and I’d like to just grab the map out of their hands, say, “where do you want to go” and then direct them on their way. I think part of it is sheer frustration and part of it is that librarian’s desire to show them the way. Possibly it may be that my bossiness is coming out or perhaps it’s that I understand how nice it is to at least feel like you’re going someplace, instead of standing in a place that you know is completely inconvenient to everyone around you, struggling to read a map which is way too big for the city environment you’re in, and that you don’t understand anyway.

I don’t do this, however… I don’t stop and help people, or try to help people. And sometimes, as I pass people who are clearly struggling, I even feel a bit bad. Why don’t I help? Well, apart from the prospect of having all people around look at me like I’m a nutter (London digs its claws deep), I don’t do it because even after five years in this country, it all boils down to the fact that I still feel like a tourist. (That and my mother taught me never to speak to strangers.)

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am a bit of a local. I have a number of local elements. I CAN help people find what they’re looking for. I understand the London A-Z, and know where the river is and whether I’m north or south of it – there’s a lot of people out there who don’t even know the name of the river I’m talking about! I even know some London neighborhoods that Paul doesn’t, and I even know his own neighborhood better than him in some places. But this knowledge doesn’t encourage me to stop and lend a hand.

I’m not a complete foreigner, any more, but it’s taken a long time to get to this place.

I think becoming a local is a scary thing. For me, it means a certain level of permanence has been achieved, and I’m not sure I’m ready to admit it yet – even though five years is proof enough and extremely hard to ignore. I think I prefer to feel like a tourist. It allows for the dumb mistakes I still make in this country, and to top it off, if I feel like a tourist then it means not stopping to help doesn’t mean I’ve lived in London too long.

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The apple of my eye has started his very own blog. Once we got our new host set up, curiosity got the better of him and he set up his own installation of WordPress.

He has plans to chronicle his adventures with my father on their caribou hunt in Canada. I don’ t want to post the nitty gritty details here, so he’s got himself all set up to do it. The first post seems interesting enough – already he’s debating on what he should wear!

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