Parties.

It was a very good weekend; but somewhat nostalgic. Two friends – married to each other – had a joint birthday party. On the way there, I couldn’t help but remember their first joint birthday party, thirty years ago.

There were lots of old friends there, as well as some very interesting new ones (professor of biodiversity, anyone? Although for one department to have twenty four professors seems a bit much. In my day, it was one professor per department. That’s inflation for you!), and some great conversations.

But there was also a fair bit of dissonance. Seeing my friends’ daughter make a beeline for the champagne just seemed wrong. To be told another friend’s daughter was now 32 and married just seemed bizarre. (I took photos at her first birthday party…)

Actually, photography was a recurring theme. D produced a picture I had taken oh thirty one years ago, and told me it was his favourite picture of A (it remains a good picture!); someone else I hadn’t seen for thirty years (though maybe paths crossed at a wedding or two in between) said that she still loved the pictures I took at her 21st birthday party – though her husband found it strange that most of the pictures were of her female rather than male friends (plus ca change).

The weather was glorious. People fell into the canal (two people, to be precise).

It was lovely to see everyone. It always surprises me how easy it is to pick up with old friends, though it shouldn’t, since it always is.

There was a somewhat depressing coda to all this nostalgia, though. On Monday morning I received an email telling me that another contemporary from my college has metastasised pancreatic cancer. Which I believe is usually terminal. Though friends and contempories of mine have died, it has always been through accident (in one case a terrorist bomb, in another a bicycle accident); never through “natural causes”.

After decades of catching up with old friends at weddings and birthday parties, we are clearly moving into the age of catching up at funerals.

Scotland.

As you may have heard (not least because I broadcast the fact on Twitter, Facebook and LinkedIn…), I shall be moving back to Edinburgh. (The back is an important rider!) In a couple of weeks. I’m looking forward to the long evening-skies. (And the sunsets!)

But coincidentally, and planned months before I knew I would be moving back (and when), I am first going here for a few days. Transport being what it is, I am going up on the sleeper night-train tonight, walking from one station in Glasgae to another, and catching a train for the five hour journey to Mallaig, where I get a boat to Rum on Friday. (It isn’t possible to do the journey without a stop-over at each end!)

I love Mallaig. And I’m looking forward to Rum a lot. I’ve been there, but only for a quick visit; the forecast for the weekend is good, and the hills should be excellent.

The return trip, Mallaig to London, I can do in a day – though a long day, about twelve hours of trains.

Then, a couple of days later, I’m back to Scotland – by train – to pick up the keys to my new flat, and back to London within the day.

Four days later, I shall follow all my belongings back to Edinburgh, chauffeuring Talisker. A seven hour car journey with a miaowing cat isn’t my idea of heaven, but it was what the vet recommended. (I have to talk to the cat to keep him calm, apparently. I really am turning into a mad cat man.)

I am looking forward to all the train journeys a lot, especially the bit from Fort William to Mallaig. If you’ve seen any of the Harry Potter films, you’ve seen the West Coast branch (and specifically, you’ll have seen the very dramatic Glenfinnan viaduct. It is a marvellous train journey.

On the other hand, I am really looking forward to being ensconced in Edinburgh, getting over my train-lag.