rhythmaning | Recent Entries

This afternoon, I went to see Mad Max: Fury Road.

Since this might contain spoilers - though frankly anyone who is likely to go will already have gone - I'll make some general points first and continue below the fold.
( The gentle humour and in-depth characterisation, coupled with subtle dialogue that allowed the fascinating story to slowly unfold. )

This morning I went to the hustings for the Libdems' leadership election.

I have been trying hard not to make a decision - to wait until I had heard both candidates speak. I have read blog posts and watched videos by both.

Tim Farron was in Edinburgh earlier in the week, holding an informal open meeting for party members in a pub. (He was drinking coffee, I had a pint.) I have heard Farron speak many times over the last few years, as party president, and I was a bit concerned that gave him an advantage over Norman Lamb for my vote.

At today's hustings, each gave a speech (in the absence of the other, presumably so they didn't steal each others' ideas, but in the presence of the press). Then they answered questions, in the absence of the press and any non-members.

There seemed to be very little between them: as Farron said, they probably agree on more than 95% of the issues. Both speeches were good. They each covered their political beliefs and values, and the direction they would like to take the party: Lamb wants to become the party of new ideas, building links with academics and intellectuals to build policy. (He is a visiting fellow of Nuffield College, Oxford, so he's got a start there.) Farron wants be the voice of the poor and the disposessed - to stand up for the underprivileged.

Lamb spoke about his achievements as a minister, particular focusing on mental health issues. Farron concentrated on his achievements as an MP and how he would fight for the party.

Farron seemed more impassioned, Lamb more managerial. Indeed, Lamb seems to have many of the major characters in the party on his side, particularly people whom I respect like Lynne Featherstone, as well as several other former MPs.

I'm sure each would be fine. But Farron's speech stirred me much more than Lamb's. It's not that I disagreed with it all, but I agreed at an intellectual level, where Farron's worked intellectually AND emotionally.

So I shall be voting for Tim Farron.

I left Talisker-cat hiding under the duvet and went into town for a meeting at about 9am.

I got back at 1.30pm and he was still under the duvet. He may have come out in between, but it didn't look like it.

He came out to say hello when I called him, at some food and used the litter tray. And then climbed back under the duvet.

So I've got the builders in, renovating my windows (which were apparently in better nick than I thought they were).

This means my front door is open for much of the day.

Which means Talisker-cat has to be locked away.

Monday and Tuesday were fine, since he was in the living room where he spends much of the time anyway. And he was able to hide under the sofa if he felt like it.

Yesterday (and today) was a touch more difficult, since they were working on all three rooms on the lower floor. Cat and I spent spent the day hiding in the spare bedroom, upstairs, but Talisker wasn't impressed by the restricted space.

We were in the living room when the buzzer went a few minutes ago, which meant Talisker dived under the sofa (which he always does when the buzzer goes, running from wherever he is into the living room and under the sofa). He wouldn't come out, and grabbing him much against his will, I took him struggling, with many scratches, upstairs.

Where he is currently hiding under the duvet, presumably sulking. Just a lump in the bed.

It is several years since I have been to Ullapool, and many, many more since I last took the coast road past Gairloch, Inverewe and Gruinard to get there. (There being a direct route from Inverness.)

The cloud level when I left Lochcarron was more or less zero: thick fog. This made the drive north even more fun, much to my surprise.

The fog lifted - a bit - by Shieldig (it was even sunny later. For about a minute), though there was really still nothing to be seen of Liatach and Beinn Eighe.

I had forgotten how much I love the far north west. Well, it had been subsumed into my being: I knew I loved the north west, but I had forgotten how much I enjoyed the experience.

It is a marvellous drive, past high mountains and small, sandy bays. It is a brilliant, under-appreciated part of the world.

Not by me. It is so remote and barren, with a rugged beauty, and every path looks like the start of a story.

Ullapool itself is a lovely place, Georgian and white, laid out in an orderly fashion. It has an easy feel to it, perhaps because (aside from one visit for work) I have always been on holiday there.

What a wonderful part of the world!

Rather than go hillwalking in the rain for ten hours (which would actually have been walking in the rain for three hours - and walking in the fog for seven), today I took off for Skye.

Skye's mountains were also buried beneath the clouds, but I wasn't there to climb. Also, I didn't have the maps.

But Skye is one of my favourite places. Just being there is special.

I drove down to Elgol, a wonderful drive with lots of single track action, past Blaven (a wonderful mountain), which of course was hidden by cloud, and walked a mile or so along the coast towards Camusary.

On the way back to Broadford, I have a couple of hikers from Lithuania a lift. They had walked the West Highland Way in the sun a couple of weeks ago, and spent the rest of their visit sheltering from the rain. They had walked from Sligachan - the Slig is a hotel and bar that serves as an entry point to the Cuillin - to Elgol, a walk I have long wanted to do (though I think Elgol to Sligachan is the direction I'd prefer), and were now heading back Glasgow.

I went onto Sligachan where I looked at the cloud-clad hills, and then headed back to the mainland. I drove over to Plockton and had a good look around - it is a lovely place. It was busy - I hate to think what it is like in high season (which starts next week when the Scottish school holidays start).

And then I drove back to Lochcarron, the long way - taking the (single track) coast road.

Had I not booked tickets for SNJO in Ullapool, I would have driven home, but actually it was a good day. Even in the rain, the west coast is wonderful.

I am spending a few days in the north west of Scotland, where there are lots of mountains. And unfortunately for those with any plans to climb any mountains, lots of rain. Just as my visit to a few - well, maybe twenty five - miles from here in May was dominated by the weather (then, seasonal blizzards and fog), so's this trip.

As well as mountains and rain, one of the great things the north of Scotland has in abundance are single track roads. Roads that have enough space for one car, in either direction.

I love driving on single track roads. They are not fast, but they are fun.

Traffic is facilitated by regular passing places, where the single track is widened to allow two cars to pass. This is an artform, though one little appreciated. Back in May, on a little jaunt to Glenelg, I and another driver, visible from a long way off, adjusted our speeds so we could pass at about forty miles an hour. It was like sex. Really. A magical dance, and all accomplished by sharing a goal. Remote collaboration. It was wonderful.

My favorite single track road is the A866 which goes from Lochcarron past the Applecross Peninsula, up to Loch Torridon and then - my favorite bit of road - north, beside the massive torridian mountains of Liatach and Beinn Eighe, as far as Kinlochewe.

At the bottom of the glen, the road is relatively flat, and for most of it you can see what is coming from a long way off. Which means you can speed along the single track road without having to worry about hitting other cars. (Sheep and deer are a different matter.) Doing seventy in the shadow of Liatach is a wonderful experience.

But the real joy of single track roads is not speeding; not being worried about taking one's time, and enjoying the subtle dance of the passing places.

So there I am, lying on the bed, when this woman comes up and sticks a bloody great tv camera in my face. I mean, right in my face.

* * *

Ok, I'm being a bit disingenuous. That was after all why I was there, lying on my side in an out patients' clinic in downtown Leith.

A while ago, just before Christmas, I started suffering from indigestion, which I put down to my hectic, dissolute lifestyle and general seasonal over-indulgence.

A month or so later, realising that I was still suffering from indigestion despite being clean living and healthy, I made an appointment to see the doctor, concerned that maybe it wasn't indigestion. The very next day I saw an NHS Scotland add in the cinema that screamed "IF YOU'VE GOT INDIGESTION I COULD BE STOMACH CANCER!!! SEE A DOCTOR NOW!!!!!"

I spent the next two weeks convincing myself that I had only weeks left to live, planning my funeral and wondering about rewriting my will. Mostly thinking "who'll look after Talisker?!!" Curiously, though, one thing I didn't do was take any indigestion medicine, mainly because I didn't want to hide any of the symptoms of my impending demise.

The doctor, when I saw him, asked lots of questions, write it all down, and said it probably wasn't anything to worry about, referred my to a gastro-enterologist at the hospital for endoscopy, prescribed some very effective medicine and sent me away.

Five weeks later, I starved myself ahead of my appointment with the gastro-enterologist in the expectation of endoscopy, only for him to ask me all the same questions that my GP had asked and for him to refer me for endoscopy.

Which, ten weeks later, was last week. (The NHS appointment system is baffling. The gastro-enterologist told me I'd be sent an appointment for about a month later; when, six weeks later, I chased it up with my GP, I see told to speak to the specialist again, who's secretary told me I had to phone the central booking service. When I did, they said I could be seen the next, in Dunfermline, or a month later in Leith. Presumably they had spaces - maybe a cancellation - in Dunfermiline. But I couldn't help thinking that it was only my intervening in the system that had for me an appointment. A less pushy, maybe not so privileged, person might just have waited. They might have died before an appointment came up. Waiting for me to phone was hardly the most effective way if allocating appointments.)

* * *

I starved myself again, this time at their request. My appointment was for 1pm and I couldn't eat or drink anything for six hours before. I got up early for breakfast - they specified "a light breakfast of toast and tea only" (no coffee!) - at six thirty.

I was slightly early at the clinic, and after filling in some forms - next of kin, stuff like that (I assumed Talisker didn't count) - I tried to stop myself thinking about all the horrible things they might find in my stomach by looking at the very fine artwork they had on the walls.

Like this one.

It's by Robbie MacLaurin, who I've known for thirty years or so (though I haven't seen for about ten years!). I have a couple of his paintings.

There was another very good painting in the clinic by an artist whose work I own work, Paul Forneaux, but I can't find an image of that. Still, I was very impressed by the quality of the art on the walls of this clinic in Leith, and I'm sincerely impressed that Art in Healthcare bother to hang it on the otherwise bleak walls of hospitals.

* * *

A nurse than ran me through another set of questions in order to get informed consent and discussed various details of the process with me. Mostly, nose or throat. Endoscopy involves sticking a camera where a camera really ought not to be. This time, my stomach. (The only other time I've had it, my bladder. It was the most uncomfortable procedure I've ever had, including teeth extraction. There is only one way to get a camera into your bladder.)

There are two ways to get a camera into your stomach: through your mouth and down your oesophagus, or through your nose and down your oesophagus. For purely aesthetic reasons I reckoned the mouth sounded better, but the nurse explained that it was actually easier through the nose, plus they use a smaller endoscope (aka fucking great camera) and, if for some reason they have a problem going through your nose, rather than reset all the machines, they then use the smaller endoscope through your mouth. Win-win, buggy the sound of it.

The procedure is actually quite easy, but distinctly weird. Two different types of nasal spray - one to dilate the nasal passages so they can get the fucking great camera through, one as an anaesthetic. The sprays liquefy and drip down the back of the throat - this is meant to happen, but it is strange. Without feeling in the throat, the swallow impulse goes: it feels like the throat is blocked solid, but you have to swallow the camera down.

They push this tube through your nose and down your throat - SWALLOW - and on into the oesophagus, on into the stomach - and through the stomach into the small intestine. The best way I found to cope was to think about something else. Anything else.

It was actually very quick. Five minutes. That's partly because they found nothing untoward at all - no nasty infections, no lumps not meant to be there, no reason to plan my funeral at all. There was, apparently, some very slight inflammation of the oesophagus, which is most likely to be caused by than the cause of the indigestion.

I now have to go back to the specialist to try to work out what is still causing my indigestion, but frankly knowing it's not going to kill me means I'm not really too bothered.

By the way, I have been very impressed by the nurses and doctors who have seen me. Particularly the nurses. They've been great.

(I am of course going to die. But not in the near future. At least, not of anything that shouldn't be in my stomach.)

I've been reading an awful lot in the last couple of days about need to reform the UK's electoral system, particularly the anomalies resulting from first past the post.

One of my real hopes for Thursday's general election was that, as the polls suggested, three world be a hung parliament and a minority government. I created this scenario in which a government of either shade would see that FPTP was untenable, with the smaller (but powerful - in my scenario, at least!) pushing for change.

As it was, the SNP (who, by the way, support proportional representation) got 56 seats on 5% of the vote, in contrast to UKIP, who got 1 seat with 13% of the vote. The Conservative party won 331 seats on 37% of the vote.

Clearly inequitable, whatever one's views of UKIP.

The thing is, with the Tories now having a majority, they have absolutely no need to push for a change. Indeed, they'd be foolish to do so.

I think this is the thing that has pissed me off most since Thursday. A hung parliament might have been a lever for electoral change. With a Tory majority, we're just wasting our breath.

This election has proved it's needed. But the outcome has ensured it won't happen.

I've just had an email from Willie Rennie, leader of the Scottish Liberal Democrats, which says:

The Scottish Parliamentary Election campaign starts today.

Jeez. I thought at least we might get the weekend off!

Well, that was interesting.

I have just been to vote. I always feel privileged to be able to vote, and view it as a duty to do so.

There was a BBC/Sky ipsos Mori exit poll outside. I have never been polled on my vote before, neither during a campaign nor in an exit poll. It must mean they believe my constituency - Edinburgh N & Leith - is one to watch. Or else they are polling every seat in Scotland, since they are all likely to be interesting. Though presumably not every polling station, since that would be a hugely intensive activity. I wonder if my ward is seen as being representative of the constituency.

The exit poll was remarkably similar to the real poll: they had a cardboard ballot box and a yellow voting paper with all the candidates on it and boxes to tick. It was somewhat though not totally private.

I couldn't bring myself to tick UKIP even in an imaginary, fictional poll. I wanted to skew the exit poll results, but I just couldn't do it.

My seat is currently Labour, but the latest Ashcroft poll has something like SNP 40%, Labour 30%, and LibDems, Green and Conservative on about 10% each. I voted tactically for Labour; it'll be interesting to see how many other of those LibDems, Greens and Conservatives switch to Labour, just for the day.

( More... )

After weeks of walking, the Kiltwalk took place yesterday. After weeks of mostly walking in sunshine, I spent nearly six hours walking in pissing rain and high(ish) wind.

My official time, from when the walk started at 9am to when I crossed the finish line, was 5 hours 55 minutes. (It not being a race, there wasn't actually an official time as such: they weren't keeping a record.)

I however was keeping track of my speed as I passed each mile-marker, using an stopwatch app on my phone. Unfortunately, despite my phone being wrapped in a plastic bag to keep the rain out, it got damp and the screen did some funny things and reset the clock somewhere between miles 10 and 11. (Or maybe I just pushed the wrong button.)

Still, I can remember many of the time to complete some of the miles, and I have a record for the last 15 miles.

My personal, unofficial time, was 5 hours 44 minutes, the difference being not crossing the start line for a couple of minutes and three loo breaks. So, an average of about 4.5mph, then. Pretty fast.

Some of the mile markers were clearly a bit skew-whiff: in the second half of the walk, one mile took 19 minutes and the next 9: the first was clearly in the position, the average of the two being 14 minutes. Most seemed about right, though, knowing how fast I walk.

At the start of the walk, in the crowd, my first two miles were over fourteen minutes each; a couple of miles later, I did a couple of miles at less than twelve minutes each - I was walking more than 5 miles per hour, something I didn't achieve when I was training (though I did sometimes reach 5mph over only five miles).

I reached the halfway point - 13 miles - at exactly midday, with an (unofficial) speed of 4.5mph, the same as my average speed over the whole walk.

More impressive, in the last half of the walk, I logged three different 12-minute miles (excluding that highly unlikely nine minute mile). Indeed, I did the final mile in twelve minutes.

I was close to the lead walkers. When I passed the 25 mile mark, the end in clear site (it was Murrayfield stadium: you can see it from miles away!), the guy at the checkpoint told me I was the fifth 26 mile walker back. I had thought there were six walkers in front of me - there was one guy in a bright yellow

It wasn't easy. Basically, I just kept going. After about 16 miles, I found myself controlling my breath, breathing deeply and rhythmically; at a couple of checkpoints and at the finish line, officials asked with concern if I were ok (I was) - I guess they didn't want someone having a heart-attack.

I also found my legs unconsciously taking smaller, faster steps, and I had to deliberately take longer paces and slow down my rate of steps, to stop myself literally getting carried away.

At the end of the walk, I felt emotionally drained. I didn't burst into tears at the finish line, which marathon runners do, but I wouldn't have been surprised if I had done.

There was a big tent at the end, where I sat and ate the free burger. The tent was full of families - as well as the 26 mile walk, there was also a 13 mile walk, and a shorter walk for children. The walks were in aid of children's charities, so that was fair enough, but it wasn't somewhere I wanted to hang around.

I picked up my change of clothes - hillwalking in Scotland has taught me to have a spare change of clothes after long walks in the rain - and got changed. I was soaked. My waterproof was wet through, and my clothing was wet either from the rain or sweat, or, probably, both. The bits of paper in my pockets had disintegrated. It is a good thing I put my wallet inside a plastic bag, like my phone. (Another hillwalking trick.) The screen on my phone wasn't working properly, despite keeping it under wraps, because the moisture on the screen meant my finger just skidded across.

Rather than hang about in the tent, once changed, I got on the tram. I was going to go to a pub for a pint or three and some more food, but decided that I would actually prefer a long hot bath. And maybe alcohol wouldn't be such a great idea...

As I got off the tram, there were more Kiltwalkers streaming past. I had been there a couple of hour before, watching the tram leave for Murrayfield enviously. From there, the route actually avoided taking me right past my flat, which I thought it would, though it did take me within a couple of hundred yards. Much of the route was on cycle paths around Edinburgh that I had been training on, particularly the ten mile stretch from Cramond to Joppa (though I hadn't ever done the whole lot at once) and much of the route from Joppa along the Innocent Railway back to my flat.

Today I have been inspecting the damage. I only got a couple of rather small blisters on fourth toe of each foot, which had I really thought about ahead of the walk I would have realised would happen. My main worry had been blisters on my heels or the balls of my feet, but they were ok. I remember when I walked the marathon a few years ago (a little quicker, in an official time of 5hr40), I was hobbling about for days. So far I seem to be relatively unscathed. Maybe all my practice paid off!

Edit I meant to add a bit about what I was listening to whilst I walked. In order...

Broadcasting House on R4

the Archers, though most of the time there was really bad interference, as I walked from Cramond to Seafield

Bruckner

Brahms

Sibelius

Vaughn Williams

When I had been training, I mostly listened to rock music, but I found that my steps fell in line with too insistent a rhythm, which wasn't necessarily a good thing.

For much of the Bruckner - I think it was Symphony 8 - I was conducting the orchestra as I walked. People must have thought I was even madder, moving my arms in the rain as I hurried down Portobello prom.

The Democratic Dashboard gives information about your local constituency, including previous general, regional and local election results and the results of local polling (if available, presumably). It's a project based at the LSE, though not necessarily an LSE project!

In 2010, where I live was a two way marginal, between LibDems (34%) and Labour (38%), with SNP and Conservatives on 10% and 15% respectively. It has been a Labour seat since at least 1992.

The latest poll shows Labour on 30%, which has been pretty constant since January (32%). The SNP have pulled ahead, from 23% in January to either 39% or 43% now, depending on which chart you believe. This gain seems to be largely at the expense of the LibDems, who have gone from 16% to 6% in that time.

The discrepancy between the charts make me wonder whether one is showing polling for Scotland rather than my seat.

Either way, to beat the SNP, all LibDem and Tory voters would need to vote Labour. Interestingly, the Greens, who I think have a strong candidate, are polling only 6%, down from 8%.

I have just seen Blade Runner, the Final no-really-the-absolutely-final-we're-not-going-to-spin-it-out-any-longer Digital Cut.

I have seen different versions of the film at different times since I first saw it when it was released in 1982 - in the cinema and on TV - including last year on TV. I have no idea which versions I have seen when.

This time it was back in the cinema, without a voice-over. It looks amazing, still, 33 years on. The story might not make absolute sense, but frankly it so stylish they could do anything and it would still be great. I couldn't tell what changes there were from other versions (apparently there have been seven different releases), though this is the only one which Ridley Scott control over the final edit.

It is surprising that it doesn't seem clichéd since it had been so influential. It sets the standard for sci fi noir. (Not least Brazil!)

It was certainly an excellent experience seeing it again in the cinema. Most of the audience weren't born when the original film was released - nor when the Director's Cut was released in 1992. Even they seemed to know the film very well.

A truly wonderful film.

It was an interesting evening at the local hustings. All seven candidates turned up - Green, SNP, Labour, Conservative, UKIP, LibDem, and Left Unity (irritatingly at the right of the stage).

Sarah Beattie Smith, the Green candidate, won on the evening: she spoke convincingly, coherently and passionately.

Deirdre Brock, for the SNP, had a bit of passion in her voice, but seemed a bit keen to toe the party line and mentioned Nicola Sturgeon many times.

Mark Lazarowicz, the Labour incumbent, wasn't as good a speaker as I would have expected, given his many years' experience.

I thought Iain McGill, the Tory, and the UKIP guy whose name I forget were both pretty hopeless.

Martin Veart, the LibDem, seemed very reticent and ill at ease, which was disappointing.

The Left Unity guy was passionate and surprisingly good.

The audience was pretty mixed, although judging by the questions and the applause, I reckon they were more to the left than the panel. There were a few Tories seated in the row behind me, but most people seemed to support the Greens, with fewer SNP and Labour supporters.

There were questions on devolution (surprise!), TTIP, housing, tax, unions and so on.

There was hardly any heckling. We were very well behaved. There was some sarcastic laughter at points made by the Tory, Mr UKIP, and the SNP. Both the Tory and UKIP deserved heckling on some of the comments, though, and I'm somewhat disappointed that I failed to do so.

It won't however influence how I vote: it seems to be a two horse race, and since I don't want an SNP MP, I think Mr Lazarowicz will get my vote.

...but my cross-posting is now up to date!

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rhythmaning

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On the Beat

Recent Entries

Mad Max: Fury Road.

LibDem Hustings.

Duvet-day.

Builders

To Ullapool.

Today...

Single-Track Mind.

Nosey.

Gutted.

Weekend.

Polling

Edinburgh by Evening-Light. April 2015.

Outside the Scottish National Portrait Gallery. Edinburgh, April 2015.

Inside the Scottish National Portrait Gallery. Edinburgh, April 2015.

Walking in the Rain.

Democratic Dashboard.

Blade Runner.

Hustings.

Apologies for the photospam...

Holyrood Park and the Radical Road. Edinburgh, March 2015.

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