Friday, November 24, 2006

Only in my dreams

Although Edinburgh's morning was sunny and bright, it was very cold, dear reader. My daughters and I went up to the fallen down tree and then, sans hat, decided to turn back. I promised them a proper walk after lunch, once my body had thawed out.

Lunch, oatcakes and sandwich spread soon came and went. With a coffee in my belly and a hat on my head, Minge headed off for Mortonhall. There's a beautiful wee house called Morton Hall (how the area got its name) not a fifteen minute walk from where I live now and, spookily, about a fifteen minute walk from where I used to live in Mortonhall Park Crescent.

We met some Highland Cattle on the way. I'd hoped that we would as I'd taken my camera with me to take the very picture, above, having promised Anjou Wu I'd do so well over a week ago. Perhaps a fortnight. Better late than never, dear reader.

I wanted to also take a snap of Megan and Mary with those ginger dears. I managed it, though getting the pups to look at the camera was a task. I think they were a bit nervy, baby.

They needn't worry, of course. If only I could tell them that. I can't speak for all Highland Cattle, of course, but these are very placid. They'll let you stroke them, feel their horns and, if you're lucky, will lick you. Be warned though, dear reader, their tongues are rough! Cats' tongues are smooth in comparison!

It was time to say, "Tata!" to the darling cow, the curious one, the one smelling quite strongly of lawnmowers.

From the field, the dogs and I walked on along the edge of the crematorium heading to the block of flats where we used to live. Meg got very excited, still able to remember the way.

When we lived around there, we woke up once or twice to find ash on the windscreen of the car and on the roof. There was often a strong smell of paraffin, buring etc.

In only a few minutes, we were there. Meg did her usual trick or party piece and ran all around the block several times.

Have a look where I used to live, dear reader. It was a very modest dwelling, but I did love it there. We were very comfortable. My former living room window now has red curtains at it. Can you see? Practically in the centre of the picture. The window to the left was my bedroom.

An old woman called Mrs Stewart lived below us. She must be long dead, now, having been on her last legs when we still lived there. Next door to her was Miss McKendrick. She was a fabulously outrageous old lesbian. I quite liked her. Sadly, she never knew who I was, being unable to recognise my voice through being so deaf and unable to recognise my face due to her poor eyesight. Mr Smith lived two floors above McKendrick. He'd not decorated his flat in the whole time we lived there with bare walls and a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Practically below him and opposite me, lived Mrs Brown. She was a terrible old gossip, but quite harmless. We'd often meet at the washing lines and she'd natter to me. I once told her I'd been to Bournemouth, she replied saying she'd been to London. I then said we'd been to Italy. She said she'd been to Florida. I was afraid to tell her we'd been to Saint Lucia. I thought she was going to tell me she'd been to the fucking moon! If you had a headache, dear reader, she had a brain tumour. If you had heartburn, she was having a heart attack. It was fun living there. She was always having huge rows with the people who lived above her. They wound each other up the whole time. I'd spend hours stood my my front door listening to their arguments, almost in hysterics.

From the flats, we headed off back home, along the way we came. I was certainly not prepared for what came next, for who came next! It was The Baldy Man! I'd not seen him in years. He was always walking about the place and I'd often see him passing my window (usually to go down the offy, Scotmid or the Chinky) so I really should not have been surprised to see him. I'd have asked to take his photograph, but he'd have thought me a total freak, so I had to do so from the rear once he'd passed. He was dubbed The Baldy Man after we'd seen him once or twice and admired his crazy hair-style: bald as an egg on the top, long hair at the back and sides. I thought he was quite similar to the character from Naked Video, the guy with the comb-over. Click here to see his infamous Hamlet commercial.

Back through the field with the Highland Cattle. "Hello, Mr Cow!" I patted his head, stroked his back and carried on, on along the strange route Ian likes, the route which fills me with fear. I have no sense of direction and was sure I'd get lost, which I did. A few telephone calls later, asking for directions, we were back home, back in the warm.

I'd had my iPod with me the whole time. The last track I heard was Only In My Dreams by Debbie Gibson. You can download it, if you like, dear reader. Click here. Go on, you know you want to. Be quick though, one hundred downloads or seven days, whichever come soonest, and it's gone.


Anonymous said...

That's an out of control fringe on that cow.

Nic pics.

Brian said...

I love me some Highland Coos!

Minge said...

J'adore these babies.

RIC said...

Thank you, Minge, for this rather pleasant, peaceful walk! It's so marvellous to live nearby or in a city and even though to be able to enjoy calmness... It's not common, I know, but I guess both you and me are lucky enough...
Enjoy your weekend!

Anonymous said...


Big hairy ones too.

Minge said...

Everyone loves the hairy ones.

It's great, living in a city but being on the edge of more country conditions. J'adore it.

Old Cheeser said...

Yes I'm quite envious of you being so close to the country and the pictures make it look lovely and peaceful. Living in London is rather different, and you do feel "hemmed in" sometimes. Although there are a few nice parks in my vicinity. Not quite the same though!

Edinburgh is a lovely city too. Although one of my abiding memories is a rather dire gay club called CC Blooms. I guess it's still there?

Old Cheeser said...

The juxtaposition of Debbie Gibson and the Scottish Highlands is an intriguing one.

Anonymous said...

Aw, Minge. You're a superstar for taking those lovely pictures! I'm jealous that you live so close to one of my favorite cow breeds of all time. These cows look particularly shaggy and craggy.

I wonder if you ever hear them called "Kyloes" in Scotland any more? It has something to do with their 19th Century journey south to the English markets. Anyway, lovely post!

Minge said...

Not CC Blooms, but Ce Ce Blooms! Have you never seen Beaches? Are you not a real gay? ;)

In London parks, one tends not to find cows, but chickens. Think about it.

It is nice though, living on the cusp, on the edge.

The cows near me are indeed shaggy. J'adore them and wish I could keep one or two in my home. Funny, I think I'd be doing them a favour but they'd probably hate it.

Never heard them called Kyloes, but then again, I don't really mix with people with whom I might discuss farm animals, sadly. Sounds good, though.

Minge said...

Oh, yes, and Ce Ce's is still there and still bad.

Voix said...

Can I steal one of your cow photos? They're adorable. I must have them on my blog.

Debbie Gibson music brings me back to the days I wore teal blue mascara and white eyeshadow and plastic grocery store sandals. I won't be going back to those days, thanks. . .

Minge said...

Oh, but Michèle, I'd adore those sandals! Have any picture you like. You don't even have to ask. That's quite the compliment, you know. Thank you!

david bowie said...

Hmm have to say I have found a few cows in London parks.... lovely pics Minge... love the first one... if it had been frosty or snowing it would have made a fabulous xmas card... reminds me of the Blubell woods I can often be found wandering through in the spring.

David x

Minge said...

David, you're often to be found in the woods, hen.

Every year I promise myself to have some Christmas cards made from a photograph I've taken in the snow. Every year, I can't afford it.

Old Cheeser said...

I stand corrected re: my spelling of Ce Ce Blooms. You can tell I'm not an Edinburgh resident can't you? And I haven't seen Beaches for a long time either. To be honest I think it's a somewhat overrated entry in the catalogue of best gay/camp movies. Aaaah! Does that make me a faux-gay?

And as for the chickens comment - how very gauche of you, Minge. You saucy minx! I have no experience of these things of course.

Minge said...

You can't be a real gay if you don't think Beaches is one of the best films of all time. You must be a bit bi.

No experience of chicken? I heard "Chicken tonight" was your favourite sauce.

I feel like chicken tonight..."