Andrew MacLaren-Scott's Blog, page 56

Sunny Scotland

On the first real chance this year I sat out in the sunshine and synthesised some vitamin D

The sun is still very low, but it will climb higher (if I keep up the ritual sacrifices and chanting)

Irvine's Cafe, Perth

Part two of what will probably be only a two-part series of great quality and good value (aka cheap) cafes that I frequent, offered with no inducement given or requested. I can get a lot of good work done in here over a bacon and egg roll and mug of strong black tea.

Back to The Clock again

The Clock Cafe in Dalry, Edinburgh, is just my kind of place, and this is the view from my favourite seat, down at the bottom of the glorious metal staircase and looking at the sign that reminds me, "Please mind your head." I need to be reminded of that, often. The food at The Clock is great value and good. The staff are from all over the place (the "place" being the world) and nice. The customers are just a mix of normal people. Everything is unpretentious and calm. I bought lunch and lubrication for three today for the price of a single dish at many not even all that pricey restaurants, and without having to endure the awful fake friendliness and somewhat condescending treatment I find at many restaurants. There are a few small things about The Clock that I could criticise if I had to, but I won't, because I like The Clock; and there are probably a few small things people could legitimately criticise about myself (perhaps). Imperfections can remind us of how close to perfect some things are.

Moments of alignment

I am not guilty and this is not a secret

Apparently, according to many people, I shouldn't like this place, but I do. Apparently they try to reduce their tax bills, but legally, but apparently that is their fault rather than the fault of the people who make the tax rules that allow such strategies to be legal. I try to minimise my tax bill too, legally. Am I a bad man? Should people not visit me? And apparently, according to many people, I shouldn't come here because "their coffee is crap". But I like their coffee. Maybe I am crap? I am made to feel a lesser person than many people are because I like to drink coffee in Starbucks rather than in a private local coffee shop with small portions, hard seats and, eh... crap coffee. And I like the staff here, all lovely local people who call me Andrew and never ever try to persuade me to buy a muffin, any more, because I have told them often enough that had I wanted a bleedin' muffin I would have asked for one because I am a big boy now... But anyway, putting that minor kerfuffle in the past where it belongs, I like this place. And I try to do what I like, where possible.


And I like the coffee in McDonalds too.

The truth is not in here

The bowed head of my lady as she telephones our daughter to tell her that the pale green orb that I always seem able to beckon to arrive out of a diaphanous sun has returned, and is monitoring us from a distance again, obviously. I know exactly what it is, and why it is there, and what it is doing, but I dare not tell.

Cell song

The awesome power of cells to live and grow and reproduce, upon which we all depend to live and grow and reproduce, does carry so many of us away in the messy end; and I was speaking to a pal who is near that end today; still out and about, still laughing, still smiling, but dying soon. Of course we are all dying, and just maybe even me sooner than him, who knows? Nobody. On that we could agree. But the cells live on, and grow, and multiply. The sometimes damned and horrible, often wonderful, always incredible and amazing cells live on... somewhere, somehow, always, quietly singing their soft cell song.

wikipedia.org
My pal has no beliefs, but did declare an inclination to suspect he has been here, or somewhere, before, and may be again, in some form or other; and he chuckles as I gently suggest some ways in which I would prefer he does not return, if he has any choice over the matter, which he won't, we presume, but don't know. And my pal is resting now, and he will talk with me next week, but not next year; that's pretty clear.

Returning

First day back at the island to play golf, first sighting of blossom on a tree, first crocus noticed in bloom. Tired but victorious over age, and even over my young opponent, today. Time for a hot bath and a quiet reflection that there may still be some life left in this old dog after all.

King James VI golf course, Perth, Scotland

Good leg, Bad leg

This is my good leg. I have one leg that is not entirely performing as it should do any more, at least for now, with nerve signals going awry somewhere between the intention centre of the brain and the action centres in the leg, due to unwanted intervention low down in the spine, perhaps, leaving one leg somewhat numb, and erratic, and bad. But this here is my good leg, nice leg, and the one I hope remains if I ever need to get one of them lopped off. But bad leg might get better, if I am good to it. I am taking it out to the golf course in a few hours for the first time since October, or rather it is taking me, I hope, to let me teach it to be good again, perhaps, or to feel it crumble beneath me, again, perhaps. Bad leg be good, be good. Bad leg be good like good leg.

Cafe People

We gather around the tables, avoid eye contact, but examine one another furtively, thinking private thoughts, as we imbibe, and eat, and quietly, politely, anonymously, depart... in a mild and civilised manner; but of course we could all kill if we had to.