Looking Out To Sea

There was a man on the bus this evening who was furiously scribbling little mathematical notations on a grubby piece of paper. I was so curious to find out what he was doing! He was really going for it — several lines of closely-written squiggles. The only things I could make out properly were the long division lines separating numerator from denominator, and some Σs.

Was it maths? Physics? Engineering? I want to know! :-) It makes such a change from people reading Jackie Collins or talking loudly on their phones.

I got a phone call this afternoon from my aunt and uncle asking if my parents were okay in China. They are fine, though there might be difficulty getting out of the country now? I’m not sure, maybe there is not much disruption. It’s a very large place, after all.

We finally got our mortgage from the building society confirmed today. At last! Luckily it’s open on Saturday, so we’re going out right now to

• Get breakfast at the farmer’s market.
• Pick up exciting debt from the building society.

Meanwhile my parents will have arrived in Xi’an by now to visit my brother. So I’ve got to keep Skype open in case they want to try some international calls!

We went home at the weekend and I had my first play of a Wii, and have an incredibly sore shoulder/arm now. That tube of ibuprofen gel must have been there for a reason. But Helen are now decided — we definitely need a big television. ;-)

This evening we saw Helen’s mum sing with the Garleton Singers at St Cuthbert’s — they did some Brahms love songs, there was a piano duet by Schubert, and then after the interval the all-conquering Carmina Burana. It seems you are allowed to sing about drinking and hot sex in church, as long as you do it in Latin.

I enjoyed this one more than previous trips to see the Garleton Singers. It really helps to know the tunes so we’ve been listening to some of the Brahms in the last couple of days. And of course everyone knows Carl Orff, right? He appears in enough football/car/deoderant adverts.

It was pretty rockin’ anyway, and the reprise of O Fortuna had a little extra excitement because the timpanist’s music kept falling off the stand. But, quite frankly, if you play timpani and don’t know how O Fortuna goes then you’re doing it wrong. She just kept playing through…

Helen cooked liver for tea this evening and, ulp, I didn’t like it. I feel quite ashamed. It was a bit embarrassing because we’d invited my mother for tea as well. Oh well.

The two of them have gone out to watch a Hunting and Gathering — Helen got the book from her at Christmas. Tis a French film (and a French book). I’m trying to catch up on some code that I’ve been writing in dribs and drabs for the last week. It’s moving slowly.

I can hear the grindstone calling.

We saw Equus last night with Helen’s family because it was her father’s birthday. It was a visually impressive and intriguing play, but didn’t have young Mr Radcliffe in it cos this isn’t swanky London. The shows come up here but the famous people are strangely absent. Anyway, I enjoyed it but I am still unsure what it was about.

I could tell you the plot — boy likes horses, boy blinds six horses at a stable where he works, psychiatrist plays detective to work out what happened. That bit is all very obvious. But there was lots of philosophising in a very obtuse way, where people had to ‘account’ for things, where accounting wasn’t really explained. The entire second half seemed to be the psychiatrist having a mid-life crisis of conscience and complaining that he really wanted to go off to see the sights in Greece instead. Also, that he didn’t get on with his wife and couldn’t have kids. And he didn’t think he was helping his patients any.

To which I can only reiterate what his friend said at the time, although not so bluntly: get a grip you big whiner. Watching comfortable people come over all emo isn’t really my idea of a good time.

Before the play we had tea at The Apartment — which seems to have no internet presence at all. It’s suddenly become a lot harder to take it seriously. ;-) Food was very nice though the furniture was a bit too arty for its own good. I was sitting on a wooden square block. Hmm.

This is an official announcement of Helen’s new blog, The Sacred Art of Eating. She’ll be documenting a year’s worth of cooking challenge — to cook everything in Nigella Express before the 31 December.

Go and have a look!

I think Helen’s dad will have to start making his Ruby Chutney in bigger batches. He should start his own business, it’s that good. It tastes fabulous with cheese on toast, made with a mature cheddar and some slices of crusty bloomer, slightly burned at the edges.

I would have taken a photo — really, it deserved a photo — but in the immortal words of teh kitteh, “i eated it”.

My mum gave us a Euro Chopper for Christmas. I don’t know why either. The packaging blurb includes:

Well known chef Arnold Morris of Arnold’s Gourmet Kitchen says, “What a time-saver The Euro Chopper is, especially for chopping onions, garlic or parsley. Makes the tastiest coleslaw you’ll ever eat in less than a minute.”

Who is Arnold Morris? Google searches reveal he is “well known” from appearing on shopping channels selling products as a representative of Arnold’s Gourmet Kitchen. So, well-known among a select group of invalids and bored housewives with Sky TV.

What is Arnold’s Gourmet Kitchen? I’m not sure, but if you search for that phrase, the only results are people on eBay and similar auction sites, selling… The Euro Chopper.

Today we’re back in Edinburgh, back in the flat. So, what’s been happening? What have we been up to?

Well, obviously, we’ve been up to Christmas, and it was good. This was the first time we’d ever had a Christmas which wasn’t like the ones we’d had when growing up. All the way through university we’d just pile off home and spent a fortnight or however long living with our parents again.

This time Helen and I have our own flat and it seemed right that we should do things differently. We weren’t willing to have Christmas in the flat — that would have been quiet and lonely, and ultimately too much like a long weekend with nothing to do but watch television and eat chocolates off the tree. (Not that I suggest tree-chocolates are a bad thing. Just that there’s often more to life.)

So, we needed to start a “new tradition”. Something that seemed equitable to both our parents but also meant we were doing it differently from before. In short, a grown up Christmas (gasp).

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