the odd bit here and there

• Scissor Sisters I Don't Feel Like Dancin' - wicked track. Get your disco on. Or something.

• I have a job interview on Wednesday.

• No beautiful women wandered the countryside last night. Well, none that I could see anyway.

• Cooking a roast for 7 o'clock but need to be in Edinburgh for 9.

• Got a new lens for my Canon - very exciting. So far it's taken pictures of sheep and an aquaduct.

• Still looking for a car.

• Have actually got some writing done in the last day. First proper output since getting up north. Must keep it up in spite of a busy weekend and week upcoming.

• Haven't had a job interview in 5 years.

• The cats conned me into feeding them early this morning. Curse their cuddly cuteness.

The aquaduct. I run atop it (almost) every morning.

4 and a half hours to go

So much went right today, that had I met a stunningly beautiful, intelligent, funny, single woman, I would have been able to woo her by merely commenting on the weather.

The day's not over yet. Of course, the chances of a lady matching the above description wandering through the West Lothian countryside at this time of night are pretty slim. But if it's going to happen, it's going to happen today. And I've got my weather chat ready.

didgeridoo

It's only drums and a couple of didgeridoos. But you will be compelled to dance. You'll have no control over it. Sit in the corner all bashful and embarrassed if you want, but your toes will be tapping. Then your legs will start. Then you'll bang out the rhythm (or something close to it) on the table, trying to look nonchalant. Before you know it you'll have rushed to the dancefloor and started bouncing around with someone you don't know, massive grin on your face, laughing and breathless, sweating and not caring. Just this song, but the song lasts ages as you're secretly happy about it.

Was that pretty girl looking at me?

Jammin' at the Jam House with the Trans World Orchestra

One of the support bands arrived in this - pure class.

quiet sail

Waves gossip with the bow that breaks across them, lapping and gurgling the goings on of the Gareloch. There's no wind. The sails puff full only occasionally; the jib hangs. The jib is my job. Keep mind of the tell tails and let it out when needs be. When there's wind to fill it. There's a race, but it's a quiet one. Only three boats. My oilskin is stowed away, the west coast weather ignoring predictions and giving us a dry, silver evening. The clouds waltz around the sun, changing its light to chrome as it bounces off the water that could be quicksilver. Round the first marker there's a wheeze of a breeze and the spinnaker goes up like a great baloon, pulling us to almost 2 knots. But maybe not that much. The air is oysters and champagne without food poisoning or hangovers.

Afterwards in the club there are pints, smiles and food. A quiet Tuesday night made lively by those coming off the water.

Back at the house the vegetables come from the garden. The cats see no need to vacate the couch. The valley stretches below the house towards the old rail bridge and the sheep mutter to each other. My bags and wine crates are unpacked and put in their proper place.

more than a newt

Aside from several stalls (my fault) on Thursday morning, we made record time on the drive North. We got to Naughton and started drinking heavily. It was one of those nights that, whenever the energy dwindled, something would come up to bring the party back to life - there were several Lazarus moments brought on by karaoke, drunken boardgames and poker. The brightening dawn signalled bedtime.

Friday was a write off. Hangovers mixed with apprehensions about the weather and everyone had a bit of the grumps about them. We wandered about St Andrews in the rain, debating whether Saturday's polo would be cancelled. Lunch didn't help, beer didn't help, coffee didn't help and the Fat Face sale didn't help. We were all a bunch of miserable gits.

Staying up late to watch bad movies, a call came through - there'd been a car accident. Everyone was ok. Sam and I leapt into action. Five minutes and two strong coffees later we were on the road and almost halfway to the scene when the call came through telling us that the car was fine and they were driving back. Sam and I returned, exhausted, deflated, deprived of the chance to be heroes and relieved at the same time. Time to sack out.

Saturday proved that some people deal with the devil. In spite of every weather service on the planet predicting heinous deluges of rain, the sun bathed Perth in glorious light all day, the menacing thunderheads on the horizon staying on the horizon. Apprehension, misgivings, disgruntlement and grumpiness succumbed to the sunshine, bbq sizzle and copious quantities of beer and wine. And there was polo as well. Sadly, England beat Scotland, though Pete C did win man-of-the-match. Following the match we decended upon the marquee and boogied hard.

After the polo the gang returned to Naughton and got stuck in, raiding the fridge and freezer for munchies while ploughing through wine and beer. Adam got a bug stuck in his ear. Some chat went far too far. Once again, going to bed was not a forgone conclusion. Charlotte discovered a newt.

We were far more pissed than it was.

I'm tired but happy. It was a great weekend and I'm now home.

It's not a Belfry, but it's home.