Midweek Update

What on earth is Davie doing posting at this time on a Thursday evening, I hear you cry. Well, I thought I heard you cry. Perhaps it was the sound of a nocturnal contract bin-man out on his rounds!
Nah, posting has been a wee bit erratic of late - still pestered by the well-documented allergy problem - so I thought I had better try to catch up before the urge to blog goes forever. What's new?

Work
Well, NEN's August issue went to print today - that's four weeks since the staffing hours were cut due to a chronic funding shortfall. Our Board decided to cut each of our working weeks to 24.5 hours, commencing on 1 July.
It's been slightly surreal finishing work in the middle of the afternoon, and I'm still wrestling to get my head round a new way of working, but it's all about managing your time properly. The August paper tends to be a small one as the schools (and a lot of projects) are off in July, but there was still no shortage of material for this month's paper. I hope that the readership will notice no difference to the content. Quite a bit of Inverleith content this month too.
And what have I been doing with these precious afternoon hours? Actually very little. I get home, sit in an armchair and fall asleep! I trust this is a side-effect of my medication.

Sport
Well, I predictably got the winner of the Open wrong - at least I was right about there being a play-off, pity the names were wrong! Felt really sorry for Tom Watson - he'll never have a better opportunity to make history and I fear it can't happen now.
And I renewed my season ticket for more misery at Easter Road. I did this just after Mixu's departure - not because John Hughes was taking over, but all the signs were that Setanta was going belly-up and the coverage of SPL football would be severely curtailed, so I got that bit right.
I hope for the best at Easter Road - Yogi has got to be a better tactician than Mixu, and he has proved to be a real motivator. However he's working with some distinctly average raw material - Jones is a huge loss, more so than Fletcher I think, and no-one has come in to really strengthen the squad. Our wee Moroccan wizard may be back but I won't be pinning my hopes on him - great player when in the mood, a real natural talent, but too often anonymous when things not going well. Maybe his spell away has matured him - I hope so, because I think it will be another long hard struggle this term. Maybe the quality of the football on display will improve - and let's be honest, it couldn't get much worse! - but I've learned not to expect too much.
Elsewhere, it seems Hearts' financial problems have risen to the surface once again which must be a concern for Hearts supporters. They had a very successful season last term with a fairly mediocre team, and I hope for their sake they can retain their coach and find a decent striker from somewhere. Can't see them finishing third again, though - it's Dundee United or perhaps Motherwell for me.
And I'm delighted to see Tony Mowbray back in Scotland. I think Mowbray is a terrific coach and, if he's given time (a big if, that) he'll have Celtic playing the attacking football their fans like to see. Last night's poor European result aside, to me they look like SPL certainties.
Wimbledon: Alas, poor Andy ... those speculators who spent thousands of pounds on Men's Final tickets must have been absolutely gutted when Murray went out in the semi-finals. However if they were real fans they must have appreciated a spell-binding final, one of the all-time classics. Murray's turn will come, I'm sure of it.

Leisure
I've been to the cinema twice over the last month, something of a record for me. 'Public Enemies' tells a somewhat romanticised version of bank robber John Dillinger's story - good film for old-fashioned mobster flicks, though.
And the latest Harry Potter. Great escapist adventure for all ages, even if Alan Rickman should be arrested for hamming it up to ridiculous levels. I don't want to spoil the ending if you haven't seen the movie yet, but DUMBLEDORE's DEID!!! Sorry, it just slipped out...
Went out for a run on my birthday - no, not jogging, that's just ridiculous - up around Aberfeldy, Kinloch Rannoch (pictured above) and Pitlochry. Stunning scenery.

The Garden
The garden has continued to bloom is still looking pretty stunning, despite all the rain we've had. The oft-discussed Yorkshire Lavender (above) has come on leaps and bounds, and alongside a selection of mints makes up a 'sensory patch'. Beautiful aromas - it's probably all this stuff that kicked off the hay fever in the first place. Gggrrr ...
As well as all the usual winged visitors of recent months there have been a couple of new arrivals. The feeding station under the lilac tree (how gay does that sound - Little Lord Fauntleroy eat yer heart out!) was visited by a squirrel last week, and a wee while ago another mammal also slipped over the garden fence from the railway to enjoy a snack. Grey in colour, long thin tail ... I'm convinced it was an otter but Caroline reckons it was something less welcome. I have to grudgingly admit that she may be right - bird (and rodent) feeding has been put on hold meantime.

News
Very sad to hear about the death of the last surviving WW1 'Tommy' Harry Patch, who died last week. Harry fought in the trenches, and was a machine gunner in the infamous battle of Paschendaele when he was wounded by shrapnel. You saw Harry quite a lot over recent years, laying wreaths and attending remembrance parades - the last of the few.
Wars are different today, of course. These days, we witness the almost daily ritual now of military planes returning from Afghanistan, bearing the bodies of British soldiers, and of quiet streets lined with mourners in Wooton Bassett. The death toll there is rising - there seems to be another casualty every other day - but a soldier's death over there still makes the news headlines here. They'll read out the names in sombre tones as the coffins are carefully taken off the plane.
Back in WW1, in Harry's time, Britain lost 19,000 dead in just one day (57,000 including wounded) on the first day of the Somme. And at Paschendaele, where Harry fought and soldiers literally drowned in liquid mud, the casualty figures were even higher. Hundreds of thousands of young men lost their lives in a futile, hopeless campaign that eventually stuttered to a halt: it gained a few hundred yards of useless, waterlogged ground.
An old war, a new war but there are similarities. Back in 1916, when unrest was growing about increasingly-lengthening casualty lists, we first heard the phrase 'lions led by donkeys'. Today, it's not the officers to blame but the politicians, with anger about our troops being handicapped by a lack of equipment.
And in 1914, some people were asking: what are we fighting for? What has the murder of a Serbian arch-duke in Sarajevo got to do with us? In 1914 we came to the aid of 'little Belgium'; that was the purpose of our involvement.
And today, what are we fighting in Afghanistan for? To allow democracy to flourish, apparently, and to clear the country of the elements we decide are a threat to our nation's interests. In both cases diplomacy and negotiation has failed.
Historians will point out that big, powerful nations do not win wars in Afghanistan, but it seems our leaders are not learning these lessons. At what point do we walk away, what constitutes victory? No-one talks of a 'war to end all wars' any more.
The final similarity, of course, is the grief. Whether a lone soldier in Afghanistan killed by enemies he may never have seen, or a wounded Tommy drowning in the mud and fifth of Flanders, death is death. And the pain felt by the families of today's victims is exactly the pain and loss felt by the hundreds of thousands of parents, wives and children of those soldiers such a long time ago.
Age shall not weary them ... feeling a bit down tonight; could be the medicine kicking in. Goodbye, Harry - it's a bit like losing a grandfather you never really knew, and now you know you never will.

In sickness and in health

The blog has been reading more like 'Doctor Findlay's Casebook' than an exciting journal of adventure and exploration lately, with whinges about sniffles and aches and pains. Well, sad to relate, reader, there's been more of the same over the last couple of weeks. Lethargy, fatigue, sair eyes, raw throat, tight chest - nothing too alarming but when all taken together just enough to drag you down. It's shown no sign of shifting by itself so I finally relented and went to the doctor on Friday.
Like most people I'm not particularly keen on visiting the doc's - you don't want to hear you've got something wrong with you! Being a part-qualified medical professional myself (I once attended a two day YTS first aid course but I didn't get my 'degree' because I was off sick for the second day!) my self-diagnosis was a respiratory infection. Having said that, I read an article by my old mate Martin Hannan in The Scotsman this week that had me a wee bit worried. Like me, Martin is slightly on the portly side and also won't see fifty again, and his article told the alarming story of his experience of being prescribed some heavy duty courses of statins to tackle high levels of cholesterol. In short, the treatment made big Martin very ill and drove him to to brink of madness (some would argue that Martin isn't that far off that tipping point anyway, but I digress ...)
Anway, the reason I brink up Martin's case is that I was called into my doctor's surgery for an 'MOT' when I reached 50, and was told my cholesterol was too high. I, too, was offered statins but declined - I decided instead t introduce a new 'healthy living' regime including walking, cutting down on smoking and eating healthily. After a bright start (approximately two weeks, maybe) I relapsed. As part of my new healthy lifestyle I went swimming, only to catch a particularly nasty dose of athlete's foot - I reckoned that was God's way of telling me that this lifestyle was not for me. I've always felt guilty about it, though, and feared the worst when I visited the doctor on Friday - a battery of blood tests, lectures and a dull grey life devoid of lager, crisps and fags.
However, it was not to be - but there was another shock in store. My doctor reckons I was showing all the symptoms of hay fever - something I've never suffered from in my life - and prescribed me antihistamines!
No blood tests, no lectures or dire warnings - nowt! Hay fever - if that's what I've got - I will cope with. Otherwise, a life of Golden Wonder, pies, Regal and ice cold lager beckons - yippeee!

The picture is Crail harbour - really nothing to do with sickness or health, but we stopped off there one evening recently for a 'healthy' fish supper!

Wide Open

The final round of the Open is underway, and it seems to be wide open - there are thirteen players within five shots of the lead and another eight just one stroke further back. Conditions seem fairly benign today, so scoring should be better but you just never know with that coastal wind - if it picks up it can cause carnage.
At the start of the tournament, with Tiger Woods a ridiculously short price in the betting market, I took four against the field - Jiminez, Westwood, Justin Rose and Vijay Singh - and they've all been there or thereabouts over the first three days; Jiminez even led overnight on Thursday. Turnberry tamed the Tiger, but all of my selections made the cut. Yesterday was costly, though, and now only Westwood has a realistic chance of winning. It is a very realistic chance, however - he has been steady, consistent, is making very few errors and he could well do it.
Westwood would be a hugely popular winner, but there are a couple of others who would be even more popular with the headline writers. 'Old' Tom Watson, heading the field at the age of 59 and going for a record-equalling sixth Open victory. It would be a wonderful story, but the weight of history will be bearing down on Tom's narrow shoulders as he's cheered by thousands of well wishers from shot to shot. I'd love to be proved wrong (and, let's face it, I usually am!)but I think the pressure and emotion will prove just too much for Tom this afternoon.
And what about young Ross Fisher? He's well up there, and with his wife due to give birth to their first child at any minute what a fairytale story this would be. If Ross can cope with that external pressure and win the Open - a huge ask - will he call his new child Open or Turnberry?
It will all unfold this afternoon and I'm sure there will be plenty of ups and downs before the Open winner is crowned this evening - a play-off is a distinct possibility. My heart says Tom Watson, but my head says Westwood, Cink and Furyk will be fighting it out at the business end. And don't rule out Retief Goosen, either - he never gives up. Here's hoping for some inclement weather just to give it a wee bit of added spice!

The above picture isn't Turnberry - it's storm clouds boiling over the city skyline the other night.

I'm Back ...

Sorry about the interruption to service, dear reader (yes, I know you're out there!) I was switten - yes, smitten - by a severe respatory infection around the ten days ago and it's only really over the last couple of days that I can honestly say that I'm back to full, rude health again. (Why is health 'rude', incidentally?)
Lashing with sweat one minute, freezing cold and shivering the next (and sometimes both at the same time, honestly!) it wasn't a lot of fun.
To show you just how serious it all was, I even called off two social engagements last weekend. As one who would never in normal circumstances miss even the opening of an envelope (or so my wife reckons) that just about says it all.
I blame bloody Jura and those billions of midgies (or midgets as they were called by a Dutch contributor on Radio Scotland's Out of Doors thsi morning!) Either Jura or Drylaw's first swine 'flu case - but I did not develop the tell-tale snout or curly wee tail so I don't think it was that ...
Anyway whatever it was it has gone, I hope, and normal blogging will resume forthwith. And just to let you see that I have lost none of my legendary sense of humour I attach a cartoon I received from my old pal George 'The Grey Panther' Henderson of Scottish Pensioners Association fame ... nice one, Panther!

Be back soon