The Heuchter-Teuchter Happening

So, the wedding.

I was sweating a bit, long before the arriving at the venue (and yes, I know it wasn't my wedding) - there is a sort of pressure attached to being The Token Lesbian Couple (TM) at a straight (and a wee bit Catholic-filled) wedding: how much eye-contact/hand-holding/supportive gesturing is appropriate and won't send the teuchters running wide-eyed back to the hills? I'm not usually that bothered- indeed I see it as a challenge- but when the bride is the best mate of your date it wouldn't be good form to trample over other people's feelings, otherwise the sharpened elbow and the rapid dumping might ensue...

I needn't have bothered being so well behaved: as soon as a kilted groom and picture-perfect bride appear, even dry-humping, leather-clad, whip-wielding lesbians would be ignored in a sea of "awwwww"... Which is, of course, perfectly right. [Not that we were any of those things, I might add - I was somewhat soberly wearing a suit and crumpled hastily-chosen shirt and my date was wearing a suit and, well... my ironed well-chosen shirt: I'd arrived at her flat to find her wide-eyed in panic having had a bit of a fashion faux-pas and offered the shirt off my back- which did rather suit her, I must admit - in order that she might feel a tad more comfortable. It wasn't just her best friend's wedding, but the first wedding she had ever attended. Lucky... In fact, hereafter I may well refer to her as The Happy Enviable One or "Theo" for short: you shall see why in a paragraph or so... ]

The ceremony itself was brief and flawless, carried out overlooking the magnificent Princes Street and the sternly domineering EdinburghCastle and all went well. The table we were sat on for the wedding breakfast had a pleasant mix of friends and well-behaved children... as well as the token amusing drunk. Apparently one of the first things she said to The Happy Enviable One was, "I like your name. I've got a criminal record..." There really is no answer to that...

A little later, Theo decided to chance her arm and -armed with a bucket load of charm - asked if we could maybe take some pictures from the roof terrace. The waiter looked puzzled and went to fetch the manager, who in turn looked puzzled and went to fetch a member of staff to escort us up.

It would seem that "Roof Terrace" is something of an exaggeration. Roof would be more accurate. After climbing for what seemed like ages, we arrived at a very dodgy moss-and-dead-pigeon-covered area of slender walkways and Victorian railings. The final dropping iron ladder proved a little too much for me (I turned white and thought of the word "plummet" - I couldn't help myself) so the intrepid Theo took my camera to take some shots- see above. Well worth it, apparently - even if it did mean we missed the cutting of the cake. Oops.

The evening ceilidh was all a ceilidh should be - filled with dram-quaffing kilties and much haphazard dancing in evidence. We did pop out for a "romantic" walk through Edinburgh on a mercy mission to buy fags for the bride and detoured via a pub for a private pint away from the masses, but it was all far more fun than I had expected. It may even have helped dispel a little of my longstanding dissatifaction with the whole wedding mallarkey. Well, maybe...

In other news I am still doing battle with the GTCS (CUNTS!!!!) and am plugging away at job applications. Not to put too fine a point on it, I am running out of money. All donations gratefully received.

Speaking of which, I must give special mention to Freecycle. Friday evening, in the pissing rain Theo and I collected a rather fab TV stand for free, gratis and nothing. It was a struggle and fight (not helped by the fact we were hurting ourselves laughing at our crappy removal skills and bloody awful luck to be not only caught in the pissing rain, but also having to negotiate a broken bloody lift to my flat!) but well worth it: I've got £70 worth of non-shoogly tv stand to support my electricals and I didn't have to pay a penny.

I wonder if people freecycle food/rent/council tax too?

A Mixed Bag...

Hmmm. This blogpost title could describe myself, fair enough. However...

1. The General Bastard Teaching Bloody Council of Scotland
   
   Not to put too fine a point on it, they are a bunch of cunts. And not in a nice way. They are mendacious, inefficient and excessively bureaucratic cunts who once again have placed me on the register of teachers as a probationer - despite having completed registration in England and having taught in FE in Scotland for two years (alongside that wee matter of having taught in schools in Scotland too...) - Oh yes, and despite having had a long conversation with several staff outlining my situation and being reassured that I would "certainly" be allowed full registration. (And! And -without full reg, you can't get a permanent job... Thanks GTCS. Cunts.)
   
   
2. Washing Machine Woes
   
   I've been playing at being Mrs Tiggywinkle and taking in washing for m'dear friend whose machine has bust. I actually quite like washing and drying stuff although I haven't gone as far as ironing - I'm not entirely mental - but I can be a mate in a time of need and not just a selfish and emotionally overbearing arsehole.
   
   Unfortunately, yesterday my washing machine became poorly - it couldn't pump-out water and left clothes panicking, trapped inside. I panicked a little too - until I tried an experiment and checked the filter trap - where lurked a semi-digested sock. My flat suffered somewhat from my method of fixing it - once the sock was freed, the machine relieved itself all over the floor, flooding the flat. Nnnnnnnnggggg...
   
   
   
3. Weddings, Parties, Anything...
   
   I've started -tentatively- to "date" someone I sort-of dated before (when things were beyond complicated and all went somewhat explosively tits up). Friends are not entirely approving to put it mildly (having said that, m'dear friend does accept that I will do what I do anyway and hopes -against hope, perhaps- that things will work out this time now that other complications are settled...M'dear friend has made clear her reservations and I appreciate both the tact and honesty she expressed ) and "time will tell..." It's early days...
   
   Anyhow, to get back to the point, this weekend we are going to a wedding together - her best friend's wedding. The last wedding I went to was my own...
   
   Oh.
   

Too bloody true...

Pessimism for Beginners (by Sophie Hannah)

When you’re waiting for someone to e-mail,
When you’re waiting for someone to call –
Young or old, gay or straight, male or female –
Don’t assume that they’re busy, that’s all.

Don’t conclude that their letter went missing
Or they must be away for a while;
Think instead that they’re cursing and hissing –
They’ve decided you’re venal and vile,

That your eyes should be pecked by an eagle.
Oh, to bash in your head with a stone!
But since this is unfairly illegal
They’ve no choice but to leave you alone.

Be they friend, parent, sibling or lover
Or your most stalwart colleague at work,
Don’t pursue them. You’ll only discover
That your once-irresistible quirk

Is no longer appealing. Far from it.
Everything that you are and you do
Makes them spatter their basin with vomit.
They loathe Hitler and Herpes and you.

Once you take this on board, life gets better.
You give no-one your hopes to destroy.
The most cursory phone call or letter
Makes you pickle your heart in pure joy.

It’s so different from what you expected!
They do not want to gouge out your eyes!
You feel neither abused nor rejected –
What a stunning and perfect surprise.

This approach I’m endorsing will net you
A small portion of boundless delight.
Keep believing the world’s out to get you.
Now and then you might not be proved right.

Baaaaa...

Sheep can be stubborn creatures.

As I watched the road blur by, the hills loom closer then shrink away, I observed the woolly inhabitants of the Borders as they got about their business of eating and wandering.

One sheep in particular drew my attention: I saw it's grey-white head straining out from between the wires of the thin fence. It had been left to graze a field that had previously held a crop of something already harvested - maybe cabbages by the stalky green remnants there- something nutritious and easy to eat for a sheep. This sheep, far from being a follower and taking the easy meal was searching for fresh grass on the just-out-of-reach verge. It kept pushing and stretching, ignoring the ready treats behind it.

I felt for that sheep. I was that sheep. I kept pushing and reaching for things just out of reach even when there were good things all around me, things I could have without having to try so hard.

Sometimes its good to strive. It's good to have a goal, an ambition, a plan, something to work for. Sometimes though, you need to take what is around you and be thankful - enjoy it for what it is and enjoy the plenty that it offered. I am a stubborn creature, but enough sometimes really is enough.

I have been a mess. I am mess, in some ways. I have been striving and reaching for something I cannot have and ignoring the plenty -the exceptional, generous plenty - that is all around me. In different ways (and each time with love and compassion) I have been told by different people more or less to pull my woolly socks up, I'm fleecing myself if I don't do things for myself and appreciate all the postive things I am and that are around me. Still I strain stubbornly at the fence of my own making and get strangled in the process.

I am not, however much I sympathise, that sheep: I can find a gate and get whatever grass I want and need. I just need to pull my head in and look, bit by bit, I am taking my head out of that fence.

I watched the road for a while. Saw more sheep, saw cows, bullocks, horses gathered around a manger, then saw the familiar site of Arthur's Seat squatting solemnly, watching over Edinburgh. As I drew closer to home, and the suburban sprawl of Edinburgh started to litter the landscape, the things that hit closest to home seemed to tighten like a fist inside me and batter at my heart- I strained and strained against different fences. Maybe I pushed too hard - I started to hurt and later I let it out in a wild-eyed bleat.

Today I think about sheep and how I do not want to be one.

Shameless Plug....

Not something I do much, promote stuff, however the album "Colours Are Brighter" - created by some tip-top bands to raise funds for Save the Children is something I feel should be brought to a wider audience. Not only is it a great cause, but I defy anyone to listen to Belle & Sebastian's "The Monkeys are Breaking Out the Zoo" without at least smiling... (I jumped around like an idiot and added my own monkey noises... but that's me for you) and Franz Ferdinand do some impressive mental arithmetic, too.

All funds raised go towards the Rewrite the Future campaign: with 43 million children out of education in war-zones across the world, it's a vital campaign that can give children a real chance to change their lives and the world.

-Far better than just adopting one child and dancing like a patronising twat, eh Madonna?

(-having said that, at least she is giving some small change to support orphans in Malawi, albeit so she can indoctrinate them in the ways of Kabbalah- but seriously? Another celeb "buys" a fashionably "ethnic" child- and not even an orphan, but one who has a family who simply can't afford to keep him... I can't be the only person who just thinks, "what the fuck?" can I? I mean, seriously?....)

Heid!

*sigh*

As ever, my head is foggy. I've been given rather a lot to think about recently (you know, emotional stuff: nothing practical or simple to fix of course) and, me being me, I've avoided thinking about things in close, specific detail for as long as humanly possible. Sometimes things just come to a natural resolution (or so I hope) sometimes they just fade away. Most times, however, they hang around and glower, then jump on me with steel-segged clogs and kick the shite out of me when I'm least prepared. I cry very easily - and trust me, the tears and snot I have had steaming from my face would put Juliet Stevenson truly, madly, deeply to shame...

It's a funny thing. No really... It's funny because some of the more profound and to-the-point conversations I've had recently have been while eating. I love eating. I hate anything to get between me and some good eating (mmmm-hmmmm *pats protruding tummy and drools lightly*) and so while I'm still digesting some of the great big chewy thoughts I've been given to mull over I am also lightly rueful that some seriously pleasant food has been sidelined in order to think about, well, "stuff". I wonder if perhaps my priorities are somehow out of whack? Or maybe my subconscious is telling me to be a cook?...

Anyhow, in other, less introspective mind-bleh news, I have been cosying and comfying my flat to a point whereby it is getting close to being like walking into a physical representation of a hug: I have (thanks to m'marvellous matey) a rug, and to accompany this I have acquired a fluffy cushion- which I have named Chewbacca due to its close resemblance to Wookie fur- a lava lamp, coasters, wax tarts for creating a positive pong, a vibrant throw for the less than vibrant sofa... I am becoming *gasp* houseproud. This is a bizarre concept for me. I have always thought of myself as something of a slattern, yet I'm becoming a regular cushion plumper and crumb sweeper. I'm not sure if this is part of the whole new me, or if I am perhaps possessed by the presence of a previous inhabitant of my flat...

Time - or maybe Derek Acorah - will tell...