A lovely day in Manchester

There's a literary festival in Manchester and today we went!

This is my student city but I feel little easy familiarity with the place.

In the last 30 years Manchester has put on a set of new clothes and I have little recall of her old outfit.

We started off next to a favourite place though, finding a free *free* parking space next to the Whitworth .... a half hour stroll later on this lovely mild day had us at Waterstones Deansgate for @Beathhigh's signing of his newbie 'The Impossible Dead.'

I reckon there are few of us who follow Ian on twitter disinterested in this volume. Never before have I watched the journey of a book from conception, through pregnancy, labour and now here at the birth. All shiny and wrapped ready to leave the bookshop.

The Author was there, early, scribing away like a good 'un.

Book purchased, I joined the queue.
I stood behind a chap who had brought 'A question of Blood' to be signed. He declared himself 'a Rebus man.'
In the queue I learned that said chap flies to Belfast every 3rd day for work (& has done for I think he said 18 years). He used to fly out of Manchester but BMI have cancelled the route so 'till easyjet take over, he's flying out of John Lennon. He takes his kindle on the plane and has 19 books on it .... but the worry of leaving it somewhere is substantial.

Behind me was a woman who was buying the book for a xmas pressie but still undecided who to get it dedicated to ...... I reckon she was going to read it herself first .... (very carefully using a bookmark ... and not in the bath). Debate then ensued as to which page one should proffer for signature. I hadn't a clue. .... Anyway the man himself sorted that out.

Then it was my turn ..... Apart from the fact that my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, my short term memory failed and I forgot the words for Town Hall it went very well ..... He was lovely!

Next we went to the City Art Gallery ...... and saw loads of stuff.

Things I remember:- A nice early Lucien Freud portrait (Girl with Beret), a Bacon, a Bridget Riley which made you see yellow where there was none, a Peter Lanyon and a whole room of Grayson Perry.

I loved Perry's artist statement which in brackets at the end admitted to post hoc rationalisation and that really rather unfashionably he had been striving for beauty.

And then we went to hear Michael Frayn talk about his memoir My Father's Fortune: A Life

Frayn set out by saying that he was and remains unsure as to whether he should have written this book about his father. It has not been cathartic but instead stirred things up that remain stirred up.He holds that in writing about, photographing or painting an individual they somehow become diminished. A really interesting session followed considering fact, fiction, the unreliability of memory...

Fragments ..... On the limitations of sight .... In order to see, the eye moves continually ....every image is constructed over time, incomplete and coloured by expectations. We rely on algorithms and mechanisms to recall ...memories change their shape all the time. Stories have their own logic/dynamic .... we 'improve' stories .... stories tell themselves. And as for the brain .... I'm not sure I got this......Apparently when we make a decision ..... electrical activity in the brain has reached a peak before we ourselves are aware ..... This questions ideas of the sovereign self ....

I'm tired now ..... He did say more....... I didn't buy a book and get it signed tho' I do fancy giving it a read ....apparently it's funny. The queue was long and courage all used up.

Just to mention. If in Manchester, the Town Hall is amazing ....... neo gothic ...vaulted ceilings .....painted ceilings...stained glass... mosaic floors...... Ford Maddox Brown murals......

Then at the end, half way to the car we went to Trof in 'The Deaf Institute' for wine and scrummy food .........

Darwin In Scotland J F Derry Review

I am so far the only female to review this book and while I would like to shine as a woman of science have unfortunately little experience beyond 3rd Year Biology.

There were times when my brain hurt and I admit to making a few visits to the end notes and glossary. But while learned, J F Derry's book was not beyond me and I love what it had to say.

I love that the earth- or maybe heaven-shattering big ideas were wrought by painstaking observation and record keeping. Poor Gregor Mendel whose understanding of genetics via pea cultivation (28000 plants) went unnoticed till 20 years after his death.

In many ways the book is a paean not only to Darwin and his contemporaries, but to a way of looking at the world.

I love the natural justice that sees Edinburgh, built as it is upon the evidence of volcanic and glacial activity, as the place where Darwin is exposed to the idea of deep time: the vital scale that allows for natural selection (and directly opposed to the 6000 year old earth that results from adding up all the biblical begattings.)

The book is full of science and the individuals who did and do it today. There is much to enjoy and for me there was much to learn.....transmutationism, random drift, gradualism and its arch nemesis punctuated equilibrium. (Such fantastic terms)

Before signing off and in the spirit of fair play Derry allows the Creationists and Intelligent Design proponents to have their say. Manners insisted that I stay around and listen but I'd already been won over by those who endeavoured and are still endeavouring towards a better understanding of how things really function in our amazing natural world.

Many thanks J F Derry. I shall revisit.

To Edinburgh and back

I fully understand that my few days in Edinburgh are nowhere near as interesting to you as to me so feel free to leave at any point...... But be warned you may miss some kinetic sculpture, a great new band, free plonk, an hour with catweazle, a wet (very wet) trip through a tropical paradise and some nice crisps......


19th June

To mark our arrival we ate the last of our peanut butter sarnies, trolled to filmhouse and managed to get pretty much the last pair of tickets for 'Convento.'

A magical documentary that combined both the strange and the beautiful.

Jarred Alterman bends documentary to the purposes of art & Christiaan Zwanikken's work is like something out of a Guillermo del Toro movie.


The added bonus (& this trip was full of added bonuses) was that both filmmaker and artist invited us all over to an exhibition/performance.

I put on a pair of headphones while a kinetic artwork spoke to me and held me in thrall.

20th June

Had a few things to do then popped to the museum to see the Arthurs Seat coffins which are very tiny ... like little voodoo dolls- Also briefly glanced a really excellent modern glass exhibition

Met niece - always a joy and we sat out in the gardens drinking tea and chunnering.

That night we went to see 'Let us be Golden,' another documentary (this one co-produced by Mirander Sawyer) It followed the struggle of three young bands trying to make it (without Simon Cowell).

My favourite was Beth Jeans Houghton and the Hooves of Destiny. Check her out on Spotify or you tube.

Added bonus tonight -Free wine, nibbles and music followed screening. Unexpected, so twice as nice.
Although party afterwards was very well attended the cinema was less than full, despite rumours of a sell out!

June 21st

This was a day of rain, rain and yet more rain..... So we took in the Dean Gallery and a snapshot of Germany just before Hitler. I can still see some of August Sanden's frozen moments.

Before crossing the road to SNGoMA (catchy hey?!) we ate lunch. ......

I like to think the showy kitchness (some of it fun) of the Jeff Koons exhibition was gently mocked by the timeless quality of the Munch prints that quietly lined the corridor outside.

To celebrate this summer solstice evening the Botanic garden was opening till 22.30 and throwing open their glass house doors for free!
It was still raining, ever heavily, but we went for it anyway. While shaking ourselves dry we were directed back outside by an enthusiastic young guide towards Inverleith House and a sculpture exhibition.

Enter Catweazle (Paul) with his two assistants. Paul was very clearly an ardent fan of the sculptor Thomas Houseago whose work he had commissioned and for a solid hour without break showed us & spoke with alarming speed of the aforementioned guy's work. 3 staff to us 2 punters.

As though reluctant to let us go and we being polite souls (WE ARE!) Paul then guided us to Henry who then spoke for an hour of the history of the garden and led us round an exhibition of botanic drawings telling us of their provenance and significance and leaving at least one of us wishing she had a bit more science than she has!

Eventually we reached the glass houses.... you lucky buggers in Edinburgh. They are splendid are they not.

Back in our hotel room we drank wine.

22nd June - today

We returned to the museum and the glass. Glass made to look like ice, frost, water, sugar, shapes, things ..... some strange, some beautiful.

I bought a few nicnacks for loved ones and then we came home ..... and I had some lovely crisps.

* There was one landmark of Edinburgh that I failed to spot this trip. Didn't glimpse @Beathhigh lurking anywhere ........ (Did however see Bill Nighy being interviewed by Miranda Sawyer.........)

So many different lengths of time BRIAN PATTEN

How long does a man live after all?
A thousand days or only one?
One week or a few centuries?
How long does a man spend living or dying
and what do we mean when we say gone forever?


Adrift in such preoccupations, we seek clarification.
We can go to the philosophers
but they will weary of our questions.
We can go to the priests and rabbis
but they might be busy with administrations.


So, how long does a man live after all?
And how much does he live while he lives?
We fret and ask so many questions -
then when it comes to us
the answer is so simple after all.


A man lives for as long as we carry him inside us,
for as long as we carry the harvest of his dreams,
for as long as we ourselves live,
holding memories in common, a man lives.


His lover will carry his man's scent, his touch:
his children will carry the weight of his love.
One friend will carry his arguments,
another will hum his favourite tunes,
another will still share his terrors.


And the days will pass with baffled faces,
then the weeks, then the months,
then there will be a day when no question is asked,
and the knots of grief will loosen in the stomach
and the puffed faces will calm.
And on that day he will not have ceased
but will have ceased to be separated by death.
How long does a man live after all?
A man lives so many different lengths of time.

The journey to hogmanay

At noon a heron flies low north of Preston ..... 12.07 a second heron stands proud in a field.
One tree has kept a head of brown curly leaves much to the envy of his bald brothers.
A church sleeps waiting to be woken for the 'watchnight.'
...still travelling North
The folly of Lancaster announces that we are 1/3 there
The river Lune is crossed and the hills that mark The Lakes are upon us
We wave to some excitedly waving children as our cars pass .... it is exciting ....I am excited
Inside our car we wonder whether it is light in Space
J. mentions that we have passed a car advertising hydrotherapy for dogs ..... now a sign for a dog behaviourist..... If I were a dog is this the place to live or to avoid?
...We are being pulled northwards and upwards as our ears muffle and it drops from 10'c to 8'c
There is just one ribbon of snow left on a hill
We pass Kendal and my teeth wince thinking of mint cake and its shocking sweetness
The wind farm stands petrified and it rains
Rarely do we reach Shap without rain
We are inside a cloud midway between home and hogmanay
At Teebay Services Heron No 3 passes by just an arms reach away.
I love herons ....they look wrapped in the past ...to see 3 must be lucky .... not that I believe in portents but if I did this would be one, a good one I have decided
At Biggar in the centre of the road they have built a giant bonfire to mark the end of one year and the beginning of the next. 2 days later on our way home it still smoulders ...the old year refusing to end neatly.....
And we arrive in this city of beautiful stone and even more extraordinary spaces..... of gaps.... of secrets..... of whispers
This time we fill in another corner ..... Strangely I possess a sense of direction in Edinburgh .... I know which way to go ....
And it's the last night of 2010
....We have tickets onto the Street ... There are others like us but most are young.
New Year is not a favourite time but this year in this city of ghosts I am going to lay some to rest.