#62: Bothy Bothering in the Cairngorms
Happy Friday!
As you may have noticed, this is a late one; the good news is that it'll be a short one. From bothying in the Cairngorms (see above), through pulling an all-nighter to get 6000 words to Curtis Brown by Tuesday lunchtime, to spending my Thursday evening in a hair salon getting drunk on cocktails at an anti-police art exhibition - it's certainly been quite a week.
But mostly it's been a week of bothy bothering in the Cairngorms. And Scotland, it turns out, knows how to put on a show.
As Ben and I walked out on Monday afternoon, squeezing in one last tramp before the drive back to civilisation, we were audience to a scene that the Scottish Tourist Board couldn't have choreographed better.
The winter sun was setting in a mountain range v-neck, sending soft warm light down the glen. A small loch mirrored the snow-capped peaks in icy blue water. The green of the heather was crested with gold in the dying day.
Our boots (mine more than a little damp from snow) crunched in the easy Land Rover track, in places more of a snow-melt stream, running up over the tongues of our boots. I tossed a cricket-ball sized rock from palm to palm, feeling its friendly heft.
As we poked over a gentle climb, and the Ryvoan stone-built bothy came into view, I stopped and almost dropped a catch. Around the ancient hillside, a herd of reindeer strutted, antlers thrusting ahead as they strolled across the track, looking for dinner in the field below.
As they passed, the sun beamed, and light snow eddied in the air. Ben and I dropped to the ground, sinking into the rough grass, the herd surrounding us.
Some things you can look up online: everyone has seen photos of reindeer - most likely you're sick of them after Christmas. But what struck me of the reality was the smacking sound of their lips and tongue clapping up the grass. Bad table manners.
>> INPUT
Five things that have inspired me this week. Thanks for sharing yours - keep them coming!
NATURE: I've said it before, I'm sure I'll say it again: there is no tonic for whatever ails you as good as spending a few days in nature. (NOTE: This may not be accurate medical advice.)
ART: On Thursday I went to a book launch / gallery opening of ACAB, a celebration of anti-police subvertising art. If in doubt, read this justification by Dog Section Press editor Vyvian Raoul.
COCKTAILS: The event took place at the bohemian Flaxon Ptooch, part hair salon, part cocktail bar and art gallery. It deserves its own entry in this week's INPUT, if only for the on-the-house WHATISTHAT cocktails thrust into our hands in the early hours.
COMEDY: Gary Gulman recounts the thrilling tale of how postal code abbreviations came to be (YouTube, 6mins).
FACT: Catfish can taste things 15 feet away. Huh?
OUTPUT >>
As you may have noticed, this mailing list is the engine room of my writing. I really appreciate all you do to make me want to be a more thoughtful human. Here's some you might have missed:
No Phone (Before Noon) (February)
Unfinished Animals: A Novel (January)
Your 5 Things (January)
2017: No News is Good News (January)
After the Christmas, the Crisis (January)
...COMING UP...
A matinee performance of The Ferryman tomorrow.
The NHS march tomorrow, of course!
My sleep-depriving tutorial with Curtis Brown torturer-in-chief Anna Davies on Tuesday.
I suppose if there's one thing I've unlearnt from my childhood, it's to question authority - to ask Who says? Do we need this, do we need this in this way, what other possibilities are imaginable?
“I have no particular love for the idealised 'worker', as she appears in the bourgeois Communist’s mind, but when I see an actual flesh-and-blood worker in conflict with her natural enemy, the policeman, I do not have to ask myself which side I am on.” — George Orwell
Worth thinking about anyway.
- dc
p.s. You know there's always a pretty picture if you scroll to very, very end, don't you?
SALESY BLAH
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@dcisbusy
Mars. Via Kottke.org.