eeek!

And today we fly!

What did the English lecturer call Santa's helpers?

Subordinate clauses

Boxing day and all that.

So, I wanted to take my bike out for a spin this morning, but it said it couldn't because it was two-tired.

TODAY! (But kind of not really)

Also by Charlie*, over hot chocolate with coconut marshmallows, last night:

What's the difference between theory and practice?

In theory there is no difference.

*He's on fire.**

**Not literally.

Eve.

From a christmas cracker, provider of some of the finest jokes in my repertoire:


How does Good King Wenceslas like his pizza?

Deep-pan, crisp, and even.

eve-eve

'Twas the day before the day before, and we went for a quite cold, quite bright and early run along the giant and sparkling lake. During that, Charlie came up with this cracker:

Did you hear about the spa that offers a seance relaxation package? The medium is the massage.

Today is December 22nd!

I made this one up this morning, while Charlie prepared his coffee with some amazing whole milk in an amazing reusable glass jug.


So, it's tough times, recession and all, for santa's workshop and all subsidiary industries, including the reindeer. Some time around mid-October a rumour starts to circulate that there's going to be some downsizing, and some new, cheaper, easier to source labour brought in. Highly trained and willing to work for way less hay, these replacements were rumoured to be arriving from the south within the season. It's just too much for Blitzen, Dasher and Prancer, and when the head-elf comes in to break it to them, formalize the news the week after remembrance day, just when feed is starting to go scarce, they break down, sobbing, into hysterical wailing. The elf, who is very good at her job, priding herself on as little emotive connection as possible, sighs frustratedly and, after five minutes of the reindeer's carrying on, not emptying their desks as requested, bellows at them: "Oh, for Santa's sake! Stop crying over skilled Elk!"


Thank you. Happy new-style advent.

Yes! It is!

Hello Everybody.

I'm sorry. I know. I know! What?! December 21st?! Well. Let me explain.

There was a plan, originally, with Charlie, to make a genre-film parody for each day of advent. 24 genre film parodies. Brilliant! Fun! But, then, actually, Charlie was mega busy with job interviews and PhD applications and I was gigs, gigs, gigs, and we didn't actually have a camera. And then it was now.

But, not to worry! Because we Hoopers are doing Christmas the 29th-of-December style this year, and today is my first official holiday-day (Chicago! Brunch! Oh man.) so, for mini advent-treats this year you all get:

ONE AWESOME JOKE FROM SOLSTICE TO HOOPERMAS!

Ready? Day one. A propo of all flying around the world to see each other:



A vulture boards an airplane, carrying two dead raccoons. The
stewardess looks at him and says, "I'm sorry, sir, only one carrion
allowed per passenger."

Wuther or not.

Okay, so, the adventreats are more labour-intensive this year, and, therefor, not ready yet. But, soon! In the meantime, to counteract, or, let's say, compliment, Erin's latest Christmas Dance Sensation, might I propose one of my own? I have had this, both the song and the dance moves, in my head for almost two months now. I can't get enough. I really can't. I love Kate. My gift to you:

AS OF TODAY

It is officially advent, (though for some of us it has been since Sunday, but, whatever). So. Get ready.

...

Go east, young women

If there are two things I love, they're biking and Charlie, right? So, now that Charlie's off doing learning in The East, what better way to feed those two loves than to cycle there. To Cambridge, from Bath. Right?

So I did.

The facts:

170 miles (272 km)

Two days (with absurdly short daylight hours. Oh! This Northern Land! Sunrise: 7.18am. Sunset: 4.26pm)

One friend (Sue! Violinist in Stringbeans/partner in bike crime with whom I did John O' Groats to Land's End)

It seemed like the perfect formula. The prevailing winds here are always from the West, and we'd be headed East. And everyone knows it gets flatter and flatter the farther east you go. And, there's nothing I like more than just going and going and going and going for hours and hours on the bike. Really. There's a kind of smooth perpetual motion of life that overcomes you and it feels so very right. Also, all you can eat candy and protein bars. YES.

The big issue was 1) not reeeeally knowing where we were going, apart from East and a bit North, having just guessed at highlighting some "smaller-looking roads" on a old AA map. The result of this was twofold, both: Happy surprise! We passed through some really gorgeous towns and villages that I'd never heard of before and, amazingly, managed to avoid any real big hills both days. Even in the Cotswolds! Whoop! And, also, sometimes finding ourselves faced with a road too scary-with-traffic for me (not for Sue, she's made of steel. Like the robot in that safety advert we had as kids, "I can put my arm back on, you can't, [bike] safe.") which meant some extra mileage as we'd detour to smaller, prettier, safer, and loooonger roads... .

2) The dark. Man! There really is nothing but dark nowadays, here. And for another month.5! This meant our rides both started and ended in blackness. Which meant, for super biking safety me, turning myself into a Christmas tree. Three blinking (not in time) red lights on the back, three blinking white lights on the front, a high-vis vest, anklet, and reflective everything. I also brought twenty glow-sticks for emergencies, but didn't need them. This time.

Tiny issues, really, all things considered. And, all things considered it was awesome. I can't wait to do it again. In the spring. In the daylight. Everyone is invited!

Stop-Motion

Hi everyone! Hi!

Sorry it's been a little while. I've been busy doing stuff like... a little stop-motion video for Diplodocus by the ol' solo project Waitress for the Bees. It's my first ever crack at animation so, um, blah blah disclaimer etc.

Fun though! I just kind of wish the dance routine bit went on longer. Longer and longer. Maybe I'll make another one for another song...? (Full-screen for Full-fun.)

Rage, rage against the

So, I'm doing a recording session gig this weekend, for The Heavy . (Who are _great_ and one of my favourite groups to work for of all time. But that's a topic for another post.) And one of the songs we're working on has a line that goes "Cause if you're going to fight, find something worth fighting for." (Or something like that. I was busy playing my viola and adjusting my headphones, so, that's probably not word-perfect.

But close enough.

Which is related to:

Last night I had some lovely friends over to get beaten at Settlers of Catan (Cs & Ks edition) and after the game, we got into talking, talking about these THINGS that, as we get older, creep over us more and more. These _causes_. For my friend last night it was parenting education. For me it is Empowerment of Women. Maybe yours is Urban Cycling, or Preservation of Wild Space etc etc. These causes inflame us, the very mention of them makes us passionate and full-of-fire-and-opinion-and-hope, for, we're sure, they can change the world.

If only we knew how to let them.

And that's the thing. We all have them, these things. And Want To Do Something About Them. But. How? I know. Look for small things you can do within your own community, blah, blah. But I don't want to. I want to save the world. Right now. You too? So how do we do that?

(I guess, for my part, to start, there's this: )

good taste

So, everybody knows that France* has good food. Like, really good. And that they take that seriously. But, who knew that the driving force behind this culture de gastronomie** was... truck drivers?

Truck drivers?

Truck drivers.

See, the truck drivers all take their two hour lunch breaks and go for long, leisurely, high quality meals. And, given the nature of their business, they know all the best, far-flung, secretly amazing places to go. They have very high standards. And rumours of the place-to-be (and eat) flow fast and free within this community.

"Everybody here knows," say the proprietors of our Gite, "if you want to find the best places to eat, you follow the truck drivers."

"And," they add, "should the truck drivers decide the quality of your restaurant has slipped, good luck finding anyone willing to eat there..."

That this intrinsic cultural irony is not irony at all in France, is just a given, says something quite nice about that culture, no? Of course truck drivers can and do have the highest tastes and standards. Why not?

Yea, why not?


*Where Charlie and I just were, for a week, a wonderful amazing biking and eating and drinking in and around the Loire Valley who, for the record, are _incredibly_ bike friendly (placemats in restaurants of bike route maps? At several restaurants? Good restaurants?).

**France is the only country where restaurant reviews refer to whether a given spot is good for "amateurs"...

Videoformation

Here is a very well put together, interesting and fun video about...viola physics! Yeah! So informative.

What is up with Noises?

Notastudent, Yesajob

So, here's the thing about my job (one of my jobs). The musician one. People tend to think it's not a job. And, that's okay, I mean, there are lots of jobs that aren't really jobs (dog walker? pro poker?) but there seems to be something about mine that people think it's okay to belittle it to you, right to your face, while you're there, doing it, doing your job.

Not in mean ways, usually, but, usually, by asking, "So, are you guys students, then?", at EVERY STRING QUARTET GIG EVER.

Dear reader, dear observers of string quartets, it has been nine years since I graduated from my music degree. I am in my 30's. I. Am. Not. A. Student. Do you go to the doctor and ask them this? Do you ask this of your lawyer? Don't you think, maybe, it sends a message of unprofessionality? Don't you think your doctor might, just a bit, especially if they were quite a good doctor, having been doctoring (yes, professionally, even)for more than a decade, be belittled?

So, for the record, no, we're not students. Yes, this is our job. Now go eat your canapés somewhere else.

'way, 'way, 'way

Sea shanties everywhere, sea shanties like crazy. This was Festival Maritim, just outside Bremen, Germany, where the only two bands that weren't traditional sea-shanty-bands were the two bands I was with, The Cedar and Pollyanna. We had been brought in as an experiment, to see if this water-logged-and-loving-it festival would tolerate non-nautical musical offerings.

Our vehicle was too packed as we set off from Bath to fit the accordion in. A bane or a blessing, turns out we were the only band there without one. It was that kind of festival. There was a lot of "What do you do with a drunken sailor?" And a collective fashion statement by both performers and audience (including children, babies, dogs...) like this:

The late-night backstage parties sounded like this (recorded with my phone...so, sorry about the boomy-fuzziness):


And, for the grande finale, on the final night of the festival, Sunday night, allll the bands, choirs, shantyists, got up on the main stage and waved sparklers at alllll the audience members who also had and waved sparklers and sang together while a giant multi-mast ghost-ship-type-ship sailed past behind them. We sang this: (Ditto re: phone)


And the ship (in the mid-distance) looked like this):

Not smiling

Giving stickers to my violin/viola students after a "good" lesson is one of the best bits of teaching. I get to seek out and buy the coolest stickers and, ahem, sometimes, keep some of them for myself. After all, I have good lessons too...

So, this week's stickers are puffed up (you know, the kind that are fun to poke) personifications of photo-realist desserts. There's one that's a bunch of berries making faces, some with legs, some without. There's another one that's a chocolate chip cookie with a mustache. Etc.

One of my youngest students, (three years old), had a great lesson and earned herself a sticker. She chose a personified green macroon. Her mother and I left her to examine and enjoy it while we discussed summer holidays and upcoming lesson times etc etc. until, from the back of the room, came an unholy wail:

IT'S NOT SMILING!
IT'S NOT SMILINGit'snotsmilingit'snotsmilingit'snotsmilingIT'SNOT!smiling. IT'S NOT SMILING!(it'snotsmilingit'snotsmilingit'snot...)

My student had made a shocking discovery about her macroon reward. (itsnotsmiling!itsnotsmiling!itsnot!) And it was Incredibly Disturbing to her three year old mind. (ITSNOTSMILING!) Imagine, a personified cookie, not smiling. Just. Imagine.

Mom and I checked it out. It was true, the macroon was downright ambivalent. Cool, even.

We swapped it, deft like a magician's slight of hand, for a pink one. It was smiling.

And all was right with the world. Kids are so interesting.

these people

There are some times, not very many times, but some times, when you meet people, as a musician, other musicians, and you fit together so so perfect, like hands folded, like of course, this is what it means, to play together, not play with, but play together; and they are with you anywhere you go, anywhere you take the phrase, and you are with them, the same, because it's a dance, but no one's leading and no one's following, you're just all dancing, together, like breathing, or knowing, and there are no sheets, no scores, because you're not music reproducers, you're music makers, right now, this and this and this, and really you're not even music makers, but music maker, one, together, and we could have gone on like this forever.

Lea, Guido, Francois, cello, violin, bass, thank you for reminding me, for playing with me, for playing together.

X e

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le recordation

This week's international viola caper = a week recording with parisienne singer-songwriter Pollyanna. In her parents' disneyland for emma home half an hour outside paristown.

This house!

A) Has a pool. Which is essentially my private pool (pollyanna tells me, over one of our typical four course, two wine meal breaks that her parents bought the house _despite_ the pool...) and i swim every morning, after an exploratory run.

B) Has a fossil room. Set up like a museum exhibition, with thousands (3000 says Pollyanna's father, though this is the same number he uses to describe his wine collection so perhaps it's just french for 'very big number') of hand collection fossils and geological specimens. I love this. I hang out here while i wait for the shower to become free.

C) Has a wall-mounted exhibit of gigantic butterflies, beetles and spiders, mostly collected in Guyana. I love this too, but some of the other musicians do not.

D) Has two wine cellars, with those 3000 bottles. Choosing for dinner (twice, as the cheese course requires a seperate red) is intense, but worth it.

E) Has hundreds upon hundreds of panpipes. (3000?) Pollyanna's father is a Bolivian music enthusiast and performer. He and his wife are away for the first few days at a festival for such things in sweden. Which is quite far from Bolivia.

And it's my job to hang out here. My job! Thanks Cherie.

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warm fusion

Oh, you Germans! Stop being so nice! Seriously. You guys are off the nice hook.

You remember fusion festival from last year, when i played with babel? On the former East German Soviet air base? Well, i came back, only this year as a solo act, The Waitress for the bees.

And, even though wake up was at 2.30am, for the heathrow bus at 3.25am and then going and going until my gig at 18.30 (that's how they say it...fitting ,airbase and all), and beyound to the point where roadie help and good friend support Sue and I are squished into some kind of dance party made to look like a russian grandma (baba?)'s house, everyone was so damn nice that tiredness just didn't make sense.

Like the shuttle driver who drove 3 hours just to pick us up at the airport and bring us to the fest. Just us ,no other artists. Or the hipster kids who bought more CDs and sat/stood in silence and listened, tent full. Sat and listened?! At a festival? And all the free food. Including three different kinds of perogies. We're not in the UK anymore...

But, really, the best, nicest thing, was the lake. There's a bus that runs every half hour that will take you ,in all your festival stinkiness, to a beautiful, warm, ducklingful lake. Swimming and music. Best ever.

Thanks fusion. See you next year...?

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Lushfest.

The Thursday before Canada Day is not just the Thursday before Canada Day if you are a lucky employee of the hand-made soaps and cosmetic company, LUSH. No, no, in that case, it is also LUSHFEST! A festival, an entire, big! (three stages! Silent disco! Two different ice-cream vans!)festival put on exclusively for Lush employees from all over the world, from Vancouver to Dubai (to the UK. All of them, to the UK for this festival).

I don't work at Lush, but I do work as a freelance violist, so I, too, got to experience this. I was hired in to play, along with the other beans, with the Nightjar Orchestra (we all wore matching red shirts with nightjars on them), a band that composed and performed the soundtracks they have playing in the Lush spa when you go to get your massage or pedicure. Lots of viola required for that kind of relaxation, of course.

I got so much free soap. I got to make my very own bath bomb, filled with whatever I wanted. I filled mine with christmas holly and vanilla pods. Because I love christmas and vanilla pods are expensive. I got a giant block of something that looks like chocolate but isn't edible, really. Instead it can dye your hair, somehow. And lots more.

What an amazing thing for a company to do for its employees. If I'm honest, I wasn't a huge fan of Lush, it was too smelly for me, generally. But I'm impressed by this. If, for some unexpected reason, I ever need to buy soap that looks like food or soap that explodes in your bath, I'll be happy to give them my custom.

24-in-24: Done.

5.09am: Yeah! The best thing about this event was something I never even considered when we thought of this event. Getting to be out, in your neighbourhood, your community, at every single hour of the day and night. It's like being your own stop-motion camera. And it's awesome.

24-in-24 the 24th.

5am: Sun up quiet victory euphoria run. (This one's incredibly wobbly, so you don't have to watch it all. You'll get the idea rather quickly.)

24-in-24 23rdmilehour

4am: PENULTIMATE MILE

24-in-24 mile22 eeee

3am: Ah! So quiet! So nice! We should always hang out outside at 3am.

24-in-24 21sthourmileohmygosh.

2am: Getting tired. No, guys, for real. For real.

24-in-24 20th hour.

1am:We see a cat under a car and a car under a cat.

24-in-24 mile...19...

12am: The witching-running hour, featuring...ANOTHER TWO SPECIAL GUESTS! Kind of.

24-in-24 omg it's mile 18

11pm: ParkintheDark.

24-in-24 the 17th installment.

10pm: Now it's really dark.

24-in-24 mile 16! 16 hours!

9pm: In which it is getting dark.

24-in-24 15 miles, jeepers.

8pm: Featuring a SPECIAL GUEST STAR!

24-in-24 mile 14 hour

7pm: Charlie's back, we go up for beer.

24-in-24 mile-hour 13

6pm: way past half!

24-in-24 HALF WAY!

5pm: The half-way mile/hour! Still sideways.

24-in-24 the 11th hourmile

4pm= pigs!

24-in-24 10miles

3pm: up and up.

24-in-24 9miles, 9hours.

24-in-24 8miles!

1pm: When the hunger hit.

24-in-24 the seventh hour, aka high noon.

Okay. So all the ones I filmed are sideways. It's a statement.

24-in-24 6miles! That's about 10km!

"Raining for real now."

24-in-24 hour/mile 5

24-in-24 the fourth. Mile. And hour (10am)

Sorry about the sideways ones. But, hey, pet shop! What utilitarian running!

24-in-24 thirdmile! (hour also)

To the canal, I say!

24-in-24 hour/mile 2

The second mile. Still earlier than I'm normally up...

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24-in-24, HOUR 1!

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Karlsruhe is a small German town.

We sleep in the cafe, and upon waking, run up and down the Hamburg ports. Then we get to shower; oh, it's a new day.

Karlsruhe, a seven hour drive south, is a TV set of a town. Complete with friendly, comical, recurring walk-ons. There was one man in coveralls who looked like he had just walked away from an exciting, and messy, DIY project, who we saw walk by as we had dinner before the gig, who came to the gig, and who walked by again, this time saying hello, when we were having breakfast the next morning. Karlsruhe is that kind of place.

Also, this was the show where the audience wanted three encores. Demanded. But I only have one. So I made two up, hoping nobody noticed. This is my job.

Hamburger, again.

Three gigs in one day, but we can't get to even the first one, where we're supposed to be, any minute now, because we can't figure out how to get off this boat and the owners are sleeping and we don't want to be rude because they're really nice and letting us stay on their boat and all but, um, how do we get off the boat we can't get off the boat without swimming or jumping really far and accurately.

And then a record shop gig, (nice, the one that posted that youtube movie), and then a cafe gig (super nice, they gave me a wind-up dinosaur), and then a bar gig (nice-ish. They asked the foosball players to stop playing foosball during the gig) and then, thank goodness, no more singing for a bit, just some sleeping back at the cafe, a makeshift cafe-couch bed is good enough for me.

It was a riot: Germany day 3

Run Log: The first of this mini bit of blog about the German tour runs. Running in Berlin along the line of the old wall is surprisingly beautiful. Fascinating, resonant, and flat.

After a breakfast buffet that included prosecco (naturally), we head from Berlin to Hamburg. Hamburg, Germany's Bristol. Nitty. Gritty. The big Port town with all the art leaking from its oily underbelly. If Berlin is hip, Hamburg is authentic. Like that. The gig tonight is at the Mobile Blues Club. A giant trailer that's been converted to a bar and venue.

Except, that, unfortunately, a wall of armoured vehicles and hundreds, yep, hundreds, of riot-squad officers in full kit between the venue and anyone wanted to get to the venue meant that, unfortunately, the gig was cancelled. Ladies and Gentlemen, it's May day in Germany, and our little venue was right at the heart of it.


Really, it was all very well-behaved. A thousand or so kids in hoodies half-shouting speeches, followed by polite clapping and the occasional whoop. A german anarchist rap. A crushingly intimidating over-presence of police. And us, standing to the side, waiting until it was done with so the four tanks blocking in our tiny rental car could let us out.

Also: This night we slept on a boat. There was no water or electricity, so you had to pee over the side, in the dark, which was a bit frightening at night.

berlin, day 2.

Daytime: It's nice out, so there are large swaths of naked men sun-bathing in the Berlin city parks. I'm sure there must also be women's and/or a 'family' zones, but all we see is the men. We jog casually past. They casually ignore us.

Night-time: A gig at a soup-club. Yep, soup. It's called 'intersoup' and, man, they sure do make great soup. I had Thai coconut curry with noodles and tofu. Maybe not traditional German, but awfully good for rider food. The gig is nice too. I go on stage and there are three people in the crowd (one nice guy with his parents, who are visiting for the weekend), I start playing and Boom! The place is full. Magic German crowds. I love them. And their soup.

The Waitress goes German: Day 1

Yes, yes, I've been to Germany before. Yes, I've toured Germany for music before. But. I've never ever done that, or anything like that, with my new(ish) solo act The Waitress For the Bees. Just me! All by myself! Saying things like, "Ich bin The Waitress for the Bees." And "Diese liede heisse Diplodacus".

Well, just me, and Charlie, who, as sound-tech, driver, manager, coach and hunter-gatherer, was also quite a bit there and quite a bit important.

Day one: Bristol-Berlin.

We flew easyjet out of Bristol airport on the day of the Royal Wedding. Easyjet did not seem to care. The crowds and crowds of people dressed in red, white, and blue (but not the American way) we passed on our way to the station all did seem to care. Despite this, easyjet was surprisingly great. I think they've decided, "yea, we're a budget airline, but, still, we're not Ryanair. Let's never be Ryanair." and, as such, we were both able to bring one carry on and one instrument (me: viola, Charlie: ukulele with a secret glock-and-shaker-egg-combo hiding with it) on board with no hassle at all, except for the check-in woman not knowing what a ukulele was, and being rather confused about this concept of an instrument she'd not heard of, until we told her it was a very small guitar (with two missing strings), and she was fine.

And then, Berlin. Berlin! We picked up the rental car the tour-booker arranged for us at the airport, providing the agent with credit cards, driver's lincenses, and "Autograms" as required, and zoomed into (okay, crawled very cautiously and with little idea where to go) the center of town, to the first gig.

Gelegenheiten means something like "opportunities" in German, and it was a fitting name for this, the first venue. It wasn't really a bar or a venue or a cafe so much as a small empty space. It looked like it might once have been a shop*. There wasn't any sign that we could see, and there certainly weren't any posters or anything like that announcing gigs or inhabitation of any kind. But, the Germans are amazing and have a secret sense for finding and joyfully attending any kind of live music event, especially foreign ones. I was tired-ish, and the set was far from polished, but everybody listened and everybody was happy and the bass player for the other band looked like my second-cousin Tammy, and some Italian friends I only knew from facebook turned up, so Gelegenheiten prevailed. Thanks Berlin, for that (and for your falafels). So far I like you (but don't get too excited).

*A little bit of post-writing-this research reveals that it was, in fact, an old butcher shop.

Precious metal

They called Argentina "Argentina" because they wanted people to think there was silver there, and that, therefor it would be worth exploring, colonizing, investing in. Turns out, there's no silver in Argentina (save imported to various jewelers, etc.) but people still explored, colonized, invested.

A little over a week ago, we Hoopers were some of those people, but the prized treasure we sought wasn't a precious metal, or even empanadas or tango or dulce de leche (although we had all those things and they were great), but the time and place to experience any and all kinds of new and less-new things together, the whole family,for the first time in years, in homage, remembrance, and celebration of Grandma Old in specific, and family in general.

Money and precious metals are all well and good, but, really the most (only) precious things we can have are those imbued with meaning and importance derived from time, experience, and love, whatever the finite details or definitions, with and from other people.

Argentina was awesome, in short, silver or no silver. (No silver, in my case.)

Aaaaaand other Islay things

And then mostly everything else on Islay was whiskey-wonderful. Okay, there was one other very cold and very wet ride, from Port Ellen to Bowmore, but that taught us:

1) never, never think you'll be fine without shoe covers.
2) Charlie had never had IronBru; Charlie thinks IronBru is gross.

And we tried a lot of whiskies. Twenty-three single-malts from five of the world's best distilleries, in order of our visits:

1) Lagavulin
Their Double-matured is my new favorite. Never has a drink left me with such a satisfying mineral aftertaste. Their Distillery special edition is also really, really, good. Like honey-smoke. This is the one we brought back with us, since you can only get it there. Clever, that.

2) Ardbeg
Found the whiskies a little harsh for my taste, but their cafe and postcards were good. Also, they gave us a free book of walks around the island, so bonus points there.

3) Laphroaig
Previously my favorite, now slipped down, despite them having all the olden-timey "technology" that they still actually use in their malting and peating processes. (See photos).



4) Bowmore
To be honest, I was so cold when we got to this one that I remember the free cookies more than anything. Though I'm pretty sure we had three or four different drams... .

5) Bruichladdich
Like a fun fair for whisky lovers! We tried thirteen different whiskies here. All sorts of insane and great concoctions. There was a series matured in different types of wine casks (called A-F. D was the best), and Octomore 3 (152), the peatiest whisky in the whole world ever, ever, at 152ppm. 152ppm! Laphroaig, for all it's hyper-peatiness, is 40ppm. Think about that. We also tried the Black Art, which is a secret recipe that nobody except the maker him/herself knows, that was very, very good. And so on. We spent a lot of time in the converted barn of the Bruichladdich tasting room, and it was a very good time.



There are still four more distilleries to visit. Our bed and breakfast served us buttered fish for breakfast. I left my bike glasses by a bunch of rabbits. Supposedly it's not always freezing and drenching. And sleeping on a moving-train bunk-bed is awesome. Can't wait to go back.

Islay, day 1

(all the sheep eye charlie's fig bar jealously.)


Firstly, I love trains, and I love the trains in this country. We took a "bargain berth" sleeper all the way up to Glasgow, with our bikes, and it was lovely. Our own little room with one bunk each, the rattling rhythm of the tracks as terrifically soporific lullaby, and coffee, orange juice and shortbread in the morning.

Which was good. Because it turned out to be a long day.

The plan was to cycle from Arrochar & Tarbet station (the furthest the line would take us) west and south through a mountain pass and along Loch Fyne to the ferry-terminal at Kennacraig in time to catch the 18.00hrs (last) ferry across to Port Ellen, Islay. In theory, we had loads of time, not so so many miles to cover, and lots of delicious raw-food bars.

In truth, the raw food bars were delicious (especially mango), but the other two assumptions were oh so false, mainly because of:

Weather!

Hail and hail and hail and wind and wind and wind and this one mini blizzard, tucked in the middle, for fun. Mainly headwinds, of course. The gusts were 55mph, and the regular, non-gusts were stable around 30mph (not an exaggeration, even. When we finally did make it to the ferry terminal, we learned that all the ferries to Port Ellen were canceled that day. Because of the wind. The ridiculous wind, that practically canceled us.) Many, many times we had to stop because of a) being blown off our bikes b) not being able to produce any forward motion at all c) fear of death from being blown into traffic, or, for the one little stretch where the road twisted and we had a tail-wind, d) complete lack of control at high speeds, at the wind's whim. Also, sometimes, the hail-in-our-eyes was a bit too painful/blinding for productive riding. So. We walked a lot. We cowered a lot. I regretted, a bit, having chosen _this_ as Charlie's first exposure to the bike holiday experience. But scenery, that which wasn't hidden in/by the hail clouds, was lovely. Snowy mountains. Incredibly weather-impenetrable sheep. Waterfalls every where.

All in all, the 66miles took us seven hours and seven minutes. With no rest stops longer than five minutes. And then that canceled ferry. Luckily, Charlie did such a good job at looking miserable that the ferry company agreed to pay for our taxi from Port Askaig, where the ferry could go, all the way down to Port Ellen, where our B&B was (where the ferry was supposed to go). They even got us an extra big taxi that could fit our bikes in the back.

All things considered, I'm incredibly happy with my new Sugoi shoe covers. Warm and dry feet through it all. And they're Canadian! Of course.

Run the Bath again

Race Day! One of my favorite things about race day(s) is walking around town in a medal and a space blanket like it's no big deal. Today a kid asked his mom as we walked past, "Why are they in tin foil?"

Because, dear kid, today is the Bath Half marathon!

My fourth time in this race, in fact. That's 4/6 for the period I've been here, not too bad. And, today, a PB! But don't get excited, because, actually, what I did was just tie with my last PB. Weird. I know. Exactly the same. 1.40 last time, 1.40 this time. But I'm counting it as a real PB because last time I felt horrid after, and this time I just feel hungry.

(Charlie did brilliant too, considering he fell off his bike last week, smashing his knee and can't really bend it properly right now. 1.48, in a brace. Not bad at all.)

My least favourite thing about this race:

-although Bath is one of the most breath-takingly beautiful cities in the world (I say), this course, in order to stay mostly flat, takes runners along all the ugliest bits (except the start and finish, which are, to be fair, lovely). Maybe they want to encourage people to stick around for a few days to see all the nice bits afterwards?

My favourite things about this race:

-it's so close. A six minute walk down to the start from our front door.

-Great treats. You never know what you're going to get. Along with the regular sports drink, t-shirt, mars bar, etc, this year's goodies include Goji berries, toilet paper, discounts on flights to Toronto (!) and ground flax seed...

-it's a huge race in a small town. Meaning loads of spectators, and a good chance that you'll recognize a fair number, even if you didn't know they'd be out/they didn't know you were running.

new skills present

On special occasions, people like to buy themselves presents, on occasion. So, when I graduated from the PhD program, as a self-gift, I decided to give myself a new SKILL: Leatherwork!

I like sewing, and I needed a new satchel, and I know a great guy who was willing to teach me, so: Leatherwork!

Turns out it's like a lovely marriage of sewing and heavy hand-tools. I like that. I ordered half a cow (hide) on Etsy, from a chivalrous Texan and got ready to LEARN.

Less time than I expected later, (and with lots and lots and lots of help from my tutor, Gaz) I present...my bag! Big enough for my laptop, lined and everything. That's fancier than I get with most clothes... .

Me and Colin Firth

Anyway:

I JUST WON A BAFTA!

Seriously, guys. A freaking BAFTA.

Okay, I didn't exactly win it myself, alone, or really, at all, but kind of. There was a lot of improvising on this soundtrack gig, and one particularly fun bit of new-music-viola-concerto that I made up, so I going to take a very tiny sliver of creative credit on...

2011 BAFTA winner, short animation category, by M. Please, with soundtrack by B. Please and a little tiny bit stringbeans and a little tiny bit me,


(To be fair, I think the win might have something to do with the breathtaking animation as well.)

That's applicable

As we all know, Charlie is brilliant. This is evidenced in oh so many things, including homemade bread, piano magic, robot madness, christmas cocktails and on and on. So it should come as no surprise, really, that he's decided to teach himself to code. And to code in some of the most difficult languages out there, including the notorious (it turns out) iphone app language of Objective C.

Many tense and intense days, weeks, and hours of secret syntax learning later, I can now, proudly, present to you his first ever iphone app! Available on the store and everything! It was a learning experience, so the concept is fairly simple, but, still, immensely impressive. It's free! Go download and give it a try!

Cloverload

What is not a road bike

A mountain bike is not a road bike.

It turns out.

Today I went for my first mountain bike ride since my high school Outdoor Education trip, um, fifteen years ago. I've really enjoyed the road biking I've been doing, and the cycle-commuting/everyday-biking lifestyle I have in general, so, when my Bassist friend asked if I wanted to go with him to do some Welsh mountain biking, I said, Yeah! Of course.

So, first ride. It's -2 degrees (= icy mud) and we (he/they/the other, real bikers) decide to do "The Wall".

A "red" route.

It turns out the exercise one gets from mountain biking is not, actually, from physical exertion*, but, instead, from the accelerated heartbeat that comes with TERROR.

Oh my gosh.

Four times, on our route, there were little signs kindly placed along the route with a skull and crossbones on them, and the text, in English and Welsh: "DANGER! Are you right for this route? This is an extremely difficult...etc...only for confident and experienced riders...etc. blah blah."

Part of the route was called "the graveyard." It was the one part I walked.

Terrifying. But fun! Like life, right?

*that was fine! That was great! I welcomed the slow, long uphills, oh, yes, please! Anything but down... .

What is not a beer

A lot of musicians are keen to get their hands on their allotted quota of drink tickets at a gig asap of an evening. Me, I'm usually keen to see what I can swap my drink tickets for, apart from drink.

This weekend was the Bristol Acoustic music festival at the gorgeous Saint George's Hall. The festival is totally one of my favourites; it comes at just that right time, when the post-holiday depression would otherwise hit, and it's in a venue that is the opposite of your average festival setting.

I played three gigs. They were fun. But the best thing,for me, probably, was convincing skeptical bar staff to let me exchange my beer tokens for:

a) a slice of dark chocolate coconut polenta cake

and

b) a bag of turkey and sweet chestnut stuffing crisps.

Bartering is delicious. And you can drive afterwards. (If you have a car. I took a taxi.)

Things today

So. Erin revamps her blog? Okay. I'll do mine too. Fine. Just fine.

Also: It's 2011. I hope you liked our songs. I have two main, big goals for this year, they are

1)
2)

I've heard if you disclose your goals willy-nilly, you're less likely to achieve them. So, sorry. But, I'll let you know how they go. In the meantime, final goal of 2010:

final) Get UK to let me stay AND work AND have a partner to do it with

completed! As long as I don't want to work as a doctor or dentist in training. Ok, I say, fair. (Though really, um, Britain, you're turning away dentists? Hm...).