Today our daughter hits 16. Eeek!
May she grow in all the best ways…
Advent
There is no patience in this waiting
No watching from windows
Or straining for the whispered step in the distance
There is no surprise in this coming
It has been shouted by stars
And sung from supermarket speakers
There is no mystery in this telling
It is a story told and sold a million times
Asset stripped and bankrupt
There is no meaning in this madness
All this plastic decoration
All this hollow celebration
Yet still
He comes
I came across a lovely blog the other day- Westcoastings. Well worth checking out not just because the author is but a skip across the peninsular from here, but also because it is beautifully written.
It also mentioned Polphail village– a collection of empty buildings out along the coast built in the early 1970’s to house the workers of a proposed oil platform construction yard. The yard never happened, and the houses were never occupied. Instead they have lain empty for all these years, slowly soaking up the west coast weather and mouldering into the hillside. It stands as one of those failed 1970’s macro economic experiments gone wrong- and despite many false dawns no alternative use for the site was ever found.
It is already an atmospheric place- a strange piece of urban decay in the middle of wilderness- as if a slice of the inner city had been teleported in some kind of science fiction experiment gone wrong.
What I was not aware of however was that a Graffiti outfit called Agents of Change used Polphail as a blank canvas (hmm- perhaps that is not the best metaphor come to think of it) for all sorts of wonderful art.
So this afternoon we took a trip out there, cameras in hand.
It was a rather wonderful experience. It feels like some kind of furtive secret discovery, and the contrasts and contradictions land on you like lead weights as you wander round.
Soon it will all be gone, either because the site will be demolished, or simply because it will fall down. Either way, if you visit- be careful!
Here are some more pics- click to open…
Read this recently, and liked it…
It has to be spread out, the skin of this planet
Has to be ironed, the sea in it’s whiteness;
And the hands keep on moving
Smoothing the holy surfaces
An eventful morning.
The weather has been dreadful, but I had to go to a meeting in Lochgilphead. Unfortunately I did not make it. The car pirouetted on a corner and span into a ditch.
I am fine- just a bit stiff and sore, and the car is not a write off.
On Argyll’s winter roads, walking away from an accident is something to be celebrated.
Today was to be our day Christmas shopping. Michaela and I were going to take a day out and go somewhere like Stirling or Ayr- but when we sat down to plan it, neither of us wanted to go. This for the obvious reasons, but also (given all our recent discussions about doing Christmas differently) it just seemed hypocritical and frustratingly conformist-to me at least- Michaela is not so given to wallowing in angst.)
We were going shopping for a lesser amount of stuff anyway- we have been planning different activities and ways of Christmas sharing with many of our friends.
So instead, we spent a day at home MAKING THINGS.
I made a massive pot of chutney, and another of Piccalilli. I chopped veg for about 3 hours and the house is full of a heady smell of spice and vinegar. We will jar them up with hand made labels.
Total cost of ingredients- around £30 plus gas and plus TIME.
Michaela made clay Christmas decorations, which she will paint and string together. Later we will make some wind chimes.
Total cost so far around £20 for clay paint and varnish. And TIME.
And in the process we had a day at home together- listening to radio 4 and CDs.
While a gale is blowing outside.
Because the joy of the thing is never in the buying. Perhaps there may be some people who like shopping- who enjoy the cut and thrust of Christmas commerce, but I suspect they will be very few.
Here is another poster from Buy Nothing Christmas.
I confess- I am going shopping the day after tomorrow.
Christmas shopping.
Because, despite the journey we are on away from this consumer addiction that we call ‘Christmas’, I have not yet gone (forgive me for this) cold turkey.
I intend to treat this latest journey into the world of commerce as an expedition into a hostile land.
I may not return alive.
I would love to have been in Durham for this.
Last year, we twinned out toilet with another in Giharo, Rutana Province, Burundi.
They sent us a framed photo of their thunderbox, which I contemplate as I thunder on mine.
And apparently today is World Toilet Day, which I will celebrate by reposting this infographic, complete with details of how you can twin your toilet too.
Go on, it makes evacuation of the bowel so much more satisfying!