Without Love, Where Would You Be Right Now?
I didn’t really blog on my last holiday but I did take notes about all the great and curious things that crossed our path. They’re no longer timely, but I’ll feel less anxious if they do make it to their intended. I’d like to thank Gina and Scott who got right into the spirit of things instigating a game of spot the incident that will end up on the blog. Sadly, I think the blunt stick outside Anne Franks house is funny only to those present so I’ve neglected to include that particular incident.
Notes from a trip to Scotland via Amsterdam for the two Bell weddings:
- sat next to a grumpy Chinese woman from Hong Kong to Heathrow. Wouldn’t let me out to pee. When they served breakfast she stirred apricot yoghurt into her tea.
- out the window The North Sea, and then another plane. Below us but close enough to see that it is Singapore Airlines. Later green, green, green fields and the three waving arms of wind farms.
- forced to re-evaluate Chris Martin based on interview on the in-flight entertainment, even began to think that XY might not be so bad. Later found myself crying to Finn Bros and realised that I was just tired.
- overriding image of Amsterdam: kids in a bucket on the front of the parents’ bike. The best example was a pregnant woman with her four kids in the bucket.
- why is it that I can get out of bed, go to the supermarket and do normal stuff when I’m on holidays and enjoy it? It feels like a luxury - and they have great bread choices.
- I sleep on the sofa bed beneath the big windows and the cool breeze from the canal flows over me.
- I have carpet burns on the back of my heels from walking too carefully down the narrow staircase
- everyone is beautiful (and yes, Michael Rowland, mostly young – what do they do with people when they reach 50? I think they have to move out of the city centre because they can’t navigate the staircases any more – see previous point) and they have gorgeous apartments that you can see into as you walk past, and they have books, whole walls of them. They sit outside on their front steps on sunny Sundays on their well-designed chairs and read those books. And it’s quiet.
- a street poster says In God Wet Rust
- I’m almost woken by a man dragging his suitcase along the cobblestones, and then properly woken by the sun through the windows onto my bed. If there’s a signature sound to Amsterdam it’s the chugga, chugga, chugga of wheeled suitcases on cobblestones.
- gin and tonics and European quality snacks each afternoon in the apartment, and Interpol as the soundtrack to silences when we stare out the window at the boats on the passing stream and the cyclists and pedestrians who are not
- when it’s time to head out for the evening there’s no hot water so we just change, put on some slap and in an instant we’re sweating our way to Café Americain.
- Inside the grand arches of the café there are high backed chairs. When you’re sitting in them you can’t see across the room at eye level, just upholstery and then the deco space ships of lights above them. It’s all cream, brown and turquoise and the light is amber. Amazingly there’s a simulated open fire right beside us and we flee outside to the square to drink rose. The air is cool and the service is bad.
- Three crosses on everything. The symbol of the city. Fat crosses, like they’re stuffed. Like an overstuffed couch. Like the couch on which I like to lie in the afternoons and early evenings.
- I wear the orange and green skirt and it feels right for Amsterdam, for Holland.
- Febo: a vending machine of a store where behind every glass window is a version of a chicken croquette, and behind them is a man constantly refilling the windows. All roads lead to Febo.
- Dangling our feet in the pond in the park between museums and watching the constantly barking bulldog. The blond kid wearing a bandana, a mask and toting two guns is busy running around the edge of the pond. It’s impossible to tell who he belongs to because he doesn’t ever stop.
- Van Gogh sought to create “recollections of paintings; but the recollection, the vague consonance of colours that harmonise in spirit but not in actual fact.” It talks to me.He shot himself in the chest and took two days to die, with Theo at his side.
- There are only three existing photos of Vincent, and only one from the time in his life when he was an artist. There’s a giant reproduction of it in the Van Gogh Museum. He is the figure in the far bottom right wearing a tall hat and with his back to the camera.
- He did 70 paintings in his final two months, and thought he was a burden so he wanted to paint motifs that people would like, for money, for himself and for Theo. When Theo died his wife allowed him to be buried alongside Vincent. She said he belonged to Vincent as much as to her.
- He painted the sunflowers to adorn the wall of his spare room when Gaugin was coming to stay.
- In Amsterdam we keep running into the same young black woman with a foxy dog: at the G-spot, at the café opposite our apartment, and then in the park. Gina and I concoct a story that we’re spies and trailing her is part of our mission. The fact that neither of us ever have any idea where we are in the city, of course, if all part of the elaborate plot. Scotty is dubious.
- Tennis: US Open on the couch. Drinks and dinner combine with jetlag to mean that I can’t stay awake and don’t even know if this is a match that I’ve already seen.
- The hot water gets fixed: clean hair. No better feeling.
- Cut to Scottish Highlands. I almost understand the ritual and tradition of a wedding now. I’m not sure whether it’s about being in the north of Scotland, or in a castle but it feels right and fitting in a way that it rarely does at home. Perhaps it’s meant to be about showing off, about showing the wealth and hospitality of your family. And in Scotland that later seems undercut by everyone flinging each other around the dance floor.
- Ardross Castle. We sleep above the horses in the converted stable loft. My best friends sharing a ‘house’ by a castle in Scotland for three days. I’m woken by whinnying, and then LT’s laughter through the wall. The first thing spotted out the window is a peacock. Perfect. Then we go for a walk and come across a red toadstool with white spots. Begin to keep an eye out for Timmy the dog.
- Gorgeous warm Scots people. Charlotte’s mum who holds your hand whenever she’s talking to you, no matter what she’s saying.
- The cousins. It’s sweet Andy’s 25th birthday. He’s a building engineer but he wants to be an astronaut. He’s English but he’s wearing a kilt because Charlotte wanted lots of boys in kilts at her wedding. Thank you Charlotte.
- Johnny the Liar. Johnnys: often liars in my experience. It keeps it interesting. And imagine not being able to keep up with the mental athletics. I’m putting it down to the accent. The Scots were the first ones to sell opium to the Chinese he says. In my head: I don’t fucking think so.
- They serve a second meal of mash, onion and lamb halfway through the evening. It’s called Stovies.
- After the ceremony when Charlotte and Dr Dave go to get into the car there’s a moment when they can’t agree on who gets in which side. Charlotte: “I’ve got a dress on. I’m not sliding over.” By the time they’re leaving the reception though, they’ve got it sorted. Phew.
- We stand underneath the fir trees in the mist and see them off. The late and elusive piper who has missed the church and most of the reception has his moment leading them out to the car. Later, at LT and Trev’s wedding I find myself seated next to Gordon, their piper, and I recount the story of his recalcitrant counterpart. “What was his name?”, he snaps, affronted that this unreliable fellow could be degrading the reputation of pipers the length of Scotland. I think it’s lucky that I never knew it but suspect that Gordon will find it out.
- As we drive through the Highlands towards Gairloch and Sheildag it pours rain and the water runs in speedy mirrored streams down the side of mountains. As we round a bend we come across a rural fire truck turned on its side in a ditch at the edge of the road. We slow to see if they need help but a woman in uniform and rain hat waves us cheerily on while her colleague appears to be lifting himself out of the now horizontal side window.
- In Ullapool we lose the Ashes. Not us, of course but the Aussie cricketers. We sit glued to the screen in the Seaforth Hotel eating haggis and watching Kevin Peteresen waltzing up the steps to No. 10 jug of beer in hand.
- Two days before LT and Trev’s wedding, at Sheildaig Loch. Baz the Jack Russell-ish terrier is the Lodge’s dog. He’s almost our friend but remains aloof and after dinner trends aggressive, mainly towards Scotty’s leg. A funny attic room with four different kinds of chintz and a bathroom down the hall. There’s a four course meal served in the dining room overlooking the loch. Gina makes the dour eastern European waiter repeat the dessert options because she thinks the way he says cheese board sounds like cheese boat. She laughs and laughs and laughs. We’re the youngest there by a mile. Everyone else is there for fishing or deer stalking. There’s a man in tweed knickerbockers at breakfast. He’s wearing a monocle and binoculars and stops eating his poached egg to put the binoculars to his eye. We forgive him because we’ve observed him being so attentive and talking animatedly to his wife, like they were on a first date, him still trying to win points with charm. She’s the woman who had to shout “goats cheese and something” four times in the restaurant the previous evening doing the volume interpretation for the eastern European as old Binoculars is deaf as a post. Gales of silent laughter.
- So that’s where the notes end, because we got to Glasgow and there was no time to observe, only to do.
- Besides the previously reported fish supper incident and Gordon the piper I have no real memory of the LT and Trev wedding. It’s a blur of fun.
- What is Glasgow? It’s a moment in a club dancing to the Doobie Brothers: “without love, where would you be right now?" How right they are.
Notes from a trip to Scotland via Amsterdam for the two Bell weddings:
- sat next to a grumpy Chinese woman from Hong Kong to Heathrow. Wouldn’t let me out to pee. When they served breakfast she stirred apricot yoghurt into her tea.
- out the window The North Sea, and then another plane. Below us but close enough to see that it is Singapore Airlines. Later green, green, green fields and the three waving arms of wind farms.
- forced to re-evaluate Chris Martin based on interview on the in-flight entertainment, even began to think that XY might not be so bad. Later found myself crying to Finn Bros and realised that I was just tired.
- overriding image of Amsterdam: kids in a bucket on the front of the parents’ bike. The best example was a pregnant woman with her four kids in the bucket.
- why is it that I can get out of bed, go to the supermarket and do normal stuff when I’m on holidays and enjoy it? It feels like a luxury - and they have great bread choices.
- I sleep on the sofa bed beneath the big windows and the cool breeze from the canal flows over me.
- I have carpet burns on the back of my heels from walking too carefully down the narrow staircase
- everyone is beautiful (and yes, Michael Rowland, mostly young – what do they do with people when they reach 50? I think they have to move out of the city centre because they can’t navigate the staircases any more – see previous point) and they have gorgeous apartments that you can see into as you walk past, and they have books, whole walls of them. They sit outside on their front steps on sunny Sundays on their well-designed chairs and read those books. And it’s quiet.
- a street poster says In God Wet Rust
- I’m almost woken by a man dragging his suitcase along the cobblestones, and then properly woken by the sun through the windows onto my bed. If there’s a signature sound to Amsterdam it’s the chugga, chugga, chugga of wheeled suitcases on cobblestones.
- gin and tonics and European quality snacks each afternoon in the apartment, and Interpol as the soundtrack to silences when we stare out the window at the boats on the passing stream and the cyclists and pedestrians who are not
- when it’s time to head out for the evening there’s no hot water so we just change, put on some slap and in an instant we’re sweating our way to Café Americain.
- Inside the grand arches of the café there are high backed chairs. When you’re sitting in them you can’t see across the room at eye level, just upholstery and then the deco space ships of lights above them. It’s all cream, brown and turquoise and the light is amber. Amazingly there’s a simulated open fire right beside us and we flee outside to the square to drink rose. The air is cool and the service is bad.
- Three crosses on everything. The symbol of the city. Fat crosses, like they’re stuffed. Like an overstuffed couch. Like the couch on which I like to lie in the afternoons and early evenings.
- I wear the orange and green skirt and it feels right for Amsterdam, for Holland.
- Febo: a vending machine of a store where behind every glass window is a version of a chicken croquette, and behind them is a man constantly refilling the windows. All roads lead to Febo.
- Dangling our feet in the pond in the park between museums and watching the constantly barking bulldog. The blond kid wearing a bandana, a mask and toting two guns is busy running around the edge of the pond. It’s impossible to tell who he belongs to because he doesn’t ever stop.
- Van Gogh sought to create “recollections of paintings; but the recollection, the vague consonance of colours that harmonise in spirit but not in actual fact.” It talks to me.He shot himself in the chest and took two days to die, with Theo at his side.
- There are only three existing photos of Vincent, and only one from the time in his life when he was an artist. There’s a giant reproduction of it in the Van Gogh Museum. He is the figure in the far bottom right wearing a tall hat and with his back to the camera.
- He did 70 paintings in his final two months, and thought he was a burden so he wanted to paint motifs that people would like, for money, for himself and for Theo. When Theo died his wife allowed him to be buried alongside Vincent. She said he belonged to Vincent as much as to her.
- He painted the sunflowers to adorn the wall of his spare room when Gaugin was coming to stay.
- In Amsterdam we keep running into the same young black woman with a foxy dog: at the G-spot, at the café opposite our apartment, and then in the park. Gina and I concoct a story that we’re spies and trailing her is part of our mission. The fact that neither of us ever have any idea where we are in the city, of course, if all part of the elaborate plot. Scotty is dubious.
- Tennis: US Open on the couch. Drinks and dinner combine with jetlag to mean that I can’t stay awake and don’t even know if this is a match that I’ve already seen.
- The hot water gets fixed: clean hair. No better feeling.
- Cut to Scottish Highlands. I almost understand the ritual and tradition of a wedding now. I’m not sure whether it’s about being in the north of Scotland, or in a castle but it feels right and fitting in a way that it rarely does at home. Perhaps it’s meant to be about showing off, about showing the wealth and hospitality of your family. And in Scotland that later seems undercut by everyone flinging each other around the dance floor.
- Ardross Castle. We sleep above the horses in the converted stable loft. My best friends sharing a ‘house’ by a castle in Scotland for three days. I’m woken by whinnying, and then LT’s laughter through the wall. The first thing spotted out the window is a peacock. Perfect. Then we go for a walk and come across a red toadstool with white spots. Begin to keep an eye out for Timmy the dog.
- Gorgeous warm Scots people. Charlotte’s mum who holds your hand whenever she’s talking to you, no matter what she’s saying.
- The cousins. It’s sweet Andy’s 25th birthday. He’s a building engineer but he wants to be an astronaut. He’s English but he’s wearing a kilt because Charlotte wanted lots of boys in kilts at her wedding. Thank you Charlotte.
- Johnny the Liar. Johnnys: often liars in my experience. It keeps it interesting. And imagine not being able to keep up with the mental athletics. I’m putting it down to the accent. The Scots were the first ones to sell opium to the Chinese he says. In my head: I don’t fucking think so.
- They serve a second meal of mash, onion and lamb halfway through the evening. It’s called Stovies.
- After the ceremony when Charlotte and Dr Dave go to get into the car there’s a moment when they can’t agree on who gets in which side. Charlotte: “I’ve got a dress on. I’m not sliding over.” By the time they’re leaving the reception though, they’ve got it sorted. Phew.
- We stand underneath the fir trees in the mist and see them off. The late and elusive piper who has missed the church and most of the reception has his moment leading them out to the car. Later, at LT and Trev’s wedding I find myself seated next to Gordon, their piper, and I recount the story of his recalcitrant counterpart. “What was his name?”, he snaps, affronted that this unreliable fellow could be degrading the reputation of pipers the length of Scotland. I think it’s lucky that I never knew it but suspect that Gordon will find it out.
- As we drive through the Highlands towards Gairloch and Sheildag it pours rain and the water runs in speedy mirrored streams down the side of mountains. As we round a bend we come across a rural fire truck turned on its side in a ditch at the edge of the road. We slow to see if they need help but a woman in uniform and rain hat waves us cheerily on while her colleague appears to be lifting himself out of the now horizontal side window.
- In Ullapool we lose the Ashes. Not us, of course but the Aussie cricketers. We sit glued to the screen in the Seaforth Hotel eating haggis and watching Kevin Peteresen waltzing up the steps to No. 10 jug of beer in hand.
- Two days before LT and Trev’s wedding, at Sheildaig Loch. Baz the Jack Russell-ish terrier is the Lodge’s dog. He’s almost our friend but remains aloof and after dinner trends aggressive, mainly towards Scotty’s leg. A funny attic room with four different kinds of chintz and a bathroom down the hall. There’s a four course meal served in the dining room overlooking the loch. Gina makes the dour eastern European waiter repeat the dessert options because she thinks the way he says cheese board sounds like cheese boat. She laughs and laughs and laughs. We’re the youngest there by a mile. Everyone else is there for fishing or deer stalking. There’s a man in tweed knickerbockers at breakfast. He’s wearing a monocle and binoculars and stops eating his poached egg to put the binoculars to his eye. We forgive him because we’ve observed him being so attentive and talking animatedly to his wife, like they were on a first date, him still trying to win points with charm. She’s the woman who had to shout “goats cheese and something” four times in the restaurant the previous evening doing the volume interpretation for the eastern European as old Binoculars is deaf as a post. Gales of silent laughter.
- So that’s where the notes end, because we got to Glasgow and there was no time to observe, only to do.
- Besides the previously reported fish supper incident and Gordon the piper I have no real memory of the LT and Trev wedding. It’s a blur of fun.
- What is Glasgow? It’s a moment in a club dancing to the Doobie Brothers: “without love, where would you be right now?" How right they are.
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