See, we sold our current flat, thinking it would be useful to know how much we’d get for it before buying a new one. Despite the fact that we’re really looking to move somewhere now where we can stay, like in “forever”. Or at least for a very long time. Which means it ought to be kind of ideal, not just the first reasonably ok place we find. But even so, we sold our current flat. And the guy who bought it expects to be able to move in 20 September. Ooops.
So we were suddenly facing homelessness, in as much as even if we could crash at my parents’ place where would we put all our stuff?
And then we won a slight bidding war one and a half week ago. And then we had to waaaaaait until the “forkjøpsrett” – the right of first refusal – in the borettslag was cleared. Which is was this morning.
So, it seems we bought a flat.
Yay!
We’ve been celebrating with a bottle of champagne and have only just started planning. How to move, for example. Getting a new daycare place for the lass, since the new place is basically on the other side of town. Trying to figure out how to best utilise the space. Realising that we need to buy some furniture. Like wardrobes. There are none in the new flat and the ones in this are built in, so they stay here.
IKEA here we come.
By chance, Petchy (on of my regular reads) has also just recently become the owner of a new flat. She’s doing a lot more interior design than we’re planning, but I’m going to be picking up some inspiration in any case. Some decoration will be neccessary, after all.
This time round we’re actually organising a trip for some of the members of NMWL Trondheim, so we’ll be a group of about ten people for the first week. Then a few of us, not including the husband and the lass, are going via Campbelltown and Arran before hitting the mainland. After that, well, our little family still has about two weeks to fill, how much whisky is involved will depend on whether we have a tail of NMWL-members or not. Odds as it looks right now is not.
Anyway, plans for the week on Islay include vip-tours where possible and in any case a visit to every distillery. Personally I’m most looking forward to Ardbeg, since the day we were supposed to take a tour of Ardbeg in 2006 was the day I spent in hospital trying not to bleed. We will stop to see the Kildalton Cross, again, of course, and we’ll be sure to have lunch in the Old Kiln Cafe.
Kildalton cross
We’re also hoping for a proper tour of Kilchoman, last time they didn’t even have real whisky yet, and we only had time to see the shop. We’re also trying to wrangle some extra special tours or tastings out of some of our contacts, but I’m not going to reveal just what…
In 2006 our best tours were at Bowmore and at Caol Ila. At Bowmore we’d booked a VIP tour and when we arrived were told the destillery manager was regrettably not there, but the head brewer would show us round instead, and did we mind much? Did we mind? You’re kidding, right? Someone who’s most likely worked there for years and who is directly involved in production? Yeah, we’ll take it. It’s the most thorough tour I’ve ever had – we spent more time in the maltings and kiln than the Japanese bussload who arrived at the same time as us spent on their whole tour and tasting. It was also the tour where I regretted not being able to drink the most, as there were a fair few cask samples pulled in the warehouse, all of them quite stunning. Ah, well.
Bowmore, seen from the pier
At Caol Ila we actually did the standard tour, but our guide was one of the men who’d been involved in rebuilding the distillery in 1973/4. He knew the place like the back of his hand and gave a marvelously engaged tour.
Caol Ila
No doubt we’re in for some grand tours this summer, too. I’m salivating at the thought, and my notebook’s at the ready. The husband and I will have to take turns sitting the tours out, though, as the lass is coming along. Luckily throwing stones off a pier is one of her favourite activities (as it seems to be for most kids), so she’s unlikely to be bored. We may have to sneak in some nature spotting as well. On the 2006 trip I found the most impressive beetles in London, but Scotland has plenty of creepy-crawlies of its own, and a fair few bigger animals, too. Like sheep. When you’re three, sheep are exiting enough.
Big beetle, somewhere in London
Once we’re back on the mainland, as mentioned, it’ll probably turn into more of a family vacation than a peat-freak’s dream. We’re planning on visiting Bladnoch, but also to spend some time in Wigtown’s bookshops (yeah, I know. Me? Bookshops? You’re shocked, right?), which the lass should enjoy (her mother seems to have a fairly limitless budget when it comes to children’s books. Can’t imagine why. We’re then heading north towards Talisker, Skye and Balmacara, where we have friends we’re hoping to spend a few days with and then on to Aberdeen, lovely Aberdeen, for possibly a day or two of shopping before flying home.
Along the way we’re looking for interesting activities that all three of us might enjoy. Any tips would be welcome. So far we’re considering the Jacobite railway (the lass and me, the husband to drive the hire car the same stretch), seal tours in Oban or from Skye and the Satrosphere Science Centre in Aberdeen, where I was once supposed to go with Linda, but our plans were sabotaged by a terrific lunch with a few pints of cider at The Tilted Wig and never made it in time. Ahem.
Well, back to the planned trip: I can hardly wait.
More pictures from the 2006 trip can be found on Flickr.
…and wonder whether I should write some. I ought to know better, actually, than to read the letters page in the newspaper. Especially letters signed somebody whose name I really can’t be arsed to remember, Kristent samlingsparti (or whatever it is they call themselves, and no, I will not google them, I do not want to contribute to their hit count). It left me feeling exasperated and a little tempted to go on a rampage of sorts.
Ok, ok, I get it. Some people are against the new marriage equality law.But I need some explanation, nevertheless.
So you’ve read the bible and found that it says that teh gays they are teh evilz (though, you know, I read it too, and I never found that part), and therefore they need to be saved from having happy fulfilling lives and be “cured” into miserableness and probably forced to marry someone of the opposite sex and procreate, because that-thing-you-call-god-which-bears-little-resemblance-to-my-God apparently thinks the world is underpopulated.
That’s fine.
Ok, it isn’t fine, but I can sort of see your point if I tilt my head and squint a bit. You’re entitled to your opinion, even if I fundamentally disagree.
But how, how, HOW can you describe Bill and Ted down the street finally getting the legal recognition of their loving and faithful relationship over the last 20 years as an “attack on those of us who want a normal marriage”? No one’s talking about YOUR marriage. No one CARES about your marriage. You’re married? Fine. Good for you. If your marriage is so frail a thing that the fact of someone completely unrelated to you getting legal recognition of a relationship YOU wouldn’t want to be in then, you know, perhaps it’s how YOU handle your own relationship you should be worried about and talk about and do something with.
See, I’m not gay. The person I fell head over heels in love with and who happened to fall in love with me and whom I married a while back and hope to God (mine, not yours) I will stay married to until death do us part (and oh, let that be in a good many years) is of the opposite sex. And I hold our marriage sacred. But it matters to me NOT ONE JOT that Bill and Ted get married and live happily ever after too. In fact, it makes me rather happier, in that the more people in this world who are happy, the less people are likely to go on murderous rampages (or to write moronic letters to the editor, because, have you noticed, really happy people don’t feel the need to put other people down). It makes our marriage no less valid, no less valuable. Neither does Jane and Ben getting a divorce or the fact that Joe beats Diane senseless every Friday, though the former makes me kind of sad and the latter hopping mad. But it doesn’t affect OUR marriage.
You know, you probably heard this before, but it seems to bear repeating: Go get your bible and read the bit about loving thy neighbour as thyself and doing unto others etc. again. It’s in the New Testament. You know, that bit of the bible you’re supposed to hold especially dear if you’re a Christian.
I meant to forget all about that stupid letter and not write all that, but then Faith posted this at Shakesville and I really needed to post it too, and the other bit sort of just happened. Video emphatically not safe for work (well, the sound isn’t, and you really need the sound on):
This is turning into a series, it seems, but, you know: WTF? Why is this one without a head, then? The more I look at this image the more disturbing I find it.
Sorry for the crummy picture, I’ll get a better one if I see the poster again.
The main tagline reads “when your body gets tied up in knots” – and it’s an advertisement for a naprapat center (I think, the print was so small, I really coudn’t read anything beyond the main “slogan” from where I sat, which, frankly, fails it as effective advertising, too…).
What exactly is so b****y convenient about boil-in-bag rice?
We received some samples recently and have been testing them, and the one advantage over un-bagged stuff we have found is that you can use the same pot to boil both rice and vegetables. I don’t think that makes up for the drawbacks, however.
Supposedly Good Thing # 1: It takes a shorter time to cook than conventional rice. True, unless you normally use the fast-cook stuff, but honestly, I’m used to putting the rice on before starting anything else, and I’ve never perceived it as a problem that it takes “so long”. If I need something “instant” I use couscous. And with boil-in-bag there is the drawback relating to cooking time that I never remember to check the time when I throw the rice (or pasta, or anything else) into the boiling water, so I go by “feel” and check the rice (pasta, whatever) when I think it might be done. Question: How do you check the doneness of bag-encased rice?
Supposedly Good Thing # 2: Less washing up.
Bull. I don’t burn rice as a rule, so a pot is not particularly difficult to clean after boiling conventional rice. And I do wash the pot after boiling the boil-in-bag rice (normally we end up “decanting” the rice into the pot once it’s finished boiling anyway), do the producers imagine you wouldn’t feel the need to wash it?
Supposedly Good Thing # 3: Conveniently packaged.
Well, except it means you better fit with the producers’ idea of serving size, as boiling half a bag is rather difficult.
Also, despite the bags having so-called “cool corners” this doesn’t change the fact that you somehow have to handle, open and empty bags of steaming hot rice. I haven’t burnt my fingers yet, but I have gotten uncomfortably hot and cursed because I’ve dropped the bag.
Not to get me started on the excessive packaging thing, of course. The plasic bag ay not be that big in the great scheme of things, but they are still there. Or the fact that switching to non-fairtrade rice again after using fairtrade rice exclusively for at least six months is not really something we’d want to do anyway.
No, that’s not blasphemy, that’s a heartfelt prayer.
I just found a link to these. Horses in heels. With tutus. Oh, how I hope they bomb like a piano falling from the fourth floor and are eradicated from the realm of toys – and advertising – before the lass grows old enough to start wanting things.
Through this, I found this, and then this, and I guess I feel the need to comment (what else is new?) and since this blog is short of posts lately (especially posts with actual content) what better place to do it?
Now, I like pretty much every colour there is. Not in any combination and not in any setting, but there are few colours for which I can find no redeeming qualities. As such, pink, while not my favourite colour at all, is perfectly acceptable, and even quite likeable – in small quantities, occasionally and in the right setting. I own at least one pink t-shirt (and I wear it, occasionally). I like pink tulips, roses, peonies (no, not ponies), flower ribbon trim, lipstick (which I hardly ever wear, so it doesn’t really count) and so on. I had noted the increasing “pinkification” of products marketed at females – whether young or old – and it irritated me, but then marketing tends to more often than not, so what else is new?
However, pink is a very vivid colour, and like all vivid colours I find it most pleasing in small doses. And because of its pervasiveness lately, I have gone further towards avoiding it than I might have had it been Just Another (Vivid) Colour.
For example: When looking for scrapbooking resources a few years ago I found two forums in Norwegian dealing with the subject. I ended up on scrapping.no, though content-wise scrapbookexpress.no looked to be just as useful and friendly, simply because the latter was pink-pink-pink and the former a nice cool grey and white with a few red details. I got a headache from trying to read “the other forum” and so, even though I am registered, I have never actually participated, and can hardly be called a lurker since I have visited three or perhaps four times in five or six years.
Then I got pregnant, and we had a baby to shop for. The husband preferred not to find out the sex of the child at the ultrasound scan, and though I had previously thought it would be fun to know, I somehow didn’t feel the need to once we got there. Because I got gestational diabetes we had loads of scans later, but by that time I had decided I really didn’t want to know, from a pure point of contrariness. Becaus what I found when starting to shop for baby clothes was how hopelessly gendered they all were. Not only were pink and pale blue the order of the day, even when I found a nice little onesie in green, for example, it would have little bows and flounces (for girls) og printed car tyre tracks (for boys). Buying clothes for a child when you didn’t know whether it would be a boy or a girl was in point of fact quite challenging.
Thanks to the retro wave and 70ies colour scheme being in fashion, the lass has had a bearable amount of pink clothes and we have been able to find clothes that are either nicely “genderless” or girly, but not inhibitingly so. Trousers can be both “feminine” and solid enough to handle rough play at the same time. I have also made a conscious decision to let her play in the sand pit and climb and run in whatever she is wearing* – her pink bucket hat (a present) has been used as a bucket several times and frequently looks accordingly, but it can be washed. Eventually the grey sandiness might become permanent, but, really, what does it matter?
Here’s to hoping some of my reasons for not buying her all pink clothes and all that goes along with that mindframe sinks in. Once peer pressure starts to bear I suspect we will have a wannabe princess on our hands anyway, but we needn’t encourage it ourselves.
More reading (saying it better than I can manage at the moment):
* Not in the faux folk costume I made for the 17th of May. I did keep her away from the sandpit when she was wearing that. Next year I think I’ll leave her to it if she wants to. It can be washed…
