Free as a butterfly

When I opened the door this morning to let Freja out, a tortoiseshell butterfly flapped in at ground level. Freja showed a little too much interest, so I kept her back and encouraged the insect towards the door. It didn't seem to want to fly. It flapped out on to the back step, so I picked it up and threw it into the air. Away it flew. I wondered how long it was going to survive, but it struck me that there is nothing that appears to fly as freely as does a butterfly.

Freja didn't even want to go out, at least not until the rain had gone off.

Two Munros before lunchtime

The forecast was good, so Freja and I started off early to Glen Doll. It was a good drive and the car park at Glen Doll was pretty full. The parking machines were out of action and I had to pay £2 at the reception centre. Apparently when one machine jams, the other gives up the ghost; they have just been repaired and it is going to cost £400 to repair them again.

We set off along the track and then up the Kilbo Path, the Shank of Drumfollow. Some of the upper part of the forest has been cut down and this area and the open ground were in the sunshine. It was a hot climb and we reached the top of the path in an hour or so. Freja's wee rucksack worked beautifully.

After stopping for a morning break, we headed up Driesh, where Freja's backpack was admired by a group which included a local farmer, a lady from Forfar and a friend from South Africa who also admired my trousers from Zimbabwe. Then back and up Mayar, where we met a dog who was very interested in Freja. We stopped for lunch on the way down. There were great views north to Lochnagar and southwest to Ben Vorlich and Stuc a' Chroin.

Then down the Kilbo Path again and Freja had a little freedom in the forest. A great day!

Working to Rule

When I came home at lunch time, I found a card through the door saying that the package that I had been expecting had been taken to the Post Office in Broxburn. In the past, the postie has left parcels in the wheelie bin or under the mat and written a note to the effect. The reason for this must be that postal workers are working to rule at the moment.

And yet the envelopes that are returned to me at work as undeliverable, although they have a little red sticker attached marked 'addressee has gone away', do not have that little red sticker completely filled in. Obviously they are working to the rules they want to.

But do not think that I have it in for all postal workers. I was out cleaning my car one Saturday morning and the postie came round uncharacteristically early. I went to the gate and took the letters and he rushed off.

"You're early today," I said.

"I know," he said. "I don't have time to chat. I want to get these letters delivered before we go on strike at 9 o' clock!"

Moonday

It is forty years since Neil Armstrong made his small step and Man first landed on the moon. What a coincidence, then, that today in Monday… the day of the moon. The word is derived from the Old English mōndæg. And it is not only in English that it is moonday… the French have lundi, the Italians, lunedì, and both come from an ancient concept encapsulated by the Romans with the Latin dies lunae.

This is also the last day of the old moon — the new moon is tomorrow, on 21st July. After the moon landing forty years ago, I naively imagined that the giant leap for mankind would herald in a new era of cooperative venture. I suppose that it did after a while because the International Space Station is just that, but I have been rather disappointed with the rest. The world continues to spin and Man continues to squabble and fight. There has been no dawning of the Age of Aquarius… and now I don't believe there ever will be. Not until we manage to wipe ourselves out.

Rubus idaeus

Freja and I enjoy walks at this time of year, not least because the wild raspberry canes are in fruit. During our early morning, pre-breakfast walks in the woods, there is nothing better than picking a few raspberries and enjoying their tart sweetness.

Freja thinks so too. She was just a puppy when I taught her the delights of Rubus idaeus. At first she had to be shown the berries and I had to hold the stalk while she picked them, but since then, she has become proficient at seeking them out and helping herself. Unfortunately, she does this when she is in people's gardens as well, much to the chagrin of horticulturalists.


Always willing to educate those of this world who did not have the advantage of being born Scots, here is a recipe for a dessert that goes by a name which you actually need to be Scottish to pronounce correctly:

Cranachan

100 g pinhead oatmeal
250 g raspberries
250 ml whipping cream
2 tblsp heather honey
2 tblsp malt whisky

Place the oatmeal in a dry frying pan and toast over a low to moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until it is golden brown. Turn off the heat and let it cool in the pan.

Reserve the best raspberries for decoration (half a dozen per glass). Whip the cream in a bowl, add the honey and whisky and fold in gently. Carefully fold in the cooled toasted oatmeal and then the bulk of the raspberries, breaking up a few to give the cream a pinkish colour or marbled appearance.

Add a few of the reserved raspberries to the bottom of each serving glass, and then spoon in the cream mixture. Artistically add one or two raspberries to the top of each glass. Chill before serving, but not for more than a few hours or it will lose its soft texture.

It is traditionally served with shortbread… homemade, of course.

A dreich day

Today was dreich. And for anyone who is not too familiar with the Scots language, I quote my Scots Dictionary:

dreich adj 1 dreary, long-lasting, persistent; tiresome, hard to bear. 2 of time, journeys etc long, wearisome. 3 of sermons, speeches etc long-winded; dry, uninteresting. 4 of the weather, scenery etc dreary, bleak.

It was today's weather that was particularly dreich… it was grey in its dreichness… the sky above was grey, the water in the River Almond was grey, the streets of Edinburgh were grey, the Georgian buildings lining those streets were grey, the trees in the park were grey. It was a grey day.

There is a particularly uninspiring little village in West Lothian, a village with really very little to commend it, and it is called Breich. It is full of grey houses and every time I have been there, the weather has always been miserable. As the saying goes:

It's aye dreich in Breich.

That's it for today.

Starting out

It had to come, didn't it? I had to start blogging sometime. I would say 'we' but Freja isn't really going to create a great deal of input to this, except to appear in photos. Freja is a working cocker spaniel, you see. Her full name is Freja Sail Liath and her parents are Giorgio of Keisan and Meiklehope Leda. My parents were John and Dorothy... well, my mother is still Dorothy… it's my father who is the 'was'. One of Freja's great grandparents was a field trials champion. One of my great grandparents was a stamp collector.

Here's a photo of Freja and me, taken at New Year 2008.

But now Freja tells me it is time for her dinner.