Always look on the bright side of .....

Blogging - why do we do it?

I know this question has been asked before.

I like to write.  I love words.  I like to use them to relate happenings.  Present, past and sometimes plans for the future. Most of all I want to make my readers smile.   For some of us that is what blogging is.

I kept a diary, every day, from the age of ten till I was in my late thirties.  As I was the only reader all my feelings went down in ink and it did not matter what I said.  There is a box in the garage full of my diaries.  I aim to burn them.  

My blog does not relate the bad things, the nasty things in life, because that is what I choose, or otherwise, to publish.  My diaries were/are private.  Blogging, for me, is showing the light side of my life and seeing laughter and joy in what I am involved in.  It cheers me to put that slant on my life and I hope it cheers others.

Other bloggers preach.  A way of life. (I have practised frugality most of my life due to necessity, but even then I laughed about it.)

Many bloggers show us beautiful things they have created.  (Mine, not so beautiful, but what the hell. They are created.)

Inspire us. (Will natures creations do?)

Some just make us feel guilty. (Laughing about stuff others feel very seriously about - sorry.)

But we have the choice, we can read the blogs, or we choose not to.

We encourage comments.  Sometimes we get comments that are hurtful, spiteful, or just what we did not want to hear.  But then, we have the delete button do we not.

Once you decide to write a blog you have to take all this on board.  And more.....

I was sitting in a roomful of people recently and was reprimanded loudly and publicly for something I had written in one of my blogs. 
(Half the room dissolved into laughter on hearing what I had written.)  

This was by someone who actually stated she had never read my blog!  Two, or three haven't spoken to me since, and made life in that area so particularly uncomfortable and unpleasant .  Just wish I had had a delete button!

For some time I wondered what on earth I was doing trying to entertain, inform, tell the world about all the wonderful people I mix with (well nearly all); the vibrancy of people who many of the younger generation would be amazed at, in their volunteering, crafting, artistic effort, recycling total rubbish into beautiful pieces of art and so on.  Should I just go back into a hole and write, dear diary, and not share the wonderful things and people around me?  Being told off like a naughty child in the classroom shook me to the core.  Me being me, I made a joke about it...... but felt like jelly.  


So beware fellow bloggers.  That sense of humour could be the death of you.

But then, Always look on the bright side of death. (Please god I havent upset anybody.)

A Sense of History.

I loved history lessons at school.  History was my favourite lesson.  My grades in the History O level as it then was, now GCSE, and not all that sure what the Scottish Education System terms them as, but when you were around 15/16 you sat the exam and my grade was  predicted as high.

Whether it was to do with the teacher, the subject, second world war, or what, I actually failed the exam.  Memorising dates of battles was all it seemed to consist of, which to me bordered on Maths, which I was never any good at.

History is about the people, what they did, how they lived, how they laughed.

Golfers. 1950.

Even earlier golfers.

This little known links is perhaps best remembered, if at all, for a match played in 1905 between a team of fishermen representing the club against the great and the good of AJ Balfour and a team of Parliamentarians with the game played at Sandwich. On that occasion the politicians won, thanks perhaps to the fisherman enjoying lunch rather too much and therefore failing to show any form at all in the afternoon games.

These days many of the members still work in the fishing business as is evidenced by the hole sponsors. Its quite appropriate therefore that you can see the sea on every hole (unlike Fraserburgh where you can't see the sea on ANY hole) if you bother to look. While the sea is ever present it never comes into play and neither is their any real attempt by whoever designed it to present any particular views although there are some scenic and extensive views down the coastline.

Inverallochy Castle is a ruined castle near the village of Inverallochy in the Buchan area of north-east Scotland.

The ruins lie a half-mile south of Cairnbulg Castle near Fraserburgh. Walls surrounding an inner courtyard remain, along with one partly collapsed tower. Evidence of a larger outer courtyard measuring approximately 60 metres square to the north and east remains.

The original castle dates to the 13th century built by the Comyn family. It was one of The Nine Castles of Knuckle may be associated with the Abbey of Deer in Mintlaw.

Our history where we live now is based on fishing.  Not only our history of course, but the now and here.  The fact that what happens now and here is linked back and back with history makes it more real.  Part of living history if you get my gist.

Fishermen then.

 The harbour then.

The boats then.  And just look at the wee loon paddling (small boy).

Today the golf courses are still there, and well played on.  The harbour is still there and full of fishing boats.

History is not about dead things or dates it is about life and living and how we got to where we are.  

(I also failed English Literature - at the resit I got a distinction - those were the days.)

Help wanted.

I am struggling to buy a bra.  You would think at my age I would be well experienced at this.  Well things, and boobs, change.

This is how you measure.  From this you do all sorts of mathematical calculations and decide whether you are a 36 B, C, D. Or whatever.

My boobs have been quite a lot of different measurements over the years.  Breast feeding for about six years (four children) you wonder how the human body can go out and in so many times without packing in.

Now why you measure above the bosoms remains a mystery.  Should I have taken that into my calculations?

As I got older and thinner, I wont say slimmer as that indicates muscle tone and I am not sure I have any of that.  I decided I would have a 'professional' measuring at a local emporium.  

Hordes of Women milling about, I think there was some special offer on at the time.  I was eventually ushered into a changing room, for privacy.  Only so far as my boobs not being seen by others, what went on in there was shouted out to the rest of the gathered females,  waiting to be measured,

"34 D Brenda!"

 34?  Even pre puberty I was never 34.  I swam a lot and developed quite a broad back.  But no, 34 .  Into the changing room came a selection of 34Ds.  

"Lean forward and drop them in."  "There! Isnt that an improvement?"  

Well they were certainly higher, but I couldnt breathe .  But assured I would feel better as I 'got used to it', I handed over more money than I had ever yet paid for a bra and essayed out.  After some weeks of feeling I had something or someone gripped on to my upper body I returned to the saggy things I had wanted to replace.  I breathed.

One major part of the new bras I could not get used to was the underwiring.  It was like some vice clamped onto my body, occasionally the soft flesh got trapped and I was for ever hoiking parts of me I had forgotten about for some years, back into this clamp.

Remember the Triumph Bras?  Where we all went to a point?  

And now we have the Balcony Bras.  Balcony Bras?  Most real women would be spilling over the balcony.

Why oh why can we not have something without underwire, that lifts and separates ( I seem to remember the dim and distant past of Cross Your Heart ? ) Comfortable. Yes.  No instruments of torture aka underwires ( and yes I did try and remove the bloody things, the bra then held nothing in.)  Looked more like a sandwich.

At my age - and size - I could probably forget about wearing a bra altogether, and yes, I was around in the burning your bra age, never did understand that particular campaign.  Point of yes, but not actually discarding the thing.

But there are occasions when I am not smothered by a hoodie or ten layers and want to feel feminine, without the PAIN.  

Help?

Last Weather Report - for this year,, heres hoping.

Environment Minister Paul Wheelhouse described the conditions as a "perfect storm" of south easterly gales, low pressure and high tides. Richard Lochhead, Rural Affairs Secretary, will visit Lossiemouth, Peterhead and Fraserburgh harbours on Monday to asses the damage.

 Paul Rattray photograph.

John Cardno photograph.

Whilst the Shags and Cormorants kept well out the way!

How the Golden Horn looked before the storm.

What the storm did, no idea what its like from the other side where the waves were actually coming from.

Inland we had no idea what was occurring just a few miles away.

Homes were evacuated at Peterhead where the old fishermens cottages are near the shore line and in other fishing villages around.

Men in yellow jackets are everywhere trying to clear up the debris and make everything safe.  We just hope the Golden Horn can shine again.

Weather report 2 + crocheting the results.

My view from the Lighthouse Cafe, today, as I had my lunch.  Roast Garlic and Lentil Soup, yum.  And a calm sea viewed from the window.   

I am working (unpaid of course, being a trustee today, tomorrow, Tuesday and Wednesday.)

Totally different from yesterday, when a South East Wind brought havoc to the North East Coast of Scotland.  View my photographs of yesterdays blog.

The Wine Tower, Kinnaird Head.

Legend tells us that Isobel the daughter of Alexander Fraser (c1536 to 1623) 8^th laird of Philorth had fallen in love with a servant piper, and that the laird was not happy about this.  So to separate the two the laird had the piper tied-up in the cave under the Wine Tower known as Selches Hole (Seals Hole).  The laird then locked-up his daughter in the uppermost floor of the tower (The chapel) and retired to Kinnaird Castle.  Unfortunately for the servant there was an abnormally high tide due to a storm, and the poor man drowned.  When Isobel the laird’s daughter was informed of her lover’s fate, she was distraught and committed suicide by jumping from the top of the tower onto the rocks below.  The rock that she fell on is still painted red to this day.  It is said that Isobel is seen prior to bad weather, and when the weather is bad it is said that you can hear the skirl of the pipes being played by the ghost of the piper for his lost love.

Well, no-one heard the skirl of the pipes yesterday.

Our Wine Tower at Kinnaird Head.

This is a picture of a fairly normal sea bashing up the rocks.

Inside the wine tower are these corbels, this is one, and there are about ten of these.

The Wine Tower was actually a chapel.  It  probably became called the Wine Tower from the winding path from the harbour area.  

We really do not want to lose this place.

The severe winds we had yesterday have damaged this path, and it is feared the land between the wine tower and the sea.

Also damaged was the Golden Horn, the beacon at Fraserburgh Harbour.

Which survived this a few years ago.  But not the weather of yesterday.

Peterhead, has apparently, suffered worse damage.

Barriers have been put up to warn people of the dangers, the cracks in the edge of the paths that skirt the sea.  What do we get?  Idiots in their droves, hanging from their toe nails to see the damage.  

The sea was flung so high it hit the Kinnaird Head Lighthouse door and salted up the padlock!  Back up and see how far away from the sea the lighthouse is normally.  

I hope to bring you all better news as the days go on.  Barriers have been erected but the idiots ignore them, and then who will be to blame when the earth goes asunder from beneath their feet?

Back to normality?

Oh dear, oh very dear, Mum!
My first, and second, attempt at crocheting.

First was the maroon, getting smaller, despite my doing the extra stitch at the end, green one a slight improvement?  Battle on.

Weather Report.

Quite a lot of strong winds on the north east coast.

The Four Corners sheltered quite a number of sightseers.

Nobody as daft at Sandhaven just north of Fraserburgh.

photo courtesy of Eric Watt.

Back in Fraserburgh harbour this is an 'old' photograph, so not quite as bad as this.

Or as bad as this time last year when my shed's roof was removed.  The telephone wire went too and the sky dish.

The roof was fixed, eventually.....

Nature deals us some blows on occasion.

But we forgive her when she also provides this.

It is nearly Christmas.

Many times as I leave the house I say, "I am sure I have forgotten something."
Well that is how I feel today.  


Tree up.

Presents wrapped, posted, and stashed.

Decs up and out.

Wreath done.

Cards made, three designs, posted and hand delivered.

Christmas Eve dinner for us and friends, and yes I have remembered to invite them.

Look away vegetarians.

Venison.

Christmas Day, Grouse.  Both ordered by the DP.  So he says.

So it is now the 14th December and I am done.

Never, ever have I been this far in front of myself.

So, what do I do now?

No excuses Mum!