Oddments

It's good to be back in Edinburgh, however briefly. I've already been fitted for a kilt for my brother's forthcoming wedding (September doesn't really seem far off now. I'd better get a move on writing my speech!), hunted down a birthday present for my sister (a plastic see through umbrella at her behest - my brother and I hunted around half of the city without chancing upon one, before we accosted a poor woman in the street, demanding to know from where she had purchased hers), and taken my brother and his fiance out to dinner at a restaurant with interminably slow service (Zizzi's in Ocean Terminal. I'd eaten in a London branch before which was quite pleasant, but I now give a strong recommendation to avoid them). This last was particularly irksome. The meal took around two hours, most time of which we spent being ignored by the waiting staff. The quality of the food was also rather mediocre. This would always have annoyed me, but as age seems bring with it increasing crotchetiness, I seem now to have finally reached the point where I'm prepared to do something about it, even if only to write a strongly worded letter of complaint. I don't do this out of malice (or at least I don't want to believe so), but simply because of the realisation that change requires impetus. And it may as well come from me.

Today a restaurant. Tomorrow the world!

It's also been a little strange seeing the state of the house up here. As the family grew an extension was added (a long time ago - I can't ever remember the house without it), bringing with it a much needed set of extra bedrooms (I have many siblings). This extension is now in the process of being converted into a self contained flat for Nicky and Kerry (the aforementioned brother and fiance). At the moment all the furniture has been removed and the wallpaper has been stripped, leaving only empty rooms and bare plaster walls which bear the remnants of past childish graffitis. The remains feel barren and skeletal and so very, very small (the smallness seemingly a quality possessed my nearly all empty rooms, regardless of their size). Standing in there alone, looking around, it's easy to understand how people can believe in ghosts and unexplained presences haunting old houses and rooms. It's impossible to move through such a space without disturbing the thousands of memories floating like motes of dust in the air. They trail around you, following in your wake, whispering gentle reminders of times past. It's a seductive and melancholy experience.

But my own recent experiences have taught me the dangers of such unwarranted sentimentality. Old memories have their place, true, but not at the expense of the new.