“All the time I was away,” Lyra said, “I never thought about that. All I thought about was just the time I was in, just the present. There were plenty of times when I thought I didn’t have a future at all.”
Do these words not capture, to the finest of pin points, that feeling that takes over when you find yourself caught between the pages of a uniquely wonderful book? Doesn’t it just feel like the rest of the world doesn’t exist? Like tomorrow might never arrive, and it’s just you, your cup of tea and the words on the page? That’s where I’ve been over the past few days. After a weekend of the most intense literary absorption I’ve ever known, I finished reading The Amber Spyglass, the third and final book in Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials Trilogy. Alone in my flat, tears free-wheeling down my cheeks and a bladder so full I could swear I’ve done myself some internal damage (I simply couldn’t tear myself away, not even to pee), I reached the end and was instantly seized by two separate desires: the first was to fall on my knees and soak the carpet with a sea of tears. The second was to throw the window wide open and sing for joy that books as unashamedly wonderful as this one actually exist.
As it happens, I did neither of those things. I simply sat there in silence, sniffling intermittently and holding the finished book in my hands, gently turning it over and over and wondering whether I could get away with reading the entire series again, straight away.
The Dark Materials books didn’t overwhelm me from the outset. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the surfeit of fantastic reviews I’ve heard or read of them over the years I’m not sure whether I would have made it past the end of Northern Lights, the first instalment. Never have I been so thankful I stuck with something. These books are exceedingly rich in everything that matters: in plot, in character, in theme and most compulsively, in ideas. I never wanted the final chapter to end, and now that it has and I’m dealing with the usual post-awesome-book bereavement that I wrote about here, I feel an intense jealousy towards all those who have yet to read and be dazzled by these sublimely brilliant reads. A word to the wise people: SAVOUR THEM.
Last week was ultra busy, stressful in places and altogether too fast to disappear. I’m amazed I have so many highlights! This week: more relaxation please!
The top 3:
1) My friends. I seem to have had a more than average number of really inspiring, life-affirming discussions with people over the past seven days, and it’s really helped to make this week turn out a good one. I never fail to be amazed at the power my friends have to make me see things in perspective, to check me in to reality when I need it and to ensure that I step outside of my own head and look at the bigger (and infinitely more beautiful) picture from time to time. I needed a bit of that this week, and I’m pleased to report I got it. In spades.
2) Second place this week is the Burns Supper I miraculously managed to pull off on Thursday night. A couple of friends came round, we opened some wine and feasted ourselves rather silly on obscene amounts of haggis and mash. I tried and failed to make Cranachan (my friends were far too polite to tell me the truth but it was really, really awful**) and we listened to Runrig on Spotify while swapping catch up stories and watching silly things on Youtube (like this). Lots of banter and lots of nice food -- utterly deserving of a top three spot.
3) This week I received a lovely letter in the post from Rachel, one of my best blog buds. This was quite the day-maker for me on Saturday, and as I ripped it open with excitement I experienced a rather large pang of regret at the dearth of hand-written post that comes my way these days. When I moved schools at age 10 there was a time when I was receiving an average of three handwritten letters a day(!) from the friends I’d left behind. Now it’s all bills, junk mail and other nasties that I usually chuck straight in the recycling pile. This will not do! Rachel, thank you for inspiring me to get back into letter writing (I can’t fail now, because if I don’t reply to you soon a huge cloud of guilt will settle over my head and I’ll be unable to think about anything else until I just sit down and scrawl)!
**Unsurprising really, when you consider the following: a) I used frozen raspberries, which when defrosted resembled some sort of blood-red gloop; b) I whipped the cream with a hand blender, partly because I’m lazy and partly because I don’t possess a whisk. In theory this would be fine, but I got a bit carried away with the whipping and ended up with a cream so devoid of any normal texture that it tasted like it had been liberally sprinkled with sand. Finally, c) having absolutely no whiskey with which to make whiskey sauce, I overcompensated by using about three times as much honey as the recipe advised. So what we really ended up with was nothing like Cranachan as I know it, but was instead more of a sugar-charged, grainy raspberry mush. Delightful.
The best of the rest
Other good stuff that’s happened this week:
Taking a bath. Aren’t they wonderful?
Feasting on a mammoth date and walnut scone at Loopy Lorna’s cafe on Sunday. Hot from the oven, smothered in raspberry jam and clotted cream and washed down with a pot of masala chai tea. Fantastic.
Attending a dinner party on Saturday and being fed probably the best meal I’ve had yet this year (chorizo-stuffed chicken breast with potatoes, salad, bread and olives followed by home-made treacle tart and cream).
Helping out at a money awareness event run by my volunteer place on Friday and meeting lots of new faces.
Finally making the doctor’s appointment I’ve been putting off for months.
Cooking roasted butternut squash and red pesto spaghetti for dinner on Monday.
Trying out my fledgling Italian on a native speaker for the first time and feeling exhilarated when it worked.
Having my eyes opened to the talents of Scottish cyclist Danny MacAskill (check out the video below and prepare to find yourself screeching with amazement every five or so seconds). I never thought I’d think of cycling as a form of art but now I’m not so sure. I’ll say no more.
Last week’s highlights is a new feature I’m starting here on the blog: it’s part of my continuing bid to be appreciative of life’s goodness and to remark upon the little bits and pieces of loveliness that meander into my life over the course of a week.
The big three
1. Top of the list this week is a book that I’ve only just finished reading. New Europe by Michael Palin is a travel writing tour de force. It’s utterly compelling, and so informative my brain nearly burst with all the information it was having to process. As is the norm when I read anything geographical or historical, I was dumbfounded by the sheer depth and breadth of my own ignorance (which was somehow magnified in this case given that Europe is my home continent). Palin’s own desire to learn comes across so well though, that you sort of get the feeling that as long as you’re willing to listen, you won’t be sneered at for a lack of prior knowledge. A must-read for anyone even remotely curious about the history and development of Eastern Europe.
2. I’ve scored some wondrous charity shop bounty over the past seven days. I haven’t really been near the charity shops in recent weeks, but my oh my does a spell of absence induce my heart to grow fonder! This week’s haul included three charming dinner plates from Oxfam (there’s something irresistible about vintage crockery, I find) and a turquoise sash belt, the like of which I’ve been after for ages. The latter was purchased with the principles of capsule wardrobe shopping very much in mind – I do practice what I preach here people!
3. Until this week, I hadn’t baked anything in months (as much as I’d like it to, the breadmaker does not count). So it was really rather exciting to come over all inspired after reading Domestikate’s caramel cupcakes recipe yesterday. I settled on a simple lemon drizzle cake to ease me back in, and it tasted completely delicious when accompanied by a good cup of tea. Perfect Sunday evening material.
The best of the rest:
Other highlights of the past week include:
A Saturday afternoon walk along the beach front at Crammond (one of Edinburgh’s more salubrious seaside spots – see photo).
Devouring a macaroni pie in the space of about 30 seconds while standing in the street. Delicious.
Filling up on some rather spicy pizza at Zizzi on Friday night.
I’m tied up with horrible exams and assessments this week, so my poor wee blog is being neglected. Freedom will appear on Thursday (yay!), but in the meantime here’s the trailer for The King’s Speech in case anyone hasn’t seen it yet. This is just one of many reasons why I’m looking forward to 2011! Happy Tuesday blog buds xx
I’ve never been a particularly huge fan of Hogmanay. I like ringing out a spent year and welcoming a new one in and all but seriously, the build-up? It makes my chest tighten with anxiety and my nerves go to shreds. Always has done. Waiting for the New Year is like waiting to be picked in gym class at school, in all its stomach-curdling, spirit-draining ridiculousness. On no other night of the year is there so much pressure heaped upon us to enjoy ourselves and for perhaps that very reason, on no night of the year have I so consistently and spectacularly failed to do just that.
The thing about New Year, I think, is the expectation that everyone should want to go out and party that comes with it. Like you’re somehow abnormal if the idea of paying over a small fortune just to sacrifice your personal space to a bunch of drunk strangers doesn’t appeal to you. What if you don’t want to get hammered and spent the bright new dawn of that New Year nursing a hangover and immersed in regret? What about those of us who just want to have a relatively normal evening in the company of our favourite people? See some fireworks, have a toast and a bit of a giggle and then just bloody well go home?
Well, now that I’m 24 and, you know, all grown up and stuff, I’m calling time on this madness once and for all. My solution? Turn the whole sordid thing into a holiday and escape to some place where no one knows me. So this New Year – provided the snow clears itself up – my boyfriend and I are heading off to Oban (above), a lovely (so I’m told) fishing town right on Scotland’s west coast. We’ve managed to snag ourselves a sea-facing room in a gorgeous-looking B&B for a really reasonable price given the time of year, and are planning on welcoming in 2011 in a cosy pub. A cosy pub which will, all going to plan, have copious amounts of fine ale, a bunch of friendly locals and perhaps a log fire as well…
Minimum stress, maximum relaxation and enjoyment, no great expectations. Just the way it should be.
I live in Edinburgh, and blog about anything I think is worth sharing. I love tea, vintage, polka dots and anything home-made. Please feel free to say hello or to drop me an email. You can also follow me on Twitter (@thethriftychick).
by Michael Palin is a travel writing tour de force. It’s utterly compelling, and so informative my brain nearly burst with all the information it was having to process. As is the norm when I read anything geographical or historical, I was dumbfounded by the sheer depth and breadth of my own ignorance (which was somehow magnified in this case given that Europe is my home continent). Palin’s own desire to learn comes across so well though, that you sort of get the feeling that as long as you’re willing to listen, you won’t be sneered at for a lack of prior knowledge. A must-read for anyone even remotely curious about the history and development of Eastern Europe.
