Do you know, I've been blogging for over five years. I have. That's more than 10% of my life. One of my early blogging favourites, Wife in the North, popped up in my reader the other day, saying she was coming back to blogging after a break. I left a comment saying "Oh, it's all changed, you know", and then started thinking about how, exactly, blogging has changed in those five years.
I have had phases when I've got a bit sad about the development of blogging. In my time, I've written the odd post bewailing this: "oh, it's going all commercial", I've lamented. But mostly, I've enjoyed watching it. Watching it? Heck, I've not just watched from the sidelines. I've been part of it. Because that's one of the great things about blogging. You can be part of it, just by doing it.
So, how has blogging changed over the past five years? Here are my thoughts.
It's just so much bigger. I remember the days when I didn't have a reader, but just scooted round blogs from blog roll to blog roll. If a new blog appeared, it felt like everyone popped over to check it out. A new writer on the block. Now, I imagine it must be much harder for new bloggers to jump in. Perhaps that's why it feels as if there's an "in-crowd" (always a favourite topic for a whinge in the blogosphere). I used to deliberately have a look round blogs I hadn't read before, on a frequent basis. Now, I hardly venture outside my comfort zone of known friends. But that's mostly a function of my changing needs as a blogger. I'm not in search of new readers, particularly, so I'm not in search of new reads. But if I was, I'm aware that it would be tougher than it used to be - there are more readers, but there are a lot more writers.
Yes, blogging has got more commercial. But here's the thing. It doesn't have to be. There are people making money out of blogging. There are people making a living out of blogging. There are people using their blog to support and promote their business. But there are still plenty of people like me, who blog for fun, and are happy to have the odd perk, but who would, and do, willingly blog without perks.
Because it's bigger, blogging is more fragmented. Niches are no longer niches, but whole communities. I don't read blogs about new babies any more, because (dare I say it) once you have left that world behind, you lose the intensity of interest in the issues. I clearly remember the day I read a blog post on baby led weaning, and thought "what the heck is that?" I didn't know about it, and so I couldn't have an opinion. I felt a little excluded. It was a moving-on moment. I still found the post quite interesting though, whereas now, my attention isn't grabbed by baby or toddler issues at all. My conclusion is that most people write blogs that are about the generality of their lives, but that they'll only really attract new readers if they are writing for a specific audience, and those audiences are pretty segmented. Those of us who enjoy the luxury of having made bloggy friends in the early days, find that we can drag them along with our general wittering about life. But I'm guessing that you couldn't really start out that way these days (correct me if I'm wrong).
Blogging is no longer just about writing. Once upon a time, people who had fancy blog designs were in the minority. Now, the design is a crucial part of the blog. Blogs have become much more visual. Photography is a huge element of blogging. Just look at the popularity of Tara Cain's Gallery. Writing takes its place alongside other forms of creative expression: photos, videos, music. It's a richer mix than it used to be. Writing has always been the central interest for me, but I love the variety. There are some blogs that I follow exclusively for their photographs.
Blogging used to be just a little bit shocking. It started with people confessing to imperfect parenting. This is something that we now take for granted, but five years ago, confessing to having lost your temper with your children, or to beginning your anticipation of the 7.30pm post-bedtime glass of wine as you clear away breakfast - these were things that you only revealed to a good friend, jokingly. That's one thing I think blogging has seriously influenced. The general perception of parenthood is much more real, and less sugary than it used to be. There are other areas of life that used to be whispered about, that blogging has made it ok to talk about publicly: infertility is a big one, miscarriage, stillbirth, cancer. It's hard to shock now, in the blogosphere. When I wrote about having cancer, it felt very exposing (I wouldn't do it now - it only felt possible when I was pretty much anonymous). But now the blogosphere is dotted with photos of bald chemotherapy heads, mastectomy scars, blow by blow medical details.
Most obviously, blogging has ridden the wave that has been the surging development of social media. Now this is where I have to go quiet, because I'm immediately out of my depth here. I used to feel protective of blogging, feeling that it would be submerged. Remember that song by The Buggles: Video Killed the Radio Star? I used to fear that social media would kill blogging. But it hasn't, and it isn't. It's giving it new platforms, new opportunities. I'm going to stop on that subject, before I reveal my almost total lack of functional knowledge.
Those are my thoughts on how blogging has changed in the past five years. What about you? What do you think? I'd like to tag a few bloggers who've been around a while, to invite them to share their views. It's an interesting topic. So, consider yourself tagged:
Expat Mum
Potty Mummy
Nappy Valley Girl
Who's The Mummy?
Sticky Fingers
A Modern Mother
The American Resident
Rosie Scribble
More Than Just a Mother
Crystal Jigsaw
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Thursday, September 27, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
The Blue Goose
Disclaimer: Those nice people at Groupon gave me £40 to buy myself a Groupon and review the goods or service.
Now, I do like a Groupon. I've had good Groupon experiences and bad Groupon experiences. In America, I discovered my nearest restaurant with a Groupon, which I'd never have thought of going to otherwise, and which became a favourite. I also discovered a sad, empty restaurant which served not very nice food, an over-priced and inflexible hairdressing salon, and a bit of a mediocre massage therapist. What I like about Groupon, is that it makes you try new things. It's the nearest thing to adventure that I get - or want (I'm quite boring, really). I enjoy the randomness of it. You pick one, you buy it, and sometimes it's great, sometimes it's not. I guess that's the essence of a bargain. Sometimes that sweater that was a steal in the shop becomes your favourite go-to wardrobe item. Sometimes it spends its life accusingly sitting on the shelf, saying "you bought me, now you must darn well wear me, even though I'm really not very nice to look at after all".
When you've moved to a new city, Groupon seems a great way of exploring. Especially if it's a freebie. Thus it was that I purchased "Tapas for Two" at the Blue Goose Country Pub. The description sounded as if the experience contained all I would need for a cosy night out with Husband. It was by the Water of Leith, and the words "Country Pub" always warm the cockles of the heart, especially the heart that has been living in America, thousands of miles away from the nearest country pub. We'd been told that Leith is full of nice eateries and drinkeries, and it's not far from where we are, so I thought it would be an easy night out.
Thing is, no-one told me that the Water of Leith is the name of the river that flows through the city of Edinburgh. So just because an establishment is "by the Water of Leith", it doesn't mean that it's anywhere near Leith. Stop laughing at me. It was an easy mistake. It did mean that the evening didn't get off to a flying start. First, I must have asked Husband about half a dozen times if it really was ok to leave the children with the new puppy on their own, even though the puppy would be asleep all evening (oh... and there's a blog post I haven't written yet... the puppy...). Second, I had the traditional argument with Emily, our GPS voice. She does insist on taking us through the city centre, even though half the roads are closed where they are laying tramlines. Third, we realised pretty soon that we weren't headed for Leith, five minutes away, but for three-quarters of the way down the Lanark Road, about twenty minutes away (or more, if you're relying on Emily).
The Blue Goose is, indeed, right by the Water of Leith, and there is a small outdoor area where you could sit and have a pint (though not on a rainy, cold, dark September evening). But even with as many provisos as I could muster, the words "country pub" seemed... well, perhaps I just have an over-romanticised mental image of a country pub. Call me picky, but the words don't somehow conjure up a building on a major arterial road. The atmosphere as we walked into The Blue Goose wasn't so much open fire, horse brasses and low beams, as brightly lit restaurant area, and bar area with Nutbush City Limits blaring loudly from speakers. We've all had those "this is not what I had in mind" moments, and this was one of mine.
But all's well that ends well. I dropped my pre-conceptions, and decided we were going to have a nice evening anyway. We found a quietish corner, and I think they must have turned the music down. Either that, or Husband's conversation was so scintillating that I filtered out any other decibels. The tapas were delicious. The staff were helpful and when we said we wanted something else to eat, but not a whole course, the waitress suggested the cheeseboard from the dessert menu. She said it was really nice, and she was right. Just the perfect suggestion.
So will I go to The Blue Goose again? In all honesty, I probably won't make a special trip. We are in central Edinburgh, and therefore very spoilt for choice with places to eat and drink without driving for 20-30 minutes with the irritating Emily. But if I happened to be in a traffic jam on the Lanark Road, on my way back from... Lanark, perhaps?... and wanted somewhere for a break, it would be good to know of The Blue Goose, with its easy parking, flexible menu, friendly staff, and memorable name. It might be a balmy summer evening, and I'd order the cheeseboard and a glass of wine, take a table outside, and sit by the Water of Leith. Not very near Leith.
Iota and Husband enjoyed a glass of wine each and six tapas for two, at The Blue Goose, 27 Lanark Road, Edinburgh EH14 1TG. Normal price £32 pounds, covered by a £12 Groupon, representing a £20 saving. And we didn't pay the £12 anyway - thank you, Groupon.
.
Now, I do like a Groupon. I've had good Groupon experiences and bad Groupon experiences. In America, I discovered my nearest restaurant with a Groupon, which I'd never have thought of going to otherwise, and which became a favourite. I also discovered a sad, empty restaurant which served not very nice food, an over-priced and inflexible hairdressing salon, and a bit of a mediocre massage therapist. What I like about Groupon, is that it makes you try new things. It's the nearest thing to adventure that I get - or want (I'm quite boring, really). I enjoy the randomness of it. You pick one, you buy it, and sometimes it's great, sometimes it's not. I guess that's the essence of a bargain. Sometimes that sweater that was a steal in the shop becomes your favourite go-to wardrobe item. Sometimes it spends its life accusingly sitting on the shelf, saying "you bought me, now you must darn well wear me, even though I'm really not very nice to look at after all".
When you've moved to a new city, Groupon seems a great way of exploring. Especially if it's a freebie. Thus it was that I purchased "Tapas for Two" at the Blue Goose Country Pub. The description sounded as if the experience contained all I would need for a cosy night out with Husband. It was by the Water of Leith, and the words "Country Pub" always warm the cockles of the heart, especially the heart that has been living in America, thousands of miles away from the nearest country pub. We'd been told that Leith is full of nice eateries and drinkeries, and it's not far from where we are, so I thought it would be an easy night out.
Thing is, no-one told me that the Water of Leith is the name of the river that flows through the city of Edinburgh. So just because an establishment is "by the Water of Leith", it doesn't mean that it's anywhere near Leith. Stop laughing at me. It was an easy mistake. It did mean that the evening didn't get off to a flying start. First, I must have asked Husband about half a dozen times if it really was ok to leave the children with the new puppy on their own, even though the puppy would be asleep all evening (oh... and there's a blog post I haven't written yet... the puppy...). Second, I had the traditional argument with Emily, our GPS voice. She does insist on taking us through the city centre, even though half the roads are closed where they are laying tramlines. Third, we realised pretty soon that we weren't headed for Leith, five minutes away, but for three-quarters of the way down the Lanark Road, about twenty minutes away (or more, if you're relying on Emily).
The Blue Goose is, indeed, right by the Water of Leith, and there is a small outdoor area where you could sit and have a pint (though not on a rainy, cold, dark September evening). But even with as many provisos as I could muster, the words "country pub" seemed... well, perhaps I just have an over-romanticised mental image of a country pub. Call me picky, but the words don't somehow conjure up a building on a major arterial road. The atmosphere as we walked into The Blue Goose wasn't so much open fire, horse brasses and low beams, as brightly lit restaurant area, and bar area with Nutbush City Limits blaring loudly from speakers. We've all had those "this is not what I had in mind" moments, and this was one of mine.
But all's well that ends well. I dropped my pre-conceptions, and decided we were going to have a nice evening anyway. We found a quietish corner, and I think they must have turned the music down. Either that, or Husband's conversation was so scintillating that I filtered out any other decibels. The tapas were delicious. The staff were helpful and when we said we wanted something else to eat, but not a whole course, the waitress suggested the cheeseboard from the dessert menu. She said it was really nice, and she was right. Just the perfect suggestion.
So will I go to The Blue Goose again? In all honesty, I probably won't make a special trip. We are in central Edinburgh, and therefore very spoilt for choice with places to eat and drink without driving for 20-30 minutes with the irritating Emily. But if I happened to be in a traffic jam on the Lanark Road, on my way back from... Lanark, perhaps?... and wanted somewhere for a break, it would be good to know of The Blue Goose, with its easy parking, flexible menu, friendly staff, and memorable name. It might be a balmy summer evening, and I'd order the cheeseboard and a glass of wine, take a table outside, and sit by the Water of Leith. Not very near Leith.
Iota and Husband enjoyed a glass of wine each and six tapas for two, at The Blue Goose, 27 Lanark Road, Edinburgh EH14 1TG. Normal price £32 pounds, covered by a £12 Groupon, representing a £20 saving. And we didn't pay the £12 anyway - thank you, Groupon.
.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
New to living in Scotland
Here are three things about living in Scotland that I've discovered in the past 24 hours, that I didn't previously know.
Here is one thing I don't know about living in Scotland, and don't really ever want to know.
- It's a bank holiday this coming Monday. The last Monday in August wasn't a bank holiday.
- No prescription charges (wa-hey!).
- If your son puts on his "formal wear" (it being Harvest Festival), and he hasn't had a bath the night before, you will have to spend some precious morning minutes getting him to sit on the bathroom floor with his legs outstretched, scrubbing at the mud with a flannel. Yes, "formal wear" is a kilt, and paraphernalia. I'm not a great fan of strict uniform for children, but I have to confess I do love 11-yo in his kilt regalia (and he likes wearing it, so that helps).
Here is one thing I don't know about living in Scotland, and don't really ever want to know.
- While I was scrubbing 11-yo's knees, he was pondering how you're meant to have a pee in a kilt. He had solved the problem at school by going into a cubicle, and wrapping the event in privacy. But hold your horses before you start typing in the comments box. As I say, if you do know the correct Gents etiquette for kilt-wearers, I don't need to share that knowledge.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Birth certificates
I've just been trying (again) to apply for child benefit. (Now there's a blog post, explaining to my American friends why on earth the government gives you money to look after your child.) I've ticked all the boxes. I've downloaded Adobe Something Latest Version, I've found my children's birth certificates, I've wished on the full moon, but I still can't get the online form to appear. It doesn't seem that you can use the website to request a form to be put in the post to you. The two choices are either to fill in the form online, or to use the one in your new parent Bounty pack, which was given to you in hospital. Fifteen years ago, in my case. I've just phoned the Child Benefit helpline, but they're very busy. All their operators are very busy. So busy, that I couldn't even be put in a queue. They told me I had to phone back later. When I've emerged from my medieval peasant yearnings phase.
I feel I deserve a gold star for finding my children's birth certificates, though. Go on. Give me a gold star. I've moved half way across the world. I have only had internet access in my home for 2 days. I have no idea what the PIN number for my debit card is, so I'm living entirely on credit. I can't remember whether to say shedule or skedule. I have no idea what most of the television I watch is about. The great majority of our paperwork is in stacks, or in boxes. And still I found our children's birth certificates. That must be a gold star. Actually, Husband found them, but I'm taking the credit, because... I can't think of a good reason. I'm just doing it.
Anyway, it's always interesting looking at birth certificates, isn't it? Most parents spend hours and hours choosing a name for their child, but we never think about the name of the registrar who will sign their birth certificate. Our oldest child's was signed by Helen Kettle. Our third's by Sheila Moist. Ms Kettle and Ms Moist! What fabulous names! I think the government could make a penny or two here. Just as people pay to have a personalised number plate on their car, I think there would be potential for charging for the kudos of having someone with an interesting name sign your child's birth certificate. Then the government could use the extra revenue to post out child benefit application forms.
Our second child had his birth certificate signed by A. Lumsden. A disappointingly ordinary name. I can only hope that the suspiciously anonymous A. stood for something interesting. Aardvark, or Anorak.
I feel I deserve a gold star for finding my children's birth certificates, though. Go on. Give me a gold star. I've moved half way across the world. I have only had internet access in my home for 2 days. I have no idea what the PIN number for my debit card is, so I'm living entirely on credit. I can't remember whether to say shedule or skedule. I have no idea what most of the television I watch is about. The great majority of our paperwork is in stacks, or in boxes. And still I found our children's birth certificates. That must be a gold star. Actually, Husband found them, but I'm taking the credit, because... I can't think of a good reason. I'm just doing it.
Anyway, it's always interesting looking at birth certificates, isn't it? Most parents spend hours and hours choosing a name for their child, but we never think about the name of the registrar who will sign their birth certificate. Our oldest child's was signed by Helen Kettle. Our third's by Sheila Moist. Ms Kettle and Ms Moist! What fabulous names! I think the government could make a penny or two here. Just as people pay to have a personalised number plate on their car, I think there would be potential for charging for the kudos of having someone with an interesting name sign your child's birth certificate. Then the government could use the extra revenue to post out child benefit application forms.
Our second child had his birth certificate signed by A. Lumsden. A disappointingly ordinary name. I can only hope that the suspiciously anonymous A. stood for something interesting. Aardvark, or Anorak.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Dilemma
My two youngest have lovely soft blankets on their beds. Baby soft, furry, snuggly, blankets, with satin-feel borders. One in pink, the other in blue. They love them. Originally, the beds were made up with a sheet, and the blanket on top, but they prefer to sleep directly under their much-loved blankets. They just love the softness, the furriness, against their skins. The sheet has been eschewed (I love that word). If it’s cold, they will have a duvet, but over the top of the blanket, not instead of it. They sometimes bring the blankets downstairs, to snuggle under while watching television, and then they take them back up at bedtime, and wrap up like caterpillars on their beds, (and of course they drag the blankets along the floor, gathering dust and fluff as they go).
I’m happy that they associate bedtime with comfort and snuggliness. I do wonder, though, if it matters, having a bedding situation that is different to everyone else’s. It didn’t bother me in America, because I never worked out what was normal bedding. What’s a comforter? Is it a duvet, or a bedspread? Then what about a quilt? Do you put that on top of a comforter, or use it instead of one? And I decided early on that I wasn’t going to mess with the variety of pillows, of which you seem to require a huge number per bed, including a couple of “shams”, whatever those are. But now we’re back in the UK, I feel a need to opt into normalcy (disappointing of me, I know). What do you think? Is there a “normal” when it comes to bedding? Does it matter? Time for a survey, I think. Cast your vote. It's over on the right hand sidebar.
I’m happy that they associate bedtime with comfort and snuggliness. I do wonder, though, if it matters, having a bedding situation that is different to everyone else’s. It didn’t bother me in America, because I never worked out what was normal bedding. What’s a comforter? Is it a duvet, or a bedspread? Then what about a quilt? Do you put that on top of a comforter, or use it instead of one? And I decided early on that I wasn’t going to mess with the variety of pillows, of which you seem to require a huge number per bed, including a couple of “shams”, whatever those are. But now we’re back in the UK, I feel a need to opt into normalcy (disappointing of me, I know). What do you think? Is there a “normal” when it comes to bedding? Does it matter? Time for a survey, I think. Cast your vote. It's over on the right hand sidebar.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
I would like to be a medieval peasant
I would like to be a medieval peasant. 11-yo has been learning about them in History, and I’ve decided I want to be one.
No waiting in for Telecoms Engineers.
No seven-week wait for internet access.
No phoning PlusNet because the promised router hasn’t arrived in the post. After seven weeks.
No having to take back a faulty mobile phone to Tesco to be exchanged.
No aggravating washer-dryer which shrinks your fleeces and your sons’ favourite team sports tops, even on the lowest setting.
No customer care helplines who purport to want to register your appliance so they can activate the warranty, but who in reality want the opportunity to sell you various options for extended warranties, which you can’t say “no” to until you’ve listened to the tedious details, because you’re too polite to interrupt someone talking at you in full flow.
No wrangling with moving companies about insurance claims for broken items.
No having to decide whether to start the laptop in safe mode or not, on the basis of less than zero knowledge of what that means.
No intermittent fault on the new microwave, so that it cuts out randomly. Alas, I see another customer care helpline in my near future.
No having to set the date and time on endless appliances to the sound of electronic beeps.
No having to choose between thirty-five thousand different house insurance companies.
No lengthy forms to fill in register at a GP’s surgery.
No having to remember to put the paper between the name tape and the iron, unless you want a white sticky mess on the plate of the iron.
No having to going to Pilates.
And I bet a first class stamp didn’t cost 60p.
It’s back to the Dark Ages for me. Bring it on. Scratchy clothes, cold house, mud everywhere, matted hair, warty face. Untreated verrucas on your children’s feet. Wattle and daub (whatever that was). Nothing to look forward to except jolly wassailing at Yuletide, followed by the Black Death. I suppose I might miss my creature comforts, but at least no-one would say to me “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
Saturday, September 1, 2012
One wallow at the end of a summer
I've moved continents twice, and that makes me something of an expert. Expert... expat... same difference. And from my expert point of view, here is one tip. You will have days when you just need to wallow for a few hours. Go ahead and wallow. (I suppose this expert advice applies to any move, really.)
I had a wallowy day on Friday. Wednesday had been "new pupil day" for the kids. That was all fun and jollity. Thursday had been the first proper day of school, and they all came home exhausted. Their faces were white and drawn. They slumped. They had homework to do (homework on day one - what kind of unreasonable behaviour is that on the part of the teachers?). Homework is called "prep". I've never liked that. It smacks of a fib. The idea is, I'm guessing, that the children are so enthralled by their school work, that they find out what the teacher is planning on teaching the following day, and prepare themselves for it. Whereas we all know that in reality, prep is either finishing off a task that was started in class, or is an assignment related to what has already been covered. It's only very, very occasionally "prep".
I digress. Back to Thursday night. By the time slumping had been done, dinner had been consumed, and prep had been completed, it was late, the chance of an early bedtime had been blown, and I went to bed as exhausted as my children and hard-working husband, and feeling a bit of a failure, frankly. I mean, they're the ones starting a new school or new job. Friday was their second day, and I packed them off, and then had a good wallow.
I was washing up, and as I did so, I shut my eyes, and I recalled the sounds of washing up at my old sink in my old kitchen in my old home. I missed the mournful hoot of the trains. I missed Diane Ream on NPR. I missed the crickets, made noisy by the heat of the sun. I missed knowing exactly how long it would take to get to Dillons and back. I missed having a diary full of events and people. I missed my job, my MA course, my big fridge...
Then I recalled the early days in America. How I used to wash up, and shut my eyes, and miss the sounds I'd left behind in Scotland. The seagulls, the CBeebies signature tunes, the clinking of a zip against the window of the washing machine the other side of the kitchen, The Archers. I missed the shops on the High Street, the walk there and back with the stroller. I missed the busy calendar on the back of the cupboard door. I missed the sea. Boy, did I miss the sea...
It felt very strange. A deja vue, or a time warp. Memories of memories, re-feelings of feelings. It seems I have come full circle. I'm in Scotland, missing a place, where I used to stand and miss Scotland. But it isn't a full circle. It's two halves of two different circles. Life isn't always joined up, is it?
Anyway, I had a good wallow. And then I felt better. Now those are two halves of the same circle.
.
I had a wallowy day on Friday. Wednesday had been "new pupil day" for the kids. That was all fun and jollity. Thursday had been the first proper day of school, and they all came home exhausted. Their faces were white and drawn. They slumped. They had homework to do (homework on day one - what kind of unreasonable behaviour is that on the part of the teachers?). Homework is called "prep". I've never liked that. It smacks of a fib. The idea is, I'm guessing, that the children are so enthralled by their school work, that they find out what the teacher is planning on teaching the following day, and prepare themselves for it. Whereas we all know that in reality, prep is either finishing off a task that was started in class, or is an assignment related to what has already been covered. It's only very, very occasionally "prep".
I digress. Back to Thursday night. By the time slumping had been done, dinner had been consumed, and prep had been completed, it was late, the chance of an early bedtime had been blown, and I went to bed as exhausted as my children and hard-working husband, and feeling a bit of a failure, frankly. I mean, they're the ones starting a new school or new job. Friday was their second day, and I packed them off, and then had a good wallow.
I was washing up, and as I did so, I shut my eyes, and I recalled the sounds of washing up at my old sink in my old kitchen in my old home. I missed the mournful hoot of the trains. I missed Diane Ream on NPR. I missed the crickets, made noisy by the heat of the sun. I missed knowing exactly how long it would take to get to Dillons and back. I missed having a diary full of events and people. I missed my job, my MA course, my big fridge...
Then I recalled the early days in America. How I used to wash up, and shut my eyes, and miss the sounds I'd left behind in Scotland. The seagulls, the CBeebies signature tunes, the clinking of a zip against the window of the washing machine the other side of the kitchen, The Archers. I missed the shops on the High Street, the walk there and back with the stroller. I missed the busy calendar on the back of the cupboard door. I missed the sea. Boy, did I miss the sea...
It felt very strange. A deja vue, or a time warp. Memories of memories, re-feelings of feelings. It seems I have come full circle. I'm in Scotland, missing a place, where I used to stand and miss Scotland. But it isn't a full circle. It's two halves of two different circles. Life isn't always joined up, is it?
Anyway, I had a good wallow. And then I felt better. Now those are two halves of the same circle.
.
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