This great flood of visitors

Posted: June 26, 2012 in Photography
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Two reunions, one pug, an art exhibit and the death of John’s budding career as a mixologist. Read on.

A few months ago, we met up with former flatmate (and fellow ex-expat), Gail. It is, without exaggeration, the first time we’ve been on the same continent in about five years. Gail has recently moved to back to Scotland on a more permanent basis, and while she’s technically still on the other side of the country, Perth is still a damn sight closer than Portugal.

After lunch at Fifi & Ally, we made a quick stop at TK Maxx where I a) had my bank card returned to me by a lovely lady in the queue who registered the panic on my face and realised it was mine, and b) bought a set of shelves for the bathroom that I may or may have broken on the two-minute train ride home. (It was completely reparable.)

“Yes, capital craftsmanship. Mine?”

Once Wilfred was done inspecting her jewellery, we watched The Artist as part of my continuing efforts to see every Best Picture winner at the Oscars. Thankfully, this was a positive experience (Uggie the dog being a particular highlight) and not a repeat of the mental and physical torture that was sitting through 131 minutes of The Hurt Locker.

The followng month, it was back to Café Hula for French toast with bacon and maple syrup deliciousness…

…and reunions with our beloved Cassie! (Who, as it happens, has recently moved to Glasgow.) She was actually one of the very first people I met at St Andrews, but – due to the same geographical restrictions that hampered most of my friendships after moving to Japan – this was my first time seeing her since we graduated.

Alas, due to her line of work, she’s still not the easiest person to track down even when we’re living in the same city. Case in point: she was – at this precise moment – on the phone outside, being sequestered back to an oil rig.

A week later, we received a visit altogether more pug-like in nature. Once again, Alf spent Humphrey’s entire visit doting on him, unlike poor Wilfred who waited it out by hiding in his cat tree. Indeed, the only picture I have of them together is the one where John and I are physically holding them in the same frame.

As a side note: I always forget how singularly enormous Alf is until I see a normal-sized person holding him (as opposed to Lurch in the background there).

We took Humphrey for a walk and returned to find this. I’ve mentioned before that Alf likes to sit by the window and wait for us to come home…

…though rarely has he done it in so British a fashion as the day we found him sitting with a cup of tea.

And what visit would be complete without a mini-makeover. John once again proving himself the daughter(-in-law) mum never had.

Farewell, Humphrey bear!

In May, Victoria drove us out to the Quentin Blake exhibit at the Paisley Museum – an artist who is inextricably linked to my childhood via his illustrations in all of the Roald Dahl books. Unfortunately, we made the fatal mistake of letting John handle the map on the way there, which added 20 minutes onto the journey but did take us a rather scenic detour through Dykebar. Yes, you read that right: Dykebar.

Inside, there was an “activity area” set up for the children where you could trace some of Blake’s drawings. And by children, I mean John.

The exhibit itself was actually a little underwhelming (£2 was roughly four times more than I would have paid if I’d known it was a single four-walled room with a play area), but I did enjoy the cat pictures. Also, I probably shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up after reading three separate reviews for the museum which recommended that it be demolished.

Still, while the exhibit left something to be desired, my inaugural visit to Whole Foods afterwards did not. So much crunchy granola hippy goodness under one roof.

Sadly, the last encounter went undocumented; that being our last movie night with Nicola before she left for New Zealand. As befitting an evening with Nic, we’d saved the absolute best of the absolute worst horror movies we could find. To wit: Nude Nuns with Big Guns, which may even have rivalled The Gay Bed & Breakfast of Terror for unparalleled craptacularity. (“I’m gonna nail you harder than they nailed Jesus to the cross!”) Nic’s sister also arrived later in the night to pick her up, but ended up staying for the entirety of Shark Night. It wasn’t quite on par with Nude Nuns, but it did succeed in having the most bafflingly idiotic scene in which a girl is about to be drowned in a shark cage with gaping holes that she is more than capable of just swimming out of.

The true horror of the night was, however, leaving John in charge of the cocktails: and watching in dismay as he brought home peach schnapps and apple juice. How he could have possibly figured schnapples (patent pending) to be a desirable combination I’m not sure; but, as Nic so accurately observed, “In fairness, we’re all Scottish. We’ll drink anything.”

Touché.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s