My week in Edinburgh

Now that was a holiday in which all went much as planned and I spent the entire week doing bugger all in a British context. Really, the big win is simply not being in America, so anything on top of that is jam.

My flat was lovely, 15 minutes from town and in a great area with plenty of cafes, restaurants and (heaven!) a take-away baked potato shop. Wine shop and Coop around the corner so there was limited danger of running out of  booze or Jaffa Cakes. I rediscovered tea and drank cup after cup. (What is it with the tea in America? It’s as though the entire country has a mortal fear of boiling water so no kettle actually heats up enough. Or maybe it’s the water? I’m back now and currently drinking a crap cup of tea and I don’t understand why it’s so bad.)

Anyway, quick summary of the week before my flight gets called:

Chips, wine and Strictly Come Dancing. This was exactly what I wanted to be doing, having an ordinary Saturday night in. I think Tankgirl Dave was a bit astonished that I leapt on the idea with such enthusiasm.

Shopping the 80s trends. How have I managed to come home without something feathered, sequinned, lace or metallic, or indeed a combination of all fabrics? I resisted this skirt and these boots, so admire my restraint. (Although, I could get the boots from TopShop NY and AllSaints does ship internationally so the idea isn’t dead and buried.) Whereas US stores are taking their clothes oh so seriously, the UK high street fashion stores are having some fun with it all and there was much hilarious trying on of wildly unsuitable clothing. Short, black satin dress with variety of chains at the scooped neckline? Why yes, I believe I will scurry to the changing room with it, giggling like a teenager.

Dinner at The Witchery, about the most beautiful restaurant I have ever seen with the best food I have eaten in years. Celeriac and truffle oil soup; ricotta and pumpkin tart; a cheese plate for dessert. Dave got about half a pint of madeira and was nearly undone by the cab ride home over cobbled streets.

Best massage and facial ever. Usually, it takes two weeks of holiday to achieve that level of relaxation. Wondering how I can get a job in Edinburgh that pays well enough to support a weekly spa trip. Wondering how soon I can organise Dave and Mrs C up there for a return visit. I’m thinking 2010, ladies?

Walking, walking, walking. I’d set off with a destination in mind, and then somewhere along the way a Georgian crescent or narrow, stepped alley would lure me from my path and set me wandering again. Since I wasn’t in a hurry and didn’t have to be anywhere, the detour just became the new route to wherever I ended up. Eventually there would be that ‘A-ha!’ moment as another piece of Edinburgh’s street map fell into place. I’m hoping that all those steep hills and steps have been enough to counter the almond croissants and chips. To my mind, this was one of the best things and so it was good that I was on my own.

Blackwells, where I had reserved a copy of Wolf Hall because it was sold out in NY. Of course, every bookshop over there was knee deep in copies. Oh well, better safe than gnashing one’s teeth in frustration at one’s own lack of forethought. And since I was there it seemed rude not to:

• Ashenden – W Somerset Maugham. Stories based on Maugham’s experience doing intelligence work during WWI, all the usual hallmarks of Maugham’s writing. Sometimes, I wish his narrators would have  a bit more heart to them.
• The Complaints – Ian Rankin. Which I read in a sort of disjointed way and so missed the flow of it and also kept waiting for Rebus to appear. But Malcolm Fox is certainly a new character and I’d read more about him.
• The Brontes Went to Woolworths – Rachel Ferguson. None of the reviews I’ve seen have mentioned how downright weird this is. Good, but strange. About Sheil, Deirdre, Katerine and their mother, who bring into their lives imaginary friends and enjoy a rich and detailed friendship with them. Until one day, Deirdre meets the real life versions of one of the couples and the family has to fit fantasy and reality together.
• Henrietta’s War – Joyce Dennis. A joy, reminded me of ‘Diary of a Provincial Lady’.
• The Gates – John Connolly. TBR.

A quick skip through the National Gallery, a wander up to the Castle, much meandering through Grassmarket, the Royal Mile, Lawnmarket. Mugs bought for me and Zoesmom that say ‘Queen of Fucking Everything’. We will rule jointly and with great benevolence.

Mary Kings’s Close – part of the underground city, where the poor lived in the usual squalid, packed, unhealthy conditions, being murdered and dying of the plague.

The Oxford Bar – my DIY Rebus tour, which also took in Fettes and Kingstables Road, although the last only because I was lost again but then it all made sense. Oh, and Leith, because a lot of action in The Complaints happens there. Anyway, ‘the Ox’ was tiny and bare, with a wine list of ‘red or white’ and a menu of crisps or nuts. The back room containts half a dozen rickety wooden tables and chairs. No music, no TV, no frills or furbelows, it’s a proper drinker’s pub.

So now I’m back and hoping not to slump into a post-holiday depression. Probably, I should go to a diner. But I have learned that going on holiday on one’s own is a marvellous thing to do, and shall suffer nary a qualm next time.

P.S Read Wolf Hall on the plane and it was excellent. Hilary Mantel is the un-Philippa Gregory.

An Englishwoman’s home is her castle

And today we went castle shopping. Neither of us has ever owned a house before, and the awareness that the bank blithely pre-approved us for a mortgage with no real questions asked is gobsmacking. Ideally, we would stay in Easton or Redding, but rather than waiting for property prices to fall the 50% or so it would take to put them within our means, we took the practical step of looking a bit further away. There is a nice little town that offers such unaccustomed thrills as an independent used/new bookstore, a good pizza restaurant, a yoga studio, two(!) diners and a direct train line to GCT . Dorothy, Hobgoblin and Muttboy live there too, so what could be more of an enticement?

We found a great realtor (we have a realtor! I’m suddenly living in a Richard Ford novel!) via Zoesmom’s mom and he proceeded to be very patient as we spent a long time in houses that we would not be buying. In every house, he and Mike grabbed torches and headed down to the basement where they traded comments about the wiring, the plumbing, the foundations, the I don’t know even know what. I have learned what French drains are, and that a garage floor can be pitched so that the melted snow just flows out of it. It’s exactly like being a grown up planning to spend more than quarter of a million dollars on something. OMFG.

House #1 – colonial, 1920, 3 bed, 2 bath, on just over 1 acre within walking distance of downtown. Admire the flower garden, the side porch, the beautifully maintained exterior. Could I see myself sipping a Pimms on that porch on long summer evenings? Would a puppy gambol at my heels as I walked happily into town on brisk spring mornings? Doesn’t that brick chimneystack promise warm winter evenings, toasting (vegetarian friendly) marshmallows over an open fire? Well, that fantasy life died hard and fast. Oh, the poor house. If the asking price came down by $100,000 and we had time enough and patience enough to gut the entire place back to a shell and rebuild it again, it could have been beautiful.

House #2 – another colonial, 3 bed, 2 bath, 1/2 acre lot. What’s that you said? Couldn’t hear you over the noise of the traffic. Let’s go inside and see if it’s any quieter… No, sorry, still can’t hear you. What’s that stuff in the corner of the basement? Oh, black mould, you say? Aand, moving on.

House #3 – yes, it’s another colonial, 1820. This one is set back and up from the road, on an acre of land. It’s surprisingly quiet. The downstairs rooms have been knocked through, so there are two fireplaces at right angles to each other in one, large, L-shaped room. The floor throughout is original wide planking, unpainted. Doors have latches rather than handles. The kitchen is more of a suggestion than a reality, although there’s a huge, lovely, wood stove against one wall. This too could be a beautiful house, with far less to undo than #1 but we know we can’t afford to give it the tlc it deserves. I can’t believe we are even having a casual conversation about taking up ALL THE FLOORING and relaying the planks so that they don’t squeak and moan.

House #4 – 60s expanded ranch with double garage, on 1 acre lot. From the listing information we had seen, this was our least favourite. And then we walked in and it was fine. No significant work needed. Ok, the kitchen wasn’t ideal, the water tank should be replaced, the dodgy wood panelling absolutely had to go, but basically, it was moveinable. But fine was all it was and all it could ever hope to be, and I want more than fine for something I’m about to invest in so significantly.

And that was day 1 of the househunting process (which I do not intend to document in faithful detail, fear not) and it was one hell of a learning curve. I think our dream of owning a 100 year old house died today, but that’s ok. We’re beginning to figure out what level of work we’re prepared to do on a house: not much. We’re beginning to weigh the respective merits of larger lot vs walking distance to town, and unpretty exterior vs large, light interior. There are more houses to see, and if none of them is right then we’ll wait.

Eight points about the child free

I’ve chatted to a few friends of varying ages about this and it seems fairly common. Particularly within the family, children are a currency that buy you more worth. Alas, since I am then stony broke and staying that way, a little renegotiation is in order.

1. My time is just as valuable to me as yours is to you.
2. Not having children does not automatically make me younger than you. I’m still a tax paying, salary earning grownup with valid life experience.
3. I have a life! If you want to see me, make plans. I won’t change existing plans to fit in with your last minute arrangements. See #1.
4. No, my home does not contain toys or a TV. I don’t need these things. It does contain me. However, if toys and a TV are what you are visiting, try a department store.
5. You know, I don’t find your home particularly adult friendly…
6. It is not demanded by law that I accede to your holiday plans. See #1 and #3.
7. Yes, I went shopping again. You chose kids, I chose disposable income. Deal with it.
8. Oh, and by the way, remaining child free is not a peculiar alternative lifestyle choice.