Scotland

Holyrood Letter

And so my brief liaison with Scottish politics continues today with a letter asking me for my vote in the Scottish Labour Party leadership face-off. Seeing as I am not a member of Scottish Labour, receiving an actual, real ballot is slightly .. surprising.

It reminds me that I am an expat. I know my Danish Parliament/Folketing. I know exactly who I will be voting for come election time (for, lo, I retain my general election voting rights in Denmark). Scotland? I'm not able to vote in the British general elections, but I will be voting come next Scottish parliamentary election. The Scots have fewer parties than the Danes, but that does not make it any easier to decide. Au contraire. Thankfully it seems as though I will have some time to figure things out as the next election is about three years away. I have adjusted to the fact that I am now living "elsewhere".

And, no, I don't think I'll be casting my vote in the Scottish Labour leadership face-off. I can't think of any good reasons to do so.

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Like the Drip Drip Drip of the Raindrops..

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I'm sitting here quietly listening to the gentle drips of water flowing into .. a bucket I have to empty every two hours or else.

Yesterday's sore throat/headache-tranquillity was broken by our downstairs neighbour pounding on the door. Water was dripping into the kitchen. Seeing as we've had some sort of leak around our sink and had been waiting for a plumber since last Monday (long story and a boring one too), I wasn't too surprised. A few phone calls later and I was still waiting for a plumber, but now I had been promised one and on the same day! Same day meant next day, of course, and so far he has put a bucket under the sink, ripped part of the window frame out, dismantled a tap .. and left.

Oh, if you are in Edinburgh on Saturday, my friend Lilith is doing a trunk show of her fabulous hand-dyed yarns (she runs Old Maiden Aunt). There'll also be handspun yarn and tiny trickets. The whole she-bang takes place at K1 Yarns just off Grassmarket.

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Life's A Cabaret, Old Chum

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Some time ago my partner, David, bought us tickets for the one-year anniversary of Dr. Sketchy's Anti-Art School - a burlesque-meets-art school monthly event. David and a pirate had attended a previous Dr. Sketchy's and loved it.

What happened? A lot, I tell you. I sang along to Cole Porter songs and my partner produced this:

Some of you might know that in my former life as a quasi-academic, I worked and published on Alasdair Gray, the writer and the writer-artist. Who would have thought I'd end up sitting next to him at a burlesque-meets-art school event? Or that David would think it funny to draw Ally Gray and have him sign the drawing? It beats my signed first edition hands down, damn him.

Another boon was that the founder of Dr. Sketchy, the very lovely Molly Crabapple (NSWF, possibly) was present as well. I've long nourished a minor internet crush on her and her illustrations. Sigh. And we absolutely loved Kitten on the Keys (quite NSFW) and David drew yet another fabulous portrait. I'd post it but it'd completely ruin his ego.

Mmm.. I'll be humming Cole Porter songs in my sleep, methinks.