We went up to Aberdeen this half term to meet friends. The sky was blue and the city was silver. We ate, wandered and laughed.
Memories popped up everywhere, like a whack-a-mole time travelling dream.
Bus stops I stood at with my Mum when I was small. The little restaurant husband and I skived off to the day I got my first mobile. The top floor of a skyscraper where I was too terrified to step onto the balcony.
Little windows in the Zoology museum that evoke wonder (and slight confusion).
I remember adults being upset about graffiti when I was small. I understand why – it was mostly just vandalism then.
When it’s done with intention, when it isn’t spoiling something enjoyable or holistically purposeful though, I get that. It’s modern cave-painting. It’s the creative burst, no matter how crude the subject, in which I feel aware of the mood & movement of the originator, like residual aura.
Sometimes it’s wild giggling.
Other times it’s humour, identity or control; always interesting when the compulsion has simultaneously been about creativity, infamy and rebellion.
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There’s no other place in the world that I’ve been to that smells of the savoury side of a brewery. Perhaps bizarrely, I like it.
That smells hits you when it tumbles down the taxi slope in Waverley and it drifts round the streets at night too, hanging in the darkness between buildings.
I’ve fallen in love with Edinburgh, this week. It’s taken a while. It does, when your attention is frequently elsewhere. At last, all my emotions caught up with my experiences and I put my anchor down, without thinking.
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I’m walking, inspired by Cheryl of Wild movie fame. In my version there’s vacuuming, friends, reading, writing, husband and kids.
So I go home for pit stops.
I relate to resetting through walking, thinking and experiencing. It’s cathartic, like I imagine shedding a skin feels – you, but new, too.
It’s a very literal way of gaining perspective – zooming in and out of a setting. Seeing the detail and the big picture.
The light changed as the end of January lazily stretched out and beckoned February in. I’m so glad.
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