Total Pageviews

Tuesday, 10 January 2012

I come and I go

Pulling out of Inverness
Sharon drove me and Oscar to Inverness station for a mid-morning train to Edinburgh. The weather is absurdly mild for January. Saying goodbye to Mum, giving her a quick kiss "Quickly now, darling.  You know I hate stringing things out" So it was long ago, with even less said, when I was off to boarding school - first at 6 years old. That's always my taste of parting. No better, no worse than something more effusive. I've got food for Oscar on the journey; for myself a miniature of Malt Whisky, two prosciutto sandwiches on rye, a length of bratwurst and my novel, reading the climactic chapters of Robert Edric's Cradle Song. It's a procedural - an un-thrilling thriller. That felt right for the chilling horror of its theme - the pursuit of a paedophile ring. I found tears welling in my eyes near the end. I know, as anyone who reads of it, who knows professionals who try to deal with it. of the scope and depth of depravity humans can plumb. Edric's minimalist prose connects the grim weather and scenery of his plot with something similar inside his criminals; which grows too inside those who pursue them.
Edinburgh Waverley, my train south
Later on my train from Edinburgh to New Street I watched a DVD of a film directed by Max Faerberboeck (The trailer makes it out a war film, which is a true, yet untrue, but viewed, along with the change of title to The Downfall of Berlinas necessary publicity) of the book I've just read, anonymously authored, titled A Woman in Berlin, translated, quite recently from German, though published - then withdrawn - not long after the events they describe. The film was exciting, by no means schmaltzy, at times electric, but - despite the rich setting of a devastated city, costumes, special effects, voices, fine acting, score by the great Zbigniew Preisner - without the impact and realism of the book, where those things defined by the choices of the film-maker, are defined by the reader's imagination in the hands of the writer; an anonymous author describing her's and her companion's experiences in the form of a diary.
Oscar slept most of the eight-hour journey in a pleasantly uncrowded train. Lin met us at New Street.
*** ***
Yesterday afternoon I had a shorter walk than usual - along the Farnack, now running quieter than for the last few days, back along the puddled lane to Brin Croft - the terriers, my satellites, never bored. In the evening my mother took Sharon and me out to the Snow Goose for supper - a pub in a most unpromising setting next to the Inverness Retail Park with a good chef making superlative and well-served pub food - a juicy red steak, calamari, fried liver and bacon, plus some draft Deuchars Caledonian - a local beer which my mother also likes. We were especially sat by a lively log fire and a table to which  mum could draw up her wheelchair. We finished with Irish Coffee which mum to her chagrin had trouble drinking until Sharon with her usual swift attentiveness found her a more convenient shaped glass.
*** ***
Mark has sent me an email from the village with photos of his and Sally's New Year trip to the mountains of Northern Greece:
Mark and Teal in Zagori
Hi Simon just a few teasing photos for you to ponder over before you get over here to eat wildboar suppers, hare stiffados, royal roasts with pate's made from the finest chickla. Just remind me when you are here so I can go out and gather all of these of course. Cheers Mark
Η Πίνδος είναι η μεγαλύτερη οροσειρά της Ελλάδας

No comments:

Post a Comment

Back numbers