My Wonderful Easter Weekend

Book of the Week: Shadowlands by Peter Straub (yup, still there)

Yesterday, Number Two and I went out to the scuzziest street in town (it’s always been in the news at some point or other – but more often of late, no thanks to all the problems with asbestos). Nothing sleazy – it was work. There have been calls from a couple of local councillors to just knock the whole street down and we had to talk to people there about what life was like in the armpit of Fife.

It was a most interesting – and surprisingly, not at all intimidating – experience. I got my first whiff of pot / grass / weed (whatever it was, it was absolutely stinking) when one very stoned out resident came to the door – when he opened the door, I swear you could see the flies in the stairwell drop like… well, flies. The cloud of whatever he had been getting high on came out like a backdraft. I’m surprised he managed to answer as coherently as he did (which isn’t really saying much – and they were mostly yes / no questions anyway, not like I wanted to prolong the interview). After he shut the door, I turned around to Number Two who was at the other door and made a “smoking” gesture just to double-check if I had smelled what I thought I did.

Met people who were just desperate to get out – called the street Fife Council’s “dustbin” – and I could see why. One guy on the top floor had mushrooms growing out of the loft. Another woman related how her partner had broken into the homeless flat across from theirs at least twice, once to stop a woman from being strangled. And apparently, there are needles out back. There’s nothing wrong with the flats – it’s the street that’s the problem. Basically, the hardware’s OK, but the software’s shite. There are a lot of decent people living there who, if they could, would transport their flats somewhere else. Nobody wants to live next to druggies, serial offenders, ex-cons (whose exact crimes are unknown), teenage thugs, or deadbeat parents popping out the next generation of ASBO kids faster than a hen can lay eggs.

I came back almost three hours later feeling in need of a mental and physical soaking in Dettol. I felt dirty, but also incredibly thankful and blessed that I’m living in a clean, warm, cozy flat with decent neighbours – and in a warped kind of way, wishing we could do exercises like this more often, not sit in the office and squeeze an article out of someone who was there (as opposed to our actually being there). Really, some of the stories we heard yesterday!

Post-lunch, Gareth, Wilson (our new Couchsurfing friend from Brazil) and I went for a drive and had a lovely, slow afternoon out exploring Culross. It was quite the barrel of laughs – we made jokes about Wilson not hearing anything through his beanie, played on the teeter-totters, took photos of Gareth on his mobile phone while on an elephant (“It’s a trunk call!”) and Gareth fell off the swing and overstretched his tummy muscles. Stopped to say hi to a doggie and his little old lady owner and met Dougie Vipond. We also went to Koi for a scrummy Japanese dinner afterwards. I’ve especially enjoyed hosting Wilson – I do love spending time with Gareth, but it gives a whole new dynamic to the weekend when someone is staying over. After we got home, I got a secret and kinda special card from Gareth, which contained clues to my very own personalised Easter egg hunt. It was so great!

Today, I went for Easter service. My first church service since I moved over last May. Was never really sure which church the united congregation had chosen to worship in – thought it was St John’s, but of course, as things are wont to turn out when I think something, it was in St Peter’s. It’s really quite a beautiful church. Airy, bright, high ceilings, stained glass windows. Half the time I wasn’t paying attention to the service for gazing at the red and blue lattice pattern behind the altar. The children’s performance (two songs – and repeated!) was a bit toe-curlingly cringeworthy, in that it was obvious they hadn’t rehearsed, didn’t know the words and were obviously not interested in being there. I tuned out and flipped to “Be Thou My Vision”, just to see if I could still remember the words (I can, but just). The purple hymnal was a bit pants, I thought – only treble clef notes, and all single ones at that. It was an Easter service, but it certainly didn’t feel like the Easter services I am familiar with, and fond of. Didn’t have that joyful exuberance that is so evident back home when celebrating the risen Christ.

So, overall, a bit of a mixed bag weekend, but an extremely eye-opening and very fun one. We have a new friend. I got to do something new for work. Went to church. Looking forward to more such weekends in the spring and summer.

Factoids of the Week:
The philtrum is the two wavy lines connecting the bottom of your nose to your top lip.

Posh word for someone who constantly picks boogers: rhinotillexomaniac.

I always thought it was hypochondriac, but there’s another word for people who are extremely concerned about their health: valetudinarian.

Hypocorism is the act or use of giving a pet a name.

The adjective for something which is of or to do with the alphabet is abecedarian.