Catching Up Is Hard To Do

Book of the Week: Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke

I was going to start this post with a rant about the little things in life that have really annoyed me over the past week but I am going to be a big-picture person and look at the things which make me happy instead. And then maybe I’ll get back to being negative and bitchy.

It’s an absolutely beautiful blue-sky day out. Inverkeithing is looking positively golden from the living room window. Just looking out makes me happy. It’s been a crappy summer – rain, rain, clouds, chill, more rain – and I’m feeling a bit guilty that the first weekend it’s been sunny and summery in weeks, I’m sitting indoors catching up on the last two months. All my fault – if I’d been more diligent at posting, I wouldn’t be stuck here now, so I should just get down to it.

The Big News is that I now have an additional five letters after my name. Whoopee! Became an M. Litt on July 2. It was quite surreal sitting in the Barony Hall thinking, this is the culmination of all I have worked for over the last five years. It’s almost too good to be true. Good things come to those who wait, they say, but it’s been Christmas all at once this year. I’m in Scotland, finally, living with a totally wonderful guy, being paid to do a job I like and am not too bad at, and 10 years after I started my first master’s degree, have one at long last. In the past, I would have been over the moon to achieve any one of those objectives in any one year, and this year I got all of them in one fell swoop. It’s just too good.

Still, graduation itself was a bit of an anti-climax – don’t know if it was because my family wasn’t there, or because I’d gone through it before, or if I’m just getting old and blasé about things. We went down on Sunday morning and stayed at the Alamo Guesthouse in Glasgow (as insurance against having to brave M8 traffic on a Monday morning, given that the ceremony was at 11am), and popped into Buchanan Galleries to get a few knick-knacks (earrings, press-stud brooch – the cheongsam didn’t have buttons for graduation gown eyelets – safety pins, and MAKE-UP!!! I still can’t believe I spent £30 on girly accessories – that could have bought me at least six books!). We lunched at the Buchanan Tea Rooms, where I had a rather mild chicken jalfrezi and where Gareth had to return to after two hours in the Galleries because he’d left the mobile phone on the table.

The shopping was an experience in itself – felt kind of stupid asking the salesgirls about foundation and mascara, and was introduced to the concealer stick, which literally covers a multitude of facial sins. We were so tired after that, me from looking for stuff I only interested in because I didn’t want to look like a total twat at graduation, and Gareth from being dragged around (the rubbish weather didn’t help), we just went back to the Alamo and had a really long snooze. Ended the day at Scarlet on Sauchiehall Street, where we had a lovely Italian dinner. I must be getting set in my ways – no matter how tempting the menu at any Italian, I always feel like I want pasta. The more mushrooms and sausages, the less I am able to resist. Then went back to the Alamo, played with the obese furball named Flash, and watched some more Princess Diana memorial concert stuff. (Duran Duran have not aged well.)

Graduation day the second time around was a lot less stressful – I still remember Hoon sleeping over for the first one, to help me do my hair and make-up, and then panicking when, probably due to lack of sleep, she burnt a wee patch in my cheongsam. (Fortunately, it was small enough to be covered up by a stylised daisy brooch.) This time, it was wake-up at 7am, breakfast (no fry-ups, bleah – the owners really should have mentioned this on their website, I felt quite cheated), then it was a good hour at the bathroom mirror, trying hard not to look like the lovechild of Bozo and a raccoon, by smudging the mascara and/or applying too much blusher. A double first for me – applying make-up on my own, and for my own graduation to boot! We must have looked like a scene out of Suzie Wong when we stepped out of the guesthouse, with Gareth walking in front and me teetering in heels and all dolled up in glittery cheongsam, fighting with the luggage and trying to keep the door open simultaneously.

Glasgow at 9.15am on a Monday is hell. Bloody Weegie drivers. At a traffic light, one of them – who was already in the yellow box, no less – came out of the car to ask Gareth “what do you think you’re doing”. Mr Kiasu Weegie thought we were cutting into his place in the yellow box. The irony. Then we had to rush to the registry on George Street to collect my invitations (I got three, which meant Ken and June could have been there as well, but of course the uni doesn’t tell you these things), and then brave the one-way system to get to the Student Union to pick up the gown. I ended up swopping my £6 George at Asda heels for the Salomon trainers and sprinting uphill.

Weather was starting to get rubbishy by the time we got to the Barony Hall, so after a few more shots, we both went through separate entrances (Gareth by the front, me by the back) to be seated. I spent ages in the ladies’ sorting out my stupid bird press-stud brooch, which seemed to have an aversion to the centre of my dress. I kept getting it squint and although it probably looked all right to everyone else, I just had to adjust and readjust it until it felt absolutely right. (Otherwise I don’t think I could have sat still during the ceremony – it would have been like trying to scratch an itch at the back of my mind.) Met Sallyanne, Cat and Michael – very happy to see Sallyanne, and I like to think she felt the same.

Don’t remember much of the ceremony, probably because I was trying to not-too-subtly point to Gareth what shots to take. (It’s the control freak in me.) Disappointed to end up not having that many, given what the day meant to me, but tempered some by ordering the DVD. Remember an Indian professor being awarded an honorary PhD, and then it was time for us to wait in line for the dean to call our names (he got mine spot-on), go up on stage with our gowns over our left arms, bow in front of the principal (who said “Congratulations, very well done, very well done indeed” – he sounded like he really meant it too, because he was so smiley and enthusiastic) and then move a little further along where a couple of other uni heavies threw the gown over our shoulders and presented us with our certs (was expecting a scroll, but got a thick blue cardboard folder – looks quite smart, I must admit, and it’s certainly something different). Was supposed to have a procession to the Lord Tod afterwards for the reception, but as it had started to piss down by then, it was a no-go. Will always remember the principal’s posh-speak for the rain, though – “the weather has not been sufficiently clement”. Whoo!

Waited in the car for the rain to clear and got to the Lord Tod in time for one of the last few champagne glasses of apple juice, caught up with Sallyanne some more, and then went back to the Student Union to return the gown and get my official portrait taken. Was a nightmare walking uphill in those heels. Wondered about the gown being perfectly centre, but a spry, chirpy old man in charge told me not to worry – the scroll used for the photos had a hook at the end of it, so you hook the gown eyelets onto it. Genius. Had to queue to get photos – very different from back in Malaysia, where we can have the gown for a week and go to whichever professional studio for whatever style of photo we wanted. Over here, there are “package deals” – got a Prestige Pack for £46, on top of £32 for gown rental and only having it for a day. Typically, after I returned the gown, the sun came out. Ah well. At least lunch at The Bothy in Ruthven Lane was nice. Sausages and mash for graduation lunch, plus sticky toffee pudding with ice-cream. Felt totally bloated. Felt a bit better about lack of photos after I came home and rang Dad, he was very comforting and said as long as I had the official portrait it was all right. Think I must have sounded right upset.

A couple of days before graduation, I became an aunt. Dina’s kid Toby was delivered by C-section on June 30 at around 12.25am, nearly two days after Dina’s waters broke. (Even as I typed that I could hear the Geordie voice-over of Big Brother in my head: “Twalve twenty-faive ehh-emm: Dyena gaves birth in the hawspetal.” An indication of the kind of summer it’s been so far.) Found out from Auntie Giek all the way from Malaysia, and not the happy parents themselves, but I think the important thing is that at least I got to know on the day, and not a couple of weeks later.

But that’s it – I’m now a bonafide Lee aunt. While I look forward to meeting the new arrival, I’m also very aware of how very fast our lives and roles are changing. Feels like yesterday Dina came to sleep over, with the three of us crammed into a double bed, making stupid jokes and giggling like idiots throughout the night. It made me wonder if I was the only one not moving on – Hoon and Dina are married, with one a new mother – and I still live like I’m 25, not thinking about settling down or motherhood, or, to be really Chinese about it, my retirement fund. The birth of a new baby also drove home the point how much my generation is taking over the roles we had always ascribed to our parents. This kid is, in a way, me, the first-born Lee baby of the next generation, and I can understand all the better now why I have always held a special place in the hearts of my aunts and uncles.

I will always associate Toby’s birth with my day at the Scottish Parliament. June 30 was the opening of the Third Session, and it was special because I got to take part in the Riding down the Royal Mile (actually, it was more like half the Royal Mile – the procession only came up around New Street) along with local heroes from communities across Scotland. I got up around 7.15am, and after a hearty breakfast of oats, left to get the 8.36 train to be there for 9. But, as is usually the case whenever I have good intentions, the train didn’t show. Neither did the 8.37 and 8.41, and I ended up catching the 8.51, which meant by the time I got into Edinburgh I was almost half an hour behind my schedule.

Found Waverley Court on East Market Street easily enough, but there was a ridiculous wait – the queue wasn’t even very long – to get past security. Got a wee saltire flag at registration, which made up for the wait some. My first impression of the building was that it was the love child of KLIA and an office – the seating was very KLIA (blue, cushioned, armrest-less), there were escalators which seemed to criss-cross each other, and big pillars. Great view of the courtyard with two coos perched on the road overhead, leftovers from last year’s Cow Parade.

Met Brendan O’Brien from the parliamentary press office, whom I’d been harassing almost daily for the last one week before the Riding (“Where’s my bloody press pack?! What are the arrangements for Saturday?! How am I going to get the photos?!”) – was quite impressed that he recognised me, but then realised it was probably because I was the only non-ang moh reporter, with a name he wasn’t sure how to pronounce. Made small talk in between my flits to get taxpayer-subsidised orange juice (I also had scrambled egg and a couple of sausages – there were bacon rolls but the bacon didn’t look as crisp as I liked). Watched some of the events going on in Holyrood live on the tv, and then the start of the Riding, which was quite surreal and made me realise how close I was to the scene – the muffled sounds of the pipe bands starting up outside were amplified on tv.

(Hmmm… I may be dragging out the details here but I want to make sure I get in as many as I can because I want to try to remember as much of this day as possible. Anal-retentive trait. I’ve been a bit hysterical since I “lost” an entire weekend last month, no thanks to my crap memory. For the life of me I cannot remember what we got up to on the weekend of June 9. Gosh, this is beginning to sound like an alien abduction. But back to June 30.)

As we were ushered out I met another reporter – Catherine from the Fife Free Press (if I’d got that job last October, I guess I wouldn’t have been taking part in the Riding yesterday morning then) – and got a peek at a very smart band lounging about in the meeting rooms on our way around the corridors. I then took my place in Group 3 of the Riding procession, ogled more members of the same smart band (who knew men in skirts could look so sexy), admired a pseudo-bhangra band behind our group, and before I knew it, we were told to get ready and were off!

We moved down the Royal Mile in fits and starts – and the first one in a series came almost as soon as we had turned out of New Street. No idea why, but suppose it had to do with the procession marching past the Queen, Prince Philip and Alex Salmond in front of Holyrood. Was very excited to see the tv camera crews at the bottom of the Royal Mile – and when we finally marched past the Queen, I wondered if she didn’t feel a bit like a museum piece on display, with all the cameras going off. We’d been told not to take photos, but nobody really gave a damn.

Procession ended in Holyrood Park. I found one of my MSPs and her nominated local hero. Took photos of a Viking re-enactment group, all dressed in blue and grey, and even got to wield a sword and shield. Sometimes being a non-ang moh does get you treated better – the Vikings probably thought aww, Chinese girl, probably doesn’t see this in her village too often, and as a result they were absolutely lovely. Hung around them for a bit and didn’t see them let anyone else try on their gear. But overall the whole event felt really good, and it was meaningful for me to be part of such a historic event in a foreign country. There was so much joy, spontaneity, camaraderie and lack of stuffiness and “place” – I very much doubt if I would feel that way even if I had the opportunity to do something similar in Malaysia. It would just feel dirty, like I had sold out to the propaganda and racial superiority bullshit the Government feeds us on a daily basis. In Malaysia, I think it would smack more of showing “love and respect” for our leaders, with social status and hierarchy more clearly delineated than a Spiderman tattoo on the forehead.

The only downsides to the day were a) my lovely blue silk blouse, which Mum had taken so much trouble to send over, getting fuzzy and ruined as a result of the lanyard we had to wear for the riding; b) the weather (see what I mean about summer being ruined); and b) the crap organisation of the Parliamentary press team. My MSP is going to try to get me compensation for a), and nobody can really complain about b) seeing as this is Scotland, but c) really, really worked me up into a foul mood. It meant that I (not sure about other reporters who turned up) had to spend ages looking for my local heroes. Some press team heavy said she’d see what she could do when I approached her, but surprise, surprise, I saw her in the same spot five minutes later air-kissing God knows who and trilling some affected laugh. I really hate press officers like that – if you are not going to help, say so, don’t mouth platitudes about getting back to me when we both know you won’t. After some hawk-eyed scanning of the crowds, I finally managed to spot my other MSP (bright pink tie, rose on lapel, with wife and two little girls – man, my sleuthing skills are good!) and his nominated local hero, and after about an hour of to-ing and fro-ing and missed phone calls (Gareth had put the ringtone to “silent”, although it was on vibe-and-ring, and there was absolutely no money in it), I finally managed to locate the both of them and got my interview and photo. But typically, despite going through all that trouble, the photo wasn’t used in the paper four days later. Huh. Sometimes I really do think going the extra mile just ain’t worth it! The only thing I had to show for my efforts was appearing on STV. We were both cuddling on the sofa that evening (it had been a long day!) when we simultaneously spotted me in the coverage of the event.

I’ve also realised that my life here is beginning to be defined by how we spend our weekends. Last Saturday we went to Edinburgh to do some shopping (this could become a habit – how worrying!) – I had to get new shoes as my boots were coming apart. We first went to see Pirates of the Caribbean (overblown but lots of fun), and a lovely brunch of sausage of lamb sausages in a focaccia roll (very, very good, but would have been mind-blowing with chilli) at the farmers’ market, then ended up spending about £70 in Barratts and Debenhams. I was very aware of the date as well – 07.07.07 – Benjamin and Lilia were probably already married by the time we woke up that morning, and it was also the 12th anniversary of Mopper’s death. Said a prayer for both.

On the Sunday we went to the Stirling Highland Games, which were great fun. I had thought something like the Stirling Games would have been around forever, so it was a surprise to discover that they only started in 1985. Felt a bit bad though, because the British GP was on – Lewis Hamilton on pole – and I knew Gareth wanted to watch it. Ideally, we would have been able to do the Games and get back in time for the flag-off, but that’s not real life. I was really excited and just savoured all the sights and sounds – got to see Highland dancing (from a distance, the dancers looked like colourful epileptic spiders), cabers and weights being tossed (very impressive), super-beefy tug-of-war (some of the legs on those guys…!) and sheepdog show. Highlights of the day: the Golden Lions parachuting into the centre arena and the “quack commandos” – sheepdog herding three ducks around a course. Gareth also tried archery (he’s really getting addicted) and got three really lovely prints of Loch Lomond at sunset for the guest bedroom.

I’ve been reading a lot the last couple of weeks. In the last couple of days, I completed two Dean Koontz thrillers – Velocity and The Husband – nae bad, but could have been more taut. I remember some books I read when I was younger which just made my heart thump – Dean Koontz is good, but not exactly in that league. Also finished Gareth’s Jack Wonderful novel, which I quite enjoyed, felt it could have been better fleshed out in some parts but I liked a few of the concepts he had. It was a bit Back to the Future-ish, in terms of meeting your past selves and a thread of pre-destination came up towards the end, which could have been better explained, but it was fun. I hope he gets somewhere with the book, he certainly has been trying hard with literary agents and I hope he doesn’t give up although he keeps getting knocked back.

Before that I read Julian Barnes’ Arthur and George, which was absolutely tremendous. I’m not usually too keen on biographies – not that this was one – but this novel really brought the era (turn of the century) and someone whom I’d thought was this staid but intelligent Victorian/ Edwardian gentleman to life. I’d always intertwined Sir Arthur with his famous literary creation – a tall, thin chiselled but asexual man – so to read about his extra-marital affair with Jean Leckie was an eye-opener. As was learning that the word “cockstand” was Victorian-speak for stiffy. I’ve literally just opened the first page of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, but I have no doubt it will be a cracker.

I still have to jog my memory about what happened throughout June, but at least I’ve got round to recording the two most meaningful events of the last couple of months. No insights, just memories and associations, but that’s fine by me.

Factoids of the Week:
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s middle name was Ignatius. His personal investigation of the George Edalji case – which moves the plot in Arthur and George – was a catalyst for the Court of Criminal Appeal being set up.

The barnacle has the longest penis relative to size of any creature – it can extend 10 times longer than the size of its body.

The smallest and largest hummingbirds in the world are to be found in South America. The smallest species of hummingbird is the Cuban bee hummingbird (Mellisuga helenae), which measures just 5-6cm in length and weighs 1.6-1.9g. The largest is the giant hummingbird (Paragonia gigas), which measures 22cm and weighs 20g.