Life

A New Friend: Introducing Luna

May 22, 2013

collieprintillustration by coles phillips. now all I need is the boots

You might have noticed, popping up on this blog over the last few posts, a few pictures of a small hound. I think it’s probably time I introduced you.

A few weeks ago, we brought home a little rescue collie who needed a new place to live. Her name is Luna. She’s about nine months old and she likes fetching tennis balls, running on the beach and stretching out during long morning naps. She’ll do pretty much anything for a bit of cheese, or the chance to chew her way through a Kong toy filled with peanut butter.

luna 1

Her biggest vice is making tooth-holes in socks. She is not a fan of cats, bin bags or other dogs who look at her funny. She’s not had the easiest start in life, and sometimes she gets scared. She is suspicious of duvet covers, too.

ruin (1)

But she loves every person she meets. And she has the funniest tongue in the world, and great comic timing. She’s already been with us on lots of adventures, from climbing Arthur’s Seat to progressing slowly but surely through puppy training classes. She has just learned ‘stay’.

laptop

She’ll probably get around to starting her own blog at some point. Collies are pretty smart.

Anyway, she’s here, and we’re going to have a lot of fun together. I hope you guys get on.

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Springstagram

April 12, 2013

spring 1spring 3spring 2

1. innocent railway 2. welsh eggs for easter
3. easter cupcakes 4. tawny owl woodcut
5. luna 6. spring iris
7. a little windowsill herb garden 8. st david’s day welsh cakes
9. spring in blue 10. calton hill
11. march snow on the pentlands near flotterstone 12. dog graffiti

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A Walk to Cramond Island

April 9, 2013

photo 5Finally some sun. Last week we took a trip out to Cramond Island, a walk that depends on the tides. When the tide goes out, you can go straight out to the island, but you have to make sure you head back before the waves come back and cut you off. Walking across the wide sands with the tide far out at either side of you, you feel like Moses, or a King Canute who wasn’t all mouth and no trousers.

And there’s an ice cream van on nice days. And a pub. It’s just outside of Edinburgh, but once on top of the island’s hill you can see the countryside for miles.

cramond 3

cramond 4

(More on my little black and white companion, pictured above, to come soon.)

cramond 1

cramond 6

The walk was a kind of tribute to summer, which all of a sudden (after the recent snowfalls) feels just around the corner. In the pub afterwards I poured two small bottles of Diet Coke into one glass, extravagantly summery. But I wore a scarf, too, as a compromise.

cramond 5

 

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Poetry Translation, Pigs and Snowdrops

March 15, 2013

beachpoets (2)

Last week, I learned that we don’t have enough words for ‘sea monster’. In fact, we don’t even have one. In the English translation of the Jonah and the Whale story, we usually translate the Hebrew ‘דג גדול’ as ‘whale’, when actually it’s closer to ‘big fish’. In Icelandic, they have several words for sea monster, one of which is ‘storfiskar’. Which sounds appropriately terrifying.

Anyway, I learned all this because I was asked to spend a week at Cambo, just outside St Andrews in Fife, working on translating some poems from a range of European languages. It was a workshop run by the Scottish Poetry Library (who blogged about it here) and Literature Across Frontiers, and it culminated in a showcase reading and discussion at StAnza poetry festival over the weekend. The other poets on the workshop were Magnús Sigurðsson from Iceland, Ifor Ap Glyn from Wales, Matilda Södergran from Finland (via Sweden), and Arvis Viguls from Latvia.

cambo 2

Now, the thing about Cambo  is that is is overrun with snowdrops. They are very beautiful, and they are everywhere. They run all through the woods and the gardens and then even into the house in the form of quilts, biscuits, paintings and souvenir tea sets. It is, quite literally, snowdrop central.

And there are pigs, too, because apparently once snowdrop season is over the pigs root through the woods and churn up the soil, perfecting the growing conditions for next year’s crop. I had no idea, until now, that pigs and snowdrops were such pals. Nature! It’s a funny old thing.

It was an atmospheric environment for workshopping poetry (not least because there wasn’t any mobile phone signal in the whole place). But there were beaches, and long foggy days, and bowls of hot soup for lunch and sturdy fish pie for dinner. We had amiable arguments over breakfast about how to translate a Latvian metaphor for a plough, and moments of joy when Magnus told us that the Icelandic word for ‘avalanche’ translates literally as ‘snowflood’, which matched the local plantlife pretty well.

Everyone had also brought a sample national drink from their home country to share. I was quite fond of the Welsh sweet blackberry mead, and the Finnish peppermint spirit was… strong, and zingily memorable, let’s say.

cambo 1And then to StAnza, where we got to make our own poetry biscuits (see above), hear plenty of readings, see intricate dresses with poetry embroidered into the fabric (broadcasting poems through tiny speakers in the lace whenever the wearer moved), and have our faces blown off by the freezing sea wind.

StAnza is always this gloriously awkward mix of discussion, rushing around town in the cold, fleeting conversations with your poetry heroes between events and promises to catch each other later, boozy nights of cake and slams, and being surrounded by the strangest people you’re ever likely to meet (poets).

I hope our event went well; discussion of poetry in translation was certainly interesting to us, but I hope we managed to get across just how much richer your understanding of poetry from other languages can become when you think hard about what translation means for voice, for ownership and just for cold, hard word definitions.

Literature Across Frontiers is an inspiring project, helping to connect poets from different countries, languages and continents to spread their work across the world, and I’m really grateful to have been a part of it. And to have seen so many snowdrops. Though I think I’ll be planting some crocuses at home for next year, in the interests of balance.

 

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A Walk to Dean Village

March 4, 2013

what will people say?

I noticed the above windowpane etching at the Inverleith House gallery, at the Botanic Gardens in Edinburgh last week.  I don’t know why it’s there, or what it means. It didn’t seem to be part of the exhibition and it was easy to miss. But it was a treasure to find on a walk last week, following the Water of Leith along towards Dean Village.

It’s not a straightforward route. Some of the signs are a bit Lewis Carroll.

I mean, which would you rather? Follow the river, or avoid the steps? We chose to follow the river because it sounded more optimistic and romantic. But it turned out that path actually ended in a disused industrial scrapyard and we had to turn back. So I’m not sure what kind of meaningful life message you should draw from that.

Quite a lot of the Water of Leith path is industrial, or a bit of a wasteland. It’s not a verdant oasis all the way along, by any means. But it has its moments.

And then a cut through the Botanics, pausing the admire the world’s largest hedge. Apparently.

I dunno, what do you think? Personally I reckon I’ve seen bigger.

I don’t want to jinx it, but… I think it might be spring.

After getting lost, walking up some steep hills and steps, short of breath and even shorter of temper, we eventually made it to Dean Village. It was once a cluster of watermills, but the industry’s gone, leaving a bundle of mismatched old buildings behind.

The name comes from the old word ‘dene’, which means deep valley… and, well, you definitely notice the ‘deep’ part when you’re coming back up. Or, more accurately, your legs and lungs notice, if you are me.

We found the above in Dean Cemetery, a place where the dead attempt to outdo each other for eternity with their fancy graves. This looked like a winner to me, but lots of them had engravings of the deceased’s face on the headstone and their earthly occupation – eg ‘ANATOMIST’ – written in big letters underneath.

They were almost all from the nineteenth century, which was apparently not such a good century for humility in Edinburgh.

Millstones? What a walk for a cold, bright morning right at the thin end of February. And, something I didn’t expect: Edinburgh talks to you as you go along, giving you things to think about, written into the windows and walls. It’s actually fairly chatty, for a city.

Definitely going to start spelling ‘onlye’ like that.

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Fame at Last

February 27, 2013

I am now notorious in the Netherlands. Well, at least in the part of the Netherlands where people read poetry magazines. Every girl’s dream. The lovely Susan Ridder has written an article for the Dutch poetry magazine Awater about female Scottish poets, and has even translated several Scottish poems into Dutch, which is pretty damn impressive if you ask me.

I’m in humbling company in the feature, which also shines a spotlight onto the great Jen Hadfield, Ellen McAteer and JL Williams. I ran a few of the sentences containing my name through Google Translate just to check they didn’t say anything like, “And Charlotte is, frankly, a ridiculous person whom we only asked to be involved in this magazine as a joke, and to throw the genius of the real poets included into sharper relief.”

Thankfully they seemed to come up clear.

My face! And one of my poems, in DUTCH!

It’s a really beautiful magazine. I’m glad to have a copy, and not just so I can take it round to my parents’ place and thrust it under their noses, demanding a hit of parental pride while eating ten slices of my mum’s lemon drizzle cake.

I don’t think the feature is available online but if you are ever near the Netherlands, then I heartily recommend you seek out a copy. I’ve never been there, but it strikes me as a country with newsagents on every corner, each stuffed to the rafters with well-designed, highbrow poetry magazines featuring me. I’m considering relocating.

ETA: Ellen McAteer has now put the full article online here!

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January in Pictures

January 30, 2013

1. unstoppable combo. watch this space for baking updates… 2. spring! kinda!
3. remembering my grandmother 4. a cake by sean
5. wings necklace from tatty devine, a gift from my sister 6. the royal mile in wintry sun
7. a puppy came into the office! 8. office leaving drinks
9. new-old books 10. nutella crepes at yellow bench
11. pork and roasted cauliflower 12. oh comely

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January Hymn

January 5, 2013

Just before my university pals headed back down South, we went for a brisk walk in the Pentland Hills. One of my favourite things about Edinburgh is how much the city is part of the landscape, and how quickly you can feel as if you’re in the middle of the countryside. Even in the centre of town, Arthur’s Seat jumps out of the buildings like an exclamation mark, and the hills are just to the south of the city.

This was a very muddy walk. We actually had to abandon the route we were going to take because it was about 80% slush (and 20% sheep poo), and there were large rainclouds plotting on the horizon. We clambered up the side of a hill instead.

Witness the mud. That’s George in the picture above, skipping deftly over the worst of it.

January is all about muddy walks, exercise and freshness. It’s a new year! The world is out there to explore, in all its rainy, boggy glory. And afterwards you can tell yourself that you’ve really earned your pint by the fire. Perfect.

 

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A Brand New Year

January 1, 2013

Happy New Year! I spent my Hogmanay in Edinburgh with friends from university, who came up from around the UK to sample Scotland’s delights. We went up Calton Hill to watch the fireworks, light sparklers, drink wine and sing songs. It was pretty awesome.

Have a wonderful 2013!

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TsC Part Two: Last-Minute Presents in the Post

December 13, 2012

photo by scorpions and centaurs

This is part of a series of posts on surviving Christmas when you’re in your twenties.
See Part One: Thrifty Decor.

Society doesn’t use the postal service to its full potential. We have the infrastructure in place so that every day, you can pay someone to come to your front door and bring you stuff. And that stuff could be, instead of bills and/or court summons, something pretty, a different present every few weeks. If you fancy it, some companies will send you (or someone you really like) gifts in the mail all through the year, so it can feel as if you have a mini birthday every month.

As far as Christmas is concerned, subscription gifts can be good ways of getting a long-term return on Christmas spirit, but they’re also an option if you’ve missed the final order dates from online shops (holla, fellow disorganised masses…). Here are a few of my favourite postal gift options this year, from books and cheese to beauty and stationery and beyond, which could all lead to something delightful on the doormat for the whole of 2013.

 

1. Persephone

 

If you haven’t heard of Persephone, please go and check them out immediately. They’re a chic publisher of books mostly by lesser-known female writers. The covers are glam and refined and uniform, like a Parisian ladies’ dinner in the 1960s, or so I imagine. Each revelatory edition carries the trademark understated grey Persephone cover (except for the classics range, which looks slightly jazzier), with cream title label. Open them up to reveal vibrant and unusual patterned endpapers, carefully chosen to reflect the feel of each book.

Though you can buy individually, they’ll also send a book a month (at £10 per month for either six or 12 months) to you or a friend. For a few extra pounds you can have each one gift-wrapped with satin ribbon, and slip in a card explaining why you think your pal will love each novel you’ve chosen.

You can choose in advance which book will be sent when — authors to pick from include Dorothy Whipple, Frances Hodgson Burnett and Noel Streatfeild, as well as some more obscure names. Potentially, you could map out your giftee’s entire reading habits for the year ahead, and introduce them to some new writers along the way.

My suggestion is to pick five treasures to send for the first five months, and then for the last month, choose a special blank Persephone notebook to be delivered instead. That way your gift recipient can, inspired by their recent reading, have a go at writing their own classic.

 

2. Pong

 

For those who prefer to devour food rather than fiction (or who, like me, are pretty fond of both), a monthly cheese delivery service, unapologetically named Pong, should please fromage-loving gourmandes. A regular foray into the cheesy unknown, with a different selection in every consignment, the arrangement is similar to the ‘veg box’ model.

It’s quite pricey at £28 per month (though Pong points out that is less than the average mobile phone contract), but for real foodies a luxurious cheese-on-tap scenario might just make it worth it. I’m a big fan of  blue cheese, like my Grandpa used to be. In fact he loved cheese so stinky that my Granny made him keep it in the potting shed. Cheeseboards: not just for Christmas day.

 

3. Wrap Magazine

 

Illustration by Antti Uotila, currently featured in Wrap magazine

If the Christmas rush has made you think there’d be no greater gift than freedom from panic buying wrapping paper, the answer might be a subscription to Wrap magazine (£25 plus p&p for three issues). Each edition is an insight into current goings-on in the world of illustration, presented as five unique sheets of gorgeously designed pull-out wrapping paper.

The current issue has a focus on Nordic design, very apt for the post-Forbrydelsen Christmas.

 

4. GlossyBox

 

I’m rubbish at buying new beauty products, lazily reaching for the same gummed-up bottle of Boots moisturiser every morning. Shameful. It would be lovely to be sent a  box of new beauty treats to try every month, a kind of postal pampering.

The GlossyBox selection seems to give you a decent amount of each product so you can try it properly, not like the free sample-type things you find stuck to pages of Vogue and Tatler, which always seem to give you only about three molecules worth of perfume or day cream or whatever. It’s also beautifully wrapped in a different style each time, so it really is like getting a proper present full of nicely-scented luxuries.

I actually found out about GlossyBox from Beauty and the Book, a new Edinburgh blog that combines writing about books with snippets from the beauty world. Given that I usually enjoy my books upside-down under a duvet in my pyjamas, I bet she looks a lot more glamorous when she reads than I do…

 

5. Green Gables Eco Stationery Club

 

Stationery! Freaking yes. The thing I miss most about school and university is probably the excuse to buy lots of stationery. I still hoard notebooks and gaze longingly at expensive fountain pens in glass cabinets in shops, though. The Green Gables Stationery Club gift subscription is a regular fix of stationery goodness, all apparently eco-friendly and wrapped in tissue paper and a gift box tied with ribbon.

In the first box you get a calendar, notebook, greeting cards, postcards and envelopes, and a different selection each month after that, for £18.98 per month.

A version of this article first appeared in The List magazine on 11/12/12. This version is edited for T&F and extended with more fun ideas that I couldn’t quite fit into the feature…

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