There’s no such thing as a free…

…Post-it note?

But of course there is.  A free pen.  A free cotton bag.  A free jute carbon neutral bag.  In fact, a free policy booklet that you hadn’t planned on reading in the first place.

Despite Scotland’s happy insistence on state schooling for the majority of its pupils, there’s clearly no such thing as a free education either, if you’re running an exhibition stand.

I was struck by the number of IT exhibitors whose products started at a couple of grand upwards.  Struck equally by the teachers I spoke to who were enjoying the seminars and the buzz, but had no money really available to spend on their department.

Having just come back from two days on an exhibition stand, one thing that struck me particularly was the waste that comes with a large exhibition.  I was heartened by seeing one company retrieve their quantities of bubble wrap, and rewrap the materials they brought, but they did seem to be an exception.

The talk, however, was free – and teachers enjoy a good talk, so there was plenty of chatting.  After two seminars with very low numbers, I was pleased to be in one where a teacher name checked half a dozen opportunities my organisation offers, AND got that response we all long for: the immediate “Wow, how can I get some of that?”  That’s the kind of response, from speaker and audience, that you can’t buy.

Thankfully, smiling is free. Encouraging teachers in celebrating their successes.  But I discovered that saying thank you to the organisers, when leaving, was in fact priceless – one person in the site office commented “No one ever stops to say thank you…”

Results: one heart at ease; one pair of feet waiting to be freed from their shoes.

All things bright and beautiful

Shock and amazement – sunshine two days running!  Pretty much sun all day today!  Any time now someone’ll suggest it’s a Scottish summer (apart from the normal three-days-in-May kind of summer we come to hope for).

At any rate, it allowed for a bit of gardening yesterday, aided by my parents.  With all the rain of late, I had pretty much given it over to snails, but lo and behold, there were some potatoes to crop, and a new plant to put in the side border.  We may even be able to gather a whole three beetroot, and perhaps the odd carrot or two…

Back in May, I had a bit of a garden breakthrough.  I got into planting vegetables from seeds, and tried lots of different types.  Perhaps not the full Good Life – still had to be in the office during the week – but a bit more sense of progress in the garden.

Sadly, the slugs and snails appeared to have eaten more than their fair share.  My pea and bean seedlings were completely nobbled.  Lettuces did OK, but sweet peas (a favourite) also got eaten, and as a result, the borders remained good on leaf, but not much on flower.

Perhaps I have to take heart on what worked.  I learned that I can raise plants from seed.  I just need to work on helping them to survive…I also discovered that the attic is pretty good as a greenhouse, as long as I can keep watering things enough.

What else worked? We sat outside more than before.  I learned how to make elderflower cordial, which worked fine with elderflowers hanging over the back of the garden. These are steps forward.

It’s the creatures great and small that are needing taking in hand – both the cats which pursue any bare earth, and the smaller beasties that can clearly identify flourishing seedlings much faster than I can.

Hopefully, my rhubarb cuttings and I can fight back a bit next year.   And perhaps there will still be some brambles left, if the sun remains, and I can manage a walk down the cycle paths near to home.

They call me baby driver

Not yet out and about, but the plan is to be out and about, as I’ve finally bitten the bullet and booked refresher driving lessons.  Been looking at driving school websites, and for all that they say about refresher lessons, most of them don’t seem to be thinking of someone who’s basically been avoiding driving for 15 years.

My standard preamble is that I took my test in my gap year, and later the same week, went to Poland.  I wasn’t insured to drive there, and all I could have driven, realistically, would have been a tractor or a 12 seater minibus.  Returning from Poland, I was soon off to university where a) there was no money to drive and b) not much parking either.

And so it went on.  Edinburgh is a city where you really can resist driving, given a good bus service (well I think so anyway), and lots that is walkable.  Dan hadn’t had driving lessons, which made it easier to continue driving avoidance.  I had learned in a medium sized town, I was a bit scared of city driving. And so on.

We’ve got good at arranging holidays that rely on public transport.  And far too good at cadging lifts from others.  As friends move further out of town, it is starting to get harder to see people as easily – or it takes a lot longer to do so.

My trip to Dunfermline probably took two hours, door to door, allowing for bus and train connections, when you can do that in 30 mins by car?  (I think.  Travelling by public transport means that estimations of travel time by car are not one of my strong points.)

Main shift has come from Mum offering to pass on her car to me.  I think she still wants to…and Mum and Dad in particular continue to drive to see us from Peebles, whereas we get the bus to Penicuik, and cadge a lift from there.  It’s not really fair, and despite the fuel increases, at least having the ability to do this driving thing would be a big step forward.

So, you can either run screaming from the pavements after October 13, or pray for skills, and confidence, to follow suit.

Cars and trucks and things that go

Off to Dunfermline today, to give a hand to A and her kids.  With the eldest now in school, a visitor to the house allows D, no. 2, to up the vehicular ante, and fit as many transport books as he can.

D’s specialist subject is tractors, for which he will happily count up to 10, identify colours, and whether wheels or caterpillar tracks are in evidence.  Multitasking, he will also take in trucks, cars, and trains.  Certainly he know more of the Thomas engines than I do, and is quick to see when they are being threatened by falling sandbags, rocks and the like.

It does seem to me that boys tend be conversant with a range of vehicles but like to choose a favourite too.  T in Italy has a clear and easy choice for trains, conveniently having a major player named after him.  Dan started talking with ‘taxi’, and moved on to cars.

D’s commitment to tractors is clear, but what of other options? Who is championing milk floats? Sit-on lawnmowers?  Snow ploughs?  Fire engines, dustmen’s trucks, they get all the glamour, given the option to both drive a large vehicle and have defined activities.

I myself have a liking for trains, but more really for getting to travel through scenery that I might otherwise not get to see.  I like walking, too.  But small boys have less incentive to wave at pedestrians – short of gaining bionic legs, they’re just not dynamic enough.

Meanwhile, if anyone can trace a copy of “Cars and Trucks and Things that Go” (Richard Scarry), do let me know – someone’s birthday coming up, and all that.

 

Cremola Foam: the taste of summer

Overwhelmed as I am with receiving comments, I know that what you really wanted to read about was Cremola Foam.

I have a Useful Notebook that gets carried around, partly so I can work out which children’s book to buy for which new arrival and that kind of thing, but it’s useful for ideas about blog posts too.  Sometimes it’s as good to think about writing as it is to do it – like food in that respect.

Topping the list of items to write about is Cremola Foam.  Going to wikipedia, fount of all immediately accessible information, I discover that I have the name wrong – it is in fact Creamola Foam: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Creamola_Foam

Growing up as a Mackenzie, a big part of family tradition was going on holiday to the Isle of Jura.  It’s a few generations since we had direct relatives living there, but there’s a family cottage, and a lot of shared history.  It’s where my dad spent his summer holidays too, and part of those holidays, for both of us, was creamola foam.

Part of the mystique of creamola foam was the buying it en route to Jura.  We’d drive up from the north of England or central England, according to where we were living at that point, and stay over with my great aunts in Greenock.  (Greenock is indeed the place to live if you are an aunt.)  We would then drive to Gourock, just up the coast, and get the ferry to Dunoon, to continue the journey.

And once we arrived in Gourock, anticipating the first ferry of the journey, it was time to buy the small pot of creamola foam to induce the holiday mood.  In Dad’s day, it was mostly lemon flavour, in mine, orange.  But mainly really it allows you to have an absurdly fizzy drink and a huge amount of happiness (and no doubt sugar), combined.

Creamola foam was also available in the shop on Islay, after the second ferry, and before the third, over to Jura itself.  Should you run out on the holiday, there would usually be a day trip to Islay, and an opportunity to stock up again.

One year, I attempted the impossible.  I brought a full pot of it home with me.  Now I could continue the holiday feeling.  But then, it being precious, it was hard to make a move to start it.  A month or two down the line, and it was already hardening into a lump.  And somehow, it didn’t taste the same at home.

Reading wikipedia, I discover the advertising boast that creamola foam was ‘fully sweetened’.  You bet.  This is a Scottish foodstuff, after all.  Needless to say, they don’t write advertising copy like that these days – or perhaps, they just hide the fact that something is fully sweetened.

Tastes of childhood.  Perhaps sometimes it’s best for some things to remain at a distance.  Worse, perhaps, to discover now that I didn’t like it – although again, wikipedia indicates that there’s a bit of an attempt going on to bring it back.

With rain on the menu most days at the moment, it’s good to think about summer at times, even distant summers.  Next stop, soda streams, I feel.