Now playing

Gabriel Jackson's Thomas, jewel of Canterbury

Thoma nunc pro populo stimulo tempestatis caritate fervida rogatus.

(Thomas, you are beseeched with fervent love to help your people in these tempestuous times.)

Embro to the Ploy - memories of a week at the 2007 Festival

Climbing the 124 steps up to George IV Bridge each morning (less than half shown in the photo).

Finding that the Elephant House, where I used to have coffee when I was working in the library a few years ago, is now "The birthplace of Harry Potter", with an endless queue of toursits waiting to be photographed in front of it.

First Conundrum by Remco de Fouw opposite the Usher Hall: a sculpture which refers to the neolithic polyhedral balls found in north-east Scotland.

A wonderful concert performance of Vivaldi's Orlando Furioso in the Usher Hall, with Sonia Prina and Philippe Jarousski sensational.

Alex Hartley's exhibition at the always-excellent Fruitmarket Gallery, and his instructions for climbing the building:

Richard Long at the National Gallery of Modern Art:

Phil Jupitus and Andre Vincent playing Tweedledum and Tweedledee thinking they are Vladimir and Estragon.

One dreadful Fringe play whose cast outnumbered the audience.

Walking through the grounds of the Dean Gallery:

The eloquence of Jordi Savall in his solo recital, and Savall in discussion speaking in favour of soft music ("All important communication, between man and woman, mother and child, friend and friend is quiet and gentle.")

Concerto Italiano singing Monteverdi in Greyfriars Kirk, the church in which I was christened, but which I hadn't been inside for over forty years.

Montserrat Figueras and Hesperion XXI, performing seguidillas en eco and other music associated with Don Quixote:

Yo soy la locura
la que sola infundo
plazer y dulzura
y contento al mundo.

Sirven a mi nombre
todos mucho o poco
y pero no ay hombre
que piense ser loco.

And after that concert, the greenness of George Square:

And all the time reading the witty Scots poems of Robert Garioch and enjoying his affectionate dissection of the Scottish psyche.

At the Fringe

My first memory of the Edinburgh Festival Fringe is of seeing, with my father, John Cairney's one-man show about McGonagall. in the former church at the top of George IV Bridge. Perhaps (though probably not) the production that Robert Garioch mentions in the first of his Twa Festival Sketches:

I wes passing a convertit kirk -
- Whit's that ye say?
A convertit kirk, plenty o' thaim about;
the kirks yuistae convert the sinners,
bit nou the sinners convert the kirks.
Weill oniewey, here wes this convertit kirk
wi bills stuck owre the front
and folk queuin up to git in
to hear the Po-etic Gems
o William McGonagall.
One the pavement outside
there wes a richt rammie gaun on,
folk millin about, ken?
And in the middle o this rammie
wes a man that wes gittin Moved On -
- Whit fir? -
He'd been sellin broadsheets
o poems, Gode help him!
o his ain composition.

(Robert Garioch)

Marjory Fleming goes on holiday

It is Malancholy to think, that I hav so many talents, & many there are that have not had the attention paid to them that I have, & yet they contrive to better then me; [...] Now I am quite happy: for I am going tomorrow to a delightfull place, Breahead by name, belonging to Mrs Crraford, where their is ducks cocks hens bublyjocks 2 dogs 2 cats swine. & which is delightful;

From the journal of Marjory Fleming (1803-1811)

From The Stuffed Owl

Browsing in D.B. Wyndham Lewis's anthology I was reminded of this masterpiece by the Reverend Cornelius Whur (1782-1853). It's unfair to ridicule such things, but irresistible.

The Female Friend

In this imperfect, gloomy scene
Of complicated ill,
How rarely is a day serene,
The throbbing bosom still!
Will not a beauteous landscape bright,
Or music's soothing sound,
Console the heart, afford delight,
And throw sweet peace around?
They may, but never comfort lend
Like an accomplish'd female friend!

With such a friend, the social hour
In sweetest pleasure glides;
There is in female charms a power
Which lastingly abides—
The fragrance of the blushing rose,
Its tints and splendid hue,
Will with the season decompose,
And pass as flitting dew;
On firmer ties his joys depend
Who has a polish'd female friend!

The pleasures which from thence arise
Surpass the blooming flower,
For though it opens to the skies,
It closes in an hour!
Its sweetness is of transient date,
Its varied beauties cease—
They can no lasting joys create,
Impart no lasting peace;
While both arise, and duly blend
In an accomplish'd female friend!

As orbs revolve and years recede,
As seasons onward roll,
The fancy may on beauties feed,
With discontented soul!
A thousand objects bright and fair
May for a moment shine,
Yet many a sigh and many a tear
But mark their swift decline;
While lasting joys the man attend
Who has a faithful female friend!