Hogmanay

Hello dears. This is just a quick note to say hello and ask how things are in these early stages of the new year.

Cecil and I have been tremendously busy since returning from Scotland. The snow that has fallen is simply astonishing and clearing the drive is more than enough to keep us in constant motion. Not that either of us enjoys driving in such weather, but one never knows when a clear route to the road will become a necessity.

If only it were our sole trial. Our beloved Mr. Tufts has taken ill and I fear he is not long for this world. He’s a fine old cat and whatever his fate I’m grateful to have known him for these past 15 years.

Enough of bad news though, one needs to start a year on a fresh and positive note. And in that vein I simply must recommend Edinburgh both as a city and a place to ring in the new year, or Hogmanay as they call it over there.

Our room was in the Scotsman Hotel and gave us a fine view over Princes Street and the adjoining gardens. In addition to the city’s regular trappings we could also see many of the garish contraptions and bright lights set up by the carnival folk for the season. Some of the lights, particularly those on the big wheel, are reasonable and nice, but any joy tends to be undone by the never-ending loud songs that I can barely bring myself to call music. I’m sure Suzanne might consider them fine dance numbers but they are beyond my appreciation.

There were an abundance of rides and games sheds but my attention was most thoroughly held by some sort of over-sized slingshot. A ghastly contrivance that had people sit in a metal framed orb attached to two large elastic bands, slowly stretched before the orb was released, sending it and its human cargo skywards. I must admit I watched the process six or seven times despite feeling quite ill when thinking of the poor souls inside.

We had been to Edinburgh’s famous castle on a previous visit and decided to give it a miss this go round. Instead we took a short train journey out to Stirling to look at its castle, a former capital and home to many Scottish kings and royal courts. A lovely place with glorious views on what was a crisp, frost-covered day. My lunch was a touch underdone but Cecil quite enjoyed his steak and beer. A lovely time all-in-all.

But the true excitement of the visit was undeniably the Hogmanay celebrations. Aside from the aforementioned fair there were a number of events put on in the evenings. The first was a torch parade where everyone could buy a torch, what was essentially a large candle wrapped in a wick. It was led by a phalanx of Vikings carrying professional torches and so many pipers and drummers it made one’s head spin. Cecil said there were 50 pipers in all but the din was such I lost count after the first few rows. Simply glorious.

At a point along the parade route there were other pipers, these ones on the side of the road facing one another in a circle. There were even 5 or 6 little ones in the centre of the ring, playing their tiny instruments and looking adorable. The scene reminded me of one of those nature shows where the big arctic musk ox gather in a great defensive circle with the babies in the middle when a predator approaches too closely. Except those beasts face out of course, to keep an eye on whatever Mr. Fox, or whomever, is up to.

The fantastic end to this procession of fire, after quite a walk let me tell you, is atop Calton Hill where they put on a stunning fireshow. Fireworks aplenty and at the very end a famous bonfire, the reason we were all willing to stand in the cold for so long.

A gigantic pile of wood topped by a fearsome lion, assembled from what I presumed to be wicker boughs, made for a truly grand spectacle. Our Viking vanguard had the honour of tossing their torches in to ignite the pile, and while the wind kept the flames from burning straight up, they were so big it did little to dampen the spectacle.

I only felt sorry for the poor lion, who through no fault of his own failed to have an absolute, fiery death and was instead relegated to losing only one paw and part of his lower jaw. He ended up a trifle rat like by the end, but I suspect they did the honourable thing after we had departed and ensured he was completely incinerated, wind be darned!

The next day was meant to have been a large street ceilidh, a wonderful celtic dance with much music and spinning, but the cold of the previous night got the better of me and I spent most of the day in the room, or in a steaming tub. Fortunately Cecil was able to find a nearby pub with men of similar passions, darts and beer, to while away the day.

As for New Year’s Eve itself, there was an official Hogmanay party that took up most of the downtown area. Centred on Princes Street and promising live music it held great potential.

Instead I decided to get shittered and danced my face off with a bunch London hotties.

Edinburgh and Hogmanay, a fine start to 2009 and highly recommended.

Love to you all and best wishes for the year ahead!

Lucille and Cecil