In which I do not speak of Scottish independence.

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

I was going to do a whole thing on Scottish independence.(Admit, you are on the very edge of your seat.) It’s because there is so much news. I cannot just speak of small, parochial concerns whilst the world is raging about me. I thought it was time to speak of important things.

Then I thought: sod it. People really do know what they think. Everyone else is shouting about it; I’m not sure I need to add my pennyworth.

The interesting thing about it is that really good arguments may be made from either side. There are many imponderables, which are being stated with certainty. Everyone is getting shirty about who really owns North Sea oil. Alex Salmond is looking, as usual, delighted with himself, and very slightly shifty. I keep remembering when he was selling us independence on the notion that we could become like Ireland or Iceland. I am not making this up. Those were his two dream states, until 2008, when he suddenly fell very, very quiet on the subject.

In the end, I think it is probably an emotional thing. I love the union. I could not really give you a coherent reason why. Perhaps it is because I have Scottish and English blood, and I like the idea of the two co-mingling, although this is an essentially irrational thought. But it is Friday. I may be irrational.

In other, much more important news:

The poor Pigeon has hurt her foot. She was gazing in adoration at The Brother-in-Law, who was driving past in his zoomy motor and stopped to talk. She was so busy with the adoring gaze that she stood on a sharp piece of wood and gave herself a shock. She is now curled up in a tight black ball, making little sighing noises under her breath. She really does know how to milk it. She shall be getting extra love and treats for the duration, I know you shall all be vastly relieved to hear.

More thrilling still, I have rediscovered the delights of celery soup. It was a thing in my childhood; I remember it. Does anyone really eat celery soup any more? It feels very déclassé. But I had some slightly mournful celery in the fridge, staring reproachfully at me, so I just threw it in a pot with some chicken stock and a chopped onion, simmered for fifteen minutes, and liquidised, and oh, oh, oh, the goodness. I intend to eat nothing else all weekend. The secret is: a good addition of black pepper at the end. That tiny thing brings it alive.

Outside, the sky has turned a low shade of purple. It feels faintly apocalyptic. I wonder if it is a harbinger of snow. I am bound for the Borders on Friday, and am watching the weather like a hawk.

As I finish writing this, I think: I must have a fact of the day. Nothing like a good fact of the day to round off a rather slight post.

Here’s a fine, topical one. When Sir Fred Goodwin was making his crazed bid for ABN Amro, the one which was done with ‘diligence-light’, or, no due diligence at all, the one which capsized a once-great bank and led to a twenty billion pound bailout, Alex Salmond sent him this thoughtful note: ‘I wanted you to know that I am watching events closely on the ABN front. It is in Scottish interests for RBS to be successful, and I would like to offer any assistance my office can provide. Good luck with the bid.’

Perhaps Wee Eck was having a wee joke. Do let's hope so.

 

It was a delightful, sunny day, and everything was light and golden. Here are some pictures:

Questing Pigeon, pre foot incident:

Hill, cast into silhouette by the light:

 

Happy Friday.