Saturday, July 21, 2018

'Summer's in the City, do what you gotta do,'

But seriously. Summer holidays and life's paradoxes, huh?

The holidays feel like they go on forever, but they're hurtling to an end. They are baggy and loose, yet distilled and intense. Crowded and claustrophobic yet sometimes lonely. 

Cue: Mum? Mum! Muum!?

Francis took the kids out to the cinema today. The first thing I did (after the washing-up, of course) was to sit down cross-legged and attempt to meditate. I don't normally meditate. I've never been able to get it to work for me. But I had summer-holiday-clutter-stress-head, so I gave it a go.

And relax, and breath and centre. First thought to float in? Ahem. That's me half way through my life and one day we're all gonna die. Is there an emoji for that one?  The strange thing is - it felt okay once I'd sat with it and let it melt through me. It got me here to write to you, out there in Bloggo Land.

In other news, we've been to Ibiza and back. (Top Tip: Don't book a Thursday afternoon flight unless you want to get trapped in a tin tube with every hen and stag weekend from central Scotland, yelling like they're drunk in a club at 4am). Apart from that, it was worth it. 

Unlike Brexit. Clearly not worth it. I still can't take in what a mistake it seems to be. What they're doing to this country. I'm embarrassed  and exasperated about it. 

Humanity, man? It's a mass of contradictions. 

My pal, Stuart once said to me -

We're all flawed, Ciara. That's the beauty of it. 

He probably doesn't remember. But occasionally I think about that phrase when life tries to get the better of me. Summer holidays - salute you we must, with all your snakes and ladders. 

Here's a wee clip of Teenage Fanclub (with a different drummer, before Francis rejoined). But, hey ho - it's a summer song and it was a hit when I fell for Francis over 20 years ago. Maybe they'll play it next month at Electric Fields. 

I'll be there too, readíng in the spoken word tent with the great Neu Reekie.  Rock on with your inflatable guitars, good people! 

Baguettes ya Bawbags! as a Glaswegian street philosopher once yelled outside Greggs. Yours to Enjoy.