You have to laugh

Short post but I am still giggling about it.

In the middle of a worldwide crisis, where we are only meant to go out for essential work, for food and for an hours exercise, I pick this very suitable moment to be stranded in my street without my house keys.

Oh yes – why would this not happen?! For someone so careful with keys, why not bloody lose them? Well in line with my usual defiance of the norm – my subconscious, or stupid conscious, figured this was the right time to do just that.

Saturday morning: spent cleaning (I hate cleaning) and washing work clothes for next weeks anticipated long hours.

Saturday late morning: Ooh I am finally an organised person even though it has taken a pandemic to kick my arse into gear.

Saturday lunchtime: I shall go to Tesco and buy my essentials. I will queue. I will encounter polite people (socially distant). I will encounter stupid people. I will get my stock of prosseco (alcohol is essential in Scotland and we will happily admit it), bread and woohoo I managed to get flour. As an aside – the flour will get used to bake stuff with. I should also add is clearly the measure of a crisis in my book. I baked last year and normally only do it every 10 or so years.

Saturday just after lunchtime: Where are my keys? I can’t get in my house if I don’t have them. This is not a good time to not have keys. My spares are with my parents who really shouldn’t be getting in the car and coming to my flat to let me in. So I swore (cursed). A lot. A lot of fucks were shouted at myself in the middle of Edinburgh. People probably heard me a mile away since it is pretty quiet now that people are staying indoors. I couldn’t care though. If ever there was a time to have a shit fit it is now!

Saturday just just after lunchtime: buzzed my neighbour after the realisation that since I locked my door on the way out my keys are most likely in the communal bin on the street along with my rubbish. A big bin (dumpster if you are reading this in certain areas). I am not tall. I would fall in and wouldn’t get back out. That would also not be a good situation in the current crisis. No one would touch me to pull me out. Shit Shit Shit! So my neighbour was shouted at to give me step ladders…NOW!!! More fucks shouted.

Saturday at a time I now want to repress: ladder in hand and continual swearing (cursing) loudly I head back out. A few folk are in the street with their shopping. They stop to stare. I don’t care! I open the big bin…I look inside…my fucking (sorry) keys are sitting just on top of the bin bag I threw in on the way to Tesco. Thank the anyone the bin was full enough and they had landed just right. They hadn’t snaked there way to the bottom of the bin. Hallleeehbloooodythankee.

Saturday at a time I now giggle about: So step ladder in hand which I no longer need – I now look like a mad woman. I was swearing like a mad woman. I give it a final hummmmppphh. A bit of a yaaaaaayyyyy. I refrain from doing a wee dance. I then take the ladders and my keys into my house and hide. I laugh. Fuck me if there is ever a time to have a key crisis it is not now!!

Header Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

One day at home

The whole situation at the moment is serious so apologies for this seeming light-hearted. But I’m knackered and off for the day.


Honestly – it was spent watching news. News. News. Then a walk to the shop to buy wine. Expensive wine as there was hardly any left. I feel like I have watched too much news.

I played a little bit of piano. Then I watched the news (again). I am already feeling thankful that I have to work. I am also feeling thankful for every type of key worker and really feeling for everyone else who can’t work. Feeling for those who are uncertain about their livelihoods. Everyone has to deal with some form of shit in this situation.


Do I really need to conserve my wine? There must be enough stock in Scotland.

Facetime (Social distancing is serious!). Living on your own – A good thing…a bad thing. If I had to / at any point have to stay at home for 7 days it won’t be a great thing even if it would be a necessary thing.

Wine. Wine. Wine. Piano. Music. Dancing on my coffee table (its big enough don’t worry).

Music choice – pot luck. Here are two of them ;-). They both remind me of connection. Of people. They both make me smile.

Leith’s just down the road….not a fan of that Edinburgh club but I appreciate the cup final version done by Hibs fans in 2016…just couldn’t post it 🙂

Its a short post. I can’t think of much to say this week. Other than stay safe and chin up.

Bloody knees!

What is it with me and knees? Why when I am in my 40s have I clattered them on two separate occasions – having had no problems like this between being, oooh, about 10 and 42?!

Last time I was slightly tipsy. I fell over and scraped them, clattered them on the ground, made lots of covert whimpering noises and even went to the minor injuries unit a week later due to the fear of having cracked something. See my post here if you really want to know more.

This time I was doing something equally stupid. Not prancing out in the garden. Noooo. This time I was doing handstands. In my flat. In my flat with wooden floors. Obviously without a mat down. Why would I do anything so sensible as take precautions when practicing handstands?

This was on Thursday. My current knee state is as follows:

  • Bloody sore;
  • Uncomfortable (acutely so) in any low lunge, kneeling or on knees position (yoga before you ask);
  • Bruised;
  • Bloody sore; and
  • Probably not cracked.

I am an adult

Yep. I am an adult. To be fair I was doing wild kicking up against the wall handstands because I want to manage a press handstand this year. It’s a goal. A yoga goal although I am convinced this will be handy for a numerous array of other purposes.

I don’t even think I am too old to be doing this type of activity. Your 40s are technically like your 30s. When I was really young I always assumed no one made it past around 35. Now I am in my 40s I think no one makes it past 90 or at least not gracefully. Don’t all 90 year olds dribble a little?

So yeah…handstands. Yep…scraped and clattered knees. Even a few whimpers as I hugged them while rolled into a little ball on my living room rug for a good 10 minutes after. It didn’t take long for my whimpers to turn into giggles. The whole situation is amusingly ridiculous.

Tomorrow I’m going to be practicing handstands again. Without any kind of padding. Slightly mad I know. But why not live a little dangerously, stupidly, and definitely not gracefully.

Photo by Lucrezia Carnelos on Unsplash

Bad Luck can be Good Luck

Have you ever thought about how bad luck can sometimes be good luck? This week I have. It’s been one of those weeks. Somewhat amusing depending on your perspective.


Yes I know the psychological concepts of luck…externalising the event to something outside of our control. As a side thing I would normally say ‘outwith’ but I realise that only people in Scotland use this word (weird eh?…It’s such a good word!!). So without being all professional and far too psychological luck is a relevant or at least a functional way of looking at things sometimes. Why would we not externalise some things when we are responsible for enough?


It was bad luck on Monday that when I parked up in front of the car wash, patiently waiting my turn, that I turned off my engine and the fecking thing wouldn’t restart.

Cue slight panic.

Until…I figured it was good luck that in freezing conditions I broke down in the petrol station. It was also good luck that I had a bobble hat with me to keep me warm as it was bad luck that I broke down in cold weather. It was a bit rubbish that I couldn’t get in the car wash (my car is currently manky due to the bad weather) but definitely good luck that I only had to walk into the shop and get some food whilst being stranded (slight dramatisation).

It was also good luck that my rubbish car isn’t too heavy to move. I managed to push it out the way of everyone else who wanted their car squeaky clean. I figure this is sharing out some good luck to them.

It was definitely good luck that the recovery guy arrived quicker than predicted. At 7.30pm to be exact when I expected him to arrive after 8pm. Good luck because he quickly said “your battery is done” (bad luck) but he got it turning over (good luck). As good luck would have it he left me 20 minutes before a nearby garage closed. Great luck they worked till 8pm and hadn’t closed up. Even better luck they had only 1 battery left that was the type I needed. Slightly bad luck it cost me £100 but good luck that I had just been paid. Possibly also good luck that the garage man was good looking (sorry!).


If you are not confused yet you are doing well.

It wasn’t great that my journey home took 3 hours but it could have been worse.

Even more luck

It was also really good luck that when stranded my neighbour texted me to say she had cooked a batch of Dahl that afternoon. Even better luck that when I got home she had left a food parcel at my door.

So sitting on a Monday night with a lovely veggie Indian meal with all sides and dips and naan bread (all provided by my neighbour), with a glass of wine in hand and knowing I have a car that is not going to cause me problems for the next week – I felt pretty lucky in my bad luck. Even more lucky that the people; the recovery guy, my dad for the phone support, the garage guys who just wanted to get home but had great smiles and did the work, and my neighbour who feeds me; are amazing.

Photo by Amy Reed on Unsplash

Ever Embarrassed Yourself at a Party?

No? Just me then? Surely not? Surely everyone has. If you are going to do it though, just do it spectacularly. That way even if you can’t remember it, others will remind you of it for years to come.

Remind yourself

Reminders can happen at any time. Your friends will tell you the story of your debacle, spectacular debacle, more often than you might like. But at other times it just hits you. That distant memory. That ‘oh pants I did that’ moment. When this happens to me I usually have a slightly disturbing chuckle to myself.

Last weekend on one of my far too many nights out this festive period I bumped into my reminder. Whilst trying to hold it together on the last train home from Glasgow I saw a familiar face. Actually it was a familiar suit. A man in a suit. Not just any suit; a wildly flamboyant one, a noddy type hat and his bicycle. I should note that he must be the only person in the world who thinks that wearing that attire and taking his bicycle on the last train from Glasgow to Edinburgh (Saturday night) is a good idea. Good on him.

For someone so flamboyant he always feels unusually awkward to speak to. Anyway I said hello having been in his company, whilst he was dressed like a Christmas tree, the previous weekend. I figured we were at least acquaintances by this point.

Whilst talking I had a flashback. A definite ‘oh pants I really did do that’ flashback.

Memories are not always wonderful

So the memory….

I was at a party. Actually it was his. Hardly knew him at that point but it was at a venue owned by a friend. Quirky and broad range of party attenders which I think always calls for a broad range of….Prosecco.

Prosecco is not always a good idea.

So the venue had various rooms. It was a special birthday and he kept asking the owner to round people up for a birthday toast. This went on and on (in my vague recollection it did but it may not have!).

Why would I not step in. Booming voice later and people all gathered it was time. Except….

No one was doing the toast. They were all staring at me. I was staring back. Not like I knew him! OH PANTS!

Fake it. Just fake it. I talked about how wonderful he was. I am sure only the whole room noted the fact that the owner had to remind me of his name when I raised a glass and asked everyone to toast ….??…. You get the picture.

Prosecco is never a good idea.

Will there be more times?

Where there is Prosecco in the world there will be embarrassing moments.

I say embrace them.

If you don’t want to then crawl under that little rock. Just save me a space for my worst ones. They are probably yet to come.

Photo by Rebecca Wiggins on Unsplash