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pecuniumYep, that's the flying I did from Friday morning to Sunday evening.
The was reason in it, but little rhyme. The only solace to be found is that I have no jet lag (as I flew a mere 1,000 miles east, when all was said and done) and I was able to upgrade from Dulles to Frankfort. The latter meant I could actually sleep for about four hours, rather than merely doze in 40 minutes sessions.
Highlights of the Scotland trip.
Hiking the hills of Aviemore in the blustery rain. It was as one expects the heath to be. Later; hiking around Wyvie Lodge in the scattered clouds. It was all one who had already gotten to walk windswept crags could want.
I did try haggis. It was ok. I can see where it would be pretty good were it done very well. It's not a horror, but done ill it coul be a trifle off-putting. I forewent in the mess.
I bought a pair of 200ml bottles of cask-stregnth. A Caol-ila, and a Laphroaig. Caol-ila is the only Islay I've not had yet (there are only six distilleries on Islay, generally getting peatier/more seaweedy as one moves clockwise to Laphroaig. Caol-ila is a bit toward 2 o'clock, as I recall the map).
Stevenson, in Kidnapped, did a masterful job of capturing what the Highlands are like. It was all familiar in my eye. The heather was the right hight, the gorse was the right color, the look of it in the sun, and the smell of it in the rain were all as if I had known them of old. I see why Maia likes Scotland. She said I would like Edinburgh, but I didn't go (as I said, it was six hours of bus riding, and having to meet timings, and why would I want to have to play at the most annoyying aspects of soldiering on my specified holiday?), which means I missed the slight chance (had I gone to Edinburgh Castle with the right trio, to have Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II of England and the first, of that name in Scotland, walk past me. I'll have to settle for shaking the hand of a Duke, and drinking with a guy who ordered his troops to assault the top of a fucking great hill in the Falklands with fixed bayonets. On balance, the latter was more worth it. Edinburgh Castle will be there next time I go, the hours of sleep I got, and ease I took could never be regained).
I did get a few hours in London. Fewer than I might because the driver who was to get us was doubly inept. He was waiting at the kerb for about an hour before he managed to come in to find us. I didn't see him when I went that way. Then he spent the best part of an hour not finding RAF Uxbridge (some 15 minnutes from Heathrow). Which means that, when all the the sorting was done I'd lost about four ours I might have spent in Town.(Uxbridge didn't know we were coming and the apology the Sergeant of the Guard gave me was beautiful. I had no choice but to absolve him completely, as he was completey without fault and had nothing for which to apologise).
Which meant I got not a moment in the National Portrait Gallery. I did make the pilgrimage to 84 Charing Cross Road. The shame of it is horrible. A fast food establishment stands where wonderful books were one sold. I did, however, break down and buy a decent book (though there were several wonderful books, and I almost broke down for an octavo on Drake, in carboard and leather, for £3.50, but somehow I refrained. I think that, were I to give in to more than one book, I should have ended up in Marshalsea for debt) at Quito, 48a Charing Cross Road.
I then had fish and chips at the Porcupine, where I was served a nice piece of fish, decently breaded, a side, I think, of some freshwater whitefish, with the skin still on, some chips; done to a turn, some mushy peas, a dollop of tartar sauce (just about perfect, not soft and runny, not clogged with pickle bits, but sticky, a slight sheen of oily, and a bit of bite; possessing sweet undertones, it made a pleasant counterpoint to the vinegar I liberally applied to the fish). On the side I had a pine of "Spitfire" a cask ale, wish was pulled, and came out from the pressure of the piston. Almost still, served at room temperature, all one might want in an ale.
I also got insight on mushy peas; the ones I wa served were actually a form of pease pudding/porridge. They were dried peas, which had been boiled in just enough water to make them soft enough to mash. If one overcooks canned peas they have something of the same texture, though become far too sweet.
I am now going to hie myself to dinner somewhere here in Kiev, where the sun goes down before it does in Inverness.
The was reason in it, but little rhyme. The only solace to be found is that I have no jet lag (as I flew a mere 1,000 miles east, when all was said and done) and I was able to upgrade from Dulles to Frankfort. The latter meant I could actually sleep for about four hours, rather than merely doze in 40 minutes sessions.
Highlights of the Scotland trip.
Hiking the hills of Aviemore in the blustery rain. It was as one expects the heath to be. Later; hiking around Wyvie Lodge in the scattered clouds. It was all one who had already gotten to walk windswept crags could want.
I did try haggis. It was ok. I can see where it would be pretty good were it done very well. It's not a horror, but done ill it coul be a trifle off-putting. I forewent in the mess.
I bought a pair of 200ml bottles of cask-stregnth. A Caol-ila, and a Laphroaig. Caol-ila is the only Islay I've not had yet (there are only six distilleries on Islay, generally getting peatier/more seaweedy as one moves clockwise to Laphroaig. Caol-ila is a bit toward 2 o'clock, as I recall the map).
Stevenson, in Kidnapped, did a masterful job of capturing what the Highlands are like. It was all familiar in my eye. The heather was the right hight, the gorse was the right color, the look of it in the sun, and the smell of it in the rain were all as if I had known them of old. I see why Maia likes Scotland. She said I would like Edinburgh, but I didn't go (as I said, it was six hours of bus riding, and having to meet timings, and why would I want to have to play at the most annoyying aspects of soldiering on my specified holiday?), which means I missed the slight chance (had I gone to Edinburgh Castle with the right trio, to have Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II of England and the first, of that name in Scotland, walk past me. I'll have to settle for shaking the hand of a Duke, and drinking with a guy who ordered his troops to assault the top of a fucking great hill in the Falklands with fixed bayonets. On balance, the latter was more worth it. Edinburgh Castle will be there next time I go, the hours of sleep I got, and ease I took could never be regained).
I did get a few hours in London. Fewer than I might because the driver who was to get us was doubly inept. He was waiting at the kerb for about an hour before he managed to come in to find us. I didn't see him when I went that way. Then he spent the best part of an hour not finding RAF Uxbridge (some 15 minnutes from Heathrow). Which means that, when all the the sorting was done I'd lost about four ours I might have spent in Town.(Uxbridge didn't know we were coming and the apology the Sergeant of the Guard gave me was beautiful. I had no choice but to absolve him completely, as he was completey without fault and had nothing for which to apologise).
Which meant I got not a moment in the National Portrait Gallery. I did make the pilgrimage to 84 Charing Cross Road. The shame of it is horrible. A fast food establishment stands where wonderful books were one sold. I did, however, break down and buy a decent book (though there were several wonderful books, and I almost broke down for an octavo on Drake, in carboard and leather, for £3.50, but somehow I refrained. I think that, were I to give in to more than one book, I should have ended up in Marshalsea for debt) at Quito, 48a Charing Cross Road.
I then had fish and chips at the Porcupine, where I was served a nice piece of fish, decently breaded, a side, I think, of some freshwater whitefish, with the skin still on, some chips; done to a turn, some mushy peas, a dollop of tartar sauce (just about perfect, not soft and runny, not clogged with pickle bits, but sticky, a slight sheen of oily, and a bit of bite; possessing sweet undertones, it made a pleasant counterpoint to the vinegar I liberally applied to the fish). On the side I had a pine of "Spitfire" a cask ale, wish was pulled, and came out from the pressure of the piston. Almost still, served at room temperature, all one might want in an ale.
I also got insight on mushy peas; the ones I wa served were actually a form of pease pudding/porridge. They were dried peas, which had been boiled in just enough water to make them soft enough to mash. If one overcooks canned peas they have something of the same texture, though become far too sweet.
I am now going to hie myself to dinner somewhere here in Kiev, where the sun goes down before it does in Inverness.
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no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 05:21 pm (UTC)It's a pity you probably can't talk much about your duties in the Army, because with all your travelling it must be very interesting indeed.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 08:55 pm (UTC)I forgot to mention that when I was doing the MapEx, I took three litres of water from out the burn, of which a bit more than two came home wi' me, and will be used to water the whisky down to bottle strength when I share it out with friends.
TK
no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 05:29 pm (UTC)(Side note, Spitfire is definitely also good. And if you ever get a chance, you might also want to try Dark Island.)
no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 06:22 pm (UTC)Good whiskies those--Laphroaig has always been a favorite of mine which is sort of odd since I don't like the dirt taste of carrots but I love the smokey peat in Laphroaig. But then, one really can't compare carrots to Single Malts.
Anon
no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 08:58 pm (UTC)As I told
I will be using it to water the whiskey down to bottle stregnth in the glass.
TK
no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 06:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 08:53 pm (UTC)He was a great guy to hang out in the mess/bar with, and, as stated, was a people person, so it wasn't all mere shop, nor just "get to know you small talk.
TK
no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 03:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 11:58 am (UTC)Essentially we needed a quick and decisive end to the war because our supply lines were stretched back to the UK and with Gallahad and Argus sunk with most of our helicopter lift we couldn't sustain a slowly paced defensive battle. Either we took Port stanly or the game was up. The main objectives were Tumbledown and Londgon which were the vital ground we needed to hold to get the troops forward into an FUP. There had been some attenpts to outflank the Argentine army, who it must be said, although were conscripts fought well.
Our fire plan was "pump", and 3 Para Mortar Pl and 79 Bty were all that was available, having been focussed on the abortive attempts to take Tumbledown. 3 Para had a battle plan that involved flanking the Argentine positions with A and B Coys having the main effort and C Coy in reserve. A Coy were to move forward and take Longdon and A, with elements of C in support were to take Wireless Ridge. With a poor fireplan and a full moon 3 Para were exposed and needed to move. They were further hampered by their radio net going down because a counter-offensive by the Argentines had forced 3 Para to bug out and leave a lot of their kit behind.
B Coy had to advance through a minefield (poor G2 meant they never knew it was there) and when one accidentally went off they lost the element of surprise. The fighting that followed was brutal and often hand-to-hand. The bayonet charge was ordered because there had been a slip up in clearing a trench where a group of Argetine soldiers were assumed dead, but who continued to fire on the advancing 3 Para. 2 soldiers slipped under the covering fire and posted grenades into the fire trench, and finished the remaining Argentines off with their bayonets. The Argentinians brought forward some reserves with night sights, and the key to taking the ground was a machine gun entrenchment in the middle of the mountainside. Sgt Ian MacKay VC led a 4 man assault party onto the position, and being the last man standing assaulted, and took the position before being killed. It was only after hMS Avenger's guns were called in that we regained the necessary momentum and took the mountain, and the strategic route to Port Stanley.
Had the fire plan been better organised the bayonet charge would never have been necessary.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 11:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 04:46 pm (UTC)The real problem was my absolute (barring what you saw here) lack of internet, and phone number.
If I'd had more notice of my actual trip times to London, I'd have sent you a note, somehow.
As it was, I was probably not the best company, as I was suffering from the onset of a cold, thankfully brief, and hayfever.
I did want to give you a ring.
TK
no subject
Date: 2006-07-13 09:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-13 08:15 pm (UTC)To avoid the, ineveitable, taking of sides which comes of hearing details (and that the side taken is, almost invariably, the result of whose story one first hears) I have avoided trying to find them out, and so I can hold you both in the esteem I did when you were still together.
I rather wished I could have had a day or so in London, so that we might have been able to visit, because I do like you, and wish you weren't so bloody hard to see/stay in touch with.
Come to the states, we'll have some drinks, swap some lies and you can meet my better 3/5ths.
Terry