‘Flu Bugs, Veggies, Dukes & Elephants

Oh, dear.

D. received a company-wide email this morning, making note of the fact that someone in the same building, but on the floor below on the same floor (but not working in the cubicles, but in a real with-a-closing-door office), has contracted swine ‘flu. Since there has now been a UK death from this disease, there’s a slight breath of unease flowing through the building, triggering bottles of hand sanitizer on bookshelves, desks, and every flat surface (ironically, none in the office kitchen or any of the bathrooms), and a series of rules sent out on the “appropriate behavior” protocols, including covering one’s mouth when sneezing or coughing. Apparently many people don’t do that one automatically?

Definitely time to eat one’s veggies. Fortunately, good veggies are just a few blocks away. T&D are rather amusing the proprietors of a tiny greengrocer stall by their twice weekly visits. Described by a Scottish friend as having the “bin-end” of produce, we have found this shop to not only have loads of variety of produce, but it’s ripe in the store. Imagine: bananas that you can just buy and eat, instead of having to sit them in a paper bag for a week! Uncrunchy tomatoes! Avocados! Well, okay, those are hard. But still!

The question directed to us in heavily accented English each visit is, “You like to cook?” “Oh, yes,” we say each time, using enthused smiles to bridge that linguistic gap. T. longs one day to shock them and simply say, “NO. We haven’t turned on the oven in weeks, and are enjoying loads of fresh fruit and veg that we don’t have to cook.” Viva la summer, and pass the hummus. It’s only June, and there’s not a single root veg in sight…

Unfortunately, this is the time of year T. has to visit the little medical clinic a few blocks away, since it’s time for her yearly blood test and heart check-up (she still has to put up with the aftermath of a very stubborn bacterial infection which damaged some of her squidgy bits internally. [If you think it’s just asthma or a really, really bad cold, but it lasts eight months, for heaven’s sakes, see a doctor, preferably a competent one. This has been your public service announcement.]). The clinic is the last place one wants to be, with a ‘flu epidemic ongoing, sitting for ages in the waiting room, listening to whiny 80’s rock ballads with a knot of wheezing, coughing, sniffling people (and their triplets — saw a couple whose three children are now six months old. Yikes). The second worst time to go to the clinic is when it’s pouring outside, as it is today, and one leaves and arrives, wet to the knees. After several days of scarily bright sunshine, Glasgow is reverting to its usual self, but at least it’s not really cold — just drenchingly wet. The Met Office, which is apparently kind of like the National Weather Service, has declared this a barbecue summer, however, so families have obediently been setting up lawn chairs in the park across the crescent, shivering as the clouds scud across the sun. T. took a shortcut through there this morning, and got an up-close visit with the mud puddles. Unbelievably, there was someone sitting in that park — the Glaswegians on this block are a hardy lot.

Hopefully the skies will clear in time for our outing on Friday to Inveraray Castle, which is on the banks of Loch Fyne. Last summer we made it up to Inveraray, but only to take a quick bus break on the way to Inverness. This time we’ll be taking the time to photograph more of the distinctive white buildings on the main road, and we’ll also be heading up to the Castle, to check out the inevitable display of guns and knives crossed into interesting patterns in their massive armory room, to oogle Rob Roy’s sporran, and enjoy the sixteen acres of gardens, the lawn borders of which are planted into the blue and white St. Andrew’s Cross of Scotland’s national colors. There’s also rumor that the castle owns a herd of the hairy coo beasties, but it’s assumed they’ll be well away from the fancy lawn.

If you’re catching a note of bemusement in the description of the delights we shall behold, it’s because doing the touristy thing in castles and stately homes is still kind of unbelievable to our U.S. brains. Castles. Royalty. Even now? Yes. Even now. This castle, like many others, is still owned by a Duke… the Duke of Argyll, who owns just miles of land and old castles and statuary and paintings and the like. Apparently, his Dukeness Torquhil Ian, is also a mad polo champ, and in 2004 and 2005 captured the World Elephant Polo Championship. No, seriously. Elephants. Dukes. Craziness.

Last night we watched Citizen Kane. It’s just about that surreal…

– D & T

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