199 and Out

It was another gorgeous morning, cool but still, blue skies patterned by nature's artistry of the cirrostratus clouds, creating patterns that blow your mind. It was a significant day; I had finally come to terms with my age and condition. I have always been an optimist, believing that I should be able to continue to do things I had always done.  Running all the way up my regular hill, Lime Craig, was proving tricky. I last did it in 2020. After the lockdown, it was difficult to build up the fitness to run up the steeper sections of the 300-metre hill. I continued to go up three or four times a week once they removed the tapes that prevented people from going up hills. Unlike golf, sailing, and other high-end outdoor sports that had convinced Boris Johnson to allow them the freedom to roam with impunity, hillwalkers and runners were still deemed a danger to social isolation.

The result is that I have been stuck on 199 runs up Lime Craig since my first ascent in 1988. I had intended to donate a bench for the summit on reaching 200 so that I could have rest there during my dotage. I had even spoken to the Forestry Commission to see if they would allow me to transport it up the narrow private track. As it happened, they decided to provide a bench in 2021 and by serendipity, I was there on the morning they were installing it. At the time, I was going up the hill four or five times a week for my morning exercise. I helped the two forestry workers find the best position so that visitors could enjoy the views westwards along Strathard, Loch Ard and towards Ben Lomond. 

I had started to run up the hill from Aberfoyle in 1988 when we moved there from Glasgow. I was a road runner but training for the Snowdonia (Eyri) Marathon, which involved 3061 feet of ascent in three major climbs. Two laps of Lime Craig gave me 1800 feet of ascent and 13 miles, and became one of my training runs. A year or so later, I started hill running and began to run it on Sunday mornings with Matt Ogston, the secretary of the Scottish Hill Runners, who lived nearby. He would sometimes invite his club friends from Hunter's Bogtrotters or Westerlands to join us. They would return to have tea, toast and showers at our house afterwards. 

The ascent of Lime Craig became quite competitive, and I managed to set the record from the house, a distance of 5.54 kilometres to the summit via Dounans Camp and Braeval. I brought the record down to 23 minutes 42 seconds in 1990 when I was running it 20 times a year. The first section, from the house through the village, Dounans Camp, and along the rising trail above the golf course, was 3.56 kilometres and featured a 95-metre climb at a pace of 3 minutes 42 seconds per kilometre. The final steep 2-kilometre section from K corner above Braeval was achieved in 10 minutes 29 seconds at a pace of 5 minutes 15 seconds per kilometre for the 190-metre climb.  

Had Strava existed then, it would have been a crown. My time of the final climb from K corner remains only a few seconds short of the present Strava crown held by Gregor. The descent was a different matter. Matt and some of the hill runners were fearless on the initial steep stony path towards the David Marshall Lodge, and I lagged behind until the long, gentler descent trails when my road running pace allowed me to catch them.

After I gave up racing in 1994, Lime Craig became more of a run for a good day or when I was feeling frisky. The frequency dropped to 5 or 6 runs a year, and the 200 mark became elusive. I ran it occasionally when John visited for the weekend, or with my old hill running partner, Keith.  After retirement, on Tuesday evenings,  I sometimes ran it with Angela Mudge's running group; we even ran up on Boxing Day morning when I took a flask of hot mulled wine to the summit. 

Lime Craig was also a place to walk the children, take visitors or go for an evening walk if I was not feeling like a run after work. Over 300 excursions were made during the 30 years living in Aberfoyle.

Post-COVID and after the move to the new house, Lime Craig became the main objective for my regular exercise, but from the Braeval car park. It is a 7-mile journey from home and only  2.5 kilometres to the summit, although it includes the same final section from K corner. I have made another 400 walks/runs up the hill in the last five years to add to the previous ascents. They are timed, and with four or five sections of running, I was breaking 30 minutes until the end of last year and managed a best time of 25 minutes. I usually run down, taking around 15 minutes at a pace of 5 minutes 30 seconds for an extended route down that is twisty and involves some steeper sections.. 

Today was different; I had decided to forget about the time and just enjoy the remarkable Spring scenery. Bluebells, gorse and broom were in flower, the birds provided the chorus, and the skies were a kaleidoscope of images. I took photos of the route as a perpetual memory of the backdrop of the run/walk that I have done the most times in my life's journey. Lime Craig was where I went to exercise, to reflect, to write talks, to release my endorphins and where I went to find solace on the day that Aileen died. 

Despite the perfect morning, there was no one else on the hill today. I reached the top in 39 minutes; it was a breeze, and time no longer mattered. This was the day I accepted that 199 was just another number and there was no need to add any more.

The photos below are in order of ascent and descent.

Start of the steep path from Braeval

K corner

Recent tree felling has opened the views

Craigmore ahead and turn right

Keep going, the halfway mark

Broom and Gorse Glade

Pine skyline

Looking south to the Campsie and Whangie

Patterned Skies

Final section

Path to the summit looking down

Summit 

Summit Bench and Ben Venue

Craigmore to Ben Venue

Ben Ledi

Ben Lomond and Craigmore on descent

A Really Useful Idiot

"Give me your tired, your poor and huddled masses, and find a haven, banishing all fear.

"

Trumpism started with the Tea Party.

American hegemony had gone too far. They had been the de facto winners of the Second World War. Roosevelt had provided the supplies and equipment, the Doughboys came to the rescue of a fractious Europe and Marshall Aid was supplied for its rebuilding. The USA halted the spread of communism beyond East Germany and in Asia and the Americas, with some notable exceptions. They became the home base of global institutions, including the United Nations, NATO, the World Bank, and the IMF. They consolidated and celebrated their influence with nuclear weapons, movies, advertisements, fins on their automobiles, skyscrapers, junk food and damaging chemicals. They were doused in dollars, oil and bumper crops. The wealthy became wealthier, and ambitious migrants from Europe, Asia and the Americas boosted their talent pool. 

The rest of the world lapped up the fairy story. It allowed the USA to exploit the natural resources of other nations and take over their companies. American products, from planes and weapons to fast food, fizzy drinks and domestic appliances, were foisted on the world along with a glamorous narrative of a nation too good to be true. The United States were not colonialist in pursuit of an empire; that was old hat, they were buying their way into exploiting the resources and the economic growth of what they regarded as their domain, the free world.

They had their comeuppance in Korea, Vietnam, and parts of Central and South America, and this created a scintilla of doubt amongst the radicalised young in the 1960s and 1970s. But the USA was high on self-belief and had charismatic political and business leaders who assumed global leadership, never more so than when Gorbachov ceded the freedom of the Soviet republics and the creation of democracies in new nations that were former republics.

Things turned sticky in the Middle East as oil-rich autocratic nations began to exercise their wealth, and George Bush, father and son, took military action in Iraq and Afghanistan. It didn't end well, and they had harangued other Western countries to reluctantly support the invasions. The patina of American power began to lose its sheen, but the USA still retained its reputation as the alpha country in the free world. Trump 1.0 muddled through with the MAGA base kept in check by the grown-ups in the administration. However, the rehearsal had convinced Trump that he did not need advisers or seasoned politicians; what he needed were amateurs and fellow travellers to parody a government while he played out his fantasies and took corruption to the next level. The fact that 75 million voters had endorsed his second term gave him the power to follow his fundamental instincts.

His second coming started with a momentum that was meant to shock and awe the rest of the world. Previous policies and agreements were shredded, diplomacy was derided, felons were released from jail, and tariffs were hiked to levels that left the rest of the world wincing and pleading for clemency. He acted as if he was all-powerful, and world leaders responded accordingly. But some leaders baulked at the idiocy of Trump's gameplay, which had gone too far. Canada and Mexico challenged him. They were supported by their angry citizens and businesses, who boycotted American goods. This mood was echoed and copied around the world as Trump threatened to take over Greenland and Panama, make Canada the 51st state, rename the Gulf of Mexico, suggest the USA should take over Gaza for real estate development, humiliate President Zelensky, give license to Vice President Vance to insult Europe and the Pope on his death bed, withdraw from the Climate Change agreement and no longer provide refuge for immigrants who now fear being banished to distant lands. The United States has forsaken the Statue of Liberty's Call as "a place of hope, beyond compare."  

The worm had turned. Canada's Prime Ministers Trudeau and then Mark Carney both called him out. China did not flinch and retaliated with equally severe tariffs on American goods. The American Finance sector was faithful to Mammon, and the Bond market collapsed. Harvard University sued Trump over his withdrawal of research funding. Elon Musk, Trump's Tonto, had had enough; his businesses were in freefall, and he had become a derided figure of fun as he closed down government departments and agencies with the deftness of a SpaceX rocket exploding on takeoff. Trump had taken the red pill and was still in Wonderland."All persons more than a mile high to leave the court" seemed a suitable epitaph for Musk's time in government.

The shackles that had bound Western nations to the USA in its pomp were broken. Elections in Canada and Australia returned anti-Trump candidates, who months earlier had been facing defeat. China took a long-term view and began trade negotiations with other countries that had been hammered by Trump's Tariff proposals. The European Union was united in its opposition to Trump, who, never one to admit mistakes, was beginning to row back on his proposals, claiming they were part of his deal-making strategy. 

The disruption that Trump had inflicted on the world had backfired; the umbilical cord to the USA had been severed. We are moving to a New World Order. Trump has been a Really Useful Idiot.

Chevrolet Impala with Fins - functionally useless

Musk and Tesla - vanquished tropes

Blue Origin

Blue Origin's Magnificent Seven Up

As if 2025 hadn't caused enough damage to the global commonweal, we have witnessed another utterly bizarre world event. Seven starry-eyed celebrities popped up into the higher layers of the atmosphere in a Jeff Bezos Blue Origin capsule fired from his Texas launchpad to claim that they were astronauts. It was like watching a social media revamp of Monsieur Hulot's Holiday. Unfortuanately, the dialogue of the hapless seven lacked either the intelligence or self awareness to make it a parody. M. Hulot created chaos by opening the hotel door to let in a stiff breeze, it was pity that the Jeff''s Angels didn't open the capsule door to get a better view of the moon and become the first space asylum seekers.

Blue Origin is an Amazon funded space tourism project that costs at least £150,000 for the ten-minute ride to 100km above the Earth and back. About the same time as you get on the Star Wars Hyperspace ride at Eurodisney, but without the queue. The impact of Blue Origin flights on the ozone layer by the creation of Nitrous Oxide in the atmosphere and the release of water vapour in the upper atmosphere is hugely damaging to mother Earth. But Bezos is a rocket billionaire, a philistine philanthropist who is fulfilling the destructive powers of Amazon.

The Bonzo Dog Doo-dah Band sent up the space race so much better and cheaper in 1968 with their only hit single, "I'm the Urban Spaceman," on the Liberty label. They saw it as a Dadaist prank, a reference to the Apollo rocket launches. They even claimed the hit record was produced by Apollo C. Vermouth although it was produced by Paul McCartney. It was a spoof on the vacuous consumerism and space obsession in the summer of love. Even the lyrics say that the urban spaceman doesn't exist in real life. Unlike the urban spaceman, these celebrity wannabees exist, and with an elevated sense of entitlement. Letting them spaff their wealth and accelerate climate change on a glorified fairground ride is an Amazon Crime, yet another reason I am glad to have junked Amazon Prime.

Bye bye Mr Blue Sky

Morning is breaking 7 a.m.

After us two weeks of perpetual blue skies and excellent visibility, I awoke this morning to the same. I headed for an early walk on a local hill for only the third time in the last two months. It is only a 5-mile drive away, but the clouds were grumbling in from the northwest. The warm morning rays of the sun had been replaced by a nippy wind, and I was in shorts and a T-shirt. My normal 30-minute ascent took 12 minutes longer but that was 6 minutes faster than earlier in the week. On the descent, a brief hail shower passed through and prompted me to start running again.

I had not stopped on either the ascent or descent and I was feeling slightly better than I had for 7 weeks. Maybe the antibiotics prescribed by the GP for a viral infection and the steroids prescribed by the respiratory consultant after a CT scan, and various blood tests are beginning to work. Pity I have missed the good weather, including a much cherished trip to Fisherfield with John last week. 

Weather is breaking 8:30 a.m.

The National Portrait Gallery

Processional frieze in the Great Hall

After a long morning at Edinburgh University providing background material for a book on local government, and a Tapas lunch with Bill, I had the afternoon free. I took myself to the National Portrait Gallery, somewhere I had not visited since retirement and was keen to see the new exhibits. It was a revelation, defying its Victorian origins, housed in its sombre Corsehill red sandstone neo-Gothic building on Queen Street. The Gallery had been wonderfully renovated in 2011. The ambience on arrival, the welcome from the curators and the magical Great Hall were totally embracing. There were many visitors from around the world; it was not even Easter, but Edinburgh was already buzzing as the Athens of the North.

My quest to see the new exhibits was delayed by the time required to admire the processional frieze and the colourful murals painted on the upper balcony of the Great Hall by William Hole. Such was the influence of the Scotsman Newspaper at the time the building was completed in 1889 that its proprietor, John Ritchie Findlay, was able to commission this work as well as the purpose-designed Gallery to display Scottish heroes. I also spent even more time exploring the old portraits of Scottish Kings in the Reformation and Revolution Gallery and figures from the Scottish Enlightenment in the Globalisation galleries. 

Finally, I made it to the modern collection. Familiar figures came to life in paintings and photographs. A friend is writing a book on 100 Radical Scots, and I have made a dozen or so suggestions to him for inclusion in the book, including Sir Patrick Geddes and Tilda Swinton. They were both in the Gallery, a bust of Geddes and a frolicking painting of Swinton. I sent photos of them both to my friend, and he confirmed that he had completed his biography of the radical Geddes. 

Other post-war legends, poets, musicians, sportspeople and artists were splayed across a gallery as diverse as its portraits. Amongst them, a photograph of Wai-Yin Hatton, who had been the Chief Executive of Ayrshire Health Board, stared out at me. She had asked to work shadow me about twenty years ago, and this was reciprocated as we spent several days in each other's domains. It gave me an insight into the management culture in the Health Boards. The hospital consultants were ferocious in their bids for money, and they treated primary care with a studied disdain. Wai-Yin was a formidable character and was greatly frustrated by this but the silos in the NHS were well entrenched and not easily controlled.

Mural of the Battle of Bannockburn

Poets' Pub

Sir Patrick Geddes

Tilda Swinton

Wai-Yin Hatton

The Devil's Apprentice

Cockwomble

Well, not content with providing the protection and weapons to allow Netanyahu to continue the killings in Gaza to exceed 50,000 and allowing Putin to continue the ruthless bombardment of Ukraine, Trump has now unilaterally inflicted the most crass (but beautiful) tariff policies on the world. In any edition of The Apprentice, he would have been evicted for any of these three monumental failures. It would be far better to fire him. Ideally, into a perpetual orbit of the Earth in one of Musk's SpaceX tin cans. 

What is particularly irksome is Trump's persistent claim that America has been "raped and pillaged" by the EU and other countries. The converse is nearer the truth. It was an American journalist, Ludwell Denny, who spoke the truth in 1930 when he said that the USA is "Too wise to govern the world, we shall merely own it." That is what they have done; American companies have built factories and employed cheap labour across the world. There are 280 American companies with factories in China alone and substantial numbers in Vietnam, Taiwan, Cambodia and the other countries that have been landed with the highest tariffs by Trump's government.  

The UK has become a Vassal State whereby America has bought out Britain.  Private equity companies have plundered the UK to take ownership of companies. In 2020, they took a revenue of $707bn from the UK, an average profit of £2500 from every UK household. HMRC have estimated that American companies underpaid tax by £5.6bn. It is time for the UK government to take back control, to weaponise our tax system and to regulate takeovers. The US government has seen the special relationship with the UK as a game of dancing with donkeys. America has become the dominant owner of almost half the FTSE shares, not to mention the ownership of the majority of Premier League football clubs and many health and care providers. Trump has targeted the UK's very modest 2% Digital Services Tax on the big American tech companies to be eliminated as part of his game plan to reduce the 'rape and pillaging’ of the USA.

What Trump has done is give the UK and Europe a legitimate excuse to put an end to the plundering of their businesses. It means working more closely with Europe, which has been far more savvy in developing regulatory control of big tech and AI. It is essential to stop America from ‘merely owning the world.’ Hopefully, as the Trump game is played out, the rest of the world will be too wise to let this continue. Untrammelled private equity ownership and unregulated big tech, aided and abetted by successive American governments, have had the upper hand for too long. Trump has unwittingly paved the way to consigning his tariff policies to the dustbin of economic illiteracy. But that requires collaboration between Europe, the UK and other partners who are willing to confront the Devil's Apprentice.

Space X Control to Major Trump
Sitting in a tin can
Take your protein pills and put your helmet on
Planet Earth is Blue
And there's nothing you can do

 

Missing the Hills

Ben Ledi and the Blue Forgotten Hills

For the first time since early February, I started the day by climbing a local hill this morning. A viral infection, when walking in the Lakes in February, had given me chest pains and slowed me down. This was followed by feeling listless during a week in London. I decided to go to Istanbul to get some sunshine and explore the Bosphorus megacity. Again, I was feeling tired, and my limbs were aching, so I drained what was left of my stamina to haul myself around Istanbul. I returned to some glorious weather in Scotland. Normally, I would be up and out by 7:30am to climb my local micro hills on good days such as these. I could not summon up the energy and had to limit myself to the odd hour in the garden. Moreover, I was missing a few days in Fisherfield with Keith and John. Fisherfield has always been one of my favourite locations and, at this time of the year, in these conditions. Wow.

This morning, the viral infection seemed to be on the wane, so I was out early on the perfect morning to climb Ben Gullipen. It is usually a sub-30-minute brisk walk once the snow and ice have departed, but today, I had already stopped five times before I was three-quarters of the way up. The man coming down was an acquaintance from Aberfoyle whom I had first met on Lime Craig on the day that Aileen had died, when I was seeking solace. He had recently retired to the area, and we bumped into each other on several subsequent occasions on Lime Craig when I recommended other local walks/runs to him, including Ben Gullipen. Billy was as friendly as ever, and we blethered for half an hour on a quite sublime April morning. We talked about running, hills, and Pete Cartwright, now a world over 70 1500 metre champion, who had worked with Billy and whom I had often run with on the local trails around Aberfoyle and where we had both won the annual 10k trail race. Today, I was only able to recommend 'This City is Ours', the Liverpool drug crime drama on the BBC, to Billy. It was the only memorable event that I had enjoyed in the last few weeks as I moped about, wondering why my energy had gone AWOL.

It had taken an hour to get to the summit, but the hills to the north were enticing in the blue morning light. Ben Ledi was a mere stone's throw away, and Ben Vorlich and Stuc a' Chroin were beckoning. This was my playground, my backyard that had nurtured my determination to seek the more distant adventures in all of Scotland's mountains. I watched the young lambs prancing around the summit and resolved to phone the hospital when I got home to see if I could get an earlier appointment to sort out my problem. I was able to run some of the way down, and I was pleased that my legs were still in reasonable shape. The news on the way home was of the collapse of the financial markets worldwide. Trump, what a Cockwomble.

Stuc a' Chroin and Ben Vorlich

Spring

Loch Venachar

A distant Ben Lomond

Ben Gullipen

 

Today Refreshed

Anna Foster - Today Programme

I have been a less regular listener to the Today Programme since the start of the year. It seemed to have lost its vitality and focus since the loss of Mishal Husain. Her professionalism and sharp focus had kept other presenters on the ball. Her temporary replacements, Jonny Dymond, Simon Jack and Katya Adler, had kept things ticking over, but Emma Barnett did not seem to be a team player. She is a loose cannon, unaware of her brutal style that irks interviewees, her fellow interviewers and this listener. 

Nick Robinson and Amol Rajan are spending too much time on other projects. Amol seems to have first dibs on any new BBC programme, and he and Nick have a weekly Today Podcast, which is usually good, but won't last; they are both too fond of their own voices. It does not please Justin Webb. He seems aggrieved that it trespasses on his Americast podcast with Sarah Smith. This is hardly surprising given that world news rotates around Planet Trump.

Then, the new presenter, Anna Foster, arrived on air.  She was in Thailand on her first day, covering the Myanmar earthquake. Her easy style brought out the best in the people she interviewed; she made a seamless connection with Nick Robinson in London, and they were immediately a working team. The Today Programme was back on track. Amol had already interviewed her on the Today podcast, and they had vowed to look forward to working together. Anna will no doubt rescue Justin from his grumpiness and cope with Emma, just as she does with everyone else in her fresh and positive manner. I wouldn't bet on Emma surviving the year, though.

End of the American Dream

Liberation Day or Breaking Bad

I was asked what sort of coffee I wanted. I paused before requesting a cappuccino; normally, I would order an americano. I had had it with Trump's America and been influenced by the Canadians and French, who had decided to boycott products from the USA in response to Trump's tariffs and treatment of Ukraine and Gaza. Not to mention his tryst with Putin. I would join them, singing it softly with my choice of coffee

It was an easy decision. I had given up Coca-Cola and Pepsi in 1972 because I disliked fizzy, sugary drinks. I had abandoned the Sunday Times when it was bought by News International in 1981 and refused to subscribe to Sky Television for the same reason. I have never revisited any American fast food outlet following my daughter's birthday party at a Burger King in 1987. I never bought a Ford, Vauxhall, or Tesla because they had built-in obsolescence when I was younger and are less well-made than European cars.  

I visited the USA seven times from 1979 to 2014 and loved the magnificent scenery from Yosemite to Canyonlands to the West Coast and the Black Hills of South Dakota. But the American Dream was becoming a faded nightmare. I despaired at the desolation of Great American Cities, the massive Trailer Parks that surround many towns and house low earners, migrants and the excluded. They are part of the rampant inequalities that make a mockery of the American Dream. Woodie Guthrie called it right in 'This Land is Your Land', but Trump has sacrificed humanity and just wants ‘Your Land to be His Land’. 

US governments have tried to usurp democratic governments from Vietnam to Chile to Grenada to Ukraine, and Trump is making eyes at Panama, Canada, Greenland and Gaza. The beneficent policies of F.D. Roosevelt, Truman and Eisenhower in the war years and thereafter in supporting and then rebuilding Europe have been progressively diluted in the past two decades. American companies had plundered other countries for minerals, cheap food, manufactured goods and state enterprises. These companies have bought out local businesses, and hedge funds have stripped many businesses worldwide. Meanwhile, the corporate giants foraged for defence and security contracts and poured oil into trouble spots. Their hegemony was absolute after the collapse of the USSR.

During recent discussions with friends, it became apparent that many were considering how to respond to the America First, anti-European sentiments espoused by Trump and his acolytes in government. How could we take individual action? The UK government is too timid and supine to act like Canada and challenge Trump, so maybe we should take action 'for the people by the people'; Abe Lincoln said that. We have witnessed European and Canadian car buyers trashing Tesla by no longer buying them, resulting in the share price dropping 44% ($462.28 - $259.27) from  Christmas 2024 to 31 March 2025. 

Given that Trump has called Wednesday, 2 April 2025, Liberation Day. Let us use our liberty to exercise our choice of goods and services and examine whether we want to continue to support the paragons of American global enterprise. Here are some starter suggestions of American companies that would maybe kick back at Trump if we redirected our spending elsewhere. 

1. Travel: forego the United States, go to Europe, Canada, Mexico or Japan

2. Holiday Bookings: Airbnb, booking.com, TripAdvisor - use local websites and cut out the American middleman

3. Social Media: Facebook, Netflix, X, YouTube, Sky, Disney+, Discovery, Instagram, Pinterest, Linkedin - choose life instead

4. Tech Companies: IBM, Google, Microsoft, Apple, Cisco, Bloomberg - maybe this is easier said than done

5. Online retailers: Amazon, eBay, Etsy - buy local or from UK/European websites

6. Fast food and coffee: eat healthily and give up McDonald's, KFC, Burger King, Pizza Hut, Subway, Papa John's and give Starbucks a miss and Lime Bikes

7. Food and Drink: Cadbury's, Coca-Cola, Fanta, Heinz, Kellogg's, Kraft, Nabisco, Pepsi - stop buying processed food and sugary drinks and steer clear of Costco 

7. Clothing: GAP, Nike, Levi's, Abercrombie and Fitch, J Crew, Ralph Lauren, Patagonia - use charity shops and buy less

8. Other shit: American Express,  ExxonMobil, Xbox, Sonos, Boeing, Jack Daniel's, and avoid the American Health Care intruders, United Health Group, and Care UK who are buying hospitals, GP practices and residential homes. There are a lot more British businesses that have been acquired and merged into American companies.

9. Cars: Ford, Tesla, Jeep - European, Japanese and Korean are of better quality

10. Football teams: Arsenal. Aston Villa, Bournemouth, Chelsea, Fulham, Crystal Palace, Ipswich, Liverpool, Manchester United - Support your local team instead, although they are probably sponsored by a betting company 

If I could keep just three of these from room 101, well, Apple, Liverpool and maybe, post-Trump, the United States. Retribution begets reconciliation.

'For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.' TS Eliot

The Crow Short

 25 March 2025

It would have been Aileen's birthday. I went downstairs at 6:45 a.m. to make a bowl of porridge and a coffee to have in bed as I caught up on the news and listened to a podcast. There was a strange, sharp pinging noise as I descended the stairs, no hot water from the tap, and when I tried the lights, they were off as well. I checked the trip switches, and they were ok. I phoned Alyn next door, and she had the same problem, so I phoned SSE on 105 and explained the issues. They had already had a report and were despatching an engineer to discover the problem. They were remarkably efficient, and within minutes, a message appeared indicating that they hoped to have power back by 10 a.m.

I had a summer breakfast instead, a bowl of cereal, a banana and juice, had a shower and went to Tradstocks to see the progress on Aileen's headstone. My neighbour, Summer, came round to show me the draft of some children's books she had been writing in Mandarin and English. They looked impressive, and she asked if I could look at the English in the second book. I had previously made suggestions for the first book. There was still no electricity, but we managed to transfer the text and illustrations on our phones via WhatsApp. Something to look at later once the electricity allows me to fire up the laptop.

It was a glorious March morning with hooloovoo blue skies (check Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy). Summer was here, and I had opened the doors onto the garden for the first time all year. I noticed a group of men in yellow jackets, one at the top of the wooden electricity pylon about 200 metres away in the adjacent field. I wandered down to discover if this was the problem. The SSE engineer was climbing down the pylon, and the other engineers were packing their equipment. They had rectified the fault caused by a shortage on one of the power lines. They had discovered a small branch lodged on one of the phase conductors, which had shorted the system. 

They wondered if it had possibly been dropped there by a bird. I confirmed that this was highly likely to be one of the crows or rooks that nest in the Ash trees along the nearby Boquhapple Burn. Twenty nests have been built already this year, and there is still construction taking place. It is almost exactly a year ago that one of the crows came down with my flue and survived. There again, Hooloovoos are super intelligent and known for their capability to manipulate matter and energy! The team of five engineers seemed pleased that they had solved the problem. The lead engineer left in haste for the village substation to switch the electricity back on for the 34 houses that had lost power. It was 10:10 a.m. Slightly later than estimated, but power outages happen for all sorts of reasons. Whether crows or Hooloovoos. 

It wasn't just power that had been reinstated; the glorious sunshine had created a warmth that had the flowers gawping, the grass growing, and the garden awaiting. A day that Aileen would have loved.

The branch was lodged in the phase conductor

Pylon framing Ben Ledi

Good Job - the SSE engineers

Aileen planted these -Birthday memories

Istanbul - The Full Bosphorus and Reflections

Entering the Black Sea

Day 4

A six-hour sail along the Bosphorus to the Black Sea was the intention. I left early and arrived at Eminent with an hour to spare. I retraced my steps of yesterday evening into the Spice Market and found a large spice store, and with no hesitation, bought 4 large packets of spices and enough Turkish Delight to fill my rucksack. It would be useful for presents and as a substitute for wine if I ever get invited to dinner. It used up my Turkish lira that I should have spent on a visit to Topkapi Palace had I not objected to the discrimination of admission prices. 

The large steamer for the Bosphorus cruise left at 10:30am with only 40 or 50 passengers. Unlike the previous days, the pure blue skies were absent, and a cool breeze meant I spent quite a bit of the time reading a book in the lounge before moving to the open deck once we sailed under the second bridge, and I was in new territory. The continuously built-up suburbs of Istanbul were left behind. Smaller settlements were nestled along the shore on both the Asian and European sides. Most of them had a ferry terminal, but today's cruise bypassed them until the final two before the entrance to the Black Sea under the Yanuz Sultan Seim,  the third massive bridge that spans the Bosphorus. The cruise stopped at Anadolu Kavagh, an old fishing village on the Asian side, just before the third bridge. 

There was a 2-hour stopover for lunch. I immediately set out for the Yoros Kalesi (castle)twin towers that loomed over the village. A twisting road and then a steep footpath led to the summit of the hill and the fortresses that overlooked the entrance to the Bosphorus. The views were impressive, with a constant stream of tankers and other vessels passing under the bridge. There are 400 ships a day entering or leaving the Black Sea. The castle had been used by the Byzantines, Ottomans and Genoese as a base to control the entrance to the strait at its narrowest point as it enters the Black Sea. A dozen or so passengers from the cruise had also climbed to the summit before retiring to the village with more fish restaurants than houses. The village had a Turkish army base but seemed totally dependent on the daily cruise visitors. I ordered a large salad and a beer as I whiled away the hour before the boat began the journey back. The winds had increased, and the Bosphorus was choppy on the cruise back to Eminent.

Despite the reasonably easy day, I was still suffering from sore feet and unusual tiredness. Nevertheless, I found the energy to take a fuller look at the Egyptian Bazaar and the New Mosque before exploring the streets leading back to Sultanahmet. I had a fascinating conversation with a young student from Indonesia as we both observed a long queue of older men receiving food parcels from a temporary building next to the mosque. He had flown to Istanbul at the start of a six-week holiday culminating in a visit to Mecca. 

My appetite had not been great during the visit; I had been suffering from flu-like symptoms, so I resisted an evening meal, deciding that a plate of Baklava and a coffee would be sufficient for my final night in Istanbul. As on most evenings, the hotel manager questioned me on where I had been. He spoke good English and had a poor opinion of what was happening in Turkey. It imported too many goods, which were then relabelled as Turkish. He was dismissive of Turkish farming; most fruit and vegetables were now imported. Too many people had been attracted to Istanbul, seeking to make easy money from tourism, and there were too many shops and restaurants competing for tourists. The city had grown too big with resulting congestion, and poor upkeep of the buildings, roads and pavements. It was no surprise that the economy was in the doldrums. Although this sounded a bit cynical from someone dependent on the tourist industry, it was articulated with a cogency that gave it traction. I resisted asking him about the political shenanigans brewing in Istanbul, where President Erdogan had become unpopular as the economy tanked and the secular mayor of Istanbul was a serious candidate to become  President at the next election.

The plane departing back to Edinburgh the next day left at 2pm, but you need to be at the airport a couple of hours in advance. It takes almost 2 hours to get there. I caught a train from Kumkapi to Yenikapi, a Metro to Gayreteppe and then another Metro to the airport and arrived at 11:30am.  I was pleasantly surprised by how well the airport worked as I passed through the flight desk, passport and baggage control. It was so much quicker and well-managed than Edinburgh or Heathrow. I had been critical of the immense size and grandeur of the airport on arrival, but it seemed less of a problem on departure with well-functioning operations. It was not peak season, and Turkish Airlines, the main operator, had set high standards. The gates were close to the large departure lounges, which had good seating, numerous eateries and 'duty-free' outlets in the cavernous halls of the airport. 

We arrived on time in Edinburgh, but it took 25 minutes to get through passport control, which was totally understaffed. My luggage had done several laps of the carousel, and only after reporting it lost did I realise that I had failed to recognise it in the sea of black suitcases. As usual, the much-vaunted trams were running empty, and the buses that ran to many destinations had healthy queues.

On the journey home, I reflected that I had waited 50 years to get to Istanbul, now the most visited city in the world. It had quenched my curiosity and there were many aspects that I really enjoyed - a world heritage site, its mosques and history, the ferries on the Bosphorus, the variety of busy townships on both the Asian and European sides of the Bosphorus, the blue skies that greeted me on most days and the bustle of a truly international city. With a population of 15 million, it would be the largest city in Europe, but half of it is in Asia. Turkey would be the largest country in Europe with 86 million people if it were not mainly in Asia. Turkey would like to be in the EU, and who knows what will happen as the world tries to settle Ukraine's future peace and security, as Trump's America slips into isolation and loses the respect and trust of the free world.

Tram stop at Eminonu

The Egyptian (Spice) Market

The surrounding streets of the Spice Market

Midway along the Bosphorus

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The third Bridge at the entrance to the Black Sea

Yoros Castle

Looking back down the Bosphorus from Yorus Castle

The Black Sea from Yorus Castle

Seafront properties near Rumeli Kavagi

 

Istanbul Airport - voted best in the world