Holidaying with Lunatics.

Well, 'tis the night of the 21st of August, and on the morrow I leave for two weeks of sun, sea, sand, and sangria.
No, sorry, I tell a lie. I leave for a fortnight of drizzle, England, and The Family.
This should be... interesting.

There's a lot of us going this year.
My parents, my older sister and her husband, me and Matt, my younger brother, and my youngest brother, who's bringing his girlfriend.

Nine people who are quiet and well-behaved would be quite a handful, but us lot?
Hoo boy.

Updates when I can beg, borrow, rent or steal some internet time, and pictures when I get back.

See you later, alligator(s)!
I'll miss you guys. And my tenuous grasp on sanity.

An International Mystery

Do any one of you International Spies have any idea what this logo is? We thought at first it was an Aussie Rules top, as an Australian friend gave it to us, but she'd received it from someone else.

It may just be a design, but it looks vaguely like an actual sporting logo.

So, does anyone have any hints, tips, or clues?

Three pictures, and a link.

*Boxes under the BDP. The label on the brown box suggests it contained 50 part-baked white bread rolls. Which begs the question: How did the Pigeons bake them the rest of the way? And Volvic. Victules for the troops, I suggest.




*A penguin. A king penguin.


This one is almost certainly not Nils Olav.
I'll attempt to get a picture of him later.

Picture, pictures, never were there such devoted pictures...

Ok, BDP related...
*First of all, a Mummified Pigeon that 'M' found...


*The Mug Lure.


*The Gaudy Pigeon.


Random things!

*New graffitis! (Apologies for the quality of the second. It was taken in a tunnel.)




*Some very cool camper vans.








*And, lastly, some lovely flowers from my garden. Does anybody know what the yellow one is? It's the only one I actually grew myself, and the only one I can't identify...








That's all for now. Over and out!

Not Dead Yet!

An open letter to tourists visiting Edinburgh during the Festival.

Dear sirs and madams,

First of all, I’d like to welcome you to my country and my city. Beautiful, isn’t it?

Now, I know you’re here to enjoy yourself, sightsee, shop, maybe even take in some shows, but please remember that some of us are trying to get on with our regular working lives. We have places to go, people to see, and deadlines to keep. We don’t have time to dawdle along behind you as you and your family spread across the whole pavement and amble down the Royal Mile. No, we end up walking in the road, in our own city, to get by.

I don’t do it in your cities; you don’t do it in mine, deal?

And, at the end of a long, busy day, I just want to get home and put my feet up. Of course, thanks to your tendency to stop dead in the middle of the pavement and have a conversation with fifteen members of your family, and your habit of crossing the road in front of traffic (I was under the impression that most developed countries used traffic lights), thus causing snarl-ups, traffic jams and sometimes accidents, it takes me twice as long to get home during the Festival than at any other time. Thank you ever so.

All I am asking is that you respect this city and its inhabitants as I do those that I visit. Appreciate that this city wasn’t built for the sole purpose of tourists and visitors. Be polite and we’ll do the same.

I realise that there are a lot of non-locals who don’t do this sort of thing, but with this many visitors to the city, there ends up being a lot who do.

Thank you.

PS Please do not have picnics in my back garden again, either. It’s private property.

All singing, all dancing, all ummmm...

The National Trust store papers in colourful files with dinosaurs on. My sort of organisation (In both senses of the word)!

I discovered that Edinburgh is twinned with ten cities.
Munich, Nice, Florence, Dunedin, Vancouver, San Diego, Xi’ an, Kiev, Aalborg and Kyoto. Now, surely that’s not being a twin? That would be being an undecaplet. Stupid Council.

The BDP continues anon. Pictures to be added later at Chez BDP.

*There is a beautifully squishy Gaudy Pigeon in the centre of the road. Blood and guts everywhere. You can barely see the feathers for all the intestines.

*There is also a large and fluttery Seagull corpse almost central under the bridge. Possibly the Pigeons lured it there with a lovely cup of tea, as:

*There was a mug there one day, and gone the next.

*The Seagulls obviously took umbrage (umbridge! Ho ho ho) at this, and figured I was a co-conspirator, for the following day, whilst idly gazing out of the window at work, a co-worker pointed out to me, with the immortal words “I’ve just seen something really disgusting”, a large, and I mean huge, Seagull sitting on the roof of the building opposite, tearing into the innards of a Pigeon. The Seagull was really going at it too, swinging the Pigeon around, smacking it down on to the roof, ripping bits off… And then it looked at me with a ‘you next’ glint in its eye. I swear that, if it could have, it would have done that finger across throat gesture.

So if this is the last update you ever see, think fondly of me, won’t you?

A-ranting we will go...

Why? Why do people not think about what they are saying?

I mean, I'm as guilty of that as anyone (Classic example: "Is it still incest if they're dead?"), but I'm talking about normal, everyday phrases.

Example one: In a meeting today, "He's literally up to his eyeballs in work."
No, NO HE IS NOT! He may be literally very busy, but the Council has very stringent Health and Safety rules, and someone smothering in paperwork would probably be forced to phone the counselling line, then fired.

Example 2: This, I have noticed, tends to be used mainly by Americans. "I could care less." COULDN'T! The whole point of this phrase is that you care the least amount possible! Ooh, it's frustrating.

I apologise for the brevity of this post, but I worked out what I wanted to write about at the above-mentioned meeting, then left my notebook at work.
Updates from the BDP (with all-new pictures), and random ramblings, will be posted tomorrow night (if my poker night (YAY!) doesn't go on too late), or on Sunday, as I should be able to drop by work and pick up my notes.

Land of a million biscuits...

*WARNING: DULL POST AHEAD*

We didn't do much this weekend. Stayed up late watching rubbish on TV, reading, or chatting online. Getting up late and going to buy biscuits, because I am very influenced by what I read (A Nice Cup of tea and a Sit Down) and a biscuit barrel.
Here's something I learned: twelve packets of biscuits will not fit into the average large-ish biscuit barrel. We have Hobnobs, chocolate digestives (both with caramel and without) and Ginger Nuts safely ensconsed, but the others are open to the elements. Barring the Jammy Dodgers, which Matt has long since devoured like a wolf.

Oooh, that was a long bit about biscuits. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Yesterday, we went on the Ghost and Ghouls tour around Edinburgh, ending up in the vaults under South Bridge. It was pretty good overall (and they take you to the pub for a drink at the end, huzzah!), but there were two bits I didn't like. Firstly, I thought the stories would have been creepier if he didn't occasionally shout to startle us and, secondly, the mention of 'ghost orbs' showing up in pictures taken in the vault made me laugh for some time.
All in all, it definately prodded buttock, if not 100% kicked ass.

And, in other news, I HAVE PURPLE HAIR!
So here's a really rubbish picture of the top of my head to show it.


If you've got this far without falling unconscious, CONGRATULATIONS! Here's a biscuit.