Saturday, 12 December 2015

Persian Grey

"Have you done your Christmas shopping then?"
Yep it's all done. Well when I say done, what I mean is I took a bus along Princes Street the other day. I have a new routine in my life. It's called Run Home Thursday. In order to try and get 5 runs done in a week, I run home from work on a Thursday. In order to do that I have to get the  bus to work.
I'm pretty proud of run home Thursday. It hasn't been easy. I got lost on Corstorphine Hill in an absolute storm one Thursday night. My work colleagues told me that someone had killed, cut up and buried their mother there recently. Was I not afraid of seeing a ghost? Then they thought it might be just a bit of a ghost. Maybe just an arm or a foot. If your body gets cut up and buried on a hill, does your immortal soul likewise fragment? Science is silent on the subject.

I just wanted to show you some pictures from the bus. That's as close as I'll be getting to doing my Christmas Shopping. Quite enjoyed it actually.

Thick-necked swan.

Persian grey paint.

I wasn't really looking forwards to going out a run today. And then I convinced myself that maybe I could enjoy all the very subtle shades of grey, so I packed the little water-proof camera and off I went. You have to give yourself reasons in the winter.
I started off thinking I'd try to run fast round the road and then I remembered that I never signed up for a life of senseless grind. St Margaret's Loch has spilled right over the edges and has clearly even been across the road. The swans would have enjoyed that. I stopped to take a picture and have a breather. NOW I was enjoying myself more.
I ran up the road as fast as I could and had another breather at the wooden bench at the top - and took some pictures of all the subtle smoky greys in the distance. It put me in mind of when Peter and I decorated our living room 1000 years ago. We got obsessed with colour charts, as you do, and were trying to decide what colour to paint the door. We both fell for the chat on the colour chart about Persian Grey. I wish I had it now, but it was something along the lines of "this beautiful grey off-sets the jewel-like colours in Persian rugs and scarves, it is the backdrop that makes the gems glow with transcendent light". You know the kind of thing. So we got some Persian grey and we painted the door. But rather than lifting the colours in the room it was too dark - even industrial. We had to paint over it.

Back at the bench, I reluctantly acknowledged to myself that if I was taking photos across the Forth I should really make an extra effort and run up to the top of the seat. Setting off up the last steep bit from the road I had a wave of nostalgia for Gordon the Coach's "Triangulation" session, that used to come down the route I was using to climb up. It was a horror - 5 times up to the shoulder of the seat as quick as you could and jog down back to the road. I realised that it's possible to get nostalgic about absolutely anything, especially if there's no danger you're going to have to do it again. Gordon is safely retired now, and I can't make club sessions because of other commitments.
Then I realised that grey is actually the colour of nostalgia. It made sense at the time. Then I made it to the top and had another breather...

Then Mary Lye said "Hello Mary". OMG someone I know. Actually I don't really know Mary but I know she has a parallel life to me. She's done the same counselling course I have, she runs up hills, I think her first degree might have been in English and she writes a blog. We aren't exactly the same, obviously, but close enough so I wasn't sure we could safely be in the same place at the same time. I have known about Mary's existence for quite some time, and we have that strange intimacy that being FB friends gives you, but we've never spoken much. Also, I'd been up for hours but had only been spinning around in the fun park which is my own mind and hadn't actually spoken yet...

So I said a few unrelated  things, expecting Mary to be able to follow me. Anyway, it was nice to see her. After I'd said a number of random things her son reminded her that it was time to be moving on by tapping her gently on the shoulder with a stick. Ahhh,  non-verbal communication. So clear and concise. And then I ran home. The end.

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