![]() ![]() ![]() The hedges along the old railway track are frothy with hawthorn and cow parsley just now and oyster catchers and gulls are wheeling overhead. ( Or why they enjoyed chasing foxes so much…)Ģ2nd May – Memories sad and strange (Gladsmuir to Longniddry) But I still don’t know why huntsmen’s scarlet jackets were described as pink. I remember being surprised by Shakespeare’s description of the beautiful Olivia in Twelfth Night as having a red and white complexion. The modern colour name actually comes from association with another flower: the clove-scented Dianthus, with its delicately fringed or “pinked” petals. Before that, what we now call pink was thought of as a shade of red. Apparently its common name predates the first use of “pink” as an adjective in the 17th century. Red Campion was in bloom along my trike route yesterday. It was delightful.Ĥth June – Red Campion in bloom (Glasduir to Seton) Anyway, Nigella led me efficiently to Pishwanton Wood, on the Southern borders of East Lothian. It was everyone else who were foreigners. I know someone who used to say, quite without irony, that wherever she travelled in the world, she never felt foreign because she was English. In fact, it’s less embarrassing because I have the excuse of being foreign. It’s no stranger for me to be lost in Cairo or Lisbon than in the tiny village where I grew up. They didn’t realise that if you’ve never had your bearings, you can’t lose them. People who knew me as a child were surprised when I grew up to be an independent traveller. How thankful I am for Nigella: I’ve always had a very poor sense of direction. I made my way to Pishwanton Wood with the help of Nigella, the obliging little person who lives in my phone and patiently gives me directions. Ah well….ġ9th June – A Sense of Direction (Gladsmuir to Pishwanton Wood) What I’ve actually produced is a messy snail trail. *more like trundling, actually, but you get the picture…ġ0th July: Today I find myself travelling to Longniddry ( again!) in brilliant sunshine with a slight fresh breeze: bliss! So my contribution to Borders 22 was to be a map of my trike trips to the borders of East Lothian in the shape of a star. Even better that a large mammal was whizzing* along on her trike, very comfortable in her own skin. On a beautiful, cool, early morning, it was wonderful to observe a young deer, a hare, a kestrel and a buzzard, all doing what they do without a trace of self-consciousness. Today as I pedalled I was reflecting on how much more at ease I feel in my sixties than I ever did in my twenties and thirties. Far from enjoying all this admiration I felt extremely uncomfortable. Women said I should advise my friend Brenda (a slender, stunning brunette) to eat butter and bleach her hair so that she could look more like me. Men followed me on the street and made lewd or fatuous comments. When I arrived in Cairo as a plump, fair-haired young woman in 1984, I was overwhelmed by all the attention I received. A recent favourite is the woman who shouted “now there’s a bike and a half!” To be honest, I quite enjoy being noticed these days.Īs a child I was painfully shy, but secretly craved attention and as a socially awkward and physically ungainly teenager I envied those girls who could turn heads with their attractive faces and trim figures. I get a lot of attention on my Borders22 adventures in my yellow MMF shirt and fluorescent helmet. ![]()
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