Caledonia Dreaming

I haven’t posted for a couple of weeks because I’ve been living something of a schizophrenic existence between Staffordshire and Edinburgh.
Most of the past fortnight has been spent hopping on buses, watching train timetables, dodging herds of overloaded tottering backpackers, straining to hear that ridiculous and totally unintelligible metallic platform announcer, and of course, trying to evade deep vain thrombosis on those weird torture devices more popularly known as Virgin train seats.

Okay I’m exaggerating a little – well, a lot actually.
I quite like the feeling of transitions, train travel, the flashing, crab crawling parallax viewed landscapes, the clack, rattle and shoosh of that softly furnished ground-to-ground missile.

The chaos and buzz of city railway terminus’ (or is it ‘termini’?) appeal to my Bohemian/Beat sensibility on an almost primitive level.
Its like a medieval carnival atmosphere: colour, noise, meetings, lovers leave-takings, entrances and exits, the plethora of accents – both national and international – the vendors, soldiers, children, gendarmerie, the vagabonds seeking alms, the old, and the lost and the lonely.

My girlfriend lives in a small village around an hours bus ride outside of Edinburgh, it’s a lovely place to recuperate and get loved up (and be fussed over) after the physical and psychological stimulation of travel and the noisy, gymnastic pavement slalom of Edinburgh.

In-between this most personal of liaisons, I had to see a few men (and a woman) about a job as I’m in the middle of moving to the Edinburgh area and building a new life there.

I love Edinburgh.
Its so European in a wide boulevard, cosmopolitan, medieval, old meets new town, parks, plaza’s, cobbled street, silent close kind of way…if you know what I mean?
I like to sit in Princess street gardens smoking a ciggy and meditating on the historical significance of Edinburgh castle as it towers above me like the surreal follie of some mad Bavarian aristocrat.

Dean Village is fascinating too.
I visited the Dean gallery and the Museum of Modern art there. They’re like two stately homes set in beautiful leafy, landscaped gardens, only around twenty minutes walk from Edinburgh centre.

The city is a flaneur’s paradise, everywhere you look, no matter how crowded, you feel a sense of space, a view. I was of the crowd but not with it - the objective watcher.
Unlike London for example, I never felt claustrophobic or overwhelmed at any point. I always felt me, free and relatively unencumbered by the architecture, crowds and traffic. I felt in balance, like Edinburgh itself appears to be.

One of my favourite little pleasures of the Scottish commute, is the summer evening train journey from Edinburgh Waverly to Birmingham New Street station.
It takes around 4 hours (7pm to 11pm roughly).
Yes I’m going back to the Midlands and leaving a loved one, but hey, what a way to go.

Watching the unfurling fabric of the Lake District with its blue misty hills and dark valleys, the lonely homesteads flicking past. I often wonder who lives in these places, what are their histories?
I often get mesmerized by the wind, whispering its patterns on the fields - like a sign language meant only for me.

The Sky.
Last night it was vast, stormy and Biblical. I could see enchanted oceans and celestial cathedrals, strange faces and portents, churning away in ‘twilight's last gleamings’.
I was timeless and the landscape was eternal, and I felt a kinship with William Blake, Kerouac and other visionaries for a while.
Freedom and beauty is ready and waiting if you just know where to look.

I’ve uploaded this vid, as it has something of the vibe of what I’ve been talking about, plus, it’s a favourite of mine anyway.