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So not long after getting a jury-shortlist letter, I actually received a Jury service citation. Whilst I’m clearly not going to go into the specifics of when or where I’m serving, I’m still very much in two minds about it.

On the one hand, I’m quite aware it’s a part of my civic duty. Indeed, I’m very curious about the process, and quite looking forward to seeing how it all works. I’ve only been in a court once before. That wasn’t a pleasant experience, as I was seeing through charges after a pissed football “fan” punched me in the head one evening as Frances and I were heading out to a nearby restaurant. I have only very slight recollections of the court itself – other than it was all rather intimidating. I’m still rather miffed I was never told the “fan” was restricted from visiting the borough in which the incident happened, and other than that he was found guilty (thanks to the police officer leading the case giving me a call), I’ve no idea what sentence was given. So I have a lot of sympathy with arguments that the legal system in the UK doesn’t put victims very high up the priority list, even if it was a relatively minor incident: I just felt like an afterthought.

I doubt it’ll be that different, at least initially, if I do find myself sitting on a Jury, but I’m intrigued by how the court system works, and am very curious about how it’ll feel to be presented by evidence, testimony’s. Whilst I’m a bit of a fan of the occasional American court drama, I’m in no doubt the process here in the UK (and, within that, in Scotland) will be very different, so quite how it works will be fascinating.

But curiosity will only last so long, and the rest of it is what’s weighing heavily on me, and making me feel I won’t exactly relish the whole experience. Even before I sit down in the room with the jurors, and have to decide matters, listen to others, make points and generally deliberate. A group of strangers with differing views, in a slightly stressed situation, will probably mean it could get a bit tense.

I’ve not been exactly enamoured by the process to date. Badly photocopied letters and bulk process the jury service seem to employ, and the expectation of wasted time (’bring something to read’ etc etc). I appreciate there’s uncertainty in it, not least they need to have more jurors available than they need for various reasons, and then there’s the ballot. So the chances of me serving are still reasonably slim. But in this technical time I’d have expected something a bit more, er, customised. Maybe even a website service. As it is I have a freephone number which I’m given to understand has a recorded message explaining who and who isn’t needed. It all feels very mass-produced, impersonal and, to be honest, ungrateful. OK, so the time-passing is necessary. The judicial system isn’t by it’s nature a swift one.

There’s also the inconvenience. I simply cannot afford to spend more than a couple of weeks doing this. In the context of the compensation forms, I don’t fall under the term ’self-employed’ (rather, I’m director of a small company, and have a salary that’s not time dependent). I’m not paid by the hour. Rather my company loses out as a result of my not being billable, not me personally in the immediate sense. The system doesn’t deal with that. So whilst my company does have insurance for this eventuality, it’s very limited. And that’s even before my clients inconvenience (Something that can’t be measured or compensated). I won’t be contactable (as I normally am) during business hours. I will have to plead special consideration if there is a likelihood of a trial going on for more than a couple of weeks, and I expect to have to do work at the end of each day to keep up with matters. Some projects and issues I’m involved with simply can’t be put on hold.

I suppose I’m annoyed too that it seems so commonplace it is that people I know here seem to have been called to serve on a Jury. It only took four years of living here before I was called. It really doesn’t speak very well of the city, unless the people I know are simply unlucky.

So I’m all a bit mixed up about it. This post is a little mixed up, which I’m not going to apologise for: It’s how I feel right now. It’ll be fascinating at first, I’m sure. Most likely frustrating (if I have a lot of time wasted, or don’t get “used” after all this build-up). Even if I do actually serve on a Jury, I’m not exactly excited by spending a lot of time with strangers in that sort of environment, with important decisions to make.

Civic duty is important to me, but – much like my experience with the courts down in London after being assaulted – I find myself feeling like a small and insignificant part of the process, and one who’s situation is different from the norm, so I risk losing quite a bit more than a few days pay. All very impersonal. Perhaps I’m simply expecting far too much of an over-stretched bureaucracy, but other than a small bit of curiosity, I’m not too optimistic this particular obligation will be one I look back on positively.

As part of my job I have to think of worse-case scenarios, and plan/consider the response for them. As I’m a full-time computer geek, this is along the lines of “what if this computer fails”, or “how to recover last months reports”, or “can we cope with double the demand”. Disconcertingly, managers always also go on to ask “what if you get run over by a bus?”.

I’m sure they mean well, they’re worried about system passwords and such, but… It’s always a bus.

Do they know something I don’t? They often go as far as suggesting it’ll be red. Never a number-plate though. Oh no. That’d be helpful, and we all know where management stands on that

But I digress slightly. I got to thinking of this when I was reading the news of a tragic death. Such events are always sad and always different. But I’m struck by the similarity of the reporting for such events. The press seem to follow a specific pattern.

First they find neighbours (or is it the other way around?) and get some sound-bites, usually along the lines of “he was popular in the local community“, “he’ll be greatly missed“, or (if the person in question is suspected of something dubious) the more implicitly sinister “he kept himself to himself“. Always wonder why that’s viewed as abnormal in London, where I rarely knew any (and liked even fewer) of my neighbours.

Secondly they seem to find a local politician (or is it the other way around?), who talks in generic terms about the “sad loss for the community“, and that they’ll make sure “we get to the bottom of it“, and other such vague assurances.

Finally they seem to find the local priests (or is it the other way around?). This is what really bugs me. There’s an implicit assumption that the priest has a right to get involved. Maybe they do check the views of the affected, but I’m suspicious given the ubiquitous dog-collar-at-sad-event. Can I put it on record that, if ever I get hit by a bus and it makes the news (Probably something along the lines of ‘weblogger predicted own death by bus‘. Deary me, no broadsheet coverage for me…): Don’t get priests involved. I’m an atheist, and don’t even like most priests. Far too sanctimonious for my liking.

Interesting aside is that “The State” always appears to insist on religious “memorial” services for the great and the good, even when the subject of the service was a Humanist. Ronnie Barker is a case in point. Well loved. Has a Humanist funeral. Gets a religious memorial service from the state. Go figure.

The other thing is my tongue-in-cheek “or is it the other way around?”. Where do they find the people? The press turn up to record some event for the news, do they then start knocking on doors, or do they grab the rubber-necking neighbours and ask for a sound-bite. Do the neighbours then get all excited back at home when they appear on TV, despite the sad event they’ve commented on? Strange combination of emotions, I’m sure, if they are genuinely sad about what happened, but genuinely excited to be on TV (as I think most people are… right? Certainly judging by the frequent looning going on behind the “live at the scene” reporter)

News reporting with too much self-selection is worrying as it skews the event. Perhaps not that dissimilar to the thing so many programmes do of ensuring “balance”. Giving equal weight to alternative arguments paints a false picture. Global warming is a great example: Massive science behind it, but it’s reported “fairly” by ensuring the few scientists who disagree frequently get equal airtime, making it appear to be more “uncertain” than it is in reality.

Similarly, is the BBC on an anti-alcohol moral campaign right now? Sure too much alcohol is bad for you, but I count three major news items that featured prominently on their flagship news programmes, in the last 3-4 weeks: Labelling of alcohol; Youth binge-drinking endemic; Middle-class drinking the real problem. All fair enough, but I’m detecting a particular morality focus from the BBC news editorial team at the moment.

But to try and bring this ramble to a close, wouldn’t it be funny if I did get hit by a bus. OK, maybe not… Just don’t invite any priests to comment on it. Unless they were Pastafarians of course. Preferably dressed as pirates. Now, that would make me laugh.

I was resting up yesterday, recovering from a long and drawn out cold that finally caught up with me and sapped all my energy. Couldn’t face work, so just took it easy and wandered around in my dressing gown, largely sipping orange juice and watching old saved programmes on our almost-full PVR.

The door-bell rings, and I wander downstairs to see who it is. Even through the misted glass door I can tell it’s a delivery guy from the brown box shape I can see on the ground next to him. I know I’m not expecting anything, but Frances’ new employer have been sending her increasingly large letters, maybe this is the next step?

Turns out he was actually trying to delivery to a neighbour, and wanted to drop the parcel off with me. I’m afraid, dear reader, that I refused. Don’t exactly know the neighbour very well. We say hello to them, and have commented on their new extension (it’s very nice), but I’m afraid I didn’t want to take in their parcel.

“It’d save them a trip to collect it“, said the delivery guy (from Ryman or such?). I must have looked quizzically, as he added “I’d put a note through their door“. I gathered my thoughts. “Sorry“, I said, “but I know I’d feel rather uncomfortable if my delivery was left with a neighbour I didn’t know“.

This is where the delivery guy struck me as perturbed. This had clearly not been in The Plan. Nobody does this. You’re in a nice quiet street. Surely you have street parties, know everybody else, and take in parcels like this. I’d clearly caught him out. I could see him recalculating. But quite why he’d knocked on our door (we’re across the road and along a bit), I don’t know. Perhaps the car in the drive, or a light on. But it still struck me as a bit random. I suspect, rather cynically, a return trip to base was on the cards so a few neighbours were worth trying.

But it’s deeply unprofessional in my view. I would have had to have signed for it, and taken responsibility for whatever it was. I may have saved the neighbour a trip to a depot somewhere, but maybe they were planning for that, or didn’t care. Perhaps it was the wrong item. Perhaps these neighbours were my sworn enemies? Delivery guy didn’t know that. He must have just presumed “It’s a quiet street and they’re all nice people”, or something.

I do take parcels for our immediate neighbour. We get on well, and they do us favours on occasion, and us likewise (although it’s mainly of the “have some apples from our tree”, given they rarely go away leaving the house empty for us to lock up and move their post aside).

I’ve noticed some parcels have the pigeon english “No leave with neighbour” scrawled on them. Not sure if that was the case here (wouldn’t have surprised me), but I suppose there must have been cases of neighbour confusion/fall-outs over “lost” deliveries with their signature on it, and the amazing coincidence of the neighbours just happening to get the same 32″ plasma TV….

So it’s more a case of my being uncomfortable with not really knowing the neighbours well enough. To be honest, I do regret it slightly, as I suspect the simplest explanation is best, and she may have just nipped out for a bit, and the delivery came at the wrong moment.

But I do know I’d feel a bit put out if a parcel I’d been expecting was dumped with a random neighbour, so I’m kinda hopeful the delivery guy understood that. At least, I hope he didn’t scrawl on the “collect from depot” note that he’d “tried your neighbour in number blah. The man is an ass and refused to take your box of kittens. Blame him if they die”.

As it is though, he probably just scrawled the usual illegible details on the card. I suspect he just thought I was an introverted and unshaven computer geek who walked around in his dressing gown all day being rude, at least indirectly, to his neighbours. That’s my reading of the perturbed face he seemed to pull.

Lots going on at the moment, and the website has necessarily suffered.

Took a break from running for much of last week. My left shin has been feeling a bit sore, probably due to the number of hills I ran whilst on a break up near Aberfoyle last weekend. Beautiful scenery up there. Autumn really is the most beautiful season in Scotland. At least, when it’s not raining. The colours may not be quite as bold and brash as in New England, but the atmosphere is still very special (Some pictures at flickr). Went out for a short and easy 7k run yesterday to see how things were. Still a few twinges, but almost back to normal. We’ll see how things are tonight, but planning on taking it easy. Also getting cold enough that I need to think about digging out the winter gear. Oh joy.

Took a look at buying a bike on Saturday. The running club is an awkward distance away. It’s short enough to run back from (even after a long run), but it’s not the nicest route when it’s dark (as it is by the time the club finishes). So figuring a bike would be good, especially as our nearest shop is also awkwardly distanced. A bit too far to walk to for a pint of milk, but not far enough that the car seems appropriate. So looking at an ‘Urban’ bike, which to me look like a mountain bike but with smooth tyres. Hope to get an order in this week.

Have been doing a lot of reading, and hope to write up some thoughts on a number of books (most of which were superb) that I’ve read, including ‘The Double Helix’, by James Watson, ‘God is Not Great’, by Christopher Hitchens, ‘Dawkins’ God’ by Alister McGrath, and ‘Blood and Sand’ by Frank Gardner. All bar the McGrath book were books I’ve been meaning to read for some time, and the McGrath book was an interesting change, if somewhat disappointing.

The big news though is that we’ve provisionally booked somewhere to get married next year. It’s only taken us five years! I’ll be posting more in due course, but we’re faced with tough decisions and not a few uncertainties right now, plus this is hardly a personal way to be giving out details. I’ll probably write more about some of the dilemmas in due course (probably all too familiar to anybody who’s been through this whole palaver).

I’ve also been totting up half-marathon figures. Just need to rewrite a cheque and get an address or two for tax-reclaim purposes, then can post everything off. Postmen permitting of course. I’ll be making a ‘grand announcement’ of the total raised shortly, but take a look at the widget on the website if you’d like a rough idea

Financially, we’re in the middle of re-mortgaging. Halifax are our current mortgage provider, so our “2 year deal” expired a couple of months earlier than we’d been led to believe (supposedly 22 months is “normal” for two year deals). A curt letter (delayed by the postal strike) back in August was the first warning we had we’d be hit sooner than we’d expected by the “standard rate” (which is obscene). I’ve not been impressed with them anyway (for all sorts of vague reasons, but it all adds up), so we’ve enlisted my financial advisor to help move us over to a better deal. I’m pissed enough that I’m not even looking at what Halifax might be able to offer, but the deal we have seems good – and is extremely flexible and perpetual – so good for as long as we’re with them. None of this two-year deal rubbish. Just hoping the postal strike doesn’t affect document matters too much. It’s already screwed me over in a few ways, the last thing I need is another chunk of money thrown at the Halifax because documents get delayed.

Ah well, ever onwards.

Once more unto the breach!, and once more we do battle with Glasgow council and associated hole-digging/cone-placing cohorts.

We returned from our 2 week holiday to find some of those flimsy barricades around a shallow hole in the ground right outside our house, carefully positioned to cause us great difficulty in getting our car in and out of the driveway. In all fairness, they appear to have removed a stop-cock of some sort which was badly exposed due to wear and tear, so not all bad.

We figured it had just appeared, and it’d be gone within a short while. Three weeks later, and it’s still there. Plus there seem to be other ones located around the area that I’ve noticed when going on runs. But the filling in part is clearly more complicated than the “Doing the work” bit, and is taking weeks to fit in to their schedule. So yesterday Frances phoned up the council to enquire/complain/cajole. Three people later, and it transpires it’s “Scottish Water’s hole”.

Council official said they’d report it, and that we should contact Scottish Water ourselves if nothing happened within a few days. Mmmm, we thought.

Well, I’m pleased to report something happened today! Oh the joys of a window overlooking the street.

Yes, somebody drove up in a van, complete with trailer containing something very grimy and probably heavy and noisy. There were piles of tarmac in the back. He even had shovels, a wheelbarrow and brushes. All very technical, but to my untutored eye – everything I figured you could reasonably need to fill in the hole and tidy up afterwards.

So, after he’d finished his phone call I think he’d been on when he arrived (although that’d be illegal, but I’m sure he’s a good chap), he, well… Walked over to the hole and looked at it. At least once.

Comforted that he’d no doubt completed another fine job, he got back in to the van and drove off. I’m sure he put his seatbelt on when he got around the corner, after all, he’s driving a van…

Progress indeed.

We’re back from our holidays and feeling quite rested, although the drive up from North Yorkshire today, where we’d been staying in the fishing village of Staithes for a few days was awful as it rained and rained and rained all the way up the M6. Normally, you see, it only starts raining when we cross over the border from England… (slap! ouch!)

More will follow in the next few days, but we were so pleased we managed to catch up with so many friends in and around the South East before we headed up to the Norfolk Broads for the main part of our holiday. Great to see Steve and Liz and family; Nick, Nathalie and family; Graeme and Helen and family (the second time in a month!), and Dave and Sharon too. Great that everybody seemed in such good spirits.

The Broads were wonderful. Weather was great to start with, and passable – if rather overcast – for the last few days. We saw lots of ducks, you’ll be surprised to hear. Plus a lot of other delightful wildlife. After our week, we had a dreadful drive up the east coast, but a lovely cottage awaited us in Staithes which worked out an absolute treat, and a great base for exploring the coast. I even managed to get a good amount of running in too, much to my relief (The Men’s health forum Scotland 10k is this Sunday).

Anyway, normal service will resume shortly. Didn’t get much writing done whilst I was away, but a few ideas that should appear soon. Anyway, must go. Lasagna almost ready. I’ve some Carb’s to load y’see

In a conversation over dinner recently we started talking about cartoons, and it got me thinking: Is there a Hanna Barbara or Looney Tunes vs Disney schism, in much the same way as the Beatles or the Rolling Stones?

I never really liked the Disney cartoon characters. All far too mundane and ‘proper’. Donald Duck was as good as it got, but what was going on that he wasn’t wearing any trousers? Compare them to Tom and Jerry, Daffy Duck, Road runner, Dexter’s Laboratory and so on, and it’s really no contest. Much funnier, deliciously irreverent and most certainly violent. Indeed, dare I ask, does anybody actually prefer Disney cartoons, and if so, can they justify it without embarrassing themselves?

Frances and I took a walk down to Glasgow’s Tramway, which is “one of the leading contemporary visual and performing arts venues in Europe“. It’s also only a 20 minute walk from our front door, which is nice.

It was a spur of the moment decision, after having seen a mention of an exhibition in the Guardian’s listings supplement for Kirsty Stansfield “Object Scores” exhibition whilst sipping coffee at Shawlands’ Beanscene. Adding to the reasoning was that there was also a combined exhibition from Scottish contemporary artists Katy Dove and Victoria Morton. All free too. Double-plus good.

The Tramway is an interesting venue. I’d not visited there before, and Frances hadn’t been in years. It’s certainly an excellent space for exhibiting art in all it’s forms. There have been some challenging plays on recently (Aalst is particularly infamous, dealing with infanticide), and a look through the forthcoming brochure certainly indicates that there’s more to come in that vein.

What interested me most was the marvelous ‘Hidden Garden’ at the back. It’s a Garden, that’s, well, Hidden. But as well as that stunning revelation, it’s a surprisingly calm and refreshing spot, nestled as it is between two railway lines, and close to major roads in to town. Bright. Clean. Green. Hidden. With a coffee shop. With nice pastries. We’ll be visiting there again.

The art itself was worth a visit, but not as compelling as I’d expected. I was a little disappointed by “Object Scores”, part of her study of how people relate to objects that make sound. The centre-piece didn’t work for me, not least that I was peering under the table and trying to work out how it worked (well, spot the geek!), but also that it wasn’t quite as responsive as I would have liked. Frances left unconvinced it was working at all. None the less, turning the visitors into a study in themselves is always interesting. Her work from a residency at a hospital in Glasgow certainly struck me as a more interesting angle.

The paintings of Morton and Dove were interposed, and it was a bit of a struggle working out which was which and belonged to whom. A floor plan, rather than picture names, didn’t really help matters. That the artists seemed to, er, title much of the art “Untitled” was a bit unfair. Or ironic, in an arty sort of way.

Morton’s work certainly was a bit more compelling and involving of the two, as the paintings seemed to unveil hidden depths the more you studied them. Dove’s images and sounds were curious, but I struggled to get anything much other than mildly curious with any of it, other than the larger projector pieces: Moving images and sounds. I even seem to have had my picture taking by another visitor when I was sat on a bench trying to be contemplative, and ignore Frances’ comment about “I hope we’re not sat on some art” – A not uncommon problem in contemporary art venues, I fear.

Contemporary art is always challenging, and the process of understanding the art and the artist can be a challenge in itself, especially to somebody such as myself who is not particularly artistic or replete with art knowledge. However, I did feel that the exhibition didn’t really contain enough variety. Whilst there may be original ideas there, the studies on display felt a touch repetitive.

I’m still waiting for another ‘Oak Tree’ moment. This relates to when I first saw perhaps my favourite piece of modern art: An Oak Tree, by Michael Craig-Martin. The journey from shocked (”But how’s that art!?“) to contemplative and, perhaps, understanding was one of those moments where the joy of viewing art, particularly non-representative art became apparent to me, a artistic n00b.

Still, to risk sounding a bit odd and not a little contemplative: art is a journey for artists and viewer alike. We need to expose ourselves to various works – good and bad – and see where it takes us. Much is in the eye and mind of the beholder.

Today’s visit to the Tramway certainly exposed me to some new, if not hugely arresting pieces, but more importantly (for me) introduced a new venue that’s within walking distance of our house. We’ll be back and perhaps I’ll endeavor to do a bit more research before heading along next time. And maybe even get there to hear the artists themselves.

One of my clients is currently looking to hire a full time systems administrator (More details here), and we’re finding it incredibly difficult to find the right person. Whilst we do get a lot of CVs, I’m finding it incredibly frustrating getting solid candidates that I even want to interview. On the whole the CVs we get are very poor.

So, I thought, partly as a way to vent in a hopefully humorous and – perhaps – useful way, as well as an exercise in double-negation, I’d explain how you can guarantee that you will NOT be getting an interview when I’m looking at your CV, simply by following these easy steps:

• Use an agency that massacres careful formatting in your CV, and applies some of the rules below in a destructive and unhelpful way.
• Ensure that your CV does not contain your name. Really, it helps that we don’t know who you are. Maybe an arbitrary reference number that means nothing to me instead?
• Even if you do include your name, state the blindingly obvious by declaring as the first thing I read that the CV I am in fact looking at is, indeed, demonstrably a Curriculum Vitae
• If you do use it, please make sure you misspell Curriculum Vitae.
• Come up with an opening gambit that is grammatically incorrect, so I know that you spend lots of time on a computer and never read anything other than slashdot or digg.
• Misspell much of your carefully considered opening gambit. I mean, I don’t expect you to actually know how to use a word processor you list as a skill.
• Make no use whatsoever of the word-processors “advanced” features such as styles or formatting. Agencies can help here by copy and pasting with abandon and disregard.
• Ensure you tell me that you have a full driving license for that desk job in central London.
• Ensure you have lots and lots of keywords for products and technologies you don’t really know that well.
• Put everything down you can think of, no matter how brief your involvement, so we can have one of those really awkward interview moments where you realise you’ve wasted not only your time, but mine too.
• If you can’t think of some buzzwords, put “etc” in quite liberally. It’s really helpful because it shows you know the specifics so well, and it helps me fill out the all important details.
• Misappropriate some concepts, or demonstrate that you don’t really mean what you’ve written. Just to be helpful.
• Education. Please list everything you’ve ever done. Get that swimming certificate in there, as well as that Metalwork GCSE ‘F’ grade you’re so proud of. Because it makes all the difference when I’m comparing your CV to the person who just stated his highest level of achievement I interviewed the other day.
• Experience. Please list every contract you’ve ever done, every last one of them. Even that two month part-time contract you took for a short period whilst you were travelling in Australia just after you graduated.
• Don’t ever list a contract you did that was extended by your employer because you were quite good at what you did. Let me do the guessing.
• In fact, don’t even distinguish what’s a contract and what was actually a permanent position you hated.
• As to those permanent roles, inflate your involvement to the maximum degree possible, so when I ask you to describe your involvement in the project in that interview you’re soooo going to get, it matches what’s on your CV
• Use those lists of skills, education and experience to the max. Lots of long lists making the worst possible use of space, so it spreads over six pages without saying very much. Short, concise well-formatted CVs are for losers.
• As far as outside interests are concerned, do yourself proud and list all the things you think any self-respecting geek would do, like play with computers and socialise. Constructive, strange or interesting things with your free time just don’t cut the mustard.
• You know that really awful perl script you wrote that mangled so many concepts it resembled a 3-year old’s attempt at technical lego construction? Put that on the internet as an example of your code. Because I won’t really download it and look at it. Much less actually consider it as representative of what you’ve done.

But seriously, I find it quite shocking how many CVs that cross my inbox are simply:

• Badly spelt, with poor grammar. Nobody is perfect, but some mistakes really are unforgivable.
• Badly formatted. Long lists of skills you don’t really know any more, or are ‘learning’ are not appropriate. Keep it short, concise and – if possible – intriguing. Make me want to interview you to find out more.
• Badly considered for what is the first, and perhaps most important part, of getting a job. Take a look at it, and ask yourself what impression it gives.

A little bit of time and effort makes all the difference, as well as keeping it up to date every now and then (even if you’re not looking for a job). Show you know what you’re talking about, that you have as much pride in your CV as in the natty suit you’ve picked up for the purpose, and that you’re not putting untruths or inappropriate content in your CV.

A lot of the blame certainly rests on the shoulders of the agencies that don’t filter or check the CVs and just forward all the CVs that contain keywords (What value do they actually add?). Of course that is even before they even mangle them horribly to suit their template, but so much of it rests on the candidates shoulders.

At the risk of setting myself up for a tremendous fall, here’s my CV. Perhaps I’ll even rework the above into something a little less cynical when I’ve a bit more time….

Living up here in Scotland after spending most of my life in England, you catch yourself being quite puzzled by the really small differences that a few hundred miles can introduce. Occasional words that are different, that get dropped into conversation are one thing. Bank notes are another.

So it’s the Bank notes that are currently fascinating me again. I’ve grown used to them, and much prefer the variety to the English ones. A general lack of royal family imagery is another plus in my view, although one of the bank notes featured a rather pink and purple Queen mother some years back, and they pass (briefly) through my wallet. Last in, first out applies quite strictly.

Clydesdale bank seems to be the predominant note. Most of the large banks pump out these notes, and I popped along to Lloyds Bank on St Vincent street earlier, when we were in town shopping. It was just around the corner from another bank that had a huge queue. Are people oblivious to the fact that you can use other cash machines than your own bank? Or is it just that folk like queuing rather than christmas shopping? Probably the latter to be honest.

Anyway, I received a nice crisp set of Clydesdale notes, including the classic Robert The Bruce £20 note, and a couple of Mary Slessor £10 notes. Jump forward a few hours, and we’re in a restaurant chatting away and I asked if anybody knows who Mary Slessor is? Nobody seemed to. She sits there, staring back at half of Scotland, and the people I’m with don’t really have much of an idea.

I have to say, the choice of people on the English notes is usually quite easy. Charles Darwin, Elgar, George Stephenson, Charles Dickens, to name but a few off the cuff. Scotland is not in the slightest bit short of famous people, but Mary Slessor seems an odd choice. A missionary, it transpires, to Nigeria with an admirable amount of bottle, to challenge local traditions and garner a lot of respect in her adoptive nation, and upset a few of her contemporaries by living with the locals. But I’m still puzzled by the Clydesdale’s choice when there is such a rich variety of people to choose from who have contributed more to the country, or culture in more constructive ways. That’s not to demean what she did (although I’m sure she force-fed the bible into a fair few people in her time, which could hardly be described as ‘constructive’ or ‘educational’ in my view). It’s just I don’t think ‘missionary’ is a great achievement, much less to be daubed across bank notes. Scientist. Engineer. Philosopher. Writer. Nurse. Doctor. Teacher. All these are further up the tree in my view. But that’s just me… It does take all sorts, and putting her on the note might persuade a few folk to look up and find out more about a part of their history. But given the complete lack of knowledge about her achievements amongst my sample (admittedly small: the three of us and a couple of waiters), it’s hardly doing her fame any good other than being ‘the woman on the £10 note’.

Our conversation was held in 1901 just around the corner from where we live in Shawlands, Glasgow. We’d not been there in a while, and had a marvellous Sunday meal for a reasonable price (£10.95 for two courses: I had soup and the roast (Pork) which was very nice indeed), with excellent beer (Timothy Taylor’s Landlords, perhaps my favourite beer, and it was extremely good tonight). Highly recommended.

The only downer in it all is my leg is still hurting. I went for a run this morning, but I’m still having trouble despite a two week hiatus. Bit worried the shoes I have may be to blame, or my posture, or the (slight) camber on the road in Pollok park. So I’ve decided I’m to take it easy and not push matters at all. Back to basics. That said, the thin ice on the road was a novelty, and I’m not sure I’m so excited about the fact that the winter is only really just coming upon us…

OK, ramble over. Off to bed. ttfn.