Just for scale

So when Gail stopped on one of our neighbourhood walks, and asked me to 'pose nicely please' on this wall, I naturally assumed she had been overcome by the urge to capture my handsome self on camera once again (i.e. for about the 87 millionth time - but who can blame her?)

How wrong I was. It turns out it was this weird kilt wearing garden 'ornament' she wanted to photograph, and yours truly was just being used for scale.

On the subject of my handsomeness, I thought you might like a peek at Gail's work email account from last week, which illustrates how my morale-boosting impact ranges far and wide.

(Maria is a dog-loving colleague of Gail's who lives in Aberdeen but comes from Venezuela. I hope to meet her, and her two pups, one day.)

Hi Gail:

Done it, all under control…thanks for being on top, we are ready to rock and roll!.

Thanks for the support……I will miss my G&G team tomorrow, and I hope to represent all us very well tomorrow, despite all the issues, this project has been a great team effort even in the darkest hours…..

Cheers,

Maria

Principal Reservoir Engineer

Thanks Maria
Bertie wishes you best of luck tomorrow.

I am melted with that message!....he is so cute 😊

Tassie and the Tartan Army

You can learn all sorts of things from the friends you see in the park of a morning.

Meet Lhasa Apso ‘Tassie’, she of the playful demeanour and piercing bark. (Gail, why are you saying “pot, kettle, black”?)

Some weeks I see Tassie every day and some weeks not at all. She tells me this is because her Dad supervises the deck crew on an oil field diving support vessel, and when he is away offshore, for up to a month at a time, her exercise regime with 'the wife' is more relaxed.

Well it seems that this week, Tassie is going to be alone with 'the wife' for a different reason. Dad is off down to London for three nights with his Tartan Army pals, the main event being of course the England versus Scotland football match at Wembley on Wednesday night.

It surprised me to learn that Tassie’s Dad, whose normal parkwear is a well worn sweatshirt and track pants, is quite the snappy dresser when following the Scottish football team.

Apparently he has just purchased some brand new Timberland boots, beige in colour, because, to quote directly “ye cannae wear auld trainers wi’ a kilt”. Gail asked politely which tartan his kilt is made from. He seemed uncertain of the clan, but told her it was a purple plaid and that he hoped it would still fit around his expanding girth.

I guess this is the look Tassie's Dad is aiming for:


We also learned from him that airport security is a problem for the kilt wearer, as not only the belt, but also the sporran and the kilt pin have to be removed before you pass through the scanner, and all skean dhus are confiscated, including those made from plastic.

Worse, the Scotland fans are not allowed to take bagpipes into Wembley Stadium, also ostensibly on grounds of security, although Tassie confides in me that the real reason is because the English have no equivalent noise producing instruments.

Well, Gail and I shall be watching the football on the telly on Wednesday night, shouting and barking for our respective teams, and maybe looking out for Tassie’s smartly clad Dad in the crowd.

A household with divided loyalties