It was all so much easier when I was choosing baby names. You liked a name and wrote it on a list. Or you had a book of names, and you flicked through it. Now, you can get websites to generate names for you, and avail yourself of naming wizards, and really, you only have yourself to blame if you don't find the perfect name.
Another consideration, these days, is the digital form your baby's name will take. You might take less pleasure in calling your new baby Katharine, for example, if you thought she'd be signing herself K8, or K8EE. I really liked the name Elsie, but now I'm glad I didn't choose it. It lends itself too easily to LC.
Any name that ends in an x (Beatrix, Max, Felix... there are some great ones in this category), now looks to me like it's got a kiss at the end of it, somehow.
Then there's the pitfall of the autocorrect. I have a friend with a son named Fingal, and every time I text her, I'm in severe danger of enquiring how Fungal is.
Anyone else with any stories of autocorrect woes, in the area of names?
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Saturday, November 28, 2015
Saturday, November 21, 2015
Getting to know a city
I have always enjoyed getting to know new cities. I loved having an A to Z in my handbag when I lived in London, and rising to the challenge of finding the easiest and quickest way of getting from one place to another using the various public transport options. When I got a car, I had a big-scale street atlas, and I'd plan routes before I set off to try and identify short cuts. I'd have the atlas open on the passenger seat, and dip into parking spots here and there, getting the next segment of the journey imprinted in my brain. I became skilful at spotting "rat runs" while driving - sitting in a traffic jam, and noticing how a stream of cars were turning down a seemingly insignificant street, following them in faith, and emerging quarter of a mile further along the busy blocked road, feeling triumphant.
On foot, too, I always enjoyed exloring back ways and by-ways, discovering little corners seemingly forgotten. I was always amazed at how, in a city of several million, you could take just one or two turns off a busy thoroughfare, and be in a near-empty street.
I suppose all this has got very much easier with phone apps and Google Maps, though I have to say I derived a lot of fun from working out in my head and through time-worn experience, what the satellites above us calculate in seconds in their efficient algorithms.
Each time I've moved during my adult life (which has been a few), I've really relished getting to know a new town or city. I like finding my way round the traffic systems, the public transport, the parking, in a way that I think probably deserves the adjective 'geeky'. I can tell you, for example, at what point the parking zone changes between where I live and the city centre, because I've looked at the parking zone map buried deep as a pdf on the council website. (In my defence, I wasn't working for the first year we were here, and had plenty of time on my hands.) I love finding the nicest parks, the funkiest shopping streets, the best coffee shops. My children tease me, because I have a rule that if we can, we should always support local coffee shops not the big chains, but to me, that has significance: I like getting to get to know the personality of a city, and you can't do that by hopping from Starbucks to Starbucks.
I do use a GPS, but I've noticed that it does mean that it takes much longer to learn your way round, and so in my early days here, I chose not to use it. I suppose my brain has learnt to understand a city by looking at a map, and then translating the bird's eye 2D view into human 3D experience. I like to hold the whole route in my mind, in chunks if necessary, and the GPS only ever reveals the next junction. It feels a precarious way of travelling.
I find it fascinating how a city shrinks as you get to know it. Familiarity makes journeys shorter both in reality, and in the way they feel. In reality, you need less time because you know how to avoid the traffic, where to park, and how far you'll have to walk. When you're new in a city, you have to allow generous margins for error. But the journeys are also shorter in how they feel. Instead of concentrating on the road, looking out for signs, focusing on the GPS instructions, you have the radio on, or you're thinking about Christmas plans.
When we first moved to the city where I now live, I found a furniture shop that had a sale on. I looked at a map, and headed off. It felt like a proper venture. I parked in a side street which was a dead end, and got very stuck, having to do a 3-point turn that became a 7- or 9- point turn. I went to the shop, found a cafe for a sit-down, and then headed home, checking first that I knew how to navigate the journey. It makes me laugh inwardly now, when I pass that furniture shop, because it's a five minute walk from my work. I think absolutely nothing of the drive to work (or the bus journey if Husband needs the car). It's fifteen to twenty minutes, door to door. I know where to park (and would never head down that tiny dead end). The cafe which was formed part of a morning's outing when I had time on my hands, has become the cafe I pop into to grab a quick sandwich at lunchtime.
The vet is another example. The first time I had a vet's appointment, I allowed plenty of extra time. I didn't know where the building was, where I would park, how long it would take to get a lively puppy on the lead and out of the car safely, and I wanted to be early for the appointment, as a model puppy-owner should be. The journey seemed quite a trek. Now, I allow about ten minutes to get to the vet, all told. It's really very near: 1.4 miles according to Google Maps and "4 min without traffic". I go straight to a street round the corner which has an uncommonly wide pavement that everyone parks on, and where there's always space. I no longer wonder if it's ok to park there and if I'll get a ticket. I just park. Or I walk - 28 minutes according to Google Maps. If you'd told me three years ago, when I was planning my first drive to the vet, that I could walk there, I would have thought you must be one of those seriously hearty city-dwellers who live in walking boots and an anorak, with a permanent backpack. But it is, indeed, only about 30 minutes, and most of it along a convenient cycle path.
The other factor, in my shrinking journey time to the vet, is that I now plan to arrive at the very last minute, or even a minute or two late, as Hector gets over-excited in the waiting room and barks incessantly. We were once asked to wait outside - oh, the humiliation. Hector gets over-excited, and I sit wondering if someone is going to bring in a snake and planning my escape route for that eventuality - the vet waiting room is not a relaxing place for us. Thus it is that what, in my head, used to be an afternoon's outing, is now a small task on the calendar, to be fitted in easily and quickly between other bits of life. My days are busier, time is more precious and has done that elastic thing that time does, but geography has done it too. The city has definitely shrunk.
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On foot, too, I always enjoyed exloring back ways and by-ways, discovering little corners seemingly forgotten. I was always amazed at how, in a city of several million, you could take just one or two turns off a busy thoroughfare, and be in a near-empty street.
I suppose all this has got very much easier with phone apps and Google Maps, though I have to say I derived a lot of fun from working out in my head and through time-worn experience, what the satellites above us calculate in seconds in their efficient algorithms.
Each time I've moved during my adult life (which has been a few), I've really relished getting to know a new town or city. I like finding my way round the traffic systems, the public transport, the parking, in a way that I think probably deserves the adjective 'geeky'. I can tell you, for example, at what point the parking zone changes between where I live and the city centre, because I've looked at the parking zone map buried deep as a pdf on the council website. (In my defence, I wasn't working for the first year we were here, and had plenty of time on my hands.) I love finding the nicest parks, the funkiest shopping streets, the best coffee shops. My children tease me, because I have a rule that if we can, we should always support local coffee shops not the big chains, but to me, that has significance: I like getting to get to know the personality of a city, and you can't do that by hopping from Starbucks to Starbucks.
I do use a GPS, but I've noticed that it does mean that it takes much longer to learn your way round, and so in my early days here, I chose not to use it. I suppose my brain has learnt to understand a city by looking at a map, and then translating the bird's eye 2D view into human 3D experience. I like to hold the whole route in my mind, in chunks if necessary, and the GPS only ever reveals the next junction. It feels a precarious way of travelling.
I find it fascinating how a city shrinks as you get to know it. Familiarity makes journeys shorter both in reality, and in the way they feel. In reality, you need less time because you know how to avoid the traffic, where to park, and how far you'll have to walk. When you're new in a city, you have to allow generous margins for error. But the journeys are also shorter in how they feel. Instead of concentrating on the road, looking out for signs, focusing on the GPS instructions, you have the radio on, or you're thinking about Christmas plans.
When we first moved to the city where I now live, I found a furniture shop that had a sale on. I looked at a map, and headed off. It felt like a proper venture. I parked in a side street which was a dead end, and got very stuck, having to do a 3-point turn that became a 7- or 9- point turn. I went to the shop, found a cafe for a sit-down, and then headed home, checking first that I knew how to navigate the journey. It makes me laugh inwardly now, when I pass that furniture shop, because it's a five minute walk from my work. I think absolutely nothing of the drive to work (or the bus journey if Husband needs the car). It's fifteen to twenty minutes, door to door. I know where to park (and would never head down that tiny dead end). The cafe which was formed part of a morning's outing when I had time on my hands, has become the cafe I pop into to grab a quick sandwich at lunchtime.
The vet is another example. The first time I had a vet's appointment, I allowed plenty of extra time. I didn't know where the building was, where I would park, how long it would take to get a lively puppy on the lead and out of the car safely, and I wanted to be early for the appointment, as a model puppy-owner should be. The journey seemed quite a trek. Now, I allow about ten minutes to get to the vet, all told. It's really very near: 1.4 miles according to Google Maps and "4 min without traffic". I go straight to a street round the corner which has an uncommonly wide pavement that everyone parks on, and where there's always space. I no longer wonder if it's ok to park there and if I'll get a ticket. I just park. Or I walk - 28 minutes according to Google Maps. If you'd told me three years ago, when I was planning my first drive to the vet, that I could walk there, I would have thought you must be one of those seriously hearty city-dwellers who live in walking boots and an anorak, with a permanent backpack. But it is, indeed, only about 30 minutes, and most of it along a convenient cycle path.
The other factor, in my shrinking journey time to the vet, is that I now plan to arrive at the very last minute, or even a minute or two late, as Hector gets over-excited in the waiting room and barks incessantly. We were once asked to wait outside - oh, the humiliation. Hector gets over-excited, and I sit wondering if someone is going to bring in a snake and planning my escape route for that eventuality - the vet waiting room is not a relaxing place for us. Thus it is that what, in my head, used to be an afternoon's outing, is now a small task on the calendar, to be fitted in easily and quickly between other bits of life. My days are busier, time is more precious and has done that elastic thing that time does, but geography has done it too. The city has definitely shrunk.
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Sunday, November 15, 2015
The Forth Road Bridge
We are getting a new bridge. Hurrah! The old one is reaching the end of its life, and so a shiny new one is opening next year. I believe there are a lot of people who don't know much about the bridges across the Forth, so I thought I'd give you a little teach-in.
This one is the famous one. It's the Forth RAIL Bridge. It's the one that people refer to when they say that a project is "like painting the Forth Bridge", meaning that as soon as you've finished, you have to start again. Except in recent years, they've painted the whole thing using a very durable paint, and now they won't have to start again for forty years. I wonder if the expression will be as durable as the new paint, even though it's now not technically correct. I imagine so, as it's such a useful expression, and I can't think of one with a similar meaning that would do instead.
The Forth Rail Bridge was opened in 1890, and is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It wasn't designed by Brunel, though I expect a lot of people think it was (including me, probably, before I started writing this blog post). It has that 19th century big metal engineering structure look about it. Looking at it makes me want to use the word "cantilever", though I have no idea at all what one is.
This is the existing Forth ROAD Bridge, which doesn't have the majestic stature of the rail bridge (I'm trying to avoid the use of the word "iconic" here), but I do think it has a certain chunky dignity. When the new one is open, the old one will stay, for use by buses, taxis, cyclists and pedestrians.
Here is what the new Forth Road Bridge is going to look like. I like its svelte elegance.
There was a competition in 2012/13 to name the new bridge. Anyone could send in a suggestion, and then there was a vote on the top five. I was going to send in the suggestion "The Third Forth Bridge" (geddit?), and didn't, because I assumed a load of other people would, and then I would just be able to vote for it. But I was wrong in my assumption. I happened to cross the new Severn bridge in the summer of 2013, and I was delighted to see that it's called "The Second Severn Crossing". Well done, the Welsh. That's my kind of humour.
So not enough people suggested "The Third Forth Bridge" to get it into the top five, but apparently there was a popular suggestion to call the bridge "Kevin". There's a Scottish comedian called Kevin Bridges, which may help you to understand this seemingly odd idea. Though there is a blogger who calls her book club Kevin, so I guess you can call anything Kevin if you want to.
In fact, the five names that were shortlisted were rather unimaginative. They were:
Over 35,000 people voted (not including me - I thought the suggestions were too boring), and the name "Queensferry Crossing" was the winner.
A lot of English people think that the bridges are a crossing between England and Scotland. They're not. The Firth of Forth is to the north side of Edinburgh, so if that were the case, Edinburgh would be in England. Which it isn't. The border between England and Scotland is a landmark that is much less conspicuous. In fact, it isn't a landmark at all. It's a sign on the A1, with a small layby. It would be nice to have a fancy bridge as the border, wouldn't it? It would make arriving in one country from the other feel a bit more special. I suppose we'll either have to move the border up to the Firth of Forth and then either relocate Edinburgh in its entirety, or let Edinburgh be in England. Alternatively, we could dig a huge channel across the Scottish Borders, and then build a bridge over it. The easiest solution, actually, would be to move the border a bit. It follows the River Tweed for miles and miles, and then just as it gets towards Britain's eastern edge, it jinks north and hits the coast about eight miles north of Berwick-upon-Tweed. This is somewhat perverse and rather a shame, because otherwise, these splendid bridges (road and rail) could be a rather satisfying border crossing.
And that little detour to Berwick-upon-Tweed, my friends, concludes my lesson on the Forth Bridges.
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The Forth Rail Bridge was opened in 1890, and is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It wasn't designed by Brunel, though I expect a lot of people think it was (including me, probably, before I started writing this blog post). It has that 19th century big metal engineering structure look about it. Looking at it makes me want to use the word "cantilever", though I have no idea at all what one is.
This is the existing Forth ROAD Bridge, which doesn't have the majestic stature of the rail bridge (I'm trying to avoid the use of the word "iconic" here), but I do think it has a certain chunky dignity. When the new one is open, the old one will stay, for use by buses, taxis, cyclists and pedestrians.
Here is what the new Forth Road Bridge is going to look like. I like its svelte elegance.
There was a competition in 2012/13 to name the new bridge. Anyone could send in a suggestion, and then there was a vote on the top five. I was going to send in the suggestion "The Third Forth Bridge" (geddit?), and didn't, because I assumed a load of other people would, and then I would just be able to vote for it. But I was wrong in my assumption. I happened to cross the new Severn bridge in the summer of 2013, and I was delighted to see that it's called "The Second Severn Crossing". Well done, the Welsh. That's my kind of humour.
So not enough people suggested "The Third Forth Bridge" to get it into the top five, but apparently there was a popular suggestion to call the bridge "Kevin". There's a Scottish comedian called Kevin Bridges, which may help you to understand this seemingly odd idea. Though there is a blogger who calls her book club Kevin, so I guess you can call anything Kevin if you want to.
In fact, the five names that were shortlisted were rather unimaginative. They were:
- Caledonia Crossing
- Firth of Forth Crossing
- Queensferry Crossing
- Saltire Crossing
- St Margaret's Crossing.
Over 35,000 people voted (not including me - I thought the suggestions were too boring), and the name "Queensferry Crossing" was the winner.
A lot of English people think that the bridges are a crossing between England and Scotland. They're not. The Firth of Forth is to the north side of Edinburgh, so if that were the case, Edinburgh would be in England. Which it isn't. The border between England and Scotland is a landmark that is much less conspicuous. In fact, it isn't a landmark at all. It's a sign on the A1, with a small layby. It would be nice to have a fancy bridge as the border, wouldn't it? It would make arriving in one country from the other feel a bit more special. I suppose we'll either have to move the border up to the Firth of Forth and then either relocate Edinburgh in its entirety, or let Edinburgh be in England. Alternatively, we could dig a huge channel across the Scottish Borders, and then build a bridge over it. The easiest solution, actually, would be to move the border a bit. It follows the River Tweed for miles and miles, and then just as it gets towards Britain's eastern edge, it jinks north and hits the coast about eight miles north of Berwick-upon-Tweed. This is somewhat perverse and rather a shame, because otherwise, these splendid bridges (road and rail) could be a rather satisfying border crossing.
And that little detour to Berwick-upon-Tweed, my friends, concludes my lesson on the Forth Bridges.
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Friday, November 6, 2015
You will be really surprised that I'm posting about this
You don't have me down as the kind of blogger who posts about Christmas ads, do you? You're right. I'm not. I don't like promoting big corporations, I don't like the commercialism of Christmas, and I don't watch much tv. What's more, I don't like receiving emails that call themselves an "exclusive preview", when I know that I'm one of several hundred thousand people receiving the email. But I liked this video, and I'm meant to be posting once a week and already failing at that, so I'm going to share it with you. Lazy blogging. Sorry.
What I like about it is this:
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What I like about it is this:
- it's short (one minute - well done, M&S, less is more)
- it's fun
- it's not smaltzchy (is that a word?) and doesn't romanticise Christmas, but realistically suggests that things like having 40 winks on the sofa are a nice part of the day ("if only"... I hear you all sigh)
- yes, it's full of glamourous women and smiley children, and the parents don't look tired enough and don't show even a flicker of annoyance when their daughter jumps on them and interrupts their post-dinner 40 winks, but they all seem to be having a bit of a lark, rather than being the perfect Christmas family, and the scenes are random and a tad weird
- yes, it's only 6 November and we haven't had Bonfire Night yet, so too early, too early for Christmas stuff, but well, you can't blame a big retailer for being like all the rest of them
- it's made me realise why I always dislike other Christmas ads that get hyped (John Lewis, I'm looking at you here). At some level, they do all send out that "you too could have the perfect Christmas" message, even if it's cunningly disguised as penguins and pyjamas. I like this M&S one because I don't quite understand it, but it's a romp that throws itself full pelt at Christmas, and it stirred up something jolly. Jolly and not too perfect.
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