Pubs and birds and boxing
May. 21st, 2024 07:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootThat pub near Ratho looked interesting (https://www.facebook.com/TheBridgeInnLinlithgow/) and on Friday, a few of us did a little exploring of our own... that is to say, a friend's obliging husband took us there and brought us back a few squiffed hours later.
It's a nice place with a fire burning inside though the day. Not cheap but eh. I'd like to go there again, maybe in combination with wandering the local park and fields this summer. We shall see.
Friday night shenanigans left me good for almost nothing on Saturday except watching the Usyk/Fury fight. Boxing always reminds me of my late Aunty Senti, who loved nothing better than to sit with a bottle of stout, some tomatoes and chorizo nearby, and watch a couple of men on screen happily beating the hell out of each other. She would have loved this. It's an interesting sport though I wince when it feels like active desperation, but from what amateur boxers tell me, that's my projection. Anthony Cacace is clearly insane, bitter as absinthe and one of the few people able to make super-featherweight fights engrossing, Moses Itauma is a teen orc benignly at ease with knocking opponents into next week, and Tyson Fury was finally put in his place by Oleksandr Usyk, who has impressed me since he dethroned my beautiful boxing king Anthony Joshua. I am convinced Usyk's a were-snake. His eyes do something intriguing when he gauges his foes; they seem very still but actually flicker quick quick quick. He was doing that while Fury pantomimed before him.
That night though, I dreamed ill; of a street in a middle eastern town/city where I was walking and an Arabic looking older man attacked me, catching my neck in the crook of his arm and pulling. I screamed loudly enough to stop a woman walking on the other side of the road, calling to her to shout and get 'the others' out to help me; in my dream, R and friends were in a house close by. She ran, I yelled and they came out in rescue. Everything was fine though I woke shuddering. How much of that was down to the match being held in Saudi Arabia is a guess. A cluttering of violent imagery, maybe these things alarm me more than my conscious brain realises. In the end, I am not so very like my aunt!
Meanwhile, here we are with a rich blue sky and the discovery of not one but two nests of house martins in the eves of the house. They were flying around this morning. It's a beautiful day in a beautiful Spring.
It's a nice place with a fire burning inside though the day. Not cheap but eh. I'd like to go there again, maybe in combination with wandering the local park and fields this summer. We shall see.
Friday night shenanigans left me good for almost nothing on Saturday except watching the Usyk/Fury fight. Boxing always reminds me of my late Aunty Senti, who loved nothing better than to sit with a bottle of stout, some tomatoes and chorizo nearby, and watch a couple of men on screen happily beating the hell out of each other. She would have loved this. It's an interesting sport though I wince when it feels like active desperation, but from what amateur boxers tell me, that's my projection. Anthony Cacace is clearly insane, bitter as absinthe and one of the few people able to make super-featherweight fights engrossing, Moses Itauma is a teen orc benignly at ease with knocking opponents into next week, and Tyson Fury was finally put in his place by Oleksandr Usyk, who has impressed me since he dethroned my beautiful boxing king Anthony Joshua. I am convinced Usyk's a were-snake. His eyes do something intriguing when he gauges his foes; they seem very still but actually flicker quick quick quick. He was doing that while Fury pantomimed before him.
That night though, I dreamed ill; of a street in a middle eastern town/city where I was walking and an Arabic looking older man attacked me, catching my neck in the crook of his arm and pulling. I screamed loudly enough to stop a woman walking on the other side of the road, calling to her to shout and get 'the others' out to help me; in my dream, R and friends were in a house close by. She ran, I yelled and they came out in rescue. Everything was fine though I woke shuddering. How much of that was down to the match being held in Saudi Arabia is a guess. A cluttering of violent imagery, maybe these things alarm me more than my conscious brain realises. In the end, I am not so very like my aunt!
Meanwhile, here we are with a rich blue sky and the discovery of not one but two nests of house martins in the eves of the house. They were flying around this morning. It's a beautiful day in a beautiful Spring.
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