In-Laws, Diplomacy, and Charles II's Nose
Sep. 27th, 2022 05:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootInsanely busy, with the kind of business that doesn't sound like business. The charity of which I'm a trustee has put together a little story-telling event (Scotland's Year of the Story don't you know!) and there are something like 400 entries from local kids to go through. These are brilliant. Yes, I often have to surrender to outbursts of maniacal laughter, but I'm seeing so much story telling verve, colour, extensive use of vocabulary, imagination, it's a total delight.
More about that later.
The other thing has been looking after the in-laws, pleasant if not always easy. Conversations tend to be peppered with stuff like 'she's clever, very clever, and very manipulative,' answered by such enlightened responses as 'well yes, she's a female.' The person being discussed is between 5 and 6 years old. Wanna know where it starts? Right here, right here.
There was more. On seeing photos of Mum and Dad, the FIL referred to the Scots and Spanish as 'ferocious brutal races,' and mentioned Torquemada. R broke in with a few reminders about the behaviour of the English, and everything was kept good-humoured, but there's no denying that accompanying these two around for the week, while not a burden, had strong elements of duty. There's something immensely tiring about biting one's tongue for days on end.
Our first day was at the Taste of Impressionism exhibition in Edinburgh, followed by a gentle jaunt round the National Gallery. Next day was a meander down the Royal Mile to Holyrood Palace. Holyrood is fascinating. Charles II commissioned a single painter to fill the great hall with portraits of his supposed ancestors, and in order to cement the idea of his royal lineage, they all had to look like him; the painter did this by giving them all Charles II's nose. This nose is quite long and distinctive, almost pendulous. Once the nose is seen, it is impossible not to detect its presence everywhere, following you around the room. They should sell key rings and plaster casts of it, a piece of royalty to cherish as your own.
James V's Tower is no laughing matter. These include Mary of Scot's private chambers, where poor Rizzio is thought to have been murdered. The walls are wood panelled, the stones thick and all, all so dark. Unquiet slumbers indeed, I wouldn't sleep a night in those rooms! Yes, it has a feeling. I spent half my time feeling eyes on my back in the style of
Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh how I wish he’d go away...
I feel it here now as I type. That's quite enough of that.
The next day was out at Loch Lomond, the day after that was spent at home, and yesterday was a visit to Glasgow, the Willow Tea Rooms, and Kelvingrove Museum and Art Gallery. Here then was the nearest to actual disagreement, as we made our way. The FIL started talking about Wetherspoons. As I can stand neither the pubs nor their owner, I said nothing and hoped the conversation would die, but no, the FIL was adamant that we were going to talk about Tim Martin. When I voiced my disapproval of the horrible old Brexiter, anti-unionist, and Covid dismisser for the sake of custom in his damned pubs, there was a little indignant fluster in response. The FIL started talking about employee satisfaction reviews on Glass Door (!) his wife decided to take charge and after telling me that her husband had done some research ordered us not to have this conversation ('there are some things we don't agree on,' she said,) and of course, this is the thing. The wonders of Tim Martin would lead on to the sense of his views which would lead on to the sense of Brexit, and as they were ardent Leavers, ths was the trail opening out before us. For all her tone was disagreeable, I agreed with her on abandoning that particular subject and said so as lightly as I could. I really was trying very hard. But the FIL tried to start it up again because finding anonymous reviews that praise Wetherspoons somehow qualifies as research as far as these two are concerned.
'I thought we were not going to have this conversation,' was my rejoinder. 'Are we or aren't we?'
Because I have no problem if we are, but I don't think you'll enjoy what happens next was my unspoken signal. They both subsided then, though evidently mortified. I tried to keep my tone easy, for I have worked hard all week to be patient and pleasant with my husband's parents and didn't want to spoil it. But a line has to be drawn somewhere or at least one of these two will cross it. I hoped to have managed the close-down without rudeness and that the day would continue well. Fortunately Kelvingrove was magnificent. The place kept us all thoroughly occupied and fascinated. There was an organ recital which they loved, and then so many galleries, so much thought! I must go back, not just to Kelvingrove but to Glasgow, to understand more of the city. There is too much I haven't explored yet.
They leave today, a new cleaner starts here this morning, my husband travels to England this evening and I have to wake myself up enough to read and make notes on these stories. This is going to take a lot of caffeine.
More about that later.
The other thing has been looking after the in-laws, pleasant if not always easy. Conversations tend to be peppered with stuff like 'she's clever, very clever, and very manipulative,' answered by such enlightened responses as 'well yes, she's a female.' The person being discussed is between 5 and 6 years old. Wanna know where it starts? Right here, right here.
There was more. On seeing photos of Mum and Dad, the FIL referred to the Scots and Spanish as 'ferocious brutal races,' and mentioned Torquemada. R broke in with a few reminders about the behaviour of the English, and everything was kept good-humoured, but there's no denying that accompanying these two around for the week, while not a burden, had strong elements of duty. There's something immensely tiring about biting one's tongue for days on end.
Our first day was at the Taste of Impressionism exhibition in Edinburgh, followed by a gentle jaunt round the National Gallery. Next day was a meander down the Royal Mile to Holyrood Palace. Holyrood is fascinating. Charles II commissioned a single painter to fill the great hall with portraits of his supposed ancestors, and in order to cement the idea of his royal lineage, they all had to look like him; the painter did this by giving them all Charles II's nose. This nose is quite long and distinctive, almost pendulous. Once the nose is seen, it is impossible not to detect its presence everywhere, following you around the room. They should sell key rings and plaster casts of it, a piece of royalty to cherish as your own.
James V's Tower is no laughing matter. These include Mary of Scot's private chambers, where poor Rizzio is thought to have been murdered. The walls are wood panelled, the stones thick and all, all so dark. Unquiet slumbers indeed, I wouldn't sleep a night in those rooms! Yes, it has a feeling. I spent half my time feeling eyes on my back in the style of
Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh how I wish he’d go away...
I feel it here now as I type. That's quite enough of that.
The next day was out at Loch Lomond, the day after that was spent at home, and yesterday was a visit to Glasgow, the Willow Tea Rooms, and Kelvingrove Museum and Art Gallery. Here then was the nearest to actual disagreement, as we made our way. The FIL started talking about Wetherspoons. As I can stand neither the pubs nor their owner, I said nothing and hoped the conversation would die, but no, the FIL was adamant that we were going to talk about Tim Martin. When I voiced my disapproval of the horrible old Brexiter, anti-unionist, and Covid dismisser for the sake of custom in his damned pubs, there was a little indignant fluster in response. The FIL started talking about employee satisfaction reviews on Glass Door (!) his wife decided to take charge and after telling me that her husband had done some research ordered us not to have this conversation ('there are some things we don't agree on,' she said,) and of course, this is the thing. The wonders of Tim Martin would lead on to the sense of his views which would lead on to the sense of Brexit, and as they were ardent Leavers, ths was the trail opening out before us. For all her tone was disagreeable, I agreed with her on abandoning that particular subject and said so as lightly as I could. I really was trying very hard. But the FIL tried to start it up again because finding anonymous reviews that praise Wetherspoons somehow qualifies as research as far as these two are concerned.
'I thought we were not going to have this conversation,' was my rejoinder. 'Are we or aren't we?'
Because I have no problem if we are, but I don't think you'll enjoy what happens next was my unspoken signal. They both subsided then, though evidently mortified. I tried to keep my tone easy, for I have worked hard all week to be patient and pleasant with my husband's parents and didn't want to spoil it. But a line has to be drawn somewhere or at least one of these two will cross it. I hoped to have managed the close-down without rudeness and that the day would continue well. Fortunately Kelvingrove was magnificent. The place kept us all thoroughly occupied and fascinated. There was an organ recital which they loved, and then so many galleries, so much thought! I must go back, not just to Kelvingrove but to Glasgow, to understand more of the city. There is too much I haven't explored yet.
They leave today, a new cleaner starts here this morning, my husband travels to England this evening and I have to wake myself up enough to read and make notes on these stories. This is going to take a lot of caffeine.
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