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Posts Tagged ‘Fife’

It has been brought to our attention (mine and Marmers’) that our Antipodean pal, Roy, has been asking of our whereabouts over on MadLamb’s blog (that’s what it’s called, but we all know it is Mistpurr Spock’s blog really) so I thought it would be nice to update him on our doings and goings and comings as it were.

Having moved here to our new Wee Hoose, Lintrollersquoy, over on the sunny Firth of Forth in February 2012, we are purrty much settled in, though not really chuffed with all the upheavals re knocking down of walls, blocking in of doors, hoicking out of chimney breasts, building of sheddage and as for the garret…don’t GET ME STARTED!!!

The one bit of jinery of which we both appurrove is of course what Spock would call the ‘flappery’ in the back door, but the wild disruption of New Kitchen was almost a pawprint too far for cats of a nervously genteel disposition I can tell you!

This and the following photographs will be old hat to our Facebook Friends, but this is just for Roy…

 

snoozy-puss

 

 

 

 

snoozy-puss

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I rest from strenuous sundry choppings, pokings and polishing the hearthstone

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a warming New Year image for downunder

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an extremely tasteful repurresentation of moi

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St Andrews Day at the Scottish Fisheries Museum, Anstruther

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Posing elegantly in front of Wee Stove: we have since moved all the logs and briquettes away from the stove on the advice of Lynn who sold it to us.

What lucky we posted this photo on Facebook or there may have been an unintentional conflagration and a short-lived residency in Lintrollersquoy.

Happy New Year to our Chum in a Land Downunder!

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It takes all sorts of cats to make a world. Take my mate Marmers – oh go on, purrleeeease.

No, I mean metaphorically speaking, take my mate Marmers, he’s a laid back kinda guy, likes his R&R (pretty much to the exclusion of all else), does a bit of eatin’ a bit of sleepin’ and a lot more diggin’ than is stric’ly necessary, but you won’t see him strollin’ along the High Street acting Mr Kool, like some cats I am too modest to name.

This is more his bag. Or basket. Fpu was not thrilled to see His Lardship snuggling into the clean laundry…and after all that folding too…

Other more energetic, puss-about-town types purrefer to stroll along the West Shore, taking in the evening sun and generally socialising, posing, perambulating, that sort of thing…

See? I’ve tried explaining to him, I’ve tried showing him How It’s Done, but to no avole; he’s just that sort of cat, the kind that won’t budge, won’t try something a bit adventurous, a stick-in-the-mud.

I’ve got a thing about grey cats…

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Exhaustion is settin’ in…my wee paws are tippy-tappied into calluses with all this bloggin’. I think I may be suffering from blogghorrea. If there is a cure, someone tell me quick, or it may be a one-way ticket to Liff for KC!

So, anyway…let me take you down/’cause I’m going to/Falkland in Fife/everything’s real and nothing to get hung about/Falkland in Fife forever…

Scotland’s Garden Scheme – Open Gardens is hastening towards the end of its year, and a jolly good one it has been too, though we had to miss Crail in July because of a Very Special Occasion, involving royal blue silk, red envelopes and cupcakes. Only one or two to go…

Last weekend was Falkland’s turn to open its garden gates for charity  and we managed to visit 10/11 before flagging in the heat.

Nobly avoiding the temptations of the Bruce’s beer garden…

This is how Open Gardens welcome in the visitors (and stop people getting lost) – you get a map too, but don’t for heaven’s sake, let fpu loose with a map. Round, like a circle in a spiral/Like a wheel within a wheel/Never ending or beginning. You get the picture. Mpu gets the map.

My favourite three coincidentally involved resident cats, two happy and one in a bit of a huff, “because people have been bringing dogs into her garden” and quite right too. I know how that feels! Poor Poppy…

This is she and that’s her garden…

Steeply terraced, Poppy’s garden has everything, from a hammock, to a Shady Grove, to a Mediterranean sit-ootery, cleverly made from a ruined cottage.

Then there was Ginger’s garden (I’m awfully sorry that no-one thought to ask Ginger’s name, as usual, I blame the Staff)…there’s ‘Ginger’ posing like a pro…

and this is his (or pussibly, her, though you know what they say about ginger kitties and look at my mate Marmers) outdoor residence…

It’s not real you know. They don’t usually wear shades…

You can see why Ginger was so relaxed – nae Dugs Aloud:-)

Purrobably the most favourite was B&W Kitty’s happy home, as it was so colourful, varied and made such good use of every available nook and cranny. It also supplied endless entertainment for a feline, as you will see…

Henaria Callas gien it laldy

Dinner-dipper, admirably placed to allow cataccess.

Is it edible? Can I muster the henergy to give it a nibble?

Nah, cannie be ersed, I’ll just do ubercute instead.

I may have conflated a couple of gardens in the interests of artistic licence, but never let the truth get in the way of a good story line, I say.

There was a visit to Wormistoune House earlier in the summer, but it missed the bloggin’ boat, so here’s a Slide Show. It may be a bit repetitious in places as I got scunnered with the down/uploading and editing thingie after several eons. Just regard it as moving wallpaper. I know I do…

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We’ll have none of yer ‘Gotcha’s’ here, thank you very much.

This is the village of Falkland in Fife and nothing to do with those faraway islands whose 2000 inhabitants cost so much, one way or another. (And won Maggie T her second term in office, whilst providing a nice distraction from being none-too-chuffed with their govt. for the Argentine people. Politicians eh…)

I do try not to get distracted from the matter in paw..honest.

It wasn’t easy getting photos of the village, which sits at the feet of the Lomond Hills which are nowhere near Loch Lomond which is West not East,  without including intrusive vehicles I can tell you: obviously very necessary to the inhabitants, but not what you’d call photogenic.

(Were it not for that colon, I’d be pure puffed:-)

The National Trust for Scotland owns the Palace, which was acquired by the Scottish Crown from a MacDuff in the 14th century and transformed by twa Jamies – 1v&v – between 1501 and 1541 just in time for afternoon tea and is ‘an impressive Renaissance building’ according to the blurb. In every nook and cranny you will find helpful volunteer guides, who tend be au certain age and tell you interesting stuff in a nice and not at all tedious way.

The Flemish tapestries are a wheen o’ wark and you wouldn’t believe how ill-treated they were by their owners – chopped up willy-nilly and pieced together again with the joining-up stitching all showing. Folks with more money than sense… There was no photo-taking inside because of possible light damage, so I can’t show you my favourite room, a snug wee library at the top of a curly stone stair which didn’t bother me at all, but which Ancient Oz Friend refused to ascend and fpu did ascend but with bated breath and rigid sphincter.

The outdoor draughts board looked like a weight-lifting exercise, a sort of Beauty Through Strength thing, until a small boy was seen to be shifting them about with the aid of a short window pole (anyone who has ever lived in a Victorian tenement will know what I mean) and the gardens are really lovely, but you know me and gardens, so I’ve tried to be restrained in the flower pic dept.

At the far end of the gardens (did I mention the gardens? Oh.) is a ‘real tennis’ court built in 1593 – the oldest still in use and home of Falkland Palace Royal Tennis Club. Bet that’s a bundle of laughs. Just as long as they don’t disturb the swallows who nest in the roofed spectator area…I like swallows…well all birdies to be honest.

The Violin Shop just behind the lion-encrusted fountain in the village is well worth a visit. Rosanne Cash, daughter of Johnny, keeps in touch with Mr Beveridge who owns it, and if you don’t believe me, you should have read today’s Herald newspaper! The shop doesn’t just buy and sell violins, it is a sort of Old Curiosity Shoppe too, with collectibles and books and unconsidered trifles. I was a bit confused by all the signs saying ‘Cash Paid for violins cellos etc.’ Purrhaps it’s another word for money…

I hope you’re impurressed by the pusscats on the fountain, the given name of Mr Bruce the statue, which is Onesiphorus (what’s in a name indeed!) and the sign on The Bruce pub which says ‘I.R.6 God saif ye king of Grit Britan France and Irland, our Soveran for of his liberality this hous did edify.’ A bit like ‘Lizzie Wan kipped here’ I think.

It’s been a bit showery today, not my kind of weather, but conducive to tippy-tapping on the keyboard and generally staying indoors.

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Hullo there! it’s me Paddy your old mucker come to play with my friends KC&Marmers I’m so happy and bouncy are you not happy and bouncy too? I’m really really happyandbouncy!

Marmers, pssssssst, MARMERS PSSSSSSST I said PeffinSSSSSSST

Wha’? Psssssst what? WHAT???? (the light’s on, but there’s no-one at home) It’s a what???

I. am. not. hidin’. This is one of my very favourite purrlaces and I just wanted my fanclub to get a good view of my lovely tail is all. am not hidin’ AM NOT HIDIN’

See this is the other end of me, do I look bovvered? Do I??? I’m as cool as a…

Look Marmers, it’s the dog’s bed, it smells of dog, it has dog hairs all over it and, unless I’m very much mistaken, it has big black dog pawprints all over it, proof pawsitive of DOG.

Ohmigosh ohmigosh ohmigosh it’s a it’s a it. is. a… (I did try to tell you, what a numpty…)

What was all that about? What am I doin‘ out here? What did I do????

Okay. Now do I look smaller? Could you just stop guarding the patio door and let me in to sit on my blankie? After all it is my blankie… Nice as it is out here, I do feel a bit excluded like.

Guardin’? What guardin’? I’m just a-sittin here havin’ a wee wash and brush-up and mindin’ mah own business, dawg. If you want to just slip past me, you go right ahead…

At last! Thank you for providing diplomatic assistance, mammy. Crossing the threshold was a bit of an ordeal, but I made it in the end.

Ri-i-i-i-i-ght…

For anyone who may be wondering where Marmers is, he’s under his favourite bush having a wee ponder. He was just feeling a bit…philosophical…he said and a bit Greta Garbo like and he’ll be in shortly. I’m not saying I believe him, but you can make up your own mind….

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We Wants Our Brefuss

here we are then...

here we are then...

Marmers and I, having newly arrived here from here Flying Cat are just paddy-pawing our way around this quite exciting new home. Of course, like our current temporal residence (as opposed to virtual) this may change as we – or I – git the hang of all this here themery, widgetry, gadgetry etc…

Or not as the case may be…

At purresent, we are living in a bosky grove above the sea in Robinson Crusoe country in the Kingdom of Fife. In the fullness of time we’ll be off once again to a more permanent residence in Ferryport.

The header’s a bit nostalgic, but once we’re purroperly settled in the Kingdom, I will order a change…

This morning, as the hooked claw of Fate creeps towards the vole tunnel of Destiny, all we really really wants is OUR BREFUSS!!

So, if the ammanuensis known as female parental unit would git off her ever-spreading and head kitchen-wards, I for one would be Quite Chuffed.

Time for a handful of crunchies donated by members of our fanclub, Mister Tws and Ms Eek.

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