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Reading ‘Hallucinating Foucault’ in Glasgow

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The book: Hallucinating Foucault, Patricia Duncker

The place: Glasgow

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Well, technically, the photograph above was taken in Lochwinnoch, rather than Glasgow, where I was visiting a dear friend and her new baby. The unprecedentedly summery weather that I mentioned in my last post has continued, and while I have been working, I have also managed to carve out time for various good-weather Scotland adventures, including:

  • A seaside excursion to North Berwick with my friend K., where I dressed for summer and paddled in the sea and sat on a blanket on the sand and mostly weren’t that freezing, and I only had to put my emergency jeans on (under my sleeveless silk summer dress) while waiting for the train back.

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Totally totally not freezing. Nope.

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  • A driving lesson, for the first time since (oh god) 2000? Drove at a glacial pace through Glasgow streets clogged with drifts of cherry blossom, and mostly kept the panicked shrieking to a minimum.

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This was actually in London rather than Glasgow, but you get the idea.

  • One lunch-and-writing date; one coffee and cake session at which I only realised when my companion pointed it out that we were sat at the next table from the First Minister. Scotland!
  • Another excursion, this time to fulfil a long-held dream from when I was 16 and a quasi-Wiccan living in Australia and I bought a book called The Occult Guide to Great Britain and became fascinated by the story of the Reverend Kirk, who was allegedly kidnapped by fairies on a hill near Aberfoyle at the end of the seventeenth century. My companions were very indulgent of my ludicrous overexcitement: we had lunch in the Fairy Tree pub (where we were very disappointed to find that they were out of the locally brewed Rev. Kirk Ale), visited Rev. Kirk’s alleged grave (presumably full of stones or similar, as he is off living in Faery), and then walked through the bluebell woods and up the hill to the fairy tree at the top where Rev. Kirk’s soul is allegedly imprisoned. I can think of worse places for my soul to be imprisoned for all eternity, though to be fair we were there on an uncommonly gorgeous day.

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The grave. While wandering the churchyard I glanced sidelong at this grave, said to my friend B. “that’s the sort of grave that should be Rev. Kirk’s”, AND IT WAS. Clearly am just as psychic and in tune with faerie as I dreamed I was at sixteen.

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Aww, Past Jess, see how I look out for you?!

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Deeply creepy teddy bear stuck to fence, a la Blair Witch or similar. 20160514_145700
I mean seriously, if your soul had to be imprisoned forever in a wood, you’d choose this wood, am I right?

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Tree!

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Without wishing to be unbearably parochial (it’s not where I’m from, after all), pretty sure there’s nowhere more gorgeous in the world than Scotland when the weather’s good.

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Massive detour on the way back, so we could drive over the bridge that R. built on the side of Loch Lomond.

  • Southside drinks with friends, where the streets were thick with marauding hipsters and alarmed-looking locals.

I am off back to points south tomorrow evening, but if this is all the Scottish summer I get, I am very grateful for it indeed.

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Moon over Victoria Road.

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Probably my favourite view in all the world: spring dusk, looking north from my living room.

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Written by Jess

May 15, 2016 at 3:45 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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