Please show your working

My entire weekend, and I show my working.

In reverse order (ish):

• Book binding
• Neil Gaiman
• Short Stories
• Attention span of a refined sort
• Memory (Bus) Lane
• Belfast is pleasant
• Childish excitment on hotel rooms
• Mardy as used in conversation

Hamish binds books. Which suddenly struck me, as I was reading Neil Gaiman's short story collections, Smoke and Mirrors, as a great gift for a writer. One wonders why more don't do it really. I very much enjoy short story collections but have noticed a bit of a tendency to charge through them at a great rate of knots (sp?) and I reckon I miss some of the cleverness. I thought that it would be a marvellous idea to stick a couple of blank pages in between each story - make you take a mental breath. Which would be easier to do if one was binding one's own, as 'twere. See where it joins up? Forgive the rambling-ness, but I was quite tired when I thought this one up, having just returned from Belfast.

...

I got the Airport Express back from the airport, on the Memory (Bus) Lane, all the way. Once you get to Corstorphine roundabout, it takes the same route as the 26, the bus I got back into town from Uni (QMUC) for a few years.

A particular corner reminds me of Alexis asking a surprisingly naive question for her. I remember teasing her quiet mercilessly for that one. There's a stretch of road, just before the zoo, that reminds me of arguing with Jackie about the relative aesthetic merits of James Dean. There's also a house which reminds me of a particular chap in a particular outfit predominated by white. Contemplating all these with the weekend's activities and that sense of oddness that reading Mr Gaiman always leaves me with had me in kind of a spaced-out mood. Tired boy.

...

Work, play and side benefits from Belfast trip: all good. The staff at my job's offices in Belfast are all friendly, nice and quite fiercely efficient. Good meetings (yes, such things exist, I swear) with information swapped on both sides, all closing out by about 2.30pm so I buggered off to check into my very plush hotel. Cue childish excitement from me, but come on! The room was almost as big as my entire flat. *laughter*

Belfast City itself is lovely. Can never be assed fighting with Blogger on photos for too long, so here's just one. I'll flickr the rest when I get a mo.

Checked out the scene on Friday night - which was nice and easy. Once you've got a wee map, the entire city is easy to get around in - about forty minutes walk from one side of the 'centre' to the other. Nothing terribly exciting on my dip into Belfast's stews to report - those 6 am flights really put a crimp in your party-hat, let me tell you. It was a beautiful flight, though, as I've said. The only drawback of having phone and camera in one I've found so far. You can't turn phone on while flying, so can't take any aerial shots. But, yes, I can recommend the Union St. Bar to any one of the bufter type who's going to Belfast. Pink peppercorn sauce on my steak. Still trying to decide if that was incidental or kitsch.

The careers fair was busy enough to warrant my presence (and the chunk out of budget) and it took place at the Europa Hotel - most bombed in Europe, don'tcherknow. Only the one flight to Edinburgh from Belfast on Saturn's Day which I couldn't get because of still being hard at work advising medical trainees on the GP career path. Such a shame as it meant work had to pay for my overnight stay on Sat, too. Which, in turn, meant I could go out with local colleague and the lovely Jane and Clare from the floating community of exhibitors. They are lovely and use 'mardy' in conversation, which is fun. What? Sue me - I like the Arctic Monkeys.

And how utterly pleasant to get through all of that work and play, fly back to the Burgh and STILL have yesterday off. Niiiiiiice.

Have a good one,

C