the 18th year has begun

The annual escape took us to Italy this year, not India, and we left in time to celebrate the New Year at our destination. Often we have been hanging around at airports, or in mid flight and not sure where we were, when it was time for the bells. But this year we were in Florence, and had organised ourselves so well that we hit the streets in time to join in with the celebrations. And boy do those Italians know how to celebrate. Innocently, and without having thought much about it at all, we had thought we would stand by one of the bridges on the Arno and hear the New Year being rung in from the wonderful churches all around. It was nothing like that.

First of all we had to learn about the Italian love of fireworks. By that we mean a deep, personal love of the things, of being up close to them, of having lots and lots of them - and being especially fond of the ones which make LOUD noises. There were indeed the big rockets that have become so popular here now, and they were let off within a few feet of passersby with nary any injury. But the passion is for firecrackers, the louder and the more the merrier. It was as if the artillery were in town, and the ambition to blow historic, fantastic Florence to kingdom come, and then do it again as often as possible. The booming and banging echoed in the narrow streets between the tall buildings and all around the cathedral until all hearing was lost and the orchestra bravely playing The Rite of Spring in the freezing cold did not have a chance.

So many firecrackers were there that long after New Year, long after Epiphany, the occasional Boom raised the heart rate of the uninitiated.

It was controlled chaos, but great fun. And, as I have said, no one got hurt, no one panicked, young children and those with grey hair all joined in with impunity.

And we had a lovely holiday. Lots of walking, lots of standing still and just looking. Of course we went to the churches and museums, of course we visited the markets and the shops. But above all we did exactly what we wanted as and when we decided to do it. How often can we say that?

So - welcome to The Line Monoblog for 2012. This is the start of the 18th year of The Line Gallery and we have every intention that it will be as full and as interesting as each of the previous 17 have been.

OOPS!

Ah well - it was inevitable really. You will find the December monoblog instalment under the heading 'Diary', I am sorry to say. The end of the year is nigh and it is time I had a holiday - but it does give me the opportunity to wish you all a Merry Christmas a second time!

New kids on the block ...

It is not every day that I would find I had something in common with an image like this one, but do you see the large gentleman in the centre of the photograph? His name is Kelvin Sewell and, until recently, he was member of the Homicide Department of the Baltimore Police - and he is coming to the Book Festival on November 5th. He and investigative journalist Steven Janis have written a book - Why we kill - which will be discussed on that Saturday afternoon. Never having met a murder detective, never mind been instrumental in bringing one to my home town before, I now have to work out how to make sure they get here safely, are comfortable, have an audience - and pay them in dollars. I will not be doing all of this on my own, of course, but it does add a certain frisson to life that brightens up the dull days. I am looking forward to the festival as a whole this year, there is quite a buzz about it. On Monday last week we held the second Linlithgow Literary Lunch in Ship2Shore - try saying that after a wine gum or two. It was a good event and one we shall repeat in 2012.

Elisabet gets back from her sojourn in Sweden on Tuesday, which will be good. I think she will be pleased to be home and I know I will be delighted to have her back. I wonder if she will notice the new sign for the gallery that will go up tomorrow?

The leaves are golden

I'm sitting here, having just posted news of our Christmas exhibition With the wind in their wings and it occurs to me that I am looking out at the trees on the High Street - and their leaves are browns and golds. It is September 20th for goodness sake! It is also pretty cold sitting here, and I don't remember either of these things happening at this date in previous years. I know, I know - its age, time passes all the more quickly as they years grow. Nuts, is all I have to say to you - do you remember the leaves turning and your fingers needing gloves in previous Septembers in Linlithgow. See!

Having moaned above, the trees do look good. I always enjoy autumn - it had never before struck me that there might be a chance of there being just TOO much autumn, I always felt I could have done with more. In the dim past I do remember Charles explaining, from his great height and certainty, that he didn't like autumn much - 'too much flux'' he said. Well, flux or not that argument never impressed me much (but why do I remember it?) and I will stick with my pleasure.

In January we will have been here for 17 years, or rather The Line will. When I was 17 I was about to leave school and head to University - it felt as if I had a whole life behind me and a new one was about to begin. I don't feel the same need to move on now, but it does make for an interesting comparison - for me at least. What do the next few years bring to challenge and divert? I will wait and see -

in the meanwhile let me explain the image which accompanies this ramble. Ruthie had a stroke when she was 30 and nearly lost her life. Now, some three years later, she is able to look after herself in her own flat, grows vegetables in the garden and assists with a variety of enterprises around town in a voluntary capacity. A couple of weeks ago was the great Glasgow to Edinburgh cycle ride. With only one arm and one leg functioning properly, Ruthie was unable to join in directly, but with a little planning the static bike was sited outside The Line and Ruthie got stuck in - 15 miles were completed. The tee shirt on the window? One of the guys cycling by stopped for a chat - then disappeared into the pub next door. He came back minus his ride tee shirt, which he then presented to Ruthie as 'she deserved it more than he did'.

Could not agree more.