Forever Amber

Inadvertently Ask Amber; red haired babies, The Famous Five and ponkies. Yes, ponkies.

It's a while since we've had a round of Inadvertently Ask Amber - the game where I answer questions suggested to me by the weird and wonderful Google searches people use to find this site - but that doesn't mean The Crazy hasn't kept coming, because it most assuredly has. No, it just means I haven't been telling you about it. Given that I even told you about that time Rubin took a dump in front of his new girlfriend, that's kind of remarkable, isn't it?

I have, however, been keeping close track of The Crazy, carefully filing those idiot search terms away in a file called "Things to remind me there are crazier people than me in the world". So, without further ado, let's have a look at them, shall we? And let's just get the mad Redhead Hatin' out the way first:

will i produce a red haired baby
Like, out of thin air, do you mean? Well, probably not, but if you do, can I watch?

Aside: I know I've asked this before, but I ask it again, because I have this habit of saying the same thing over and over again sometimes. I said, I have this habit of saying the same thing... oh, never mind. Anyway my question is this: why do people ask Google such specific, and quite personal questions? It's not a Magic Eightball, you know! And neither am I. Which brings me to this one:

why am I cold all the time?
You are cold all the time because you have the mysterious, incurable, Cold-All-the-Time disease. Sorry, but you DID ask... Seriously, how would I know? I mean, I'm cold all the time, sure, but that's because ... well, it's because it's freaking cold. ALL THE TIME. Don't even get me started on THAT one...

what are the names of the dogs in the famous five
Duh! There is only one dog in The Famous Five, and he is called Timothy, or Timmy for short. You can't call him that, though. Only I can call him that, because I've read all the books and memorized them. Once YOU'VE done that too, then you can call him "Timmy". His special talent: discovering underground passages by burrowing into rabbit holes, climbing out of wells unaided, having the waggiest tail ever. God, I loved that dog.

100 reasons to break off a wedding
Damn, you people ask a lot of me, don't you? Sorry, but if you think I have time to sit here and write out 100 reasons why someone might break off a wedding, you clearly don't know how lazy I am. Next!

does putting olive oil in ear make you deaf?
WHAT? WHAT? SPEAK UP, YOUNG UN, ALL THIS OLIVE OIL IN MY EARS DONE MAKE ME DEAF!
Actually, no. No, it doesn't. Well, it could do if you used it all the time, I suppose. ( Disclaimer: is not a doctor.) I mean, when I did it that time, I ended up at the doctor's surgery having my ear syringed, and the nurse told me to never pour anything in my ear EVER AGAIN, because only stupid people do that, and she may also have said something about me being lucky not to have made myself deaf, but I couldn't really hear her, on account of I had a syringe in my ear at the time. And also: olive oil.

a caravan is parked in my street who do i report it to
You can report it to me. I am the Caravan-Parked-in-Street Overlord. Didn't you know?

black babies stay black in dark room forever?
I can't even imagine what kind of crack you were smocking when you typed this. And I don't want to.

wear one dress for a whole year
No. YOU wear one dress for a whole year. See how you like it. Report back, please.

why are scottish people so pale
Because we have no sun, ever. EVER. GOD.

do you know what a ponky is
Do I know what a ponky is? Do I know what a ponky is? D'uh! This, my friends, is a ponky:

So, what you're basically seeing here is a pink donkey = "Ponky". Do you see what I did there? This isn't just any old Ponky, though: this is Ponky Number 2. Here is Ponky Number 1:

Have you spotted the deliberate mistake yet? Because we didn't. My mum and I found this Ponky at Ikea one day, and were thrilled at the sight of it. "Look, a pink donkey!" we shrieked in delight. "A Ponky!" So we picked the Ponky up, and we paid for the Ponky, and we took the Ponky home with us, and we gave the Ponky to Rubin, all the while repeating the word "Ponky" over and over again, like PonkyPonkyPonky and feeling damn pleased with ourselves for having invented it.

It wasn't until about three days later that I realised the awful truth - the one that probably hit you RIGHT AWAY....

Yeah, it was a freaking RABBIT.

No, I don't know. I have absolutely NO IDEA how we could have mistaken it for a Ponky. In our defence, we'd never SEEN a Ponky at that point, and I dunno, maybe the rabbit had secret powers that it used to make us THINK it was a Ponky. All I can say is, at least you won't make the same mistake, readers. Be ever vigilant for Ponky Imposters. And don't tell Rubin, OK, because when we told him we'd got him a Ponky, he believed us. Shhh!

Anyway, to come back to the question in hand: yes, I do know what a Ponky is. But sometimes I mistake them for rabbits. Easy mistake to make, could happen to anyone, moving right along...

oh god i need tights now!
Oh, um, that's nice! Thanks for sharing! You sound really... special! What brought this on so suddenly, though? Was it the Ponky story?

amber mcnaught height on profile
Wow. Always slightly creepy when someone Googles your full name, no? I don't know what the "profile" reference is, but just so's you know, I'm 5"3. You're welcome.

there's a boy in a sissy girls dress
THERE IS? Oh man, thanks for telling me! I can't BELIEVE I was sitting here writing about Ponkies when THAT was going on! Laters, folks...

   

Scotland V. Florida: Ultimate Deathmatch

Hey, did I mention I'm going to Florida in exactly one week's time? And that I'm almost as unprepared for this trip as it's possible for a person to be? When you work for yourself, you see, taking time off is never easy, and for reasons that are far too complicated for me to explain (and actually too complicated for me to understand, some of the time), a two week holiday has involved me writing one month's worth of advance blog posts, and trust me, this has been no fun at all.  Absolutely nothing is prepared for the trip, and I still have a huge amount of work to do before I leave, so naturally this seemed like the perfect opportunity to answer that "What's it like living in Scotland, compared to Florida" question that's been sitting in the Skribit queue for, oooh, too long. Naturally.

So, what's it like living in Scotland?

Umm, well, two words spring immediately to mind:

1. Cold

2. Expensive

We'll start with the "cold" first because we Brits are all about the weather, and I say that with no irony at all, because it's true. We're all obsessed with the weather over here and that's because the weather? Sucks. See, I've described Scotland as "cold" but that's not the whole story. I mean, yes, it is cold, but to be honest, it's not that cold. It doesn't get cold like Canada gets cold, for instance (just to pull a random example out of thin air). It very rarely snows here (not where we are, in the central belt, anyway), but then, it's very rarely warm enough to go outside without a jacket, either. Or not for me, anyway, but I'm the girl who'll be packing several sweaters for her Florida trip (the air con in the malls and restaurants actually makes me shiver), so I'm maybe not best qualified to judge that one.

So, the  problem with the weather isn't that it's cold, it's that it sucks it's so damp all the time. There's a saying that if you don't like the weather in Scotland, just wait five minutes and it'll change, but I've never really understood that saying because as far as I can tell, Scotland has three main forms of weather:

1. Raining

2. Just about to rain

3. Just stopped raining

It's like this all year round, and while it gets warmer during the summer, obviously, and cold during the winter, the dampness is pretty much constant, which makes it hard to plan things that involve being outdoors, or to wear any of those sun dresses that you're always buying. Oh no, wait, that's just me, isn't it?

Florida, on the other hand... Well, Florida is hot. Duh! People who live in Florida, or, indeed in other hot places are always telling me that I'd get bored of this constant heat, but, umm, no. I really wouldn't. I cannot stand the cold. Or the dark - and bearing in mind that we only get a few hours of sunlight per day during the winter, that makes Scotland quite a difficult habitat for me to survive in. The heat, on the other hand? Love it. Can never get enough of it. And given that I've had, ooooh, an entire lifetime of cold, dark and damp so far, I'm thinking that if I never had to live in this particular climate ever again, that would be just fine by me. Where do I sign up?

(On the plus side, though, we never get really freaky weather either: no hurricanes, no tornadoes, nothing much worse than rain and cold. And even then, people talk about how wet Scotland is, but it's England that always gets flooded...)

People also tell me I'd get bored of the "no change in season" thing, but actually? We don't have "seasons" over here, either, really. Or not so much. We just have one, long, rainy season, with the aforementioned variations, but variations are rare to the point that if we get one sunny day, it makes the first item on the news. ("THERE WAS SUNSHINE IN GLASGOW! LOOK! PICTURES OF THE SUN! PICTURES OF PEOPLE LYING AROUND IN PARKS, SUNBATHING! IN THE SUN!") Ditto if there's ever a sprinkling of snow. Seriously, the papers are all "Snow! In DECEMBER! OMG!" Gah. Oh, we have a media that, with a few notable exceptions, is almost all opinion and sensationalism, too. (That's maybe where I get it from, come to think of it.) And our tabloids have pictures of naked boobies on Page 3.

The Scottish Tourist Board are going to love me for this post, aren't they? Let's just drive the nail in that bit further...

Living in Scotland is also pretty damn expensive. As an example, fuel here is currently about $10 per gallon. Granted, that's expensive even for us - we have a government at the moment who are hellbent on running the country into the ground, and fast - but our fuel, and everything else has always been WAY more expensive than it is in the States. (Public transport is expensive too, and also unreliable and dirty. Thinking of taking a trip in the UK? Yeah, good luck with that...) For this reason, there's a whole generation growing up in the UK (because really, everything I'm saying about "Scotland" here could just as easily apply to the rest of the UK) who will never be able to afford to own their own home. Everything is just way more expensive than it is in the States - and that's even taking into account differences in income and the exchange rate.

Also: Florida has a giant mouse that lives in a castle. Owned!

Umm, I kind of feel like I should say something positive about my native land here... Well, we have some really nice scenery. Like, castles and old stuff, you know? We have free health care which, seriously, is a major, MAJOR plus point, especially for someone like Terry, who's been through two years of dialysis and a kidney transplant. I shudder to think how much worse that experience would have been if we'd had to worry about paying for drugs, dealing with insurance companies etc. So yes, NHS = a positive thing, despite the fact that all we do is complain about it.

What else? Well, Edinburgh is a beautiful city. One of nicest cities I know, actually: it's small enough for you to be able to walk around it, but big enough to have a lot of great shops, restaurants, bars, museums, galleries, etc. The history of the place is fascinating. It smells like hops (from the breweries) and has more pubs per square mile than any other city in Europe.* And it has a Harvey Nichols. Glasgow is pretty cool too, and has better shopping.

Did I mention that the scenery is nice?

So, yes, that's my not-at-all-objective view of Scotland. There are, of course, lots more things I could say about the place, both good and bad, but I fully expect to be flamed by my fellow Scots for this post, so let's just leave it at that for now, eh? If there's anything specific you want to know, ask away...

* Random fact that I remember from the Edinburgh University Prospectus of 1994. May no longer be true.

The Mysterious Incident of the Dog Turd in the Night time

Skribit question: How much would you sell Rubinman for?

Did I ever tell you about the time I found a turd on the kitchen worktop? The kitchen worktop WHERE WE PREPARE OUR FOOD? THAT WE EAT? No? Well, picture this, people...

It's early one morning. You've just dragged your unwilling self from bed, in response to the constant barking that's been coming from the kitchen for ten minutes now. You stagger downstairs, rubbing your eyes and asking yourself once again, "Why did we buy a puppy?" Did I mention it's EARLY?

You reach the kitchen and open the door to reveal its occupant: a puppy Rubinman, who for some reason doesn't seem quite as ecstatic to see you as he normally does. In fact, he almost looks guilty. Brushing this thought aside, you trudge your weary way to the back door, to let the Rubinman out for his morning ablutions, and as you turn the key in the lock, you happen to glance idly at the kitchen counter to your right, and on that kitchen counter (THAT YOU PREPARE YOUR FOOD ON! YOUR FOOD THAT YOU EAT!) you see a TURD. Once more for dramatic effect, ladies and gentlemen: A TURD.

You instantly stop what you're doing, scarcely able to believe your eyes. Surely not... it can't be... it just can't be. But it is. Someone has crapped on your worktop - and you suspect that someone may still be in the room, looking guilty. You look at the Rubinman. He looks at you. You both look at the turd. You look back at the Rubinman, who seems to say, "Turd? What turd? I don't know nothin' bout no turd, dude. And anyway, lookit the size of me. Am a PUPPY! How would little puppy me even get up there? Better ask Terry, is all I'm sayin'..."

You consider this matter further as you let the dog out and remove the offending... turd. Then you scrub down the kitchen with bleach, about fifty times in a row. Then you have a shower - again with the bleach. Then you have another shower. As you stand there, scrubbing the palms of your hands with a nailbrush and wondering if you and your home will ever feel clean again, you ponder the matter. For the Rubinman has a point, you see. There appears to be no way that he, being a puppy, could have made it up to the worktop and back down again. Seriously, how could the Rubinman have done it?

So you finish your shower and you go to the bedroom, where Terry is still sleeping soundly, mercifully unaware of the scenes of horror that have just taken place in the kitchen.

"Terry, did you by any chance  crap on the kitchen worktop last night?" you ask, trying to make the question sound as casual as possible. Terry says... Actually, maybe let's just draw a veil over what Terry had to say in response to that question.

So. It wasn't Terry. It wasn't me. Rubin says it wasn't him, but the thing is, I just don't believe him. He was found at the scene of the crime. He was in the habit of crapping in the kitchen at the time. And to be perfectly honest, it wouldn't have been the first time we'd found a dog turd in a place it really shouldn't have been. He had previous convictions, basically. I mean, it just didn't look good for him, did it?

As for how it got there, well, you know the phrase, "Don't play with your food"? When Rubin was a puppy, you could easily have exchanged the words "your food" in that sentence with .... Yeah, so this totally wasn't the kind of answer you were expecting to your innocent "How much would you sell Rubinman for?" question, was it? In fact, you'll probably be scarred for life now. I know I am.

Why am I telling you all of this? Well, in the years that have passed since The Mysterious Incident of the Dog Turd in the Nighttime, that turd has continued to haunt me. Images of it have popped, unbidden, into my head from time to time - most often when I try to prepare food on the kitchen worktops, to be honest. Thank God we replaced those bad boys is all I can say! So when I received the Skribit question, "How much would you sell Rubinman for?" and I started to write a long, gushy entry about how Rubin is my prechus fur-baby, and no amount of money would ever persuade me to part with him, I suddenly remembered The Turd.

That's why my answer to the question is: when can you pick him up? We'll even throw in the yoda costume for free...

No, I'm kidding. Rubinman is not for sale. And after reading this, would you really want to buy him?

(P.S: Rubin's account of The Mysterious Incident of the Dog Turd in the Nighttime can be found here.)

Skribit! The answers to the easy questions....

So, that whole Skribit thing, that worked out really well, no? I mean, it's not like I got you all to ask me questions, and then just promptly forgot all about it or anything, because that would've totally sucked.

OK, OK - I didn't forget about it, but I did ignore it, and I hold my hands up in shame. Here's the thing, though: in order to go on holiday to Florida for two weeks next month, I've basically had to do an entire month's work of work in advance (long story), so that I still get paid while I'm lying in the sun and shopping at Sephora. This, also, has sucked, and it continues to suck, which hasn't left me with a whole lot of time for Skribit questions. Or, anything, come to think of it.

All of which is my long-winded way of saying that I'm now going to try and let myself off the hook by answering the easiest questions from the Skribit box The other ones - the ones which require me to actually think - will be answered too, but not today. So, without further ado, your questions, my answers...

The peanut image from the header! Am I the only one who doesn't see it anymore? I miss it :(

The peanuts are back! And now there's not just peanuts in the header, but ALL KINDS OF NUTS! Forever Amber: now with added nuts! Yeah, I managed to totally screw up the header one night when I was trying to do something very simple to the template, and by the time I noticed they were gone, I was so frustrated that I decided just to work on the assumption that no one would ever miss them. But you did! And so Terry was immediately dispatched to sort out the header, which just goes to show that I may not be good at answering the Skribit questions, but I DO read them...

If you weren't a redhead, what would you be?

Well, both of my parents have dark hair, so if I hadn't been born a redhead, I'd probably have been a brunette. Would I have kept it that way? Probably not. Not that there's anything wrong with brunettes, of course, but I think if I hadn't been born a redhead, I'd have dyed it... red. No, I'm being serious. It makes me feel special. And it annoys all of the people who find my blog having searched for the phrase "redhead's aren't human" and stuff like that. (actual search term used to find this blog. Sometimes humanity scares me.)

Which are your favourite items in your wardrobe (tops, skirts, dresses, shoes, jackets)?

Given that I edit a blog about shoes, and seem to be stuck in a cycle of buying at least one new pair a month, I think I'd have to say the shoes. Other than that, I'm quite partial to outerwear of all descriptions, and am building up an impressive collection of dresses that I never get the opportunity to wear. Go me!

Edinburgh trams - why?

Dude, search me. I think just because people are lazy? And maybe because Princes Street can feel quite long when you're wearing high heels and carrying a lot of shopping....

So, there you have it. The Skribit box is almost empty. I feel like a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Now you can go fill it up again with more questions...I promise I'll try and answer them in a timely fashion this time. Maybe with illustrations and everything.*

* Maybe not.

Things Terry Can Fit In His Mouth Part 1: A Pickled Gherklin

Do you know what I spent a good part of the hottest Bank Holiday Monday I can ever remember (in fact, the ONLY hot Bank Holiday Monday I can ever remember) doing, people? Did you guess "gardening"? Yeah, well you guessed right, go to the top of the class. I was out there until 10pm last night, cutting, weeding, plucking, whining, crying, moaning... and then this morning I got up, looked out of the window, and a whole bunch of dandelions were standing there on the grass, thumbing their noses at me. I don't know how they did it, but somehow they must have grown overnight. It's like some kind of miracle or something. Do I win a prize?

Anyway, I also spent part of the bank holiday weekend taking pictures of Terry with various different things in his mouth. No, I haven't completely lost mind (YET) - this was the second most popular Scribbit suggestion over the weekend, and even although it was suggested by Terry himself, lots of you still voted for it (!) and who am I to deny you the pleasure of seeing Terry with pickled gherkins and other sundry items in his mouth?

And so it is that I present to you today, number one of a short series entitled "Things Terry Can Fit In His Mouth". This one is called "Pickled Gherkin". Because. well, it's a pickled gherkin. Enjoy! Oh, and if you're wondering what the MOST popular suggestion was, well, you'll have to check back later in the week. (It's one that requires me to write actual words, you see. With this one I can just post a picture and my work for the day is done...)

IMPORTANT! Don't try this at home kids! Terry is a professional who has trained for many years to be able to do this....