So  delighted to be asked back to The One Show I found myself on top of a snowy mountain earlier this week.  In anticipation I went to see my friend Derek who cut my hair so I didn’t embarrass myself on screen. Chuffed with the new  barnet the crew travelled from all over the country and we met on Tuesday in Aviemore.

Although we had never met each other before – Abi, Kirsty  & Amir from Glasgow we all hit it off and had a great night blethering until we all collapsed into our beds at midnight in anticipation of the meet at 8am in the morning.

Blue cloudless skies, and a nip in the air was evident as we made our way the 10 miles from Aviemore to the skiing area.  The views were breath taking as was the temperature  but we met Colin the man with the plan and off we went….

Hair looking half decent if I do say so myself it suddenly dawned on me I was going to have a helmet clamped to my head all day.

A helmet and goggles. A blessing in some respects to be honest at this time of day a gargoyle is a better option to look at close up than myself.

So just to set the scene. A helmet. Goggles.
Add to that the ski suit – a must it was f f f f f f freezing – the 4 layers of thermals and you will be in for a treat if you are watching The One Show tonight.

Gigantor. The Blob. The cosy but huge one. Happily I didn’t cause an avalanche. You know I have to say we had a totally fabulous day on the hill –  I won’t spoil the story and what it’s all about but suffice to say the second I get a day off I am gathering my stuff and going back – I am hooked on The Cairngorm Mountain and you will see why if you turn on BBC 1 The One Show tonight  7pm Friday 3^rd February 2012.

Keeping my ski suit on for the England V Scotland 6 Nations match tomorrow at Murrayfield…can’t wait!

Edinburgh Monday 23rd January 2011 - beautiful!

Now I am not afraid of hard work.

I am afraid of jellyfish, flying, that wrinkle on my forehead getting so deep someone may park their bike in it but I am not afraid of hard work.

Having said that yesterday we had 17 hour day that just about killed me. Well not killed exactly but certainly turned me from pinky and perky into Miss Puggled Oot.

Started Sunday train from Edinburgh – London. Then Monday a train from London to New Milton. A 4 hour burst of work then a drive to Weymouth. Overnight in Weymouth at Hotel Rex which overlooked the bay where the Olympics are going to be held.Very pretty it were too -local dialect there.  The Hotel was most hospitable and cooked our dinner at 9pm when we were the only ones there and gave us breakfast 15 minutes early because we had to leave before the kitchen opened officially.  How many places would do that I wonder? We were filming til about 3.30 then off to Bristol, where the Satnav got us lost.

So we were cruising up and down the motorway during rush hour when the satnav just threw it’s metaphorical hands up in the air and said ‘em….nope…havent got a clue. In fact I am, in point of fact completely lost’. So with the aid of a map, a helpful individual on the other end of the phone, a wing, a prayer and a packet of cheese & onion crisps we arrived.

Flora my Toto on Calton Hill

With a click of my hells, here I am back in Edinburgh. I feel like Dorothy, with an older less fragrant dog than Toto, was it all dream?

Aberdeen a photo by Elaine Cowell. WOW.

No sooner did we hit Edinburgh,  we were off again. This time to  North to Aberdeen with my friend Elaine a photographer who was doing a shoot …so 2 days of snapping, then back to Edinburgh for a long bath, a long cold drink and a good kip. I love this photo of Aberdeen. Taken down by the harbour with these endless chunks of massive industrial chains with a granite edifice of Aberdonian horsemanship behind. Knocked my socks off that.

Off for a lie down.

Phew.

Timing is all.

Been up to my not insubstantial backend in restaurants for a month. This involves s a lot of running about so ironically I have dropped a few pounds, but I have also been stuffing my chops at every available opportunity so as soon as it comes off , it goes on again, and some.

So as I stood in Howies Victoria Street on Friday afternoon having just refurbed the whole place exhausted, I turned my phone on for the first time that day  and picked up a message from the BBC asking me if I was available to film for The One Show on Monday.

Of course I said ‘Yes’ before taking a good long look – well when I say long as long as I could bear – in the mirror.

A make-up free, baggy faced troll looked back. No sleep and too much to do is the elixir of aging. Living proof of that I am.  So here I am Sunday afternoon on a train to London with a half hundred weight of make-up in my bag,  a hat, a false moustache –well I tell everyone it’s false, a cornucopia of black clothes to detract from my Aberdonian stumpy shape.

This online train thing is super-sophisticated stuff. Not only do you get wifi but it tells you what speed your doing and shows you a map of the route…which even I know. Edinburgh to London down the country right hand side. But 101mph it said at one point so I just turned it off. Hardly a brave adventurer. I mean it’s not the TGV for goodness sake. Still I am hooked on trains, make no mistake.

But there is danger ahead and it is this.

I am staying with my pal James. He’s head of music at Absolute Radio which doesn’t bade well for an early night to be honest. We usually sit up and listen to endless music and talk talk talk talk but we see each other so rarely it’s a must.

The snorkling of wine will be strictly forbidden and we will see if at this mature stage in life we can develop a modicum of self-control.

I will report back.

If you are wondering what the restaurant waffle is all about then I am blogging about that too Diary of A Scottish Restaurant.

Just in case you thought I was idle. No not ideal. I said idle.  I am far from ideal on any level as well you know.

Alison x

This wee pudding behind a wheel......get me the smelling salts.

Well it has finally happened.
Teenwolf Is learning to drive.

My baby is behind the wheel of a car ,

Bring on the vapours.

He is just 17 and it has been on his mind since he was …well…born actually.

So when he broke his arm  4 days short of his birthday in November I was very sad but confess as we waited for his plaster cast to set  part of me did think …well at least he won’t be able to drive for a while.

Huh!

No sooner is the plaster off than he is badgering me to take him out.

He wore me down so off we went. to the Murrayfield Stadium car park which is a vast area with not a soul around.

As I wemnt over the basics.

This is a car he rolled his eyes

That is the clutch I pointed at th clutch he rolled his eyes

That is the accelorator and the brake isin the middle.

It was as if I was talking to a man with over 25 years experience on the road. He couldn’t wait for me to shut up so I did.

As he turned the ignition on he put his foot down  on the gas with such velocity we did a wheelie I am not sure who got more a shock, him, me, his ears  or my bowel.

After a few steering grabs and screams

‘For gods sake Mum don’t scream at me ‘ he screamed at me.

‘Well it’s hard not to when you see your life flashing before you!’

‘Dad won’t be like this’;

“You’re right he will be worse’

So after going round about 25 times he got the hang of the clutch and the fact if you go round a corner at anything other than   crawl you are likely to skid, topple or crash.

His first official lesson was the following day.

He was out there with a brave brave man called Stephen  for 2 hours.

2 hours!

He drove from Crammond to Letih..

I was in shock when he told me

‘On the road?’ I asked

‘Yes where else ?’  the indignant response.

So not only have late night clubs and wild woman become a regular reason to wake up and worry now we can add the potential passing of the test and car napping my wee rustmobile to go cruising.

But I will not be foiled. I have a plan.

My options I outline below.

Make sure there is no petrol  in the tank  after all its flammable and therefore deemed dangerous.

Sell  it.

Burn  it.

Pay someone to steal it. (a joke ofifcer a joke)

Buy a bicycle ? Nope worse than a car.

I know what ! I’ll put on an eposide of Top Gear! One look at Clarkson should put him off for life. No he quite likes him – unbelievable really.

So we have come up with the ultimate deterrant.  The long suffering husband and I are going to buy an Inspector Clouseau car to use as advertsiing for the restaurant and brand it up as a giant haggis….well maybe a raost haunch of venison – either way a teenager driving a themed tiny car around the streets of Edinburgh means he’ll be on shank’s pony for a wee while longer yet….

Phew.

I regret deeply not just eating these the whole time.
The impending feeling of liver doom that awakes me in the morning after a couple of weeks of festive nonsense have forced me into the unenviable position of giving up the bev til February 14th.
There are many reasons for this.
Mainly my fat tummy.
Yup.
3 scoops of Mackies vanilla with a slug of Baillies is not on the low fat blueberry eaters diet so therefore as of now it’s not on mine.
I am looking for sponsorship
‘You mean someone would sponsor you to have your mouth sewn up?’ said the rather sceptical husband.
‘Yes’.
‘I’ll do it!’ piped up the usually monosyllabic teen wolf.

‘What sponsor me?’
‘No sew your mouth up’.
*Raspberry* ‘ I will seek support amongst those in life who truly understand me’ I said
‘Dynamite’ they said in unison.
I closed the door firmly and texted her.
I shall report back.
Podgy.

Slumped Nellie my couch potato pal

So there we were Christmas Eve running about like dafties. The restaurants were open so tanking around getting stuff sorted for them, Mum arrived up for Christmas with her dog Nellie lurcher so I take on the mantel of entertainer, shopper and carrier of all goods, dogs, bags, food, boxes and bottles (of which there were many).

All’s well until 6pm I am sitting cross legged in the bedroom having commenced the wrapping of the stuff when my back  began to feel a little achy.

So as I bent a little , stretched a little reached for the sellotape – BANG I was down.

After lying for a couple of minutes I managed to roll onto my side and shout in a wholly pathetic voice ‘help’.

Bugger.

Down.

And Out.

I lay still until I as hoisted into bed where I lay cursing and sipping Lemsip – I like the taste it’s my paracetamol guilty pleasure and thought yeh yeh it’s sore but so what I will be fine tomorrow.

Christmas Day good morning. I can’t get up. I can’t move. I am bedded. After a couple of hours I am hoisted but feel awful and am reclined once again.

So Christmas Day the long suffering husband, teenwolf and Mum all jangled and sparkled as planned went off to friends for lunch as  I, the pathetic shark, lay prone by now on the couch with 3 dogs, a packet of painkillers and the remote control.

I started with A Christmas Carol and then watched It’s A Wonderful Life as I lay there alone, with texted photos of my family having a lovely festive lunch, playing charades and drinking I allowed myself a self indulgent snotter. As it took me 20 minutes to crawl to the loo for a pee and about 30 minutes to get back.

Things are a little better and yesterday I managed a temporary returnto vertical to go to a friends party for a couple of hours. The glamorous folks towered over me as I stood in the baggy black breeks, and flat boots with a gate that looked as though I had a wooden stake up my bum. The long suffering husband was dealing with the aftermath of a break-in at Howies so he gamely offered to collect mum and I in the car on his way back.

He did so at about 4pm. He came in, had a drink, said Merry Christmas to everyone and then announced he had to go as he as on a double yellow line.
God you’ve been on it for ages I said you’ll have a ticket.

I hope not he grinned.

When I went downstairs in the lift I saw a small gathering round the car window and I hurpled over to see what they were looking at. As you can see the sympathy in this house is well and truly over.

Prepare your heart to burst.

If you like dogs.Which I do.

Well if you are a regular Alisons’ Diary reader you will know that is an understatement. I love the little blighters.

So when I saw this photograph in yesterdays Daily Mail

I had to be physically restrained from getting on the next train to London to rescue the lot of them.

Well living as we do at the moment in a 2^nd floor flat without a garden it really might have pushed me over the edge. And the other two long suffering geriatric mongrels I share my life with. Oh and my husband and son.

But look at the little darlings.

Battersea dogs home is where to find them.

I am a great believer in the rescue dog. My first rescue dog Stumpy was from Batterseas Dogs Home.  An idol afternoon spent with one of my flatmates at the time we naively thought a wander through Battersea would be interesting. 1 hours later as we wrestled the very lively Stumpy – named because he had a ridiculously long back and very short legs, he was white and frankly one of the ugliest dogs I have ever seen – and he was on death row – onto the bus.
So the Stump. Well he lived with a house full of Scots and Irish party animals in Clapham until I went North when he came up to Aberdeen with me and was adopted by a pal who lived out in the country. So it was sort of early dog rescue.

Merry Christmas - who needs a puppy?

When I started reminiscing about dogs and well lets be honest puppies my two scrubbed up this morning in festive gear. Feeling a little threatened you can tell, they did it, because they had to, not because they wanted to. Which makes me love them all the more.

Sammy my current Labrador/half wit lovely old sausage but nae the brightest was thrown out just before Christmas and when we met was a resident of Edinburgh Dog and Cat Home. They reckon she’d been chucked out to make way for a new puppy for Christmas. Well their cruel and stupid decision was our gain. She is a fabulous animal. As is Flora – half dog half womble – found wandering the streets of Edinburgh , pregnant and bald! She was on a drip for weeks and survived to be a mum only after a caesarian saved her life as she had been wrestled to the ground by a huge dog and her pups were about 3 times the size of her at birth.
So what am I saying? Well if you do consider getting a dog go to your local rescue centre. There will be one with huge eyes, a thumping tail and a heart just waiting to fall in love with you and you will have no choice other than reciprocate.

Anyone fancy setting up an anti-Groupon movement?

Group off.

It seems the more we find out about the operating system of this company the more they seem determined to pick on the small-medium size business and force them into discounting so heavily that they often make a loss. Really.

They then take 50% of whatever the profit no matter how small is.

They are bottom feeders.

Feeding off the free enterprise and creative energy that someone else has applied in order to start their business.

Nobody likes a vulture.

Allegedly this was the meeting that ended up in the formation of Groupon. As you can see vultures – the lot of them.

Of all the bargains that are listed on The Daily Mails website today why is the thing I am most drawn to the ride-in Dalek?

It would be a fair assumption that I have kids that age or a raft of nephews and wee pals who would love it. Well yes there are some wee souls I know that would but I just like the idea of it. For me. Merry Christmas Foolish Middle Aged Woman. So I am off to get it.

As they say growing old if compulsory but growing up is optional.

I will report back from the Dalek.

Fiona Mary McHardy.

Born on the 2^nd July 1962 Nursing Home, at Queens Cross which as her mum Sylvia said just the other day was her spiritual home – in more ways than one of course as it became the original Dizzys. A great bar and favourite of Fiona from an early age.

An expression I have heard many people use to describe Fi is that she was a force of nature, the life and soul of the party, a girl with real get up go.

So at what stage did these traits begin to appear?

When talking to John and Sylvia it seems – from day 1.

With one lovely daughter Susan, it was a joy when a second,  Fiona arrived.

And it didn’t take long for Susan to realise her wee sister might just be a bit of a handful.

When Fi was 4 years of age, John took  Susan and herself to the Gordon College  swimming pool.  Sylvia wasn’t allowed in of course it was men only – so John was in charge of getting the girls changed and taking them for a swim. It was apparent from the moment they got there. Fiona was just  dying to get in and Susan was dying to get out.

Neither of them could swim which was why  John was quite a surprised when he took his eye of Fi for just a moment only to find she had wheeched up the steps and jumped off the top diving board   – as I said she couldn’t swim but she jumped in anyway. A metaphor for the way Fi lived her life.

Of course John her dad bungee jumped off a gorge in New Zealand for his mid 60’s so it’s clear who Fi took after!

Other sporting pursuits the girls enjoyed included.

Horse riding …the first time they went riding they had a break half way through and Susan refused to get back on the horse again so came home in a jeep and  of course they couldn’t get Fiona off the horse at the end of the day.

Interestingly skiing which was a shared passion for both sisters but something Fiona didn’t take to immediately. Although this could have something to do with the fact it was freezing and blowing horizontal rain when they were introduced to the sport in Aviemore,. As Sylvia told me ‘once Fiona got into the Little Tarmigan Restaurant she flatly refused to come out.’

I am sure we can all identify with times over the years where we have been in restaurant or bars with Fi when she has refused to get out..

It was clear from this early age though the McHardy sisters were inseparable. So alike in some ways – yet polar opposites in the other.

Susan being the older sister kept an eye on her wee sister as much as she could with Fi and from day one they shared a unique bond.

The one time when they were separated was by year groups at school.

Fi was at Hazelhead Primary and then onto Cults Academy where we first met and despite that being 40 years ago I can honestly say with my hand on my heart that we only ever fell out once.  And I’m not proud to say it was over a man. If you can call Donny Osmond a man.?

And was my fault.

I had promised Fi the life size Donny Osmond poster that was being sent from the Osmond fanclub and when it arrived I thought it was so gorgeous I refused to hand it over. She did forgive me, but as you can imagine it took time.

It was at school Fi  began to make friendships that would last a lifetime.  And as ever with Fiona it was all about the social life, so to be honest the school days are a bit of a blur but the weekends certainly aren’t.

Even as a youngster she loved a party.

Her first regular party date was in this very Church. Queens Cross Hall on a Saturday evening at Rons Disco. Yes in this very Church Hall Fi and the girls would all gather in flared jeans, cheesecloth shirts, afghan coats and smelling of patouli oil to dance the night away. Then when 10cc I’m not in love came on there was a thundering of hooves as all the girls ran for the loos as all the boys came lurching over to ask for a slow dance.

Getting ready to go out on a Saturday night with Kate Bush blasting out in her bedroom we got up to all sorts.

We either stayed at her house here in Carden Place or my folks place in Cults. We had a good degree of freedom with a few rules – one of which was no hitchhiking.

So there we were standing at the side of the road in Cults hitchhiking when this car pulled up. Just as we were about to jump into it, another car pulled up behind . It was my Dad…’you two get into this car’ he said..’what on earth do you think you’re doing?’

‘Its OK’  said Fi pointing into my handbag which I hurriedly opened ‘Alisons got a knife’  which was my cue to pull out the massive kitchen knife we had stashed into my bag in  case of emergency.

‘Get in the car’ said my dad as he drove Fi home  and we both got a rocket.

Sundays in winter were spent skiing at Glenshee. Getting up at 7am to get the ski club bus. Fi had usually eaten her packed lunch by 7.15am.  But days spent hurtling down a hill were just about as good as it got for the young Fiona.

Fi was always independent minded so next on her list was the driving license.

One of the few cross words between Fiona and her lovely Dad John allegedly took place when he bravely took Fi out for a few early driving  lessons. In fact she was left miles from home as a clenched John told her if she wasn’t going to do as he told her she could get out – so she did.

Of course she passed her test soon enough.

Then she was off to live in her own flat. Well not her own exactly as she had the dubious pleasure of sharing it with me. It was in Huntly St just down the road and we laughed recently recalling our mums came round to see it and neither of them would take their coats off.

We had no phone, there was ice on the inside of the windows  and we had no idea how to cook.  We regularly poisoned ourselves so just gave up cooking and lived off tequila and frozen birds eye  mini pizzas instead.

Though both working budgeting was not a strong point so we decided to rent out the lounge to a biker called Joe – who’s here today.

Fiona made friendships that lasted even all those years ago.

Working in those days was fun…well there were jobs…Fi worked in the oil companies, as a receptionist at the Malacaa, Aberdeen Glass and China, Aberdeen Journals and Bruce Millers Wine  Bar amongst others and from every one of those places she made friends.

Even all those years ago she worked to live – never the other way round – something that stayed with her always.

It was around this time that Fi did a Cordon Bleu Cookery Course and went off to do a season in the alps as a Chalet Girl.

And of course she was hooked and spent quite a few seasons on the slopes.

During one season Susan and Sylvia went out to visit. On day 1, Fi was working in the morning so Susan took Sylvia

out on the slopes.

Sylvia hadn’t skied for quite a few years  and was naturally rusty so Susie was very tentative with her, taking her onto low  slopes and making sure she was fine. They met up with Fi at  lunchtime and did the handover.

Sylvia was with Fi for the afternoon.

Within minutes they were on a black run…which Fiona  whizzed down and then realising her mum wasn’t with her stopped and looked back up  the slope where she was rigid with fear and frozen to the spot.

‘Come on mum’  shouted Fi ‘what are you frightened off/ Falling?’

“Yes!’

At the end of the afternoon Susie came back to the chalet.

‘Where’s Mum?’ she asked Fiona.

‘’in the bath with a  brandy.’

As you know Fiona’s skiing was impeccable so when we heard on one of her sojourns to the alps she had broken her leg we all assumed it had been a dramatic dare devil black run skiing accident -  as opposed to the truth which was she’d been kicking her legs up in a bar enjoying the apres ski, when she slipped and broke it.  It was, as she would call it a DRI (drink related incident).

And despite the leg  Fiona adored her skiing  and a year without skiing wasn’t an option.  In fact earlier this year she was in Valdisere with her friends before swanning off to Les Gets.

As I said a year without skiing wasn’t an option.

For the last 20 years Fiona’s base has been Edinburgh. Of course there was  always a lot of dancing and partying  which was interrupted occasionally by that 4 letter word – work. Fi was very successful based in Edinburgh and working within the media and design industry for  Sorrel Publishing, News International, Tayburn and latterly 3 Brand .In fact 3 Brand have shut their whole office today and made the journey to Aberdeen join in this celebration of Fionas life.

During these years despite the fact Fiona was in Edinburgh and Susan in the west coast the two were still inseparable. When Susan married Stuart,  Fiona and Stuart hit it off so much so they have spent many holidays together – and with John and Sylvia too.

Of course Fi  couldn’t have been happier than when Archie and Mia were born, her beloved nephew and niece who she talked about proudly and loved so dearly.

Fiona was all about family and friends.

And looking round here today says more than I ever could about that. She had literally hundreds of friends. Not acquaintances. Not people whose faces she knew but whose names escaped her.  People who she loved and loved her right back.

From Aberdeen, Edinburgh, London,  USA,  Australia, Asia,  every ski resort in Europe….in fact I defy you to go to any ski resort in Europe and not be able to find someone who knew and loved our Fi.

I have received messages and long letters from people all over the world touched and saddened to hear about Fionas death as I know John, Sylvia, Susann and Stuart  have.

Jennifer & Simon Winfield  – Mum and Dad to Fionas Godaughter Caledonia in Australia although her Gran  Fayehas come up from Edinburgh to be here.

George, Naomi & Callum in Auckland, NZ

Russell & Amanda in Sydney, Oz

Andy Abram in Jakarta

They are the tip of the iceberg…but you get the idea.

Fi was diagnosed with breast cancer 7 years ago. Devastating news but from day one she just got on with it. No deep soul searching, she accepted what the Western General in Edinburgh told her and walked on.

Over the years Drs were openly amazed at how well she continued to be.

She defied what they saw on their screens to the point that one day when she swanned in looking fabulous on of her oncologists said quite simply ‘Fiona McHardy you are an enigma’

The definition of enigma is “a puzzling or inexplicable occurrence or situation: “

There is no other explanation other than her ever remarked upon sprit..

And spirit is inexplicable .

Some folk have it, some folk don’t and then there’s another category all together….Fiona Mary Mchardy.

Her fighting spirit. Her lust for life. Joie De vivre whatever you want to call it – Fi had it in spades.

Even before she was ill that was how she lived her life –

She loved people.

She loved family.

Friends.

She loved you.

She didn’t wait for tomorrow – she did it today.

Every day with Fi was a day lived.

She got up and got on.

Never complained – and I do mean NEVER.

Fi spent her last few weeks in Helensburgh surrounded by her  whole family.  Susan managed the endless stream of friends who wanted to visit and kept everyone fed, watered and well looked after whilst caring for her sister.

A special bond indeed.

One that will never be broken.

So although the tragedy of losing her is still so raw we can take some solace in the knowledge that our pal gave more, did more and was loved more in her 49 years than most people who live to be 100.

Our dear Fi, will be missed beyond comprehension

but as time moves on we know

the unique place that she holds in our hearts

will remain hers forever.

Fiona Mary McHardy – a dearest daughter, sister, aunt and friend.    An enigma.