FUCK ART, LET'S BOUNCE: Reflections on playtime in Glasgow

Intrepid Edinburgh adventurers!  Fun-loving folk of all ages!  Consider this a call to arms - I have encountered a singularly cool spectacle, not of our fair city, that may have eclipsed our every effort at innovative play.  In Glasgow.

I speak, of course, of BOUNCY STONEHENGE.

It first came to light in this article, alerting the wider world to the presence of a particularly unusual iteration of the classic inflatable castle.  Now, if you actually read the piece, like I just did (previously I only looked at the photos), you can witness a plethora of disgruntled comments.  Most of them are centered around the alleged ineffectiveness of Glasgow council, the disgrace of having an iconic English monument commanding attention (and taxpayer money) in Scotland, the ultimate futility of art, and a host of other politically charged statements.  I guess Guardian readers are a bit touchy about these sorts of things.

All I can say is, haters gonna hate.  I came, I saw, I BOUNCED.  It was awesome.

We approached with caution.  This was a strange spectacle indeed, and it drew a crowd.

Now, I didn't make a special trip to Glasgow in order to take part in the serendipitous stonehenging.  In fact, I had already planned to be in Scotland's other city for alternate reasons, but I had the great fortune to be tipped off by a very astute friend, who knew this puffed-up piece of history was right up my alley.  Once she mentioned it existed, there was no question about it: I had to go see for myself.

We arranged to meet up and take a wander down to Glasgow Green, the site of the temporary prehistoric playground.  Before even catching sight of it, though, I was struck with indignation and envy.  Why, do you ask?  Please refer to the photograph below (figure 2).

NO FAIR.  I WANT THAT.

The Glasgow Green has a freaking pirate ship.

Look, we've been around our share of Edinburgh playparks.  Heck, we even made a blog about it.
In all our rambles across the city (see our map for full details), not once have we seen anything even remotely approaching the excellence that is this nautical specimen.  It simply isn't fair.  After gibbering a bit about the indignity of it all, I managed to pull myself together and continue on towards our main goal.

Readers, I have never been to the real Stonehenge.  I have never gazed upon the legendary standing stones, nor have I basked in the shadows of its mysterious, astrological aspect.  But I tell you this: I truly felt the magnitude of an ancient power that day.  And I jumped aaaaalllllll over it.

A closer inflatable view

Jumping, as it turns out, is rather tiring.  All around us, there were pint-sized hooligans boinging, flipping, and ricocheting off the springy surfaces with seemingly limitless energy.  Most of their adult handlers, in contrast, were flopped in a heap, gasping for breath.  I'll admit that there were moments we felt rather wheezy ourselves, but we gamely bounced onwards for the full 15 minute session.  I found that flailing my arms like a windmill was a particularly effective way to derive maximum enjoyment from the experience.

When it was over, we schlumped off the surface and staggered away to let the next crowd have its turn.  Overall, I was quite impressed with Glasgow and, although I am loyal to Edinburgh, I suspect that future visits might be in order... especially to that fantastic pirate ship.  I think I might conquer it by force. 

Wine and Seek II: Calton Hill

For our second wine and seek I assembled a group of 6 people on top of Calton Hill.

Location

Calton Hill is full of people including dog walkers, joggers and tourists snapping photos. This means that you can feel somewhat inhibited hiding. For instance in the first round I went to investigate a possible hiding space behind a bush, and the guy sat on the park bench reading a book nearby turned around and looked at me oddly, so I felt obliged to keep walking. Furthermore Calton Hill has a somewhat unsavoury reputation, at night at least, and one of the participants remarked afterwards that two of his hiding places were rather too close to used condom wrappers for his liking. I didn't notice any myself luckily. We also found a mysterious tent pitched in an obscured part of the hill, prompting worried speculation.

  

Best Hiding Places 

Lilliputian hiding

Lilliputian is snapped (to the left) up some rocks near the Nelson Monument. I found a good hiding place for the first round. It had excellent views over to the Forth, and the beautiful architecture of the St James Shopping Centre, and after not being discovered during the first round I emerged victorious. Hurrah! I was however spotted promptly in the third round as my hiding place was completely exposed from one angle.

However the prize for the best hiding must go to our friend G, who instead of hiding conventially changed his clothes completely, and followed our seeker around looking suspicious without getting caught for a long time...

Wine and Seek is a lie.

We just played hide and seek. No one drank wine, although I think some people might have brought some in their backpacks. Lilliputian's excuse is "I was already too hungover".  I didn't want to.

Edinburgh's Disgrace and the Nelson Monument

Comparison

So far we have played hide and seek on Calton Hill and Easter Craiglockhart Hill. Calton Hill is smaller, meaning that it has less possibilties for different rounds, but it was easier to find people than in Craiglockhart where it had the potential to take hours. The search for the perfect hide and seek spot goes on. Does anyone have any suggestions for our next hide and seek venue?

There's Treasure Everywhere! Commemorating 25 years of brilliance with an urban wild-goose-chase of questionable quality!

There's Treasure Everywhere: Part 2: Hunting for Treasure

Discovering a clue

It was with anticipation I arrived at Lilliputian's flat on Easter Sunday to celebrate her birthday by going on a treasure hunt. Where would we end up?  I knew Lilliputian was planning a barbecue at the end with a borrowed Tesco Value gazebo for shelter. There were a limited number of places I could think of that seemed suitable for purpose (and some of the possible spaces I could imagine Lilliputian would think of might be...err...not places that encourage the public to turn up and pitch a gazebo). The answer in retrospect given Lilliputian's relaxed response to my "how are you going to manage to carry everything including a gazebo to some random field by yourself" type questions was obvious.

The clues were all lovingly typed out on a typewriter and dipped in tea (or whatever method Lilliputian used to make her clues look "olden" - tea is what I would have used), and hidden by Lilliputian in various ingenious locations.

The first clue mentioned a "battle of wits" so we set off on our intrepid adventure in the direction of Bruntsfield Links, where there is a giant chessboard. There amongst a pot with tulips was a beautiful red rose which on close inspection was made out of tissue paper and had a bag of chocolate eggs and toffee instead of roots.



Godforsaken Place

 The was a bit of dithering as we headed "downhill, downhill - a street promising views of the estuary" (Viewforth), We spent sometime debating whether Boroughmuir High School might be "a wasteland of destruction" and if Bruntsfield Evangelical Church was "godforsaken".

However it turns out the godforsaken place was St Kentigern's Church. (I only learnt its name from googling it as I was writing this post.)

We then headed along the Union Canal in search of some entrapped trees in Harrison Park.



The horse in Stable Lane

 By the time we reached "somewhere you keep a horse" - Stable Lane, spirits were flagging a little as we walked up and down the lane several times not  spotting the next clue. I cheated and phoned Lilliputian who informed us we weren't looking hard enough, and to look for a yellow table.

I have discovered the final clue in my purse while writing this so can quote it verbatim. It was found in a flag placed in a field and reads as follows:

 "Admire the view and RIDE ON... this library ain't big enough for the both of us.
(tumbleweed rolls by)

Judging by the smell of this Lilliputian did in fact made her clues look old with coffee, not tea.

In case, some of you many thousands of mostly imaginary readers, want to solve this clue themselves I have hidden the rest of this post. Although it may be difficult for anyone not familiar with Edinburgh, and who hasn't discovered this spot before.

Please click on the link below to find out where our last clue took us.

There's Treasure Everywhere! Commemorating 25 years of brilliance with an urban wild-goose-chase of questionable quality

There's Treasure Everywhere, Part 1: Organising the damn thing.

One of the best things about turning 25 is that, by this time, you've amassed a reasonable cadre of affable people willing to go along with your eccentric plans.  These lucky individuals are commonly referred to as 'friends.'  Now, ordinarily, I wouldn't necessarily recommend that people do as I do - there are often risks which range from the mundane (getting lost, wandering aimlessly) to the unpleasant (minor injuries, insufferable weather conditions, disagreements with law enforcement).  However, I am delighted when people join in of their own free will.  In honour of my 25th birthday (a brilliant excuse for an experimental adventure) I organised a treasure hunt around the Merchiston/Morningside area with the aim of introducing people to interesting or little-known corners of the city.

Not being a particularly organised person - and having very little experience of treasure hunts - it was a bit difficult to get this idea off the ground, but eventually it coalesced into some sort of order.  First, I identified a number of good spots to hide clues, all within a reasonable distance from my flat.  Then came the difficult part: writing them.  Quite fortuitously, I decided that I ought to do a walkthrough of my itinerary before writing anything (I later realised it would have been impossible not to).  Armed with my notebook, I spend a great deal of time stopping, scribbling, prodding and scrutinising my surroundings in order to assess their suitability.  When I finished, I had a list of 10 locations and copious notes on how to cryptically direct my participants from clue to clue.

"Downhill, downhill, on a street that promises vistas of our estuary… right before you reach a wasteland of destruction, turn right to find a god-forsaken edifice, and knock on the door…"

Rather stupidly, several of my clues involved props, which I then had to make - an expenditure of energy that could have been avoided if I were a cleverer person.  For example, two clues were hidden underneath fake flowers camouflaged in real flowerbeds.  I have no idea what possessed me to do it this way.  The clues themselves were written on my trusty typewriter, and I even went as far as to dye the paper with coffee and crumple it to give it the appearance of age. 

The final step involved actually laying out the clues, which I did in reverse order - presumably because of my habitual inclination to do things the wrong way round.  A friend recently pointed out this tendency when he witnessed me adding milk to his tea and subsequently checking to see if the milk was off.  (It wasn't.)

This canal-side clue involved an Otis Redding reference.

Laying the clues was a bit tricky because there were a number of passers-by loitering around my route.  In particular, I was tripped up by the Union Canal, where I found myself being watched intently by a creepy middle-aged man who was lurking in the bushes on the opposite bank.  In an attempt to avoid interacting with this specimen, I sat and pretended to be absorbed in writing.  Here is the result of my efforts:

scribble scribble scribble

go away old man!

I'll pretend I'm writing poetry

la de da de da

go away old man

stop watching me!!

He soon shuffled off.  I considered that my poem actually constituted some sort of creep-banishing voodoo spell.  Have resolved to look into this further.

When I'd successfully laid out all clues - some of which involved minor easter egg hunt diversions - I returned to my flat where the brave participants had assembled.  After a self-deprecating preamble during which I explained the gist of the operation, and my doubts as to the quality thereof, the hunters were given their first clue and summarily booted out to fend for themselves.   

(For an account of their experience, stay tuned for Part 2 of this series.)

Disintegrated Confusion: Gorgie/Dalry Community Park

Today we visited Gorgie/Dalry Community Park. I have cycled past here a couple of times, and noted it seemed a little desolate, but I never really stopped. This evening I took Lilliputian with me to investigate.

We stood around feeling somewhat perplexed. Lilliputian ventured that perhaps if we were children we would understand how to use everything.

 The playpark featured woodchip and five items of equipment, none of them particularly resembling items from other playparks in Edinburgh. The silver roundabout is the most familiar item, with a very simple design. If spinning round is your thing you are also catered for by another piece of apparatus where there is space for three people to spin around with rests for your feet and handles for your hands.

Once you are feeling suitable dizzy you can try and balance on a sort of log thing which spins around when you try to balance on it. Or perhaps you might need to sit down. I thought the orange and blue piece of equipment might be a bench, but the "seat" was too high and slanted to sit on. Can anyone enlighten me?

Lastly there is the swing . There were two seats on either side which seemed connected to each other like some sort of see-saw. This might have been fun once, but the seats seem to have disintegrated.

Next to the playpark was a large empty area, mostly covered by sand. Did there used to be something here? It could be a good sandpit, if it wasn't for the bit of broken glass I spotted.

Empty area with a person

A lot of the playparks in Edinburgh seem to be designed along similar lines. At least this one was different. My attempts at googling the history of the playpark have not turned up much but I wonder if it was designed in a less recent decade to some of the other parks we have been visiting.

Overall do I recommend this playpark for adults? Not really. We went for a walk to the Union Canal afterwards. I recommend that.

The man with the countdown is coming for you.

 There was nothing for it.  We grabbed what alcohol there was left, and we took to the woods.

Enduring what little supplies we had, we endured agonising moments, suspended from tree branches, hidden in gorse thickets and climbing through the undergrowth.

Some of us surrendered, beaten back by the terrible heat and the thirst for wine...

Before sundown our supplies were out. 

Wine and Seek: Competitive concealement on an Edinburgh hill-top

On Sunday, we rounded up a gang of fun-loving folk for the inaugural game of Wine and Seek, which is exactly what the name implies: a grown-up version of hide and seek, made better by the addition of alcohol.  The day was surprisingly warm and sunny, which called for a crisp, cool pinot grigio or perhaps a rosé... I foolishly purchased a bottle of rioja ahead of time, which - although a poor pairing with the heat and haziness - was nevertheless quite drinkable.  Wine, is there anything it can't improve?  Ah, but I've strayed from the point, which I think was about a game...

Anyway.  After carefully considering several options, we chose Easter Craiglockhart Hill for our stomping ground.  We needed a place that was big enough, and out-of-the-way enough, to accommodate our mischief without too many onlookers or passers-by.  

view of the Pentlands

After a strong first round (of drinks), we proceeded to our first round of play.  Our initial set of boundaries included most of the top of the hill, and surrounding bushes.  This proved to be convenient for Joe, our first "It," because it wasn't too big a space to search.  However, it was a bit prickly for the hiders due to the extraordinarily large number of gorse bushes adorning the area.  Oddly, many people chose to battle the thorns in order to achieve a hiding spot.
 

ouchy, prickly, sticky, pokey

seekers circling the nexus of horror

 Although some chose gorse, one participant elected to be a roaming hider, which proved an excellent strategy.  He was observed darting from place to place, carefully avoiding Joe and any other found players who became seekers as well.  I chose to hide in a tree; although I enjoy climbing and high places, I was found before I even had a chance to nap (one of my typical tree-climbing pastimes).

We convened at the top of the hill, where KT had appeared with a water bottle.  This precious water was greedily set upon by several desperate and dehydrated participants, who unfortunately forgot about the thirst-quenching properties of wine. For our next round we decided to expand our boundaries to include the forested part of the hill, and the grounds of the Napier University Craighouse buildings.

Our second round was decidedly more difficult for our hapless "It."  He very gamely traipsed around the varied landscape, searching in vain for each carefully concealed individual.  He found one or two within a reasonable time frame, but it took quite a while to discover everyone else. 

a few rather impressive edifices belonging to Napier Uni

After about a half-hour in a leafy tunnel, watching seekers scramble by periodically, I unfolded my stiff limbs and clambered out to join the rest of the group.  Another participant had been discovered by a small child (who did what small children do - pointed and yelled).  Joe spent the second round happily hiding in another tree, communicating with the squirrels.

Our third and final round had a very sensible 30 minute time limit.  As one of the seekers, I found myself circling aimlessly around a huge area, without discovering anyone.  I also had to constantly remind myself that I was supposed to be seeking, not looking for nice trees to climb - this did not bode well for my progress.  My resourceful co-seeker managed to procure a rather large, dangerous-looking metal pole, which made an excellent bushwhacker.  Fortunately, our hiders had abandoned the gorse by this point, so no-one was injured.  When the 30 minutes was up, we were summoned back to the top of the hill by the sonorous bellowing of one of our more vocally gifted participants.

the view from Marianne's hiding place

Afterwards, we decamped to the pub for some much-deserved food, and further drink.  General consensus held the event to be be a success, and our second game will be happening very soon.  Next time we may try another arena, possibly Calton Hill.  Stay tuned for details, intrepid adventurers, and keep playing!

In which we fail at playing.



The playpark at Morningside

Today after work dusk was approaching as Lilliputian and I assembled at Morningside Public Park. Here the crucial flaw in our plan to visit playparks became apparent: we simply don't know how to play on them. We half heartedly sat on the swings, and climbed on the apparatus, but mostly we talked about our plans for the weekend, work and boring adult dramas.

In contrast the wee boy who was playing by himself as I was waiting for Lilliputian to arrive was having a great time. He ran up the spiral slide, sat and spinned himself round in the metal cup thing, and went backwards and forwards on his scooter, totally absorbed in his own world.

We evaluated the playpark mostly as logical(ish) adults. One of the slides wasn't slippy enough, another wasn't wide enough. The metal frames of the climbing frame were cold and slightly damp. What were the weird toadstood things for? Was this yellow spiral part of the climbing frame for climbing up, or sliding down?

Weird toadstool things

As playgrounds go, Morningside Public Park is fairly typical for its size with several climbing frames, a choice of slides, and some swings.These follow a colour theme with primary colours and orange.

I was more excited by the discovery of a public tennis court, and basketball court next to the playpark, than the playpark itself. My mind turned to wondering if I could find a group of people to play tennis or  basketball (or badminton) with for free.

Why can't I spend self absorbed hours going backwards and forwards up and down a slide, spinning round and round? What can be done about this situation? Can I learn how to play? Do I want to learn how to play?

Wobbly Coffee on the Union Canal



Harrison Park East

Today's outing did not involve playparks, unless walking past them counts. Nor did it involve the other activities this blog is about. However it did involve drinking hot chocolate on a narrowboat.

We headed to Harrison Park, next to the Union Canal in Merchiston/Polwarth, Edinburgh. It was a sunny day and a loud distant roar filled the park, which I have since worked out was coming from the Hearts/Hibs Derby at Tynecastle. Harrison Park contains two playparks, one in 'Harrison Park West' and the other in 'Harrison Park East'. Unsurprisingly on a Sunday afternoon, these were crammed with small people, so we did not stop at either.



Zazou cafe board at the Union Canal

H was suffering from caffeine withdrawal (a very adult syndrome), so we headed to the nearest cafe. Zazou is Edinburgh's only floating cafe, set in a narrowboat moored at the Union Canal. The seating space inside in extremely narrow, but somehow they have managed to cram in 4 rows of tables for 2. It's slightly surreal to go to a cafe that wobbles and slants, especially as people clamber in and out. The place is friendly and reasonably priced. Myself and J had hot chocolate, and H had her much needed fix of coffee.

However I have digressed into reviewing a cafe. In future we should endeavour to seek out emptier playparks in the weekends and evenings. Can anyone recommend somewhere that isn't too desolate? Hide and seek and kite flying are also in the pipeline for the coming weeks.

Zazou: floating cafe

Old enough to know better

Left:  Unimpressed toddler in the park.  We had to wait our turn until she'd gone on practically EVERYTHING before we got our turn.

Because a bunch of grown, tax-paying adults pushing infront of a child to go on the helter-skelter smacks of a society not at peace with itself...

It's inter-generational WAR.

   

Right: Sketches of some flying toddlers, becoming airborne and then being told to 'come home, mummy's leaving without you'. 

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