from 38 to 15 degrees

I knew I was in Edinburgh because everyone was wearing leggings under their shorts. Coming from a
40-degree heatwave, I naively took the "sun and cloud" forecast at face value and arrived with no umbrella or waterproof. What can I have been thinking of...

My cousin Sarah's flat was a perfect base for dipping in to the Fringe with Lucy:

(completely phased by the options we go to a late-night comedy rock band who turn up trumps, see http://deadcatbounce.ie)

roof-gazing:

and - the main reason for my trip - visiting my aunt Anne.

Although her activity is limited in some ways by partial eye sight and mobility, I was struck by what is still possible: how tactile memory helps her find everything she needs, as long as the location is familiar; how she can do many routine domestic tasks, including cooking and reaching for things on shelves - a huge physical effort with her bent posture. Part of me thought "what if everything was made to be within range" and then later reflected that there may be value in the exertion, as long as it doesn't exhaust her too much. My instinct was to want to do everything for her, but during the 3 days I learned to curb my tendency to take over, and to temper my protests at the excessive amount of "lolly" she pressed on me for a taxi, along with chocolate, biscuits..., with graceful acceptance of her generosity. This is how it has always been, at the end of a stay; my adorable, doting aunt.

I was lucky to see all the cousins during my 3-day visit, including Sarah and Rog who were holidaying on the Fife coast at idyllic St Monans...

... in a cottage looking straight out to sea:

We visited Tentsmuir, where I last picnicked around 40 years ago. At the height of summer (?) there were a dozen people on the vast expanse of dune and sand. At St Andrews...

... I ordered a banana and peanut butter milkshake at the café "where Kate met Wills for coffee", and got a gratifying look of disgust from Rog.

We visited Boase Wood, just outside St Andrews, where Uncle Jack's ashes had been buried earlier in the week. It's as appropriate a spot as could be imagined, full of family significance - the wood named after Philip Boase, who gave it to the preservation trust in the 60s. I felt very moved to be present at the place where the family had recently gathered, and could understand the symbolic value that this place has, and how it gives a sense of being closer to Uncle Jack. And at the same time I wonder what I and my immediate family will do, when our time comes. Perhaps have our ashes thrown into the wind at the top of a hill, to recycle back into the universe. A big letting go. And contact with spirit that can be anywhere.

With so many memories, happy childhood associations, the excitement of an international city, the buzz of a second-to-none cultural event, and dear family, it was hard to get on the plane back to heat-crisped continental Europe and the uncertainties and frustrations of life in France. But 24 hours later and I'm back in the groove with Juan and all seems better.