You know you're getting old when the first you're aware of T in the Park is through news reports the day it starts.

That having been said, I've attended more music festivals and sweaty gigs than most of today's young whippersnappers put together (it helps being an old geezer!) and am starting to get excited at the prospect of more local, grassrootsy events like Belladrum and Loopallu.

I've been having nostaglia flashbacks left, right and centre this week and am now at a stage where I'm hoping to pass on the benefits of years of music appreciation to my lucky young offspring. They'll thank me one day. With that in mind, and always looking for an interesting new experience, the groovy looking tipis at Belladrum have rather caught my eye. Very pricey on the face of it though sharing with a group of six might be the way forward.

Truth be told, I'm just too old/disinclined to do the canvas jungle/drunken midnight stumbling over trailing guy ropes and dodgy portaloos festival thing anymore.

The tipis concept will have its critics. But having stayed in a yurt in Inner Mongolia (and enjoyed one of the best night's sleep I've ever had), I'm intrigued. I have no doubt the kids would love it too...

In other news, I can confirm that the new three day split fitness regime hammered out for me by Linda Bailey is an absolute killer. Tried day one in Dingwall Leisure Centre today and am now, shall we say, feeling it...

Linda's child-friendly fitness camps on the other hand aim to be fun. Or so she claims. You can find out more about them here, though it's well worth picking up this week's Ross-shire Journal to check out what else is going on round these parts...

... this?

If you have a picture that better encapsulates having a brilliant time in Scotland, this competition is well worth a whirl.

Great prizes on offer and a chance to share your prized picture with a wider audience.

What's not to like?

I'll be rifling through my own images this weekend.

Good luck!

THE good news: I'd lost body fat in sufficient quantity that Linda noticed just by looking at me. Hurrah!

THE bad news: some muscle had also gone. Boo hoo!

Net effect: There was a bit less of me than when last we met.

That, at least, is according to the machine that I never entirely trust. (Except when it tells me what I want to hear, at which point it becomes a marvel of modern technology).

Theory: my Rocky-like training regime has prompted my energy hungry body to start eating muscle as well as fat. So it may be that I now have to have a bit more of this or even consider shelling out for some of this. That tub right there costs something like £30 off the shelf at Tesco. And it goes against the grain somehow. The product and the expense.

Linda Bailey's new three-day routine meanwhile promises to be an absolute killer. I say that every time the routine changes I know, but there are a couple of little charmers in there I can barely do ONE of, never mind 12 times four repetitions. Linda's a former Army Corporal and clearly old habits die hard. There's a touch of the boot camp about what's to come for me but I'm up for the challenge.

Linda's a busy lady at the moment though as a gander at this week's Ross-shire Journal (out Friday, July 10) will reveal. She's launched a kids summer camp aimed at getting the young 'uns more active. Luckily for the nippers, the emphasis there is on fitness and FUN.

In other news, my five-year-old daughter walked the best part of two miles today in order to attend a 30-minute swimming class. I'm proud of her. She then went on to have a crack at a drawing class with Lochcarron-based artist and craftsperson Vicky Stonebridge. I'm told she was by far the youngest in the class. When I get home from work, I'm dying to find out what she's been up to.

Over the last month or so, I've been spending less time on this, a little more dabbling with the dreaded Facebook...and a lot more playing Scrabble.

Not this week, though. It has been very full-on at work. It's funny when you're working late from home and you spot someone else who is online and firing in emails to the paper. Agnes takes pages to proof home in her handbag and retrieves them next day in a tell-tale crumple. Lynne often fires in court reports written up at home. Recession? Pay freezes? Whatever. I'm talking about dedication.

Talking of which, the letters page in this week's Ross-shire Journal is a joy to behold. A local paper thrives on feedback and we have it in spades this week. When it all comes together, that's my favourite page in the paper. Too many people remain reluctant to put pen to paper (or, more usual, fingers to keyboard), either through apathy or a feeling that somehow it's not for them. So much can be said in a short letter. In fact the cream of the crop tend to be a few short, well chosen paragraphs. Sometimes a single sentence.

I overheard Lynne today on the phone saying to someone, "We're not used to people thanking us..." And that got me thinking. It's all feedback, good, bad or indifferent.

We got some feedback from the weather today: a monsoon-like mid-afternoon downpour accompanied by rumbles of thunder and the odd flash of lightning. My first thought was our leaky roof. That aside, I love a good clear-the-air downpour.

I've criticized Facebook in the past and reckon it can eat up an awful lot of time you'll never get back. But it has put me back in touch with a few old pals from my days in China and for that alone, it has been worth the effort.

Ahhhhh!

          Feels good...

                The paper is out...

                     Oh...But wait...

                        But now it's time to start on the next one...

                              Still, how about this glorious weather we're having? 

                                   Are you a knacky knitter? Want to do someone a good turn? Then check out this...

                                       Armed with a borrowed barbecue book, I predict the sound of sizzling this weekend...

                                          Moment of the day: looking up to see three small children in mid air before they plunged into the pool I was in. Magic.

Have been experimenting with twitpics and Twitter in general. The historic first picture to be posted (above) is that of the wonderful Tongue Youth Hostel up in Sutherland. Why is it so good? A few clues here.

Was also working to come up with a Twitter icon and am using this as a work in progress. Meanwhile have also been making more use of the user-friendly though not 100 per cent satisfactory Facebook.

Followed written directions to get up the Cat's Back from a different angle with children in tow at the weekend and came up against (a) a makeshift barrier of broken branches in one direction and (b) a dead end in another other. The children had a great time climbing a tree in the woods instead and then had a blast down at the old railway station in Starthpeffer where they demolished tubs of Capaldi's ice cream. Grace, bless her, told me I deserved a cup of coffee. So I had one.

Got a great, albeit brief description of a wedding dress today.: "White". 

Meanwhile am trying to keep my corner of the editorial office neat and tidy after being helped to de-clutter a week ago by Mary-Ann, a young lady of many talents.

In other news, am planning a major offensive to secure a hard core of regular Nuggets from the Notebooks contributors. There's so much doom and gloom in the world today I reckon we need to share a bit of humour.

Most satisfying twenty minutes of the day? Removing a massive tree trunk from a corner of the garden after work. And figuring out how to make twitpix work. Now if I had an iPhone of the type Stephen Fry keeps banging on about, I'd be unstoppable!

The Seaboard villages were looking glorious last night, The Mermaid of the North basking luxuriantly in the sunshine at Balintore. I was almost tempted to wade in and clean the seagull poo (at least I think it's seagull poo) off her hair.

For a day that started slaving over a hot word processor at 6am, it was a relief to get out there and breathe in some fresh air. I'll return to check out the Pictish Trail next time. It occurred to me that the Fearn Peninsula in general has a lot to offer. 

But can the same be said of the Pittsburgh Penguins who face a Stanley Cup game 7 decider against the Detroit Red Wings tonight? Big game. Sidney Crosby perhaps cuts through the pre-match hype best: "It is a pretty simple situation. There is no thinking about it — you have got to empty the tank."




 

...and I don't have a clue what our front page splash will be tomorrow. It's one of several things up in the air at present.

Ain't life endlessly exciting?

Trundling unwillingly on a treadmill at lunchtime, I was stopped in my tracks by news flashing across the screen regarding the Air France flight that "disappeared" off the radar. We live in a small, super-connected world studded with prying satellite technology that can detect a mouse moving in the desert - and yet it still remains possible for an enormous hunk of metal carrying in excess of 200 souls to vanish without trace. Sobering.

Channel-hopping, I stumbled on Susan Boyle performing on Britain's Got Talent on Saturday night. I feel like the only person on earth not caught up in all the hype surrounding that story. I saw an exploited, middle-aged woman bemused by the sudden frenzy of interest after decades of being ignored. Still, that's some voice she's been blessed with. *

Today was Children's Day. My wife took three of them (aged six, five and two) by train to the beach at Nairn. They had a ball. Good job! What a star she is.

I'm gagging for a game of Scrabble but this pesky clunker of a computer is toiling to connect. I'm going to start enterting competitions to win computers because by the time I'll be able to afford one Scrabble will have been consigned to the museum of antiquity.

(* Turns out I'm not alone on that one.
http://uk.news.yahoo.com/blog/talking_politics/article/28486/5/#top-comments-nav

There was a time, not many moons ago, when the long walk to the free weights section of the gym was about as appealing as a thwack round the chops with a sockful of pool balls. While not something I think I'll ever relish, I'm at a stage now where I'll mingle with the body builders and trainee bouncers without too much drama and just do my thing. That must be progress of sorts.

Linda has put me on a new programme and, unlike the last time around, I left tonight feeling remarkably upbeat. That in spite of an incredibly full-on day at work and the after-effects of a four-mile run yesterday. Next, I need to get to grips with protein, cut out the weekend snacking and stick to the programme. She's good that one. Thought she was about to lose patience with me over my total lack of co-ordination regarding lunges. I'd have hit me if I was her. I'm now gung-ho for the project again.

Now, if that little fella with the scary haircut would stop diddling around with nuclear weapons in North Korea, I'd sleep easy tonight.

Why is it, again, that we can't all just learn to get along?

Personal trainer Linda Bailey can spot a slacker at sixty paces.

That's why I've been making a bit of an effort ahead of tonight's moment of truth rendezvous chez Energie, the gym that used to be Fitness First but isn't anymore. Energie has a certain je ne sais quoi as a name. It'll be interesting to see what direction it now takes. Last time I was in there a whippet-thin lass was cranking out the press-ups quicker than Arnie Schwarzenegger on steroids. Not that he takes steroids, I'm sure. I'm now starting to regret that over-ambitious treadmill trundle at the gym in Dingwall yesterday.

On the news agenda, we're beating the stories off with a stick. Which is a good thing. Once I finish my reporter cloning experiment through in the back kitchen at work, we'll be set.

I've found myself sneaking around late at night - and sometimes even before dawn breaks - to get online.

No one is quite sure what I'm up to, though I expect my wife has her suspicions. She doesn't say anything but there's no disguising the quizzical look in her eyes sometimes as she comes across me staring at the screen with an intense look of concentration on my face. When I'm caught in the moment, the house could be burning down around me and chances are I wouldn't even notice.

There comes a time when you have to 'fess up and admit that, yes, perhaps you've got a bit of a habit. Something perhaps approaching a minor addiction. But not a problem. Not yet. Nope, I could give it up any time. But just let me do it one more time. Just once more. Don't take it away from me. N-o-o-o-o-o!

There's a site, you see,that I just cannot stay away from. I meet strangers on there, play with them for a while and then log off when we're done. I'm sometimes on with the same person for an hour or more at a time. Occasionally, they're good to go again immediately afterwards. But a man has to sleep. I'm not getting any younger after all. Mostly, not a word passes between us. And yet in this obsession, words are everything.

Dragged along about as willingly as a lamb to the slaughter, I attended a car boot sale over the weekend. All I'll say is it gave me something to write about (see forthcoming issue of The Ross-shire Journal). And an unexpected glimpse of Spider-Man. And aside from the nippers stinging me for the inevitable ice cream and bouncy castle action, it didn't cost me a penny. I've got enough rubbish of my own without buying anyone else's...

I decided today I wasn't going to take any more guff from a perpetual whinger. The decision is not without its merits.

Oodles to get through so didn't yet catch up on Day 11 of The Daily Telegraph's remarkable Expenses Files series on the sly ways of (some) of our elected representatives. I feel the country now needs an amazing feelgood story to renew its faith in human nature.

Caught two great performances at Eden Court over the weekend: The Shaolin Warriors and The Tailor Inverness. The former had me gasping in amazement and the latter left me emotionally drained and deeply impressed by the performance of Matthew Zajac. I mean to say, the guy continued delivering dialogue while performing 20 press-ups, switching effortlessly from Polish to English, chopping and changing accents and, so far as I could tell, not once missing a beat. A breath-taking one man show. Short reviews of both should appear on the website eventually.

My five-year-old heard me use the word 'information' this morning and asked me what it meant. Tricky one to define, I discovered. She interrupted my humming and hawing to ask: "Is it like a wee bit of news?"