1797

Local wanderings: Defiantly shining brightly in the October sunshine, the strangely fresh and clear carvings on a headstone that's over 200 years old. Browgh is an old Scottish name, probably of Viking origins. Whoever F, K and D were remains a mystery, 1797 wasn't a great year for them I guess but their memorial has remained undamaged and unmarked over the centuries. 

Cloud dog

When I took this picture of a cloud it looked like a dog. Now I've processed it by downloading it etc. it just about looks like a dog but really is more like just another cloud with odd features (though normal for a cloud). Looking at it again, with a fresh and indoor perspective it kind of looks more like a sheep, that's pretty normal for a cloud, white and fluffy etc. When I say a sheep I mean the head of a sheep, if you look at it carefully anyway. So in the end I'm now less likely to bother to take any further photos of individual clouds that seem to look like something at the time because despite all that "camera never lies" stuff that you hear over and over again, they do, or at the very least they tend to mislead in and irritating way.

The funny smell of agriculture

Normally I quite like the (preferably faint) smell of dung on the fields. It's a pleasant, familiar, evocative odour that's strangely enjoyable. It says countryside and promotes a sense of wholesomeness even if it's only cow shit sprayed across a field. Anyway these days our local fields are smelling like they've been burned, trampled and raised by rampaging Vikings. Fields of fire. Fields of fracking maybe. Deep beneath the tranquil Fife countryside, there's a raging fire ... and the mice are escaping and heading in our direction.

Pointless

A pointless punishment. Croatia v England last night, no goals, no spectators, no point. Souvenir programs were still produced but bought by nobody on the night, collectors wring their hands in anticipation of some turning up on eBay. The game went ahead with all the regular features, anthems and handshakes but little or no drama or passion was visible.  Like a concert or a play without an audience, a football match with no fans or atmosphere is like some grand Zen problem being acted out but without any context either spiritual or physical. This sporting life in some deferential and determined vacuum, wasting resources and time to prove a point that doesn't need to be proven. Modern life is rubbish sometimes.

Lobster pots

I typed this out (below) the other day whist suffering from the distorted belief that I had something to say. Now none of the earworm words will go away. It followed a brief visit to the village of Crail, where the ice cream shop is closed but the toilets are open. Where the roads are narrow and the sea is rough (wide?) and the expected "tourist" types wander here and there sipping coffee, peering through sunglasses, adjusting their scarves and pullovers, squinting into the wind and consider the prospect of retiring to a place like this one day (assuming they don't already live in one). 

That's not to say I'm critical of these folks, they belong wherever they want to belong. They do seem however to take their style and mannerisms from elsewhere, as if they've learned it rather than earned it. They arrive and then they exhibit. Maybe they've seen too many French films from the 60's or read certain arty magazines, maybe they've just slipped through from another dimension and are trying to fit in and just quietly live their own unobtrusive but alien lives. I'm not sure of anything...

The pots that trap the jet black lobster, 

laid out here by come Crail based mobster.

Not for him the simple, juicy oyster,

 just chilled, unwilling North Sea lobster, 
for the eating pleasure of some punter.

North Sea

To whom it may concern: I can confirm that the North Sea is still pretty much in it's proper place. A large part of it is stuck onto the right hand side of Scotland as you might expect. It has not moved elsewhere and it's whereabouts remain fairly accurately depicted on various maps, globes and google earth. Some of the actual water, flotsam and jetsam may have moved around a bit. I don't quite know, this material is difficult to track without sophisticated equipment and guesswork. As for fish, whales, crabs etc. I have no accurate information. Sorry about that.

The way we were

Our house as a ruin or a bit more of a ruin, fifty years ago (approx). A few things have changed, that tree has gone and so has most of the grass frontage. There have also been other events elsewhere in the world as well as locally, all too numerous to mention here, best to check Wikipedia or something.

Mushroom alert

It's only the 9th of October but there a clear and present signs that the wild mushroom season is upon us early this year. Take care out there. Trip hazards abound. I blame the moist air and the unseasonal warmth and general clammy dampness.

Grumpy old men

A night at the museum. Well somehow we won the Rip It Up pop quiz in Edinburgh last night. We actually beat 59 other teams and collected a golden trophy and a goodie bag each. I contributed very little in the way of substantial answers but it was fun being in the team and I enjoyed the exercise of wracking my brain and testing my limp memory. So our highly knowledgeable captain James deservedly picked up the trophy for us from Phil Jupitus at the end of the evening, much of which is now a blur.  Tommy's "Fall" anthology also got some major advertising as we waved it around for the cameras. Now back to normal life...

Jesus's autograph

Following an unexpected sequence of events that would rival an Indiana Jones plot I've come to possess an actual autograph penned by Jesus Christ himself. It's not even in Hebrew or Aramaic either but in English. I didn't know he could write (at all) far less use a Sharpie. Pretty sure it's not a fake and I've not heard of fakes circulating around these parts. I reckon that it's a bit of a collector's item. Might get a good price on eBay although I am tempted (?) to try to set up a deal with the Catholic Church. They do like relics and tat of that sort. Decisions decisions. 

World's greatest coffee and dangerous books

This coffee may or may not be worth £100 in bonus money to the barista who mixed it and poured it. There's clearly {?} a hidden world behind the froth and steam of coffee making establishments. Will this be a prize winner in the staff room and across the counter? We'll never really know.

Dangerous books in safe places No1. This book is on sale in the V&A Dundee and it might be considered dangerous by some readers and those of a nervous disposition. It's full of drawings, scribbles and swearing and promotes ideas (of a kind). I'm assuming the V&A is a safe place in as much as it's a new building and therefore must have passed various fire, health and safety tests or it would not be open to the general public i.e. you and me.

Poetry night

We attended a poetry reading evening last night, it lasted for about 65 minutes. There were three readers/poets/players. There was a full house albeit the house was small but that's better than no house at all. So after a slow bus journey home and a cheese and fruit bread supper I wrote a poem about it. It seemed like the right/write thing to do.

(I actually composed a few other versions in my head, in bed, but they're now  forgotten and so will remain unsaid):

The Poetry Evening.

When poets get together, gathered in their upper rooms, shielded from the damp world and caustic criticism, they operate, safe for now and untarnished.

Not always easy to understand quite what they're talking about, the sound is almost ...  varnished.

There's wine and civility, chatter and no rush for seats, expectation too. 

Words out loud that are used differently, cut up and misplaced.

Quotes and dropped names, a low level of fame, in the quite circles.

This is not the common speech.

 This is difficult to reach.

So. 

Is it some snobby club, some sect or private thing?

Nobody outside of the imagined circle crashes the night and everybody is polite and we all conform to useful stereotypes. 

It seems.

I'm some lone outside listener.

A temporary visitor.

In poet's land.

Valuable and Attractive

For a time in my life (in the 1970s) I worked for the Royal Navy Supply and Transport Service (the RNSTS). In those days V&A meant only one thing "Valuable and Attractive". This term applied to all the stores items that were likely to be pilfered so they required special care regimes and security. Watches, clocks, precious metals etc. V&A now means something different to me (Victoria and Albert) but the eclectic stockpiles and the inventory values may be similarly labeled. So we have a load of mostly old Scottish stuff laid out in a purpose built new museum on the banks of the murky River Tay.

It's OK. Dundee's new V&A building is impressive, it's big on the outside, seems big on the inside but once explored isn't really so big at all - but it remains impressive for other reasons. Perched on the river bank, challenging and fun to walk through and giving up impressive river views and vistas form unexpected angles, it's a unique space. It's a strange mix of striking form but fuzzy function and there's an obvious conflict between the two. The great halls of older museums with long and winding displays, galleries like mazes and rows of cabinets stuffed with exhaustive examples of inventoried history are not in here. It's all very tight. This is a modern puzzle that questions how we observe and how much we might actually retain. In that it's honest, most people don't study very much nor care either. We pass through. So it's a big box full of Polaroid snaps of the past, quick sound bites and snippets, stuff that the good people can quickly browse over and then forget with an over priced coffee and a wander around the gift shop. There's room for the past but not much, not as much as you think and as for the future, it's here but trapped and hidden in the quirky design. 

I'm imagining the newly deposited bus loads of tourists and pensioners exploring the site are all thinking something along the lines of "is that all there is?" That's not because the building is a disappointment it's more because it's main but understated theme is gathering in people rather than displaying things. I'm judging this based on the comparative space given to people over artifacts. Visitors have more free space than things do. I was struck by how many people were just standing about on the common stairways, cafes and spaces looking at...other people doing the same thing. We are the museum pieces in this modern hall.

The main display (a pay as you go one) is based around ocean liners, I'm not sure what his has to do with Dundee, seems an odd opening exhibition choice. The main (free) display gallery looks at Scottish design. It's a hotch potch of Oor Wullie, Alexander McQueen, the Forth Bridges, CRM and so on. A quick canter and scatter-gun of types with no real insights given. A bit like the curator's are mumbling  "this is what we in Scotland all got up to on our weekend design course when nobody else was looking, sorry to bother you, nothing much to see here".

Once the opening "busy spell" is over a further visit may be beneficial, just to see it less crowded and in a more measured way, with less expectation. I do like it but it's very much a marvelous jaggy jigsaw with a few bits missing.

Perception test

On the left I can clearly see a dog, on the right a cat. That's it.

Bowling shoes in blue

I'm a target man for blue bowling shoes, the follow me around on social media. Clearly I'm understood to be an eager bowler, one who likes blue and would play better in these wonderful blue shoes. I'm tempted. The internet knows me so well, it's always been my secret dream to excel at some sport and why not bowling? Maybe it's my age, my liking of the Big Lebowski, random Americana,  my lack of interest in pool or darts, my frame and my physique, things I click on or follow. I'm always out there searching desperately for a good deal on bowling shoes, it's my greatest dream. Of course to realise it what I really need is a cheap loan, some bowling pals, a local alley that I can frequent, some snazzy bowling clothes other than shoes, spare time on weekends and in the evening when I can compete and practice and of course the will of iron and the training regime needed to succeed at bowling. Google and the rest of the internet, I look to you to make my dream come true. Thank you.

Cat expressions

Here is the face of a cat that is eager to receive some choice pieces of asda finely cooked chicken for a late lunch. I gave in eventually.

Here is the full blown and highly expressive body language of a cat that has just scoffed a recently deceased mouse and is now "sleeping it off".

Mint tea

Mint tea is quite the drink, quite the statement, quite the thing. I've never really tried it, it's not even tea (or made with actual tea leaves), it's something else but I can't bring myself to try it. A quiet infusion, a sophisticated calming cooler, a steadier and a relaxant. People who like mint tea often like other things, I'm not sure what they might be but it's a reasonable theory. The theory of "likes", a term despoiled by Facebook and rendered meaningless in that bleak format of shameless product placement advertisement but still available for honest use in real life. Also nobody ever said "one mint tea and he/she is anybody's", never. So on that basis it's far better than gin or other fashionable drinking products. 

Photos by Ali

Last week at this time.

This week at last time.

Absurdist

Good evening, absurdist and unfunny comedy tweeting is my new thing, for a short while anyway. It's designed to irritate, slightly but not to the point of actual irritation. Subtle. Like most things I'll eventually get over it and it'll all just drift away somewhere and be buried under the next bad idea. 

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2. John Barclay‏ @Johnbarclay1 6h6 hours ago

   Retweet if you got up this morning and discovered a naughty pigeon roosting in your wardrobe.

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3. John Barclay‏ @Johnbarclay1 Sep 24

   Retweet if you've ever considered borrowing an #omnibus without the owner's permission.

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4. John Barclay‏ @Johnbarclay1 Sep 24

   Retweet if your office cleaner accidently removed your toupee with a #dyson

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