Random weekend jottings:
Photo above: Many hands make large non-fat delicious fruity pudding disappear. The hands in question belong to Ali, Tommy and most importantly Caroline (who made the pudding). I held back for all of ten seconds before piling in for my slice.
Who knows the history of and the correct words to the “Worm Song” (Nobody likes me, everybody hates me etc.)? The problem is what form of lyrical magic should come next, “I think I’ll go and eat some worms” or “Because I like to eat worms”. The debate is raging on, answers on a postcard please.
Freuchie is a small village in Fife. I spent the morning after my birthday walking around it taking photographs for the ASC website. Sunny, open and clean with the radio masts of East and West Lomond looking down upon the bright Eden valley below. One thing that spoils Freuchie is the inappropriate garish street furniture everywhere; signs, instructions and large yellow painted tracts of roadway representing the worst parts of traffic management. Every where you look some piece of heavy duty signage reminds you that you should be obeying some trivial rule. There must be better ways to get traffic control messages across than this and keep wee villages looking cute.
I wandered back to the new holiday cottage where deep conversations about building works and alterations were taking place. I avoided these and watched a solitary robin as he skipped and skidded across the patio slabs in the hazy sunshine. I enjoyed the peace and sensible planting of the back garden for a few moments and then returned to help with the measuring up. I also watched a horse peeing in the field across the road, unbelievable how much urine a small horse can produce. I thought for a moment that it could be the equine equivalent of blogging.
Lunch on Saturday was Pittenweem Haddock and a pint of Belhaven upstairs in the local pub (avoiding Sky Sports in the bar below) 100 yards from the house. The haddock was nice enough but I doubt it ever saw Pittenweem or ever spoke with an East Fife twang, the fishing industry in Fife is no longer what it once was.
We watched Mettalica’s “Some kind of monster” on TV during the week. I’d just come in after a long day spent down in Birmingham and it seemed like perfect couch fodder television. Turned out it was fun, excruciating and fascinating and for Ali an unexpected feast of metal, one of her early musical loves (?). The statistics on Metallica’s sales and life style excesses are mind boggling and their behaviour is incomprehensible but it all hangs together somehow and they survive. Makes me wish I’d tried a bit harder at playing those tight E minor riffs when I was a teenager.
Quote of the week (?) from “My Name Was Judas” by CK Stead:
“Our friend was not the Messiah, nor will there be one, this is the truth I write, it will not hurt you, grasp it.”