impossible songs

Cracking jokes in desperate situations

2012-01-28T08:37:00.002Z

First and foremost I'm pleased andproud to announce the arrival of a new grandson, taking the grandsoncount up to four whilst the granddaughter count remains at two. Onhearing of the new birth I dithered for a few precious secondswaiting on some primal kick in the consciousness, sure enough it camealong and with only a petrol station Mars Bar to fuel me and half atank of North Sea gas in the car I headed due north. The weather wasclosing in, it seemed to be raining inside the car and I quicklyrecognised that my decision making powers had been weakened,compromised and exposed in all their frail beauty. This was obviousfrom my failure to negotiate two familiar roundabouts accurately, thedark January world was become a panicky blur. Emotions were runningand I was driving in the opposite direction to them, badly. Mind andbody are week and feeble at times but the secret sugar ingredients inthat rare Mars Bar had magical hungry properties. Once these werereleased upon me like some silver anointing I was high and free onceagain. The road became visibly wider, the rain translucent and thecar sang the sad sweet song of youth as if was 5ker instead of thegeriatric racehorse I've allowed it to become. The miles and weathermerged and sooner than now I was in a warm hospital holding a warmbaby. A nice welcome to a new member of the family. There probably is no better feeling in the world.

Fashionably late

2012-01-25T20:44:00.001Z

As usual I'm surfing well behind the mad crowd. Star Wars Uncut has been in orbit around Alderon or wherever for about two years, won awards and may well be on the next film in the series by now. 1.5 million other worldly views later I stumble upon the 2 hr 8 mins home baked epic. I don't recall the original being so long, or so funny or strangely disturbing and addictive. You can never tell what's out there and what's going to bite you. May the fashionably late be with you.

They came from outer space

2012-01-23T20:33:00.000Z

It's been one of those days, one of those grey Mondays when strange viruses decided to visit the planet and launch some kind of pre-emptive strike against us. At times resistance seemed futile but valiant attempts at counter attacking were tried and then became tired out. Our weapons were a mixture of creamed yogurt, fizzy drugs, hot water bottles and a liberal amount of optimism. Some of these things used individually may work but maybe not all of them at once. Some folks, those of a medical persuasion, call it Norovirus, I've no idea why. Anyway we know the great alien, long armed, red, green and silver creatures are still out there, stalking us amongst the shattered ruins. Little do they know that we're in a safe place underneath the stairs and that our own special little virus is waiting for them.

The iron-hearted forges of Middle-Earth

2012-01-22T16:18:00.001Z

Benign guitars in an elliptical orbit around the Belt of Orion in that funny shaped bit of the universe that you can't quite make out from around these parts due to the large amount of light pollution that prevails.

The day I first tasted Stilton: I wasat least 29 years of age, immature (in most cheese related areas) and about to receive acertificate celebrating my unplanned success in economic studies andstatistics from Bath University. Before the action my troop and Irested briefly at the Hare and Hounds pub up in Endsleigh and Iordered a ploughman's lunch. When it came I gasped (inwardly), theplate (and the lunch laid out on it) was huge, great slabs ofmysterious cheeses, crusty breads and a small mountain of salad andpickle, all for £3.99. As I'd consumed about three pints of Guinnessby this point my taste buds were sharp as a Swiss Army knife in a hottrouser pocket. The Stilton hit me like raw opium, hammered in with ablunt cork-screw. The rest of the afternoon remains a blur but I dohave a photograph somewhere showing me holding a buff certificate but as evidenced by my stupid grin clearly hallucinating on a strong cheese based narcotic. It was 1985, a longer year than normal by all accounts.

166 v Mondeo: Moving away from my weaker Alfamoments I decided to sit in a keenly priced Mondeo in order to weighup the practical side of the competition. The Ford is rock solid,everything appeared to be working and it was all pleasantly familiar,a sensible buy and easy to live with like a faithful slave. Then Ithought about the Alfa again, a complete bitch of a car, an interiorlike a Renaissance moon rocket, designed by Italian alcoholics, lines as sexuallyenticing as a set of stiletto knives doubling as shoes, leather and chromemixed up in a stylistic mess of sci-fi and steam punk. Fiddly, failingelectronics, mad ergonomics, short legged seating and an engine thatlooks like it was conceived in Oz, built in the iron hearted forgesof Middle Earth and then polished by the sun on some Alpine peak.Bugger this.

Baffling packages of inconsequentialpoo: Frank Zappa said; “Popular American musical taste is determined bya 13 year old girl called Debbie, the daughter of average,God-fearing American white folk, unwitting dupes of the 'SecretOffice Where They Run Everything From'. Serious contemporarycomposers are superfluous to American society and should removethemselves from this world before it removes them, they should throwsome Cyanide and swizzle it into the punchbowl along with some ofthat white wine that 'artistic' people really go for.” I'm sure itmade a lot of sense at the time (same decade as my cheese graduation), it still does (apart from theinexplicable explosion in Hip Hop and Gangsta-Rap which came fromsomewhere else altogether and is equally depressing and disturbing).At least it doesn't pretend to be pop. Meanwhile my open D tuning revisit is yielding all sorts of non-populist and non-inconsequential possibilities, Frank would be proud of me.

Open D tuning revisited

2012-01-21T18:14:00.001Z

Stocktaking and match a case with a guitar day. The age old under the bed dusty secrets were revealed and the bizarre collection of cheap guitars given a little essential maintenance. This resulted in rediscovering the creative impact of retuning to open D. Hours of pointless but enjoyable amusement and IPA drinking followed.

Last glimpse of that sumptuous, simulated but faulty interior. Curse you Alfa Romeo electronics.

Dashboard in the Gremlin

2012-01-20T21:57:00.000Z

The actual Gremlin dashboard actually. (Gremlins dont exist but problems do).

Gremlin in the dashboard

2012-01-20T20:57:00.000Z

Sold as seen: Well it all looked good pretty good, Alfa 166, 2.0, Carabinieri blue, alloys, tan leather, too many miles or maybe not enough. Electric seat adjustment (3 ways) yes, mirrors adjust and retract, yes, service history, check, cam belt change, yes, engine gleaming like a suit of Etruscan armour (with plenty of oil), yes, dashboard console system, Arrgghh! No back light, serious gremlin related unfixable problems. Reject! Only three left in Scotland...next.

Quite liking M&S sweet and sour chicken with egg fried rice but oh!..those Plus Points.

Throw your guitar onto the fire

2012-01-19T19:34:00.000Z

Wheeler Dealers. Classic tea time mind massaging TV: Wheeler Dealers. After all these years it's come to this, the Discovery Channel's finest: no news, soaps, quiz panel, reality show to put up with, just watch car related/repair/rebuild TV, eating fried eggs and drinking beer. (And cleaning out the cat litter, moving stuff into the garage, destroying giant cardboard boxes, cleaning out the coal fire, recycling, laundry, feeding cats, cleaning the kitchen floor, putting away the shopping, dish washing and then building and lighting the fire). I also booked us a night's stay here, yahoo!

Understanding Zappa

2012-01-18T19:52:00.001Z

Still life with soup but minus peach.

"I think that being a cynic is the only rational stance to take in a contemporary society. I would find it quite a compliment to be called an arch-cynic; that sounds almost important."

I'm not so slow a reader that it shows but it's taken me nearly three months to wade through Zappa's biography, only now, as we (that's me and my guardian angel) reach the eighties is it becoming an enjoyable read, bearable in some form or in a strange way uplifting. He's not a likable guy but he is remarkably normal and honest. Can't think of anybody (living) in the current mess of modern music who compares. I do like the view that, as most people are dumb (there is proof) then if we're made in God's own sweet image, then he must be pretty dumb. Worshiping him might be not so good an idea. It does make an uncomfortable kind of sense, it also applies to aliens, politicians and time travelling tourists from the future.

Drove my 6th Chevrolet type vehicle today but who is really counting? This one was an Orlando, a bizarre piece of convoluted design that looks like something out of Transformers meeting something out of Flash Gordon in a piece of Korean artwork. Big, lurching, unattractive and gas-guzzling - I might just want one.

nIcE,bRiGhT,wAsTeD tImE

2012-01-17T19:26:00.000Z

Nice, bright, wasted time. The frozenwastes shine in the floating January sun. Everything stuck togetherby the rare pure ice of 2012. A tiny glacier eats up gardens, hedgesand fences, make sculptures from cardboard and twigs, pebbles andtyre tracks, piled up and collapsing in icy avalanches, refusing tomove. Cars and doors are stiff, the early morning resistance of whitewindows and fused locks, ice to the fingertips and words stuck tosolid breath. Traffic warnings and winter terms are scattered acrossthe airwaves. Jack-knives, collisions, black ice and skid risks.Every part of life becomes more risky and over reported. Coffee seemshotter, more welcome, less boring, steamy.

Cats refuse to move, hide in blanketsand dodge the still, chill drafts. Reluctantly ,moving slowly anddeliberately under protest and under our feet, as if their fur coatshad stopped working. We don't stop working, we journey out, tense inthe shock of the low temperature, hurrying to get back indoors orbasking as the car heater finally yields some of it's precious heat.I make a pot of hot chilli, let it steam and challenge the season,hold it in a bowl and breath it in, drive away the evil spirit, killthe imagined germs. The Winter spirit that ranges across the land,for the time being, like a cold steel guitar, a long note blows overCentral Scotland, the peculiar Celtic blues play and sing out acrossthe silver landscapes. Nice, bright, loud, wasted time.

Look through any window...

2012-01-15T20:33:00.000Z

...an unfinished project. Today was cold and crisp, the light was bright and fragile, the breakfast was bacon, eggs and toasted rolls, the day was today. A day in the life. Look through any window.

Scotland: Cut down in it's prime

2012-01-14T21:23:00.000Z

698 Gregorian years since a victoryover the English, that's history etc. So why keep on keeping the score? Alex Salmond issomeone who can only be described as indescribable. I've watched hisantics this week and been appalled and embarrassed in equal measure.His crowing cackle, bulging eyes and whining voice, his warped self belief and hisevangelical sense of purpose and artificial empowerment arestaggering and irritating. Worthy of a bad Orson Welles characterportrayal and in some ways asking for an assassination bid from thelunatic fringe of lunatics out there somewhere. I know that I'm seriously temped to throwany convenient heavy object at our under perfoming HD TV whenever hissmug mug appears. Conveniently and as I was working on the southcoast of a place called England this week I was quizzed by somebemused local inhabitants about the SNP's plans and purposes. Nobodydown there gets it other than seeing it as a back door plot to havetwo future proofed Tory governments operating between Scotland andEngland – a cunning, subterranean plan to wrestle power fromdimwitted leftish wingers forever, connected by a mixture of highspeed and low speed railway systems.

The Stilton Diaries - Day 4

2012-01-13T20:33:00.003Z

The continued consumption of Stilton in some haphazard pursuit of hallucinations via dreams continues. My first observation being that the crackers don't really work but the additional spicy lentil soup does when used as a medium to transport the cheese effect from the tongue to the centre of the brain does, almost. There also was the added effect of a laboriously slow news day being strung out on Reporting Scotland. As a result I slept for all of twenty five minutes on the couch and dreamed of...err, nothing in particular. The remaining cheese crumbs on the chopping board were however very much appreciated as a primitive sort of desert. More wine might help.

Sometimes I even dream about rare European cars emerging from grey clouds and the subsequent happy years of ownership. Then there are new levels of mechanical reliability to be experienced and many fine examples of enduring build quality to be enjoyed. Late night cheese help this fantasy move along. All the answers can be found on eBay.

Urinal dislocation

2012-01-12T22:56:00.000Z

At times a man may wonder just how many urinals he has used and blankly peered into (as well as peed into). Which one was the best, the worst, the most bizarre? Then he realizes that actually he cant really remember much about them or their details or anything else. So he then ponders on how the brain may retain some impression, like a pencil sketch, but quickly he sees that there is very little of this information held for any length of time. A strange eraser is at work, beyond all human control. A feeble mind mapped photograph is taken but it rapidly becomes fuzzy and vague to the point that nothing can be recalled at all.

Life is lived and then, for the most part it's immediately forgotten.

When the Stilton kicks in

2012-01-10T19:38:00.001Z

Day two of the mind altering Stilton based experimentation process found me seeing some quite strange animals ranging across the garden, as if in Bible times. I'd always suspected that the game keeper had a hidden agenda and there was something unearthly about his midnight whistling, that and the break of dawn cooing and crowing episode, just below the living room window sill. After a while I drifted into a deep sleep and almost drowned. The main problem was that I'd left a suitcase in the boot of a hired car, a compact European model, the car however was normal sized. I was about to check in for the flight home but my dear wife was becoming more and more frantic about the lost case, fortunately the ground staff carried out an exhaustive search, stopping any passing vehicle but the suitcase refused to respond. It was then that I found myself trapped in a series of revolving doors, none of which I could escape from but from the corner of my eye I could almost swear I saw somebody with my suitcase. In fact every other person I saw was carrying it or at least an exact replica. When I finally made it to the check in (or was it the check out?) I was informed that the 20 minute late flight was now 40 minutes late in being early. The compliant and beaten passengers filed back into the lounge, there was a tangible air of disappointment but the colours were brighter than anything I'd ever seen in any airport. Just then Ali found the diamond earring, in a safe place, where it should have been all along. What a relief and a long paragraph.

I still blame the Stilton for this unforgivable episode.

Can white men sing the blue Stilton?

2012-01-09T21:57:00.000Z

How different the world would been had Aldous Huxley laid off the Californian mescaline and just gone straight for the Stilton. The (disappointingly thin and weedy) Doors of Perception and Heaven and Hell would have had more volumes than a Song of Ice and Fire and a generation to hairy twerps would have found cheese based drugs instead of the other less tasty South American kinds. Dairy farmers would be millionaires (and therefore no longer dairy farmers) so itinerant townies would have moved in and made poorer quality Stilton for the masses and the Poundland dump bins. A sharp, short, badly economic crisis would then follow and the rest as they say is a bad Monday headline in the Sun. Whatever the outcome dreams would have been sweeter, more colourful and even more brighter and bizarre. Such is the power of the Big S, Stilton to you sir

I scored a mighty, reduced price, ex-Christmas slab at an out of town supermarket the other day, it was 50p and about to expire according to the many health warnings on the label, I paid no heed to this however. A third of it has now gone and funnily enough so have about a third of my brain cells, but oh! how we laughed. Even today's stupid news stories about the SNP failing to see that independence might actually affect other neighbouring countries and the Tory Cabinet touring the future Olympic slums almost made sense to me. Such is the power of cheese when applied straight and undiluted to the forehead. Last night was just a blur apart from an appearance of Sherlock Holmes' smarter brother and a wee glass of Port that was floating about six inches in front of my eye line. Luckily I was found fit to drive today but was then marked down as completely unfit for shoplifting. Bugger that, I'll just grate a little more cheese then. To sleep, perchance to travel in time and get locked in a shower.

Radio Sucks

2012-01-08T10:15:00.002Z

Our real radio on a Friday afternoon in January.

Well actually it doesn't, I'm almost enjoying the eclectic output of Radio 6. There I've finally said it.

The Demented Waving Brothers...

2012-01-07T19:52:00.000Z

...would cry out "fried eggs!" just before giving that final, fateful wave. I've no idea why but it must have had some significance. It was also a suggested chant in Om's list of "good things to shout at people". Anyway here are two I prepared earlier.

Lost Les Paul

2012-01-07T19:41:00.002Z

Lost: 1957 Les Paul Guitar c/w Bigsby. Black. No serial number. Last seen in Toronto Airport, 17th June 1970. As per the above photo.

Response via comments below please. Reward.

Rob Brydon's jumper?

2012-01-07T15:23:00.000Z

In the picture: Rob Brydon can be seen here not only with Steve Coogan but also wearing my jumper. A jumper which I believed to be in the bottom of the washing basket when all the time it was away spending a week of fine dining, lounging in posh hotels and footering across the North of England with somebody else - a Welsh comic actor in fact. A fundamental piece of the jumper/wearer relationship has been broken between my jumper and I. I'm not sure that I can ever trust it again.

I talk to the trees but they are busy talking to themselves: Today we went to Linlithgow to try to find a wool shop. Thankfully there was one (albeit I was disappointed to find that it wasn't actually made of wool) and it had the green wool required for my daughter's latest art project. Shops are brilliant really. On the way back I became aware of the conversations taking place between the trees that had survived the recent gales. They were all pretty relieved (many complaining of back and elbow injuries) but obviously more upset over their many friends and colleagues who had fallen, never to rise again. Seeing them being cut up into small pieces with chainsaws doesn't help either. A sad and cruel end for those wooden hearted stalwarts of the forest. I didn't realise how unpopular cyclists were with trees either.

Dingleberry Pie Rescue

2012-01-06T14:15:00.005Z

Sadly this little bird failed to make it through the stormy week we've just experienced, a cat (who I refuse to name) is of course to blame. The bird expired upstairs in the bathroom, for some reason that's where cats take their victims.

The original Dingleberry Pie rescued from various awful fates and wheelie bins. Part of the post storm clear up and freezer emptying exercise. Tasty and with a spongy texture but also producing Pac-Man memories strangely enough.

Fantasy v reality...

2012-01-05T17:50:00.001Z

...on this corner they meet, at the top of the street, not every single day but pretty much most, if don't see them there, I can only assume you're a little bit lost (or have very poor eyesight).

Doing everything they can

2012-01-04T21:40:00.002Z

Collapsed trees block local roads...

...and cut vital services.

Battery powered: And so it cameto pass that my unfortunate prediction unfortunately came true, a fewbrief seconds after releasing the Monkey thing to the blog sphere thepower did indeed cave in and my world fell into sudden chillydarkness. 101mph winds were sweeping across Scotland brining afamiliar pattern of chaos, angry dog walkers complained the MSPs andradio chat shows (all about this sort of thing and why was there nored warning?). Scotland seems to be located in the wrong place at themoment. Bugger all you can do really, as far as I can see. So as thestorm raged in our small part of the universe dozens of brave treesfell over in that strange way they do, emitting loud, fatal snappingnoises, then as if by some higher purpose landing across roads andbumping into telegraph poles - and so we were cut off. I immediatelytook a hot bath and reflected on the best toe nail cutting methods,shame I don't have a best toe nail. Then the Christmas decorationswere boxed up for another year. Thereafter a deeper gloom descendedas the brutal truth became clear, torches were located, candles setup like sentries, a gas burner located and guitars tuned – thepower free siege and standoff had begun. I did venture out tophotograph the wooden road block, buy whisky and marvel at the manydead traffic lights, as it's a public holiday nobody in their rightmind will fix anything, it's not in the contract apparently.

I had also discovered that ourextensive radio collection was mainly mains powered and each setstubbornly refused to accept the multiple battery requirements Ioffered. Why things are designed to be awkward beats me and whymiddle aged men are also designed to be victims of these awkwarddesigns beats be twice. Eight batteries are needed to power up asleeping radio, (where are they kept?) hardly economical but now Ican connect with modern society without just sitting in the carrunning the engine for company. Thankfully Radio Scotland stoppedplaying accordion music for a few hours and settled for broadcastinglong lists of closed roads, dead trains as they played more MullHistorical Society (every bloody day it seems), REM, Bob Dylan andAdele, pity about the obvious tyranny of the populist playlist. Threedays into 2012 , one power cut, Hurricane Bawbag II and I'm alreadymissing Radio 6's sweet vinyl sounds, never thought that wouldhappen.

The power outage outstayed it'swelcome. As evening broke upon us a great coal carrying exercisebegan. Two huge fires were started in a vain attempt to kill the coldand dark in a heated pincer movement, this was working fine until Irealised that with no electrical pump operating the hot water system,it was in danger of over heating, the consequences would be bad Iimagined. A extended period of washing dishes in scalding water in anOCD manner followed while Ali massaged salmon and fresh bread into anedible format. Meanwhile in the background a ticking time bomb wasnot really ticking, just melting, my precious mixed curry, hash brownand stir fry vegetable collection, housed in a now dead a slowlywarming freezer. Ugh. The good news is that red wine seems to beimpervious to these mild domestic emergencies, indeed it appears totaste better the deeper the crisis, particularly in the studied glowof slowly failing candles. Good to know.

After 36 hours the power is back on. What a relief.

Blog Monkey

2012-01-03T08:18:00.002Z

A wall painting from the mythical island of Madeira.

The potential for a power cut: Waking up this morning to winds blowing around the house sounding like tortured Jumbo Jets, the cats are frantically purring up their own storm, determined to create an island of peace in some cosy corner were their fur wont get ruffled. Outside people are failing to light their first precious cigarette, read newspapers at bus stops or cycle in a westerly direction as the storm passes over. The radio waves will be full of information packets about routes and bridges being closed to high sided vehicles and so on. It's a dismal Tuesday in January in the UK, what do you expect? I've a clear path set before me; apart from some real work that's hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles, some real ironing that's hanging on coat hangers and some necessary hanging around just to get life on track in this brave new January. I must not get distracted by stupid Twitter feeds, my holiday weight as opposed to my true weight, the pile of left overs in the fridge, the dead mouse out of reach in the airing cupboard, the perpetually leaking windscreen or the many communication failures that dog me. At least I've got the blogging monkey PI down from my back and it's only 0815.

Possible resolutions and a poor choice of font

2012-01-02T14:21:00.000Z

As it's a new year and stuff like that we decided to redecorate the lounge, it was a big job but a lot of fun, nearly there then. It took three fried eggs and three slices of toast to prompt my recovery. Along the way we considered possible resolutions that might fit with our new environment:

Make people smile.
Write more songs.
Earn enough to give someone a job helping me with things I don't do well.
Do good things.
Do everything the best I can.
Do my best not to do bad things.
Not beat myself up if I do bad things or fail to do good things.
Not beat myself up about feeling good about the good things
Stay alive and healthy.
Have the guts to stand up for what I believe is right, even if that is sometimes scary/crazy.

(All the above stolen with gratitude from Woodstock Taylor who stole them from Woody Guthrie who stole them from...)

2k12

2012-01-01T15:25:00.004Z

Topical Saltire type picture taken on our recent holiday, this in no way means I'm sympathetic to the cause of the SNP, just a nice photo and a way to wish a happy new year to one and all etc. So now that the different year has begun we can finally all calm down and use that extra leap year day to go out and do something interesting or at least delusional.

If only God had written the Bible

2011-12-31T22:13:00.002Z

It's the end of the year, I'm at workand I need pepped up by something. As, generally speaking and subjectto modern lyrical confirmation the drugs don't work I settle for somecola and a Kit Kat. Strangely my mind can't settle on much other thanmarvelling and focusing on the deserving misery of others, not aworthy theme for the demise of 2011 or good for the soul, but thesethings happen. You can at times be overcome by uncontrollable andoften laughable thought patterns that add no value or bring home theBrownie Points. The blurred line between acceptable and guiltypleasure is becoming clearer and I must make that crossing. Perhapsthis schadenfreude will leave me as I meditate on the wise words ofObadiah 1:12, but no, that would never work. Middle Eastern claptrapfrom the dawn of so-called civilisation can't help, I'm far tooEuropean now. So seeing or hearing about the smug and self righteoushitting some temporary lifetime reef is rather good and I prefer,despite all my higher, better, (whatever you categorise them as )feelings to savour the moment. I know fine will it wont last either way but when an inferior snake oil salesman buys a tanker full of somebody else's even worse snake oil you have to laugh.

The Black Keys – El Camino, a latebut welcome Christmas present: In heaven there will only be guitars,bass, drums, odd and meaningful vocals and pinches of well placed keyboards. I'm glad I've sorted that out for myself. Maybe one dayall music will sound like this, only enhanced by the vocals of Lulu,the production of Rick Rubin and far away in the distance and almostlost in the final mix but discernible just the same the faint growlof a wah wah pedal. I plan to die happy.

Average weather

2011-12-28T09:58:00.000Z

Back home from a brief sojourn to Madeira only to find that average weather prevails and that soot mostly travels downwards when trapped in a chimney. As I am typing this without the benefit of spectacles or a safety harness it could go in any direction and bouts of bad spelling and terminal malaise will follow. I could try to review 2011 in these odd moments I have captured for my own personal use and reflection but I wont, the past being the strange place it always was and one inevitably distorted by poor memory, creative imaginings and distorted perception. Anyway there still are a few more days to go, garlic pasta to eat, red wine to drink and outside, seasonal adjusted but nonetheless completely average weather to enjoy. I did have a climate graph I wanted to post here that showed the problems we face here in West Lothian but I gave up due to the amount of HTML distortion it created and what's the point in moaning about what you can't change. I'm off to buy an enormous ham joint thing and I've no idea quite what to do with it apart from painting it with honey and stuffing it into a hot oven. After that it'll be a long period of stretched improvisation in food preparation and home made music - life goes on.

Boxing Day

2011-12-26T23:59:00.001Z

In a few moments Boxing Day and Christmas and that sort of thing will be over for another year. Here's a Venn Diagram or perhaps a Zen Diagram that doesn't really help explain any of it. In truth it's all a bit of a puzzle really, why has it all turned out this way and is it all too late to do anything about it? Yes and no I suppose.

After all

2011-12-23T15:30:00.001Z

A wise child once said, "it's so close to Christmas that my feet won't stop jumping." That's almost exactly how I feel right now and even a vanilla milk shake, shaken, ordered and administered in a long unbreakable glass can't calm me down. My only option seems to be to give myself a good shower, a further shake, spin dry my shorts and share this fine Christmas tree picture I took only 57 hours ago, just around the corner. So Happy Christmas to everyone (except idiots, media types and fundamentalists who don't much care about what I think anyway).

Road to Valhalla

2011-12-23T15:13:00.000Z

Many readers will no doubt wonder over the photographic technical details that go with the vast array of images presented day in week out across these septic and hallowed pages. So as it's the time of year when it's that time of year again and families everywhere are on the verge of some major feud or other let me appraise you (dear reader) on my cameraesque exploits. Here we go:

Lens - full tilt boogie with optional optical symmetry and die hard glass baubles.
Exposure - 49 degrees of erectile tilt applied, removed and re-applied.
Back light - I use the horse radish manoeuvre with a well clipped pinkie.
Angle of descent - 65w (Imperial) and + or - the difference between 89/3.
Cream - Olympus long tipped applicator with a vanilla log.
Locations - I prefer those best described as wildly euphemistic or of Scandinavian origin. Natural is also a very useful word but means nothing really. If you can spot a stray cat you win an ice cream.

This particular photo was taken at an altitude of 1500m or so above the (visible) sea, ahead lies Valhalla and tributes to a number of key members of European Royal families who quite recklessly wrecked large parts of Europe because they really did not know any better. Thankfully these folks have failed to breed successfully almost everywhere apart from in England where they act as props and spokespersons for hopeless environmentally centred causes and organised religions.

Abandoned Portugal

2011-12-22T20:05:00.001Z

Interesting but abandoned two storey town house, naked and forlorn except for a flag and strange Christmas picture of baby Jesus cavorting in a peculiar manner. Takes all kinds of religions I guess.

Completely unabandoned urban banana farm, that's what we lack back home, this kind of space saving, food growing, industry creating enterprise set in somebody else's backyard. All we can offer are our rusty Hillman Imp sheds, ex-Irn-Bru foundries and large retail parks persistently selling the same wonky couch over and over again.

In a bustling and vibrant part of town, near to good communication links, shops, parks and the Atlantic Ocean but nobody wants to stay here. Airline pilots, sea-captains and taxi drivers should check it out right away. A bargain at a mere half a million Euros.

Santa Maria

2011-12-21T18:43:00.000Z

I was looking out of the window today and what should sail past other than an exact replica of the Santa Maria. Apparently they are on a wild journey of exploration, seeking new worlds, dolphins, turtles and that kind of thing. I fully support this venture but sadly will not be joining in, in fact I sat back, drank in the sunshine, ate a very tasty burger, swallowed a gin and tonic and then had a warm relaxing bath. We noble but lazy Scots no longer have same strong urge that drove our forefathers to step across the distant horizon into the great blue unknown. Having said that I'm likely to get a strong urge tomorrow to rent some sharp vehicle or other and head off into the hills looking for the local version of the witch's house from Hansel and Gretel which we can plunder design ideas from and so start yet another cultural revolution.

Estrada Monumental

2011-12-20T15:10:00.002Z

For some reason abandoned and neglected buildings currently appeal to me, particularly those that lie derelict and unloved close to main roads, busy businesses and nice hotels. They remain there in all their drab glory as a poignant reminder that not everything can work out all of the time and that selling tiny and elaborate cakes to tourists can be a cut throat profession.

At the higher end of the food chain exists the common or garden restaurant parrot. These enterprising birds seem to have seen off all the local and lesser skilled dogs, cats and even snails in the neighbourhood. Now they are employed as door guardians handing out vouchers and explaining that they have a brother who has a bigger boat than the other bloke with the (smaller) boat. Pedro and Joanne here have a combined age of 147 and a combined IQ of 198. They also taste like chicken.

Cliff Bay Daily Photo

2011-12-19T22:29:00.000Z

The actual cliff that has given it's name to this wonderful location, a few hours before the daily sub tropical storm and the flight of the sun beds. Use of hidden sun traps and a full continental breakfast with eggs and champagne is recommended.

Here's today's storm and a friendly rainbow chasing a fishing boat out into the Atlantic. The palm trees object but what can they do but bend over? Meanwhile we retire to the swimming pool, quaff cocktails, surf the web and read books about Groucho Marx.

All the island's garbage is trucked out to sea for deep and dirty dumping or if various conspiracy theories are true possibly exported to North Korea where this kind of thing is made very welcome as material support of a tiny part of a community based project designed to send a peaceful rocket to the folks in China. It also adds a robust and interesting flavour to locally caught tuna and swordfish.

This flight tonight

2011-12-19T14:02:00.001Z

Travel stereotypes, not often you getmost of them in one day or on one flight. First of all it was the bouncyblack dude, baseball cap, bling and an ipod with a nicely crackedscreen. He sits down right next to me in the aisle seat andimmediately I get a really awful whiff of mature body odour. Theusual thoughts pass across my mind but I decide to do nothing andjust reach for the air tab above my head and try to deflect thearoma. That doesn't work and I decide diplomatically to put up andshut up. Then along comes my heroic rescuer, a gangling chinlesswonder with a nine month old tot writhing like a just landed fish. Heexplains to black BO man that his wife and other kids are oppositeand can we swap seats. Black dude agrees and heads away down theplane and young dad and baby are now next to me, the writhing andsquirming carries on. We exchange pleasantries and eventually we becomeairborne.

We hit cruising altitude and theswarthy latin guy in front decides to invade my space, his greasy,oily hair having already been in my field of vision; he reclines hisseat all the way, the only person on this two hour flight to thinkthat might be a good idea. Then in a bold move his right arm appearsover the head rest and hangs in front of my eye line. What kind ofcontortionist sleeping method is this? He clearly bites his grubbyfinger nails. It is at this point that the next door baby decides tofollow through in his nappy whilst young dad is trying to share thesame seat with his six year old daughter who wants to join the party.I'm reading a book by now, a Groucho Marx biography and I start todrift into his shared claustrophobic New York memories, ten folks inan apartment, I know the feeling, when along comes the in flightmeal. Young dad is going to struggle with the bizarre hot nut,chicken and pasta combination on offer (and rice pudding, why do theybother?), it'll only end in tears. It does, then right on finalapproach the wee one nods off. I'm on double Karma points so far.

The next flight starts quietly (two todo today) though the passenger on our left appears a tad nervous andis twitching and ticking like a, dare I say it, bomb. Soon enough wefind out why. This final approach is a real epic experience, lots ofturbulence, the wheels touch and then we're up again, the engines are screaming and so are the passengers. Mr Nervouslaughs hysterically in that “I saw this coming and I'm not at all crazy" way, he gets moreanimated as we gain height and are buffeted by the elements onceagain. On my right a Mother Teresa lookalike is praying earnestly andthere is genuine disquiet in the cabin. The turbulence continues butthis time we land properly and applause and relief break outspontaneously. I've not heard that on an aircraft for years. I'mretiring today on triple KPs and the thought of a good stiff drink ina pub across the road from the hotel.

Wrong kind of heat

2011-12-17T20:36:00.006Z

Two strange things at Bewleys Hotel Manchester:

1. It isn't quite where it says it is on the map or in the micro chipped mind of the satnav world view we follow, we are her new disciples. It has moved, shifted, carried along by the entropy of the universe through traffic cones, roadworks and diversions to some other place. Like some mysterious floating island it appears and disappears, propelled though space and time by the moods of a frosty winter moon. You dive in when you can, when the spirits allow. Those others who disappoint them or fail in their quest wonder the broad lost roads forever or possibly enter a loop of eternal parking madness at the nearby Hilton where the barrier gives you a nasty bite.

2. Even in December Bewleys don't switch the room heating on, they are committed to green things on account of their marketable Irish origins. It is controlled by the hidden switch above a panel in the ceiling near the door, easily found if you are a spy or a cast member of Mission Impossible, they always jump into these places to place bugs and secret cameras. The bus driver explained it all after the receptionist tipped him off about how best to fix it after she'd asked the head waiter. It pays to investigate all active areas.

By way of non-strange things the steak and chips is very nice and the broadband is neat.

Christopher Hitchens RIP

2011-12-16T22:18:00.004Z

"I have one consistency, which is [being] against the totalitarian - on the left and on the right. The totalitarian, to me, is the enemy - the one that's absolute, the one that wants control over the inside of your head, not just your actions and your taxes. And the origins of that are theocratic, obviously. The beginning of that is the idea that there is a supreme leader, or infallible pope, or a chief rabbi, or whatever, who can ventriloquise the divine and tell us what to do.

That has secular forms, with gurus and dictators, of course, but it's essentially the same. There have been some thinkers - Orwell is pre-eminent - who understood that, unfortunately, there is innate in humans a strong tendency to worship, to become abject. So we're not just fighting the dictators. We're criticising our fellow humans for trying to short-cut, to make their lives simpler, by surrendering and saying, "[If] you offer me bliss, of course I'm going to give up some of my mental freedom for that." We say it's a false bargain: you'll get nothing. You're a fool."

From the New Statesman, interview by Richard Dawkins

Abandoned Scotland

2011-12-15T21:03:00.006Z

What's not to like about a Facebook set of pages devoted to Scotland's abandoned buildings and industrial sites. The decay, devastation and the collapse of strong structures and buildings is strangely enticing and attractive. Perhaps it's the unforgiving climate, the relentless rain and the biting cold driving upwards from the earth itself coupled with historic failure and catastrophic economic shifts that render once profitable businesses suddenly sterile. Perhaps it's just that certain something I'd call "Funky Gloomy" that unspoken Scottish feeling that we seem to do so well.

My mind's a blank

2011-12-13T20:35:00.003Z

Today the weather on the west coast truly lived up to it's unenviable reputation. Awful. Rain like really heavy rain and a wind straight from the Roaring Forties revival. I was also ignominiously dumped over the edge of a highland single track road by a rather dignified looking lady in a formidable black Disco. She just stared straight ahead into the torrent, perhaps I was invisible. Nice when you can keep your 4x4 on the metal and dispatch lesser 2 wheel drives over cliff edges, a good and selfish piece of driving technique not to be found in the Highway Code I'll wager. Once I reached a proper road surface it was apparent that trees were collapsing and witches were flying across the Kansas sky as I was temporarily blinded by flying spray and debris. None of that could stop me, I remained determined to get home for my roll-mop herring and toast - and I did.

mrneilforsyth Neil Forsyth

Game Fucking Over “@Johnbarclay1 A flask of Nescafe with Debbie Harry at Dalgety Bay Recycling Centre (in the TV and audio container)”

Above: I won the (non) prize for best creative Tweet later in the evening (fueled by the herring of course). I doubt that it'll translate into a proper follower bonanza though.

Success

2011-12-12T22:07:00.002Z

Success is not burning the oven chips, getting through on amber light without being caught, sending a text with no bars, tuning a ukulele by ear, shaving in the shower with no cuts, £10 win on a lottery ticket, a day spent doing what you like, making a good cottage pie, a lie in without a headache, warm sea water on your toes when nobody else is in the water, Amazon gifts arriving before the deadline, starting a petrol lawn mower first time, timing a digital camera shot, catching a cat destined for the cattery, Sky Plus working, having a steady metabolism, a garbled phone call from grand kids, a download sale on iTunes, remembering the correct PIN, being happy most of the time.

It's all out there somewhere.

Forth Bridge v Ry Cooder

2011-12-11T18:39:00.003Z

Doing my usual daily trundle across the road bridge it was nice to see the rail bridge now clear of scaffolding and canvas and looking more like it does on this note; 10 years in the making and apparently 20 years before it'll need done again. A bit of a bummer for the faithful painters though, paid off just before Christmas and no new work till 2031.

I did a shed load of ironing later in the afternoon accompanied by a recorded OGWT Californian edition from long ago, The Byrds, Little Feat, Poco and some remarkable mandolin playing from Ry Cooder. I've never seen anybody attack a mandolin the way he does, what a blistering performance and remarkable pinkie use (?) on the lower strings. A rare old master class. Note to self; forget about taking up the mandolin, it's been done already far better than I ever could in my wildest coma.

Sainsburys Cludgie Crisis

2011-12-10T18:08:00.010Z

(Stock photo nicked from somewhere - I didn't actually visit any of these troubled cubicles)

It's every young and pimply store manager's nightmare, the busiest shopping day in world history, crowds of frantic shoppers bamboozled by their Christmas purchasing choices and what happens? All the loos fail, upstairs, downstairs, in the cafe and in my lady's chamber. Puzzled tweed wearing pensioners, tweens and yummy mummys stare in disbelief at the neatly typed notices - all those pots of tea, cold Cokes and warm lattes have to end up somewhere but for today it wont be into the Sainsbury's drainage system at Edinburgh's Craigleith retail outlet. A stores spokesman said later "it was the wrong kind of shit." I think I know what he means.

Thankfully my visit to this newly developed flagship store was short, sweet and without any need for a toilet break. The shopping experience being from a bizarrely deconstructed half remembered list; toys from my pals at the "Merchants of Death" (whom I'm bound to support, we must fill that black hole because that dunderhead Osborne wont), 2 x Vanilla Yops, a three foot long French stick, a packet of baby-grows, Trebor strong mints and a gift voucher for some rival high street emporium.

Today it snowed, that seemed to bring out some of the more extreme lunatic driving styles in the capital; an angry young man in a Focus who was wheel spinning for no obvious reason (I fully expect that he ended up on his roof somewhere later in the day), a puzzled SEAT driver with no spacial awareness and a SAAB estate that was lane changing in a rather erratic manner, oh and the Mini with an exhaust that seemed to be held on by elastic bands. All that was in the space of five minutes heading north on the A90. Nothing unusual there then.

Stormy Thursday Blues

2011-12-09T17:40:00.003Z

Today I got my watch cleaned, pressurised and fitted with a new battery, all for £9.95. The genial salesman/watch fitter assured me that it is certificated to work at 100m pressure, presumably at that depth of water. I take great comfort from this fact, the next time I'm 100m deep in water I'll know that my watch is showing the correct time. Science is indeed a wonderful thing. (That's a red pepper in the background for some reason.)

Yesterday it got a bit stormy and a general panic ensued. Supermarkets quickly sold out of Milanda, fire lighters, Red Bull and Elastoplast. The siege mentality took hold as members of the public fought over Pot Noodles and Scratchcards and numerous car parking bumps took place as people forgot the basic skills of looking out of your window and switching on the rear screen heater. Then a strange silence descended as everybody, faithful to the orders of Nicola Sturgeon and fearful of some awful unspoken consequences stayed at home and watched Come Dine With Me and reruns of Scrubs. Meanwhile I explored the deserted black heart of Central Scotland and did a little Christmas shopping. When daylight eventually broke and the dragon stopped eating the sun I could clearly see that our stalwart fence had fallen over once again. Humph!

Tasteful Sepia shot of battered bird feeders (can somebody please help the battered birds!) and there in the background the remnants of the Great Caledonian Pine Forrest now decimated by the devilish works of Hurricane Bawbag. The Wrath of God has descended upon you says the Daily Mail but you just don't know it yet.

Lurgy strikes

2011-12-07T22:03:00.002Z

Irrelevant but thought provoking picture and another book I started but failed to finish. It laughs at me and mocks me from the depths of a crowded Billy shelf. I ignore it's smug taunts and watch the telly or fiddle about on Twitter. This is my fate, tormented by those untouched books, periodicals, foreign language tutorials, plays and poetry works for the rest of my life. At least I can cook and strum a guitar.

Our higher thoughts have been laid low, soup is our staple diet, the heating is on high and the dress code is jammies and dressing gowns. The seasonal sniffle syndrome has struck and my crown (that's a false tooth thing) is rattling like a loose marble in a bucket. It will surely pass and I am prone to occasional exaggeration.

A collapse of nature and other things

2011-12-06T21:22:00.003Z

"Another of Fife's post industrial installation pieces returns back to nature with dignity." Say's Daily Mail reader Mr Preston Pans from Prestonpans.

I’ve nothing against Martin Boyce and it’s nice for a lowly Scot to win the Turnip Prize but it’s hard to look at his material and not have an overwhelming sense of Emperor’s New Clothes Syndrome running riot once again. His MDF and plywood inspired installations look like bedside IKEA ideas gone wrong due to reading the assembly instructions in a darkened room, and then dumped into a skip. OK I’m a Philistine and a dullard but if a 2.2 degree from Glasgow School of Art gets you the Turnip award and the applause and respect of your peers fair enough. He must be the best of the bunch.

In the cold light of an old light I’m so bitter and twisted that installations based on piano carcasses seen as dead buffalos do nothing for me, I blame my education: A worthy B+ in progressive rock, a credible B in pretentious High School Art watercolour, a C+ in Bazooka Joe Comics, a D in joint rolling and 10 consecutive Navy Days visits, clearly it was never going to work out happily for me. Meanwhile peppered across recent history and Western Europe frustrated geniuses and other oily fingered artists must be either spinning in their graves or eating their worn out shoes in grey garrets somewhere above the Paris/Partick skylines. It's all so predictable, now if he'd burned the £25k prize in a sports bag on some remote beach, that would be art...

Sergei

2011-12-05T20:04:00.003Z

This is the new protocol, fabric creatures, fresh from irritating insurance commercials arrive in our house and rule, or at least try. Potentially as clever as crows yet poorly sighted and seemingly unable to tie a tie knot not at all. They quite like the aroma of haggis pizza, Bonjela and Seven Up & Beechams. Outside it's turned bloody cold for the time of year and our windscreens are a whiter shade of ice blue. I just want to hibernate but not in a way that might cause me to ingest my own urine as happens to the Russian Black Bear. Sergei explained it all to me in one of his more lucid and less stuffed moments. His journey here was quite eventful I understand.

Meanwhile just knocking up a quick Christmas story for the kids; the Adventures of the Lonely Little Christmas Tree of Abercorn.

Seasonal shift

2011-12-04T15:13:00.002Z

The first snows, the first ice, the first scrambled egg and salmon, the first Christmas decorations. This year's (early) theme being, well obviously early but low key and understated, perhaps sophisticated in a more grown up and economical manner than our previous attempts. We still celebrate but we reflect the more sombre times and the various difficulties that seize the globe. We're also still a bit puzzled about what it is we are actuality celebrating so the Christmas tree may be replaced by a totem pole, if we can get a decent and believable one from Dobbies.

This West Lothian, taken this afternoon from the moon, just as she stepped up and peered gingerly Southwards over the horizon wondering what exactly we might have for tea. Poor, confused, conflicted Mrs Moon.

Marmalade Porridge

2011-12-03T15:35:00.002Z

A slow news day today so I'm reverting to food related posts based on the premise that marmalade when added to anything, be it sweet or savoury, enhances the flavour of the original item. You get the idea, here's marmalade porridge.

Good banking experience

2011-12-02T18:11:00.002Z

Detail from the newly refurbished Scottish National Portrait and Potted Meat Gallery in our fair but occasionally drizzly tram bashed capital city. Photo courtesy Mr A Leggatt.

Lloyds TSB, prepare for once not to be bashed. I was in a branch today in the Garden City and was pleasantly surprised by the swift and very helpful support I received from the bank staff. My query was resolved in a few moments, the end result was far better than I might have expected and nobody tried to sell me any unwanted banking products. I walked out of the premises with a spring in my step and a twinkle in my eye; no that final part didn't happen but but one day it might. Perhaps today it's been an as good as it gets type of day, little things falling into place rather than out of place or not happening at all. Perhaps I'm imagining this as I slowly slide into bewilderment. Doesn't matter really.

We'd be happier in space

2011-12-01T18:29:00.009Z

Some folks think that space travel, eugenics and meteorology if pursued to extremes and if applied and installed in the lives of all people will lead to a happy and stable society. They say that true completeness will be the end result. It will of course not be fettered down by Earth's gravity, it'll be elsewhere, set up in grand style on the edges of the cosmos in shiny steel and tinfoil and food will be dispensed from toothpaste tubes. I doubt it.

Meanwhile, a view from the Guardian newspaper on yesterday's day of action:

"Pro-privatisation zealots will claim that allowing private corporations to provide services hitherto offered by the state will enhance "choice" and lead to a better deal for the consumer. But having seen what happened to our railways and to our gas, electricity and water companies when they were privatised - do we really want to see our health service, customs and immigration agencies and our state-schools go the same way? Of course not. Which is why private sector workers ought to be putting to one side their envy over public sector pensions, and supporting Wednesday's industrial action. It's not so much that the Government's changes are inherently bad, it's the motivation which lies behind them that makes them so objectionable." Well said young man.

Actually I don't really care

2011-11-30T21:19:00.002Z

We're burning peat, brown and green chunks of ancient earth that burns and glows and quickly turns to ash and smells good. Warmth from the cold bogs and marshes and pastures, drilled out of the ground and packaged for popular consumption.

Today there were strikes and disputes, rallies and arguments against a broken, headstrong and corrupt government that's not interested in listening. They have their own way and they will have their way and by the time their life is over we'll all have been robbed of rights, pensions, savings, investments and health care. So that's it but the tall trees are marked up, ready for the chop, you'll see the signs, you can distinguish the marks, as you walk past, take a good look, stop and reflect. The tall trees will be cut down, just wait and see. The good thing is there's a lot of material in there for songwriting.

Can we get a dog to match this cat food?

2011-11-29T22:30:00.003Z

Probably not, we could get dog to eat it if it had some spare time. Would it be a totally unrealistic vanity project to have a dog that matched a cat? A fur coat that matched a fur car? A tin of pale rice pudding that matched a cream enameled achette? A cheap whisky that matched a cut glass? An orange air hostess that matched an orange aircraft? A mathematical formula that matched a blackboard? A mathematical formula that matched neighbouring graffiti but meant less? That's far enough.

Where did the eternal blue sky and your long hair go?

Caveman Artwork

2011-11-28T21:11:00.003Z

Walking in the woods I came across these primitive artworks mostly consisting of painted frames with little or no detail other than blurred images. It proves that frames predate pictures. I'd never thought of that. The textures in the bare and ancient walls are nicely featured. Who knows when or by whom these early works were undertaken? I guess that many long years must have passed, unpredictable Scottish weather systems have faded them but these strong artistic statements remain, undiscovered by those in the know, hidden in the wilds like an ancient treasure.

Who were the mysterious woodsmen who crafted these fine and sensitive works?

Giant Profiteroles

2011-11-27T16:32:00.003Z

Amongst the items that are available at South Queensferry's Hawes Inn restaurant are, as you might or might not expect, "giant profiteroles". The term giant is of course quite enticing to a certain class of diner; the curious, the skeptical, the idealist, the dreamer and the greedy. I appear to me all of those things, as well as pretty gullible. Much as they were enjoyable, the term "giant" when applied to any food and to these profiteroles in particular brings with it a certain amount of word debasement and inevitable disappointment. I was full and satisfied by this point anyway. If 4 inches is giant then there is hope for us all.

This weekend we've been burning peat from Peterhead, bought at a geriatric friendly cafe on the A90 near Brechin. The mild highland aroma hasn't quite altered my consciousness but it masks the earthy smells of November leaving behind a rich trace of familiar but far away wild lands and their histories in the blue smoke and fierce heat. The Picts and Vikings knew a thing or two. I wonder if it's edible if prepared properly?

Our house is turning into a vacuum cleaner graveyard. Nothing that's mechanical lasts long here, they burn brightly, make a bit of a foul smell as they fail and then die quietly. They await Valhalla in the cupboard under the stairs beside assorted boxes. Pet hairs, fluff on steroids and general user abuse get equal amounts of blame for their untimely demise. Pushed to my limit and fed up with snapped Vax drive belts I tried some necromancy on them today using a mix of thrusting broom handles, twisted coat hanger gropers and high pressure water spays. Large plugs of both wet and dry colourful gunge emerged from pipes, tubes and nozzles, it was immensely satisfying as an exercise but has probably not made any real difference. This place is the Hoover Bermuda Triangle, they come here, suck up for a while and then disappear leaving no trace of their brief spiralling orbits.

3 things fixed, 2 things not

2011-11-25T16:43:00.006Z

It's not free for download yet but it will be once we get bored with rolling in the money - pay for it while you still can.

I've already carried out running repairs to two hoovers, one telescope and some microwave porridge and it's only 16:00. The common broken belt and blocked filter problem. I'm strangely gifted as an appliance victim and also as an appliance doctor albeit unqualified. I have less good fortune when it comes to filling station air pumps, today saw two serious fails at both Tesco and Shell in the pouring rain. You put your money in the slot but no air comes out and what does the poorly paid customer representative say? "If you want to get your money back then you'll have to call customer services in Aldershot or somewhere". That's a fine attitude, they can't even give you a lousy 50p from the till when their machine breaks. I just smiled and took my usual Karma points instead and tried the low tech but working pump along at Murco.

Your fish is on fire

2011-11-24T21:51:00.003Z

That's exactly what happens if you overdo the quick salmon grilling snack exercise. Best to stick to the more benign and neutral mac and cheese combo in my simple view. Soon of course we will celebrate Christmas, the seasonal habit and uncomfortable obsession that none of us can break. I like the nice passive aggressive take on decorations shown above, might try this later. If I was watching TV I'd watch Rev on Beeb 2 and not find it as funny as it should be, if I was eating a biscuit I'd eat an Naked Apple Pie and if I was having a drink it'd be an alcoholic surprise. If I was cleaning up I'd be searching for a dead mouse, by smell alone. Nothing is real apparently.

Watching the wall

2011-11-23T19:30:00.003Z

Tired of watching those bizarre artifacts and still life pieces hanging on your parlour wall? So was I until I stumbled upon Sky 523 Discovery-Turbo. Now I can relax, iron shirts, poke the fire, make cheesy pasta, sip Nescafe 3 in 1 and lose myself in various regularly repeated petrolhead themed programmes (and it avoids the clamour, contact and confusion of Facebook and Twitter). Sorted for at least 3 hours or until my span of attention droops.

92.25.203.# (Opal Telecom)

2011-11-22T17:39:00.003Z

Of course there are many nice people out there in the world, possibly more than you think (99%?), enjoying what life brings, having a good day, perhaps using their right to free speech, just noodling, dancing on the beach maybe, doing whatever, then along comes somebody...

Kayak to Kinnarodden

2011-11-21T19:20:00.001Z

All the important locations in Europe in a single map. It's great to have a stupid, unrealistic, eccentric, irrational and expensive travel plan that can be slowly built up and then picked apart and undermined in every tiny detail. These are the kind of wild and woolly thinking processes that made this country everything that it is today. Roll on 2015ish.

Speaking of our great nation and it's possible role in a revamped Europe I was disappointed but hardly surprised to hear that a lottery winning Scottish couple have donated £1m of their vast unearned fortune to the SNP in order that it may be pissed up against random pub walls by some of our less visionary home grown politicians. We will probably have forgotten this mindless act of self indulgence come the revolution so they're safe enough. Anyone hoping to have their daft ideas financed need look no further, their mail box will be overwhelmed by an avalanche of ridiculous Caledonian proposals.

A Porsche 911 called Dignity

2011-11-20T19:21:00.003Z

The local cat police were out last night and apprehended this little fellow in a nearby field, not quite sure what was going on, all we know is that this prime suspect said very little. His ginger accomplice, just visible in the distance (with max zoom) was a lot more vocal, we interviewed him later in a controlled environment, all he would say was, "honest, we were not up to no good officer but you need to talk to the badger". So we have two strange cats on a mission and on patrol around our manor and a crimeless victim, tension is building and feelings are running high. Clearly we need more moon juice.

Changing animals for a moment I saw a man out walking a small dog, "that's not much of a dog" I thought. Then I thought, "what is much of a dog?" I'm now on the look out; this type of thinking can apply to numerous other aspects of modern life i.e. that's not much of a TV show, that's not much of a portion of potted meat, that's not much of a political party, that's not much of a pop single, that's not much of a plan for the rest of your life. Try it yourself and see where it gets you.

I'd also like to quickly sing the praises of the green lentil, it may seem heretical you Scottish Soup fundamentalists but hear me out. Whatever made you think that ancient, spurious writings based on Middle Eastern mythologies were ever in any way applicable to Scotland or Northern Europe? I'll never know the answer but they got themselves bolted onto our lifestyle and have caused significant damage for about 1500 years - all relatively unchecked or challenged. In that time the great green lentil was tortured, suppressed and crushed but now it's ready to make a comeback. Gird your metabolisms for green lentils, pulse revolution, a brave new Christmas or whatever you call it, freedom awaits.

Radio Scotland: Playing music only fit to act as a soundtrack to the Highland Clearances and doing so since Marconi was a boy. Tune in today and hear the full accordion and fiddle based horror for yourself. 94.3 FM.

The garden and modern divorce

2011-11-19T13:16:00.006Z

The crisis that is global warming and in Scotland's case rampant global driechness has driven a wedge between me and our large and beautiful garden. We had neglected one another and were no longer on good speaking terms. I needed to reconnect, to get down, get dirty and once again appreciate my creaky and malformed horticultural relationships. After some intense counseling I was ready to venture out and (under close medical supervision) once again lie down, face down in the glistening morning dew. For me it was a vivid and character changing experience which moved me to my very soul. These photos reveal the results but the true life affirming effects are travelling onwards far away beyond the soft machine and over the bright and speckled clouds.

Some other reasons that may explain why I'm pissed off by the garden and in such tortured turmoil:

It's cold and miserable out there.

The fence keeps getting blown down.

The unmentionable tree chopping thing and the departure of the Ents.

A mouse ate its way through the HT lead on the strimmer.

Put a neutrino in your tank

2011-11-19T13:02:00.003Z

The finer points of modern physics are lost on me, I can just about understand the basic concepts of a tin opener or at a stretch Post Office elastic band catapult design principles. Despite my cerebral handicaps I could be a big fan of the tiny neutrino and it's impressive ability to quickly cross large parts of central Europe by avoiding all the major routes and simply going in a straight line at great speed. Of course my next natural reaction (good physics eh?) is to become a new neutrino denier, my mantra being "they aren't here nor are they anywhere so they must be nowhere" and simply believe that a single Neutrino, placed in any hot beverage will sweeten it nicely without giving you any additional or unwanted calories.

Impassive aggressive

2011-11-18T22:22:00.005Z

Spanish style chicken, peppers and chorizo washed down with a cheeky red, a technicolor blue and a fashionably pasteurised green. I think the colours of foodstuffs are very important. For a while (as my body worked hard and absorbed the rainbow of pure alcohol) I watched TV and laughed quite a few times at Modern Family, "I don't talk in my sleep, or walk in my sleep, I sleep clown". I like all of the cast, the script and the concept. Then there were the segments of the worthy but frankly dull Children in Need celeb stunt bits (all of which I support but...). The cause and the stories are brilliant but the "stars" let it down badly. I was hoping that some celebrity chefs would suffer a sponsored bull whipping whilst singing barbershop, a few gobby children's TV presenters would run the gauntlet with WW2 flamethrowers or that a coven of coalition MPs would offer to have their scrotums waxed Brazilian style, not tonight however. The donations I'm sure would have gone off the scale. That's the problem with mainstream TV, it knows it's limits and fails to even reach them by mostly avoiding to tackle them altogether. Maybe next year, I'm content to bide my time.

Books & Demons

2011-11-17T22:31:00.003Z

It was as if some occult hand had gone through every book, turned every page, checked every genre and then shaken the entire library violently. Some of the bright and randomly placed volumes were scattered in the process, some landed on the ground pages opened, others stayed upright like soldiers refusing to fall in battle. The sorting process continued in this way for some time. It was clear that a great mind was at work and that a higher, loftier purpose was being acted out. I was on the edge, a spectator, only hoping that by the end I'd be able to quickly put my finger on whatever publication I was looking for. “It's a big machine and it's working.”

During a lull in the maelstrom I was able to reflect on the act of reading itself, for me, an unfortunate cross between an illiterate, irreverent and a lazy being reading sometimes is unattractive. Bad eye sight and Poundland readers don't help either. I cannot imagine myself coming home thinking “I really must read some Robbie Burns” or “where is my copy of Ivanhoe?” or even “when can I find the time to browse a few more of Shakespeare’s sonnets?” Some people must think like that. I do like the odd biography, Sci-fi or even (the lighter) self help books, BBC news and the Sunday papers but that's not serious reading. When I was small I used to like reading the ingredients of tins or containers, I also liked knowing their volumes which for some reason I'd try to compare with car or motorcycle engine sizes, “so that's what 100cc looks like.”

So now we are organised and I feel a deep inner peace, the universe has moved and I have survived but this may not last, all feelings form up into some kind of circle. Once you know that life's not so bad: anticipation, expectancy, planning, delivery, pleasure, relaxation, guilt, remorse, self pity, inspiration, anticipation...etc. You're never much more than a few steps from a good bit and time and experience can make the negatives tolerable, at least for a short while.

All these smart books got to me, entering the grey matter and while I was sleeping I was visited by the demon Chorozon aka as “the demon of the abyss”. He seemed to know a thing or two about my internal psychological processes and offered a few bits of constructive advice as well as insights. Anyway he was telling me that as he is the last great obstacle between the adept and enlightenment, it would do me no harm to prepare to meet and challenge him so I can move beyond that great gulf and into the greater cosmos and so on to the fictitious universe of Douglas Adams or somewhere (I lost the thread as it was 3am, why don't demons come along when you're in a good mood and maybe just having lunch?), all useful stuff to know. His price seemed fair; £666 in twenties (rounded up) and a small amount of blood and reasonable but limited public humiliation, I'm considering my options.

One demon I'm not so keen on is Lilith, she's a Jewish or Hebrew demon. She looks like quite a nice woman with red hair but being a demon has no clothes on most of the time and has bird's feet for some reason. I thought she looked a bit creepy in an esoteric way but she did have a nice sounding voice. Not sure what her powers are but she got some bad press in the Bible it seems, that was about 5000BC. She also had a snake wrapped around her, writhing, flicking it's tongue and looking menacing. Not many blokes are going to go for that look. The birds feet were also a bit off putting, I can't imagine her in stilettos but at a pinch they might be ok in a nice stir fry; tasty as chicken?

Islam has a few demons as you might well imagine, they are called the jinn (they don't merit a capital letter of their own either, a bit mean). Apparently they roam about in the unseen or unknown bits of the world, they can see us but we can't see them, a bit like being on a bus I imagine. Anyway I don't think they are very happy, Islam isn't a religion known for tolerating outsiders so all the jinn are condemned as the “smokeless bits of fire” who presumably cant even get into a pub these days and soon wont be able to get in a car either. One thing to watch is that a jinn can enter into you (only the better ones do this) if Allah allows it. That fact does set up a number of questions about the nature of Allah but maybe it's best not to go there. Oh and they can also, when they are not being invisible smoke, take the form of black dogs and snakes (no particular snake colour noted there). Nobody really knows why they do this. Good to get your head round the finer points of the world's religions, where would we be without all this collected wisdom and useful advice?

Banana developments

2011-11-16T20:33:00.002Z

Breed a banana with an edible skin why don't you?

Moon over flame

2011-11-15T22:39:00.002Z

The early and unheralded arrival of the 2012 Olympic torch was recently celebrated round these parts. Sadly the usual high maintenance ViPs and hangers on missed this historic event as did the press and TV but we carried on and in our own slipshod Pagan way welcomed the eternal flame of outdoor sporting events and mass corruption to West Lothian. With no media frenzy to feed and as a result of my own rather absent minded behaviour I stupidly let it go out. In my defence it was quite a damp evening. If anyone is interested in taking this iconic piece of Greek history for a trot round the byways and more remote islands it's lying in the back garden. I've a box of Swan Vestas at the ready.

Pimp my Billy

2011-11-14T21:15:00.003Z

Some of the better things about random web browsing are the daft, practical and outrageous storage ideas that you find; as well as the nice old Alfa Romeos and Jaguars for sale. Much as I like this configuration (pictured) it might result in overheating and cable management issues - the usual home studio problems. I have however succeeded in sorting all of our CDs into handy piles in preparation for them being swallowed up in the vast vacant Billy expanse that stands before me. The piles are somewhat vague, based around shifting ownership, meaningless genres, dubious popularity and imagined world locations. Retrieving music from this morass will be tough so I'll just stick to playing Let it Bleed on Spotify.

Transcendental mediocrity

2011-11-13T22:01:00.005Z

Far far away, near and as close as your nasal fluff, all across the world and in this case Fife, wind farms are standing stock still, looking up at the moon, wondering what their place and purpose in the universe might be and what kind of muscular exercise regime might suit them best. Then it became clear, in a flash, in an instant. There is a tunnel at the end of the light. DO NOTHING.

The daily windmill

2011-11-13T17:00:00.004Z

We stayed a night or at least 16 hours in this lovely old hotel on the fringe of Aberdeen on Deeside, well known for the mis-ordering of words in English & Doric. Warm, comfy, with full health reviving spa facilities and long and winding corridors - also good for steak sandwiches and a solitary but near perfect poached egg on brown toast. In the baronial hall a modern wedding was taking place, the piper played the Star Wars theme as the happy couple checked out and drove off on their honeymoon in a Rover 213, that must count as a vintage car in these parts. We mingled with guests, photographers and would be crashers - I was tempted but I didn't take the bait. I was wearing grey M&S cords however.

Anyway after a few nicely coloured beers back in the city centre I slept like a West Lothian log/pig and awoke sane, relaxed and in my right mind for a change. Just to set the day on some kind of edge I pinched a carton of yogurt and a tea spoon from the breakfast tray. Some may wonder at this petty crime but I consider it fully justified on a) a time basis (it was 07:30 on a Sunday), b) there's some potential for a blockbuster film script there and c) sometimes I just feel like sticking it to the man (oh yeah!).

Beyond a joke: OK I've checked this Fife windmill 39 times and I've yet to see it move, perhaps I've misunderstood it's purpose, it may in fact be a simple Airfix life sized replica for training, aesthetic or research purposes. That sounds feasible to me. Research of all kinds is always welcome in Fife, I heard that from a respected health professional over a friendly beer the other day. It seems Fife has a worst health record than Glasgow for heart trouble, strokes, cancers and obesity, yes you can get it all here and it's worse than anywhere else in Europe. The media, the politicians and God don't want you slackers to know that, they like to hammer away on the masochistic West Side for some reason, maybe to keep them humble and afraid and in their place. The old Fife Diet (occasionally championed on these irrelevant pages) may need further development, I propose that we start by building a full scale model...

Please note: it takes two of those firelighters to light a fire, not just the one, meanie.

Let's not talk about testicular pain

2011-11-11T16:59:00.003Z

As an avid supporter of the many abstract and absurd things around here I was of course happy and in no way resentful, spiteful or conflicted on hearing of and seeing for myself the wondrous white structure that is Dunfermline's new windmilly thingy. It stands proudly erect in the back garden of some factory or other resolutely refusing to move but just the same looking as if it might. Well I've never seen it move and I've driven past it 35 times in the past few days, maybe it needs a bit of WD40. Again perhaps that is it's purpose, to stand there stiff against the West Wind like a true Fifer and stubbornly refuse to budge at least until it gets a bridie and toffee donut fae Stephens. I'm sure it'll prove to be a shrewd investment for it's no doubt currently disappointed owners but you know what they say; he who laughs last laughs longer because there is nothing much else to laugh about as everyone else has left the building and you're on your Jack Jones. Of course what I'd really like to see is a Dunfermline factory with a handy Korean built nuclear reactor pumping away down amongst the yellow skips and splintered pallets, that would be a massive leap forward.

Before glory goes humility

2011-11-10T21:28:00.003Z

I think that says it all. Aside from that this is a real life picture of one of Saturn's moons above Saturn's rings, way out there in space, in the distance. Probably a remarkable photo.

Bristol Daily Photo

2011-11-09T20:24:00.008Z

I was travelling yesterday and unusually for me wearing my big cowboy shoplifting jacket, the weather has turned you know. I decided to check the depth of the cavernous pockets whilst loitering in the airport waiting on a flight to Cardiff and just look at what fell out. I'm sure I have receipts for this stuff somewhere. Cardiff turned out to be dull so I moved on quickly.

Eventually I made it to Bristol where large mirror balls are used as fire escapes. I'm not quite sure why, it may well help the emergency services in some way or it could be the architects were just having a laugh. They like to have their little jokes and you won't know about them or recognise them as you are not in their secret circle.

At night they switch on special lights that turn ugly buildings into ugly lighted up buildings. On the right is the IBIS hotel, the rooms reminded me of submarine (U Boat to be precise) accommodation, the shower is a large oil drum hollowed out and the tiny white beds are from a Romanian day care centre. You can pee anywhere in the bathroom area and not miss the drain (I can't really elaborate on that), quite an achievement in room planning and people management; nice to see many diverse needs being met in peculiar ways by facility layout. Breakfast was Actimel, Marmite, a large West Country sausage and really hot coffee, all for £67. Bristol I love you and I shall return and wake up in good time this time.

Logged off

2011-11-07T20:24:00.002Z

And lo, I destroyed 6 IKEA Billys (well gave them away) and in three days (lo) I raised them up again, as if from the dead (and in a nice ash finish c/w doors) and then my dear wife stuffed the four wise IKEA Billys full of books, jungle drums, miscellaneous Chinese pamphlets and precious stones and (lo) peace and tranquility came upon our land. Now I'm thinking about another kind of woodwork project that I may well undertake.

In other news a large asteroid is passing over our heads right now enroute to the Planet of Dinosaur Monkeys from the Future, watch out:

alisongraham Ali Graham

Asteroid #Yu55 on course for close encounter with Earthgu.com/p/336p7/tw via @guardian - but everything will be ok, they say.

The sun up close

2011-11-06T20:51:00.002Z

This is what the sun's Facebook profile picture would look like assuming the sun was a person and was at all bothered about being on something as flip, vacuous and self indulgent (but useful for staying connected) as Facebook. I'd be friends with him/her inasmuch as I see him/her everyday and often get blinded by him/her when driving. Generally we don't converse all that much or exchange ideas though. Taking a slightly different view I owe the sun quite a bit; existence, life, sustenance and so on. I'd probably like his/her profile and most of things he/she does. I'd imagine that the sun would be a bit conflicted about the whole Facebook thing but would persevere with it anyway, just to see what happens, that's the dilemma of opting into any kind of social networking circuit. You can log off any time you like but you can never leave. Of course in some cultures the sun is seen as a god, that might cause a few problems in terms of friendships and passing idle or silly comments. Beware the wrath of the sun and other heavenly bodies.

Images with not much text

2011-11-05T20:25:00.009Z

The crowds gather for the 2011 Hopetoun House fireworks extravaganza. The fireworks and the weather were very good indeed. Not so sure about the Real Radio disco - awful. After the show the traffic cleared surprisingly quickly, the dark skies and the November silence returned bringing a warm peace that enveloped the evening.

Earlier in the day; a busy morning.

Last night, 10 years of OOTB was celebrated at the Cabaret Voltaire. A super-group Confushion line up lines up for an epic performance.

Whyte & Mackay.

Some kind of elaborate finale with a cast of thousands, a fair bit of chaos, many laughs, a double bass and not a lot of the singing carried out exactly in tune, but that's the beauty of live and original music.

Incontinence: is it all in the mind?

2011-11-04T14:34:00.003Z

You may have noticed that I often choose to use daft post titles, all in the hope of attracting odd google results, it's surprising how well it actually works. Indeed for every hit this blog gets I receive virtual credits towards the virtual Jaguar of my choosing and multiple bonus Karma points.

Far away in the distance we heard the sounds of throbbing machines and buzzing chain saws. Then in scenes reminiscent of Bambi's climax (?) and the first chapter of Watership Down, hundreds of tiny animals ran past chattering and squealing and recounting tales of horror and home wrecking. The (very) birds of the air took to the (very) sky and buggered off somewhere else as this thunderous forestry apocalypse took place before our (very) eyes. In a mere matter of days all the tall trees were cut, the ground was cleared and a scorched earth policy undertaken and enacted (not as good as a Scotch Egg Policy). Fair enough, now the twin cities of Cumbernauld, Cartagena and Cairo will receive fine gifts of real Christmas trees and bundles of pungent Yule logs thanks to the generosity of the people of Scotland and our top quality rain. As for us, we now get 9.5% more sunlight, 14% more infestation and a nice pine smell in the upstairs bathroom. Win, win, win.

Here some of those Invisible Helper folks playing guitars and stuff.

A difficult year

2011-11-03T21:28:00.002Z

Clearly it has been a difficult year for some, but exceptionally not so for us; we've had a bumper crop of streams and downloads for impossible songs and we would like to thank all those good people who allowed us into their lives, hard drives and at great expense their ipods. We salute you and would like to remind that if you'd just taken the trouble to click somewhere else possibly to the right of where you are just now you'd have gotten the same stuff for free. That's rampant capitalism for you.

OOTB was celebrated at the Voodoo Rooms last night. Some good music played and displayed - Jill Hepburn shone on the voice and banjo and NL & the Invisible Helpers were superb. Thank you Jim Igoe, an MBE for services to music should be plummeting through your letterbox if this was a just and fair world.

One more cup of coffee

2011-11-02T18:41:00.003Z

This small cup of coffee is in fact actual size, one of those tiny, expensive ones that you get in places that serve such things. They go by some Italian name that is used to embarrass customers and encourage mispronunciation and bad attempts at European accents. At my age the challenge of getting my tongue around any complex word is a worthwhile exercise in brain stimulation and little drop of coffee seldom has the powerful diuretic effect of a large soup bowl type of mug.

Tonight marks another event in honour of OOTB's tenth birthday celebrations, but can it be ten long years? Well yes it can and I missed the first two years anyway but there is a lot to look back over and dare I say a lot to look forward to.

In between furniture moment

2011-11-01T19:52:00.002Z

We're in between furniture at the moment. No comfy couches or Billys, no shelving or TV stand. The overall effect is to make the house appear strangely more spacious and dare I say it cleaner looking, if a little less comfortable. It's good to get out of that comfort zone thing, well just for a few days. On Friday new stuff arrives and we'll lounge around and snooze in front of well housed TV once more - for the few hours a week we're home that is.

Potential Energy of Collapse

2011-10-31T18:00:00.007Z

By way of a brief explanation: The "potential energy of collapse" describes the terrifying potential of the pieces made up by Scotsman Aeneas Wilder at the YSP (Yorkshire Sculpture Park) and across the known world. As a self confessed sculpture turd I am way impressed by these fantastic creations. No glue, no nails, no joints, just wood and space (+faith, patience and a steady hand).

Standing close by to Wilder's works is a strange and frightening experience. But then not as strange and frighting as walking across 2km of Yorkshire cow pasture to actually gain entry to the exhibition - that's how they do things in these parts.

The event ends on the 3rd of this month with an unceremonious kick down which I'd have loved to have seen but there are very obvious space restrictions for these events; health, safety and sanity also play a part I guess. I believe you can view a video of the collapse on the YSP web site after the day and of course if you google Aeneas Wilder there's a whole lot more.

The YSP is a great, rusting scrapyard of a place, messy and inconsistent, set in a stately home's untended grounds, where bizarre and oddly formed artistic pieces hide behind trees and bushes or roll across fields whilst set firmly in Somme like mud, not all of it my cup of Bovril either. I don't quite know what they were thinking when it was set up but it is worth a visit, particularly if you want to exercise your dog and like to stare at things.

Ninja cyclists of the Peak District

2011-10-30T21:32:00.003Z

Even when going away just for a few hours or over night plans have to be made and preparations done to ensure that the cats enjoy a normal standard of living. On our return we saw that indeed they had not starved nor had they consumed much from the Saturday feast. maybe they ate out.

Our long drive to Manchester started badly, a burst tyre on the M9. We think it was the M9 but it could've been a number of other roads. When these things happen on cross cutting motorways it's pretty hard to tell where you are and we failed. However the bloke from the AA seemed to know and thankfully got us out of an awkward predicament.

Eventually we made to the winding open roads of the Peak District, each one clogged with mad cyclists clad in black and covered in mud. Presumably townies out for their own kind of dirty weekend; slogging up hill and down dale and blocking up moving traffic. It's an interesting place, mild, stony and with good family connections made, highly enjoyable. I'm pretty tired now having just driven back, so more about the peaks and YSP tomorrow.

Deacon Blues

2011-10-28T21:49:00.001+01:00

At times its good to sing a song to yourself just to get the lyrical pleasure from the words. Steely Dan's “Deacon Blues” works for me and better than best today I learned why they call Alabama the Crimson Tide. It's nothing to do with racial tension, shoot outs or a bloodbath following the call up of the National Guard. It's just American football and an auburn coloured mudslide and a victory that took place some hundred years ago. I wonder if Deacon Blue ever considered writing a song called Steely Dan?

“I'll learn to work the saxophone, I'll play just what I feel, drink Scotch whisky all night long and die behind the wheel. They got a name for the winners in the world, I want a name when I lose. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide, call me Deacon Blues.”

And so it came to pass that sensual and heady mix of deep heather honey and crisp breakfast biscuits carried me away upon a perfect cloud of clear thought and reasoning to place where I could contemplate and create the mantra and manifesto that is set to become the centrepiece of the way ahead for the New Pragmatists. God bless them and all who sail and put their shaky faith in them. I need to learn to touch type and dictate simultaneously so that the rapid flow of ideas and concepts can be fully captured and none of the detail or nuances are lost. That's what usually happens and it all ends as a screw up despite all the good intentions unless the latent power of the lentils prevail. All indicators hint at this being an accurate indication.

10 years gone

2011-10-27T22:34:00.002+01:00

Odd to think that this peculiar and influential film has been on the go and building it's cult and bizarre following for 10 years. As they say "time will crawl."

Songwriting thoughts

2011-10-27T19:10:00.006+01:00

Tea was...an elaborate menage of boiled up lentils, herbs and spices and the eggs of three hens.

After I'd absorbed their greenish orange yellow white goodness I got to thinking, "whatever doesn't kill you may still give you a nasty cut and that irritating and slow to heal cut may well prevent you playing a musical instrument or using hand tools." Beware. Then I thought about the biscuits and the cleaning lady and thought "she'll know that those are yesterday's biscuits and no mistake," but what can I do about it? Then in another piece of lateral brain maneuvering I thought about songwriting and came across this. Then I ate some M&S walnut whips.

Ancient ritual games

2011-10-26T21:35:00.002+01:00

A century of ancient ritual games but who's counting?

Rather than watch this I'm watching the one millionth rerun of the Blues Brothers on ITV4 in HD, must be a slow Wednesday evening. I should really be writing songs, making daal or at the very least practising on my Algerian nose flute. I blame the persistent evil of the dram, the fine and spiky taste of Stilton and the black black open sky spinning high above my lazy head.

Earlier in the evening I went to my daughter's art exhibition in the Queendom of Fife; superb of course and here and there there were strawberries, M&Ms and cocktail sausages. Things have changed a lot in the forty years since I attended that type of full time education. Just as well.

No country for middle-aged balding men

2011-10-24T22:49:00.006+01:00

After a two week absence Squawkie the frog returned home today. For some reason he chose to take an early morning dip in the cat's drinking water, not something I'd recommend but I'm not familiar with frog customs or their rehydration habits. The cats ignored this new source of protein in their dining area and carried on sleeping, yawning and targeting passing insects as is their custom. After a short period of observation and reflection I decided to release him back into the wild; it was quite a charged and emotional moment for us both. With a steady hand I carried him, still in the cat dish back to the great outdoors. I then placed the dish carefully into the mysterious realm of plants, slugs and sprouting weeds that exists by the back door. I whispered a few well chosen words and then left him alone in the dish, set to explore this strange new country, all at his own pace. At moments like this it is important to maintain a little dignity, vital in fact for all the parties involved. Over in the east the sun was rising and it was about time I changed out of my pyjamas and gave my teeth a good brushing and my hands a good washing. So I did.

P.S. Here's a piece all about frogs that we made up earlier.

Still life with Billys

2011-10-24T19:10:00.002+01:00

The end on an era looms, the Billy Mk1 has had it's day around here and is being retired to the green green pastures of Midlothian. Meanwhile we will host the Mk2 Billy resurgence here in our stately library and move from the clinical but useful white to the warm and smooth ash finish. I for one salute our new Nordic masters in shelving enterprise and look forward to the mighty sorting spree, cataloguing and recycling extravaganza that awaits. Having said the ground rules have yet to be established so I've no way of knowing what items (books, CDs, solar chargers and Rosetta Stones) will stay and what will go (and what will be added).

The new pragmatics

2011-10-23T20:08:00.003+01:00

Is it a) Casper the Friendly Ghost, b) the sky over West Lothian at night, c) wine stain on carpet, d) an infra red shot in the dark or e) the last ever sample of raspberry Cremola Foam crystals? Answers on a postcard please.

So it's been a busy weekend made up of lots of family stuff, some socialising and lavish meals, taxi driving across Fife, Billy preparation works and Sunday football. The football was tough, a two hour cup tie game, 3 - 3 after extra time and then into penalty kicks. We won on the last kick taken by my youngest, a moment of tension and pleasure to savour. On the way back from Perth I decided he needed some protein so we stopped at Burger King at Kinross and refueled. In the toilets above each urinal is an advert for Lloyds Pharmacies offering help for erectile dysfunction, premature ejaculation and baldness, gets right to the spot placed there. I'd no idea Lloyds sold their magic potions on line. I'll maybe explore their other offers, maybe not. It's a shame you cant even take a pee with somebody trying to sell you something.

Meanwhile I'm forming a new political party, the New Pragmatics, I like the word pragmatic , this what it means:

1. Dealing or concerned with facts or actual occurrences; practical.

2. Philosophy Of or relating to pragmatism.

3. Relating to or being the study of cause and effect in historical or political events with emphasis on the practical lessons to be learned from them.

What the New Pragmatics might mean in political terms I'm not sure but it could be quite revolutionary - dealing with facts and actual occurrences and learning lessons from history and applying them. It could work. I'm working on the manifesto.

We can change...

2011-10-21T21:44:00.001+01:00

...bits of the world, a step at a time but you might have to be patient with us.

What will £500 buy?

2011-10-21T19:25:00.004+01:00

There's a lot of trouble out there and there are few easy answers, if any. One might well be to retire into fantasy and just stay there. Movements from the people and of the people are pretty hard to stop. If good people are intent on changing the world for the best is it right to try to stop them?

Yesterday was my birthday, every year I have one, I've heard that this also happens to some other people. Anyway I like my birthday and I'm not embarrassed about it nor in any kind of birthday denial - some people get badly affected by this. So another year, another few milestones and I've actually come to terms with my own mortality and gone out onto the (wide open spaces, beaches and deserts) of the internet and purchased something known as life insurance, my own personal ticket to Valhalla. I can only speculate as to how it will be spent; a space funeral or maybe I'll be placed in a bottle and cast adrift in the Indian Ocean or my lumpy ashes will be mixed into the concrete of a motorway flyover or the new Forth Road Bridge. What will £500 buy in 2030? I'm also in line for a free meerkat.

Edinburgh Daily Photo #99.5

2011-10-19T21:02:00.002+01:00

Some people (like me) get a perverse pleasure from avoiding the use of travellators, escalators and lifts. In the odd and self inflicted one horse race you create for yourself you can occasionally win and thereby enjoy a brief moment of stupid superiority over fellow travellers. The venue? There are many but the airport that lies a simple tram journey from the Heart of Midlothian in Edinburgh is a good place to try this, some of the ideal locations for these indoor sports are:

a) Short stay car park, race top to bottom and beat the two squeaky lifts, it can be done going down, tough going upstairs though.

b) Travellator in the East Terminal (the one that goes past the stupid big wall photos and irritating quotes), almost impossible, no running allowed.

c) Exit escalator. This one is easy-peasy, great for beginners, only one go per flight so don't mess up.

You can do it at the airport and many other places, but not in John Lewis.

Bucket list eggs

2011-10-18T18:34:00.004+01:00

Things to do when your over 50 and unsure where exactly your true talents lie: It's something of a dexterity challenge, piano players, puppeteers and guitarists should try it. Wrapping up eggs in sausage meat, dipping them in beaten eggs and then coating them with bread crumbs, six times over. Like putting a jacket on a kitten or peeling apples up a stepladder as they're still attached to the tree. A ready supply of hot water is required and remove any wedding rings or superfluous or ridiculous clothing.

Once you've created the eggy spheres cook them in oven or something similar, (don't go away and mess around on the web and forget about them like I did, they need 25 minutes not 45).

No Photoshopping here, these are the real McCoy, ready to be test driven as an early part of my new fast food franchise; McScotch Eggs. There's a branch opening near you sometime towards the end of the decade, don't be late. (Haven't eaten any yet, I got distracted by Nutella (one t two ls) Lawson once again and I'm not really all that hungry, damn you bucket list.)

Edinburgh Daily Photo #99

2011-10-17T21:12:00.003+01:00

A barren and embattled Princess Street, tram reworks for the second time, fixing the badly finished first phase of snagged engineering errors. Rain has of course stopped play for the day. On the left shops sit empty or vacant, the trading heart long since transplanted elsewhere onto out of town retail parks with easy parking and in anonymous big sheds serviced by the web.

Still looking East into the October Edinburgh gloom, more puddles and eerie emptiness; seems to me the best way forward for Princess Street is to focus on high quality hotel and residential development, the days of the big shops are over and I'd quite like a retirement flat with a balcony that looks across to the castle.

Meanwhile over in the sculpture hall in the Art College a choir dressed in black runs through 60s soul and Coldplay numbers as part of the opening of a display of fine Japanese and Scottish art works. The TOKOKU - SCOTLAND exhibition runs from 18th to 25th October and has been put together by Kate Thomson and Hironori Katagiri, Ukishima Sculpture Studio.

Colour me perfect

2011-10-16T18:45:00.002+01:00

A more complex look may require a fair bit of preparation time.

Ladies understandably spend a great deal of time making themselves look good, colours, styles and fashion sense all play vital part in this process as does budget (I suppose). Ali and I were discussing this in the afternoon and I now have a better understanding of the complex relationship and coordination issues that must be balanced and the part that colours, tones and shades play in order to make the appropriate statement. I wondered about my own current somewhat casual look and how I manage to achieve it, what elements and processes come into play? This required a lot of thinking time. After a while my head became sore, I needed a Vimto and a flat sausage roll, then in a lightning bolt moment I realised that I've been dressing like Neil Young for the last forty years...hmm.

Remastering the classics: A mono copy of Pet Sounds gave me idea, using my simple to operate home studio equipment I could remaster this and other 60s albums and so enhance them (?). I never thought of this before - a bootlegging personal project; the end product of which will provide a significant challenge to the multi functional dysfunctional and psychotic stereo in my current car.

Lego Bible

2011-10-15T21:45:00.002+01:00

Do they mean Brick from the Middle?

Pit stop

2011-10-15T21:39:00.002+01:00

Pit stops

I couldn’t be bothered with those huge queues at MacDonalds so I just sat there in the busy car park and fired up my lap top. I did that by switching it on which sounds a lot less dramatic. The wi-fi was there for a few tantalising seconds, like an incoming wave and then disappeared beyond the reach of Google Chrome or whatever it was. I thought about rolling the window down but that seemed like a waste of valuable energy. Instead I drove over to the petrol station and conversed with the cash machine as an impatient lady and her small child crowded in on my personal space. Seconds later I was transported into the shop itself and dodged around plump assistants moving merchandise from plastic trays into large plastic fridges and display units. I emerged with a prawn sandwich and two lottery tickets and all my change used up. The woman's cowboy boots distracted me for a while, what was that design? Was it a tattoo? Why can't we just ask people about stuff when they display things or characteristics that are confusing or at least likely to be misunderstood? Surely everybody really just needs to stand up there and explain myself.

About then I got in my car having crossed paths with the lorry driver with the lorry loaded with sheep, I'd been in his wake before turning in, now he was turning out. It seemed to take an eternity to get across the junction but I hate that bang and crunch and jolt you experience when your car collides with another so I tend to take my time and exhibit patience. I drove to next town, stopped and ate the sandwich and went into another petrol station to use another cash machine. I withdrew the correct amount of money this time.

Mystic sparkle

Heating up the tiny Scotch eggs on a china plate, heating them up thoroughly mind you, 200 degrees for 25 minutes; then depositing them into another room temperature plate so they can be safely handled, as if radioactive. The hot plate is plunged into the sink, spitting sounds and sizzles and a ripple of mystic sparkles sweeps across the surface water like molten glass and dribbling gold. You had to be there and yes and no the plate did not crack. N.B. the Scotch eggs in question were laid by French hens. Www.handmadescotcheggs.co.uk

DNA revisited

Scientists in Holland have the sequenced the DNA of a woman who lived to 115, apparently at the time of her death she had the mind of someone decades younger. I wonder who that person was. If this true it does fit in why one or two of my pet theories, particularly the one about Karmic people hopping (aka Barclay's Inner Self Cannibalisation) and the other as yet unnamed one about soul-sneezing. (You will by now have noticed that the Queen, top politicians and captain's of industry and commerce never, ever sneeze.)

Who can resist...

2011-10-14T14:34:00.003+01:00

...the opportunity to soar high up above a conveniently located stuffed giraffe and take a tiny photograph? Yes, such things are possible but only in museums and other types of educational establishments where there are collections of well preserved tall dead creatures.

In other unrelated animal/amphibian news Squawkie the frog may have been sighted once again, in or around the washing machine and in or around the toilet. N.B. wildlife sightings in washing machines and toilets are notoriously difficult to confirm.

(P.S. @ 1630 found a toad and released it back into the wild, not a frog, not Squawkie.)

Health and Food and Ingredient Warning: Sharwood's Sweet Chilli Sauce (SSCS) packs more of a chilli punch than you might imagine, you may wish to use it sparingly in your own DIY recipes. Also it is much less viscous than it's rival sauces and the jar top is too narrow, so narrow in fact that the easy entry of a humble tea spoon is denied and a long thin knife must be used to extricate dollops of the stubborn but tasty and potent sauce. In extermis an unused lolly stick, chop stick or a clean index finger would do. You read it here first.

Low flying angels

2011-10-13T21:43:00.004+01:00

We visited Edinburgh's newly fixed up museum today, clambered up the stone steps and then down again; the old brass and wood doors were closed tight, redundant in the brave new museum model. The entrance is now via a vaulted basement, formerly hidden away under the old great hall. Inside familiar exhibits remain, moved around like victims of some domestic removal strategy, shiny bright on new plinths and displays to be ignored or pondered over by the drifting, shuffling and confused masses. Lots of good things to see still, my favourites being the aircraft and auto gyros, just a shame that few of the exhibits were already out of order and some of the snagging and finishing isn't quite right yet. The kids enjoyed it though, I'll return some rainy day and wander around alone, hands behind my back whistling to myself, I might even take my glasses with me.

Flower People

2011-10-12T22:38:00.002+01:00

The guerilla flower children are stalking us, hiding out in the woods, scrambling across roofs and sneaking behind stone walls. Their wild music drifts across the hedgerows, sometimes tuneful, often tuneless, the sing and whistle along, random drumbeats follow. Slow and long. It's as if they thrive on the anarchy they produce, self perpetuating energy, running down time and chasing the fade. We've never really spoken, never made eye contact, never been close enough to see more than blurry detail. They are like foxes or badgers, in the night mostly, in the sun occasionally, drifting away into the landscape of changeable weather. Rainproof and unafraid of rampant mud. All they do is leave disturbing traces, messages, signs and sticks, piles of twigs, parcels of dung. Frog and elongated lizard conversations; misheard.

In chalk on a dry road I found a paragraph from their manifesto, I might have written it myself: “I'm no longer searching in the media for answers, for wisdom or for any collection of things that I might at one time have considered useful. I feel a barrier going up; the world is no place to live but is the only place to live. The news repeats itself with increasing regularity as do I. Nobody really knows what they are talking about and all power must be some form tyranny.”

When I say that I might have written it, that's true of many things. I might also have said that I made a cottage pie from local cottages and locally grown potatoes (all known by the name of Charlotte). There are many things I might have said and made. Meanwhile in a field not far away a man stands with a high powered rifle leaning against a small Japanese 4 x 4, part of me thinks he might be up to no good, part of me thinks otherwise.

At night, in the dark, as we sleep, mice scamper across the ceiling about our heads carrying the raw materials needed to make shoes for hedgehogs. Not many people know of that and the related endeavours.