Thinking about thinking about thinking about thinking.
Today I saw a yacht that was stuck on a sandbank out on the Forth. Stranded and peculiar it looked as it argued with the elements for the restoration of a floating equilibrium. A RIB full of good advice circled the stricken vessel unable to help whilst the crew presumably cracked open a few beers and watched the weather develop.
Houses and homes, moving, coming going. Mentally boxing and unboxing our possessions and imagining what effort it would take to reposition them in a new location. Fun really. Perhaps it's bad for all those creative juices to remain in the same place too long.
Mrs CBQ makes a mean, colourful, nourishing and tasty (and not at all crippling) curry. I realise once again that if you actually cook with proper ingredients and don’t just go for quick fix meals from Tesco your digestive system really does appreciate the difference. Makes me wonder what does go into those Eastern buffets and that Indian Cuisine within the “all you can scoff for £7.99” range. Ali and I are glowing with health today.
Grandchildren, small and wriggly like incredible electric eels sprung from an unfamiliar universe, so frantic and full of life, struggling to crawl and roll over, struggling with spoons and bottles, grunting and giggling towards a full vocabulary - but effortlessly burping, spitting out food and filling their nappies. My two grandsons are the best and it’s always a special day when they visit.
Up a stage: Football for ten-year olds, kick and run and watch as the passing game slowly develops. Still there are those selfish but talented heroes who know best and ignore the shouts and just play on and somehow score all the goals. Teams are great and teams work and produce results, but those individual flashes and charges make for the best spectacle and vivid memories. Whatever, Joseph put in a nice assist today that resulted in a good goal and I was proud of him.
Reading the paper, the Scotland on Sunday, wondering who really reads the editorials, what draws you in and keeps you there and by the end have they won you over? Often I don’t have a strong opinion on the subject, I want to but it just fails to engage me as I stop short of feeling anything. The French ready to vote, TV soaps in some plot climax, Big Brother again, Franz Ferdinand to write Dylanesque ballads, dreary old Jack M in Malawi upsetting charities, the Kirk stuttering and the problems of Scottish Conservatism. I’ll read it anyway.
Malawi and all the charity bandwagon jumping that is going on worries me. Wee Jack so out of his depth, promising pennies in a bucket as if he could right the twin wrongs of 100 years of British colonialism and corrupt African politics. Poor misguided loser, Scotland needs his attention a lot more than he thinks. So by all means write off the debt, sort the trade, ship in the aid and change may come in Africa, but Wee Jack needs to get a grip of his own lap-dog job (if he has one).