Thursday, April 30, 2015
Well it is going to be hard for Labour in Scotland next Thursday if the non-scientific polls and pseudo experts are to be believed. I had my own painful version tonight moving numerous heavy stores that once formed the fabric of the house. The work made me think of the Egyptian slaves and the folks who built Blackness Castle, god they had it tough. No gloves or goggles either, just blood, spit and a slap on the back with a willow branch. Anyway I moved a few and then, aching in all the customary places supped a pint of best. Phew. By the way I passionately hate the Sun newspaper in all its UK warped forms and I'm embarrassed to hear it's Scotland's favourite read. No wonder we're regularly screwed by the rest of the world.
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
|Robotic troops defend the once peaceful border.|
Sunday, April 26, 2015
|Baby Groot might have understood.|
"I'm closer to the Golden Dawn, immersed in Crowley's uniform of imagery,
I'm living in a silent film portraying Himmler's sacred realm of dream reality."
Friday, April 24, 2015
Peter Howson working on a new piece entitled "Golden Dawn". Once it's complete I'll probably not like it, such is my taste and limited tolerance. Of course anything with golden dawn in it is bound to interest me and hold my limited span of attention in place for all of five minutes before it fades like smoke in a breeze or frost from a dry-stone dyke. That is how things are unfortunately. Nothing stays in place too long and all that is constructed must be deconstructed one day.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Featuring Fingers Farrell on bass these guys are Old Dollar Bill, famous in the Edinburgh area for blue grass and roots type music. These are screen shots from an internet gig I attended in a suitably remote and modern fashion this very April evening. A busy website (here) tells you all about them and has some useful musical download capability.
|Actually it's more likely to be a parasite.|
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Nice sunny evening spent indoors and outdoors with the backdrop of numerous Roy Lichtenstein pieces. He was a busy man until he stopped. An artist who confuses and infuriates and for some is stuck in the gaudy time warp of comic strip pop memorabilia. That's not really how it is, the sixties didn't actually happen and nobody really captured anything of it all anyway, especially unreal things like sounds and images. They are all free as birds except for the fact that they are constrained by frames, plinths, rooms, human minds and recording mediums. You can own reality (in small slices in small towns ) but you can't own art. I also heard the word "factory" used in conversation. Think about it.
Today a crow parked himself in my office, via the fire exit, I fed him a half eaten apple (who ate the other half?) and he nodded to me, many times. He then stretched out his wings and bowed low. I last saw him, padding around on the grass, apple core in his beak. "As proud as a crow with an apple core" which never was a popular saying around these parts or any other parts that I can think of. Will he return for more core tomorrow?
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
I almost admire the endeavour and determination but not the hygiene of seagulls. They don't give up. They are like the warped Islamic State of the bird world, nothing is sacred to them but their own existence and survival, a trait that both defines them and condemns them. Maybe the Scottish Tories are similar, spouting imported rubbish and somehow standing upright while a great Westminster fist operates them from the back, promising a promised land and then delivering only a rotten half eaten left over sandwich, that's what you get when you mess with us. Great Westminster fists also operate the woeful and desolate innards of Scottish Labour. A poor and insipid offering that will be burnt as a sacrifice to the gods of the idealistic college boy and professional politician movement on 7th May. These are terrible times for those with feet of clay and big jabbering gobs and running noses. Every graveyard in Central Scotland is filled with rotating coffins as the once proud, effective and meaningful labour movement capsizes in it's own sea of blissful and avoidable ignorance. Not a cloth cap or a pint of porter in sight, no fag ends or rolled up newspapers to piss through, no solace for the boys in the white vans with three days worth of Daily Records and Gregg's bags stuffed into the dashboard. This is the end, beautiful friend, our nihilistic farewell to the Commonwealth and the corruption, we are doomed and cursed, spat upon by our shrivelled up masters, those deaf and dumb grey creatures on the green leather benches. We will not be forgiven, the Queen will no longer wave at us from a distance, ships wont be built and we'll ask who the fuck approved those stupid wind farm builds. Then the sheep will return and the highlands will bloom, we'll discover coal and fresh vegetables, slaves will walk away and the turn coats will rotate a further 180. We will bloom again, even in Methil, Gartcosh and Invergordon. It's a long hard road when you vote SNP...but we will.
Sunday, April 19, 2015
When the hobbits, elves and dwarves flipped around in barrels some place in the Hobbit storyline it must have been a tough if completely fictional gig. Barrels are heavy and unforgiving things to work with, a person could get hurt manhandling them. The art of the cooper is an unsung art (apart from the Bonnie Wee Cooper of Fife and of course my new Mini Cooper) and one I know little off, apart from drilling drain holes in the ex-water butt so it can be born again as a planter. Anyway we have two full barrels and a few half barrels and I think that that's enough barrels for the mean time. Having said that the new barrel (seen directly above and in situ ready to gather rainwater) does still have a nice warm stale, beery / hoppy smell which I hope takes a long time to fade.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Yeah, probably and at the same time completely inexplicable but pleasant. So here's how some parts of our garden look this morning as the spring sunshine bathes everything in a pasty, peaceful warm heat, a cool breeze inches it's way through the trees and I do a spot of ironing.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Thursday, April 16, 2015
This one shows where the background scenery for some famous US based films allegedly originates, assuming it's not CGI. Next time you're driving coast to coast be sure to look out the window and clock some of the action.
The codes that burglars might either chalk on the pavement or daub in paint by your house to indicate whether or not it's worthwhile to have a go. A bit like the old tramps codes that warned of dogs, old ladies and bowls of soup. If you spot these in your area it's time to start up a neighbourhood watch scheme, or move house.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
|Kate, far left at the school assembly.|
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
OK I did enjoy the eagerly anticipated and over tweeted Season 5 Episode 1 of Game of thrones, I did. There is a but in here though. Somewhere in amongst the bare breasted slave girls, the violent death, the state occasion, the gay sex romp, the walking in a the garden musing by the palm trees and the grumpy dragon scenes I began to think "I've seen this before". Game of Thrones, like history I suppose, is really just one thing after another but presented in an interesting and enticing way that makes you come back for more. And I will.
Four other things happened: the garage fridge died and it's contents have been redistributed into the other freezer, the oven, the bin and the four winds. Twink failed to show last night so now we're anxious and wide eyed (or maybe I'm just anxious on my own). An exhausted pigeon tinged with rainbows and sparkly feathers arrived at the back door having just returned from an ultra marathon in Morocco. I fed him seed and kept him free and safe from the prowling non stray cats. I think he's now walking back to Perthshire with a bit more of a spring in his step. Then the barrel man tried but failed to deliver the much anticipated rain barrel. Tomorrow will be a full barrel day.
Monday, April 13, 2015
|A cat enigma.|
Sunday, April 12, 2015
|We need a hero who can carry and pint into battle.|
Saturday, April 11, 2015
|A bit of a chocolate disaster took place here.|
So much for our nation's history, Hitler could've written it that way. I suppose made up shit is bound to be better than real shit, a bit like the Koran, the Bible or Detective Comics. What I liked a lot was CBBC land, a great area of rolling AstroTurf and plastic sheds awash with crazy, blobby TV characters and scientists and marvellous soft balls that could be fired at any given stranger or small child using compressed air. Also the ability to start a shower of giant green peas from above, the peas being the size of cricket balls and highly dangerous. In this space apart from all the big rides many insane acts of neo-vandalism are performed and seemingly underwritten by the great Beeb's commercial arm. Good fun I'd say and great fun said the kids themselves.
Monday, April 06, 2015
Apart from being a rather exotic and far away wild bird with a huge wingspan "Albatross" was once a one time frequently quoted Monty Python line, you had of course to be there. Now these poor creatures suffer untimely deaths brought on by inadvertently hoovering up our crap from the world's oceans. A grim indicator of grimness mounting.
|Without a train.|
Sunday, April 05, 2015
|Sun on Easter Sunday. A great excuse to escape the Pope, the Church of England and a load of rubbish films on TV (and doing the garden).|
|The Water of Leith headed right towards that actual place.|
|Stairway to Haymarket apparently.|
Saturday, April 04, 2015
|A fine sight.|
It appears that I ate more Chinese food last night than I normally would on any given Friday, there were few if any ill affects and when I regained consciousness this morning this fine sight, a tribute to both Scottish and Chinese engineering greeted me, bathed in the early dawn's rays. What more could you want; I reflected and decided that it would be for someone to pour you a pint that actually went all the way to the top of the glass and not finishing approx. 1 cm from the rim. I am of course too stupid and polite to complain as well being over eager and grateful for any glass of dark beer that comes my way, so it's pointless.
Later in the car wash I pretty much fell asleep thinking about the economy as the engine hummed. How can it be possible for businesses to survive when a highly skillful and effective hand car wash only costs £6 in Dalgety Bay and a 2 and 3 (cutting levels) haircut only costs £5 in Dunfermline? Meanwhile somewhere else they are giving away three Easter Eggs for a tenner and a (lukewarm) 7 item breakfast in Dobbies is £3.95. Everything is too cheap to be appreciated (apart from football pies) and I for one don't have a clue what to do about it despite all of my academic achievements, life experience and knowledgeable and well wishing friends. Of course I talk to the trees but they don't listen to me.
Once home and following a pointless tree v human conversation I took a handy pick axe to the big bump in the ground, effectively levelling it and adding years to the lives of all parked and passing cars; I'm a bit sore here and there as a result. Then back on line to buy a rain water barrel. The amusement never ends.
Friday, April 03, 2015
As rain failed to stop after the accident I decided to go out and look at second hand cars. Something that's just not fun, it's an anxiety trip set in a forest of schizoid dark marshmallows where the trees are full of mean monkeys with shiny sharp teeth. OK, maybe not that bad but it's strange walking around cars, sitting in them, looking under the bonnet or in the boot and somehow seeing nothing except that you're making a mental note of cup holders and smells and knowing you're not going to buy this car because despite the conversation you had with the salesman and the fact that you need a new car you really don't much feel like buying one today. There are other ways to buy of course but I'm conditioned by something to go through a long and convoluted process of indecision before finally making a quick impulse buy that gets me something that's not quite what I wanted.
Lawn food and moss killer: The ground must be wet but the grass must be dry for best effect. How can the garden ever reach this perfect state?
Thought for the day...
Thursday, April 02, 2015
It used to be the day when the sun first shone properly, the day the queen gave away coins and money, kind words and her healing touch to the poor (those people who according to Jesus will always be with us, he was right). It was the day when pubs and garden centre cafes noticed an unseasonal boom in trade, stale lunches were served, drink was partaken and wild conversations floated on the breeze, homeless and carefree. There was indiscriminate bad behaviour and a certain amount of gay abandon abandoned. Young men would go out and buy tyres or sneak up on their girlfriends and push them over walls or into the bushes. Pop music played on radios and everybody listened or at least tapped a foot. Old people would natter, occasionally mumble and often complain. Bees buzzed as if they'd just been set free from some winter strong box, all angry and uncoordinated but there were no wasps. None had survived the long journey from China so far; little did we know. Of course at that point we had a Labour Government who knew how to bow down to the Trades Unions, the BBC and the media whilst most Tories lived in the country or Switzerland anonymously. Now we're all older, a bit better of but still working hard on Maundy Thursday because it is sadly no more a holiday. That day must come tomorrow.
Wednesday, April 01, 2015
There is something mesmerisingly dull and desperate about April Fools Day, running as it does as an incomplete day from about 8am till noon. Stupid and unfunny spoofs appear on websites and in the news and you wonder who on earth has spent time coming up with Marmite Vaseline or wild tales about Top Gear broadcasters, it's all as unfunny as all those other Daily Mash stories that nobody bothers to share on Facebook - so it has to stop. Next year I'm just going to ignore it altogether and deny any interest in news of current affairs until the afternoon. The other thing that annoys me is that we've lost the term "Gowk" from our vocabulary, when we had that term rolling from our tongues in an avalanche of insults and name calling the day made some sense. Now our language is homogenized and PC so Gowks cannot be named and shamed. A pity really when you consider how many proper blethering Gowks there are out there proudly decked in the colours of all the main political parties.