Fat Balls Diary

Today's entry is a bit of a diary thing based around real or possibly fictitious events that took place yesterday, 25th - in no particular order:

Up a 6.45 and fed the cats. Cats not really enthusiastic about their breakfast, they're going through a fussy spell. Coffee, a wee cuddle from Bungle (a cat), charged up the cat trackers and then a nice warm shower to move the morning along. Took Ali a cuppa and looked out of the window, weather checking. Messaged "happy birthday" to my oldest grandson, will see him at the weekend.

🍻

7.45 I let the cats out, again not totally happy, it's a cold morning. They disappear out and about then return and meow a lot. That pattern continues all morning. Brought in some logs and kindling, cleaned out the burner, made up wood for burning, ready for the evening. Cat litter is still fresh so no need to mess around with it. Lots of muddy cat prints from yesterday on the tiles, a quick wipe fixes that.

By now I've decided not to go out, other than to pop over to the Co-op for some tea time vegetables. Start to read an article about Caravaggio but get halfway and decide to leave it for later. Not sure why but I have to read or watch anything about that warped, artistic genius, however pitched, that comes into my orbit. This also applies to Karl Ove Knausgård and Steve McQueen (the actor), people are strange.

I top up the bird feeders and of course I wonder what ones the bird's prefer. Currently we're serving a mix of Asda, Tesco and Home Bargains sourced fat balls. The sparrows and blue tits seem to like everything but the other (rainy) day I noticed the crows and magpies homing in on the Asda ones. I doubt there's much of a difference, it's all way better than McDonald's car park scrapings. 

Bird seed is however another matter. They're all on the HB cheap, shilling a ton, stuff (not pictured), every man jack in the bird world attacks it, not sure what gets eaten by whom as it's scattered everywhere but the pigeons and collared doves tend to scoop up the leftovers eagerly. 10ish breakfast with Ali, toast with PB&J and coffee and a short discussion about walnuts.

1030 put up a Jim Moir (aka Vic Reeves of course) original artwork, not a print, in the kitchen, it's called "Splart". I'm not sure about the exact meaning of it but that hardly matters. A 70+ birthday gift from my oldest daughter and her family. The Forth Bridge picture below it was an earlier gift from them.

Sorting out and fixing up the frames provided a rare sense of achievement from which I coasted into a quiet elevenses, some time after eleven. Back to reading more on Caravaggio's bad behaviour for a bit. Call from the garage, Ms P, aka Missy is in for repairs. Some straight forward, some not so. Had a brief discussion regarding exhaust manifolds and the curse of the rusted bolts, all twelve of them. Ho hum.

Cats all in, fed and asleep. After a pastrami sandwich lunch (me not the cats), 1255, off to the Co-op; three peppers, milk and cheese slices purchased. Bloody cold out there. Going to a wedding in May next year, filled out all the menu requirements etc. on line. Bish, bash, bosh. What a time to be alive. Coffee assistance required. This diary recording is hard work.

Read some stuff about the Beatles by Stuart Maconie. Quite like the "four narratives" theory he mentions, it's by Erin Torkelson Weber (not heard of her before). Now a bit easier to understand the impact of the Beatles with a 50 year perspective and a more balanced commentary. Rehashed material on them about to hit Disney +. The cats are back out - 1400 approx. No overlong siesta today as it's still chilly but dry. 

1445. Next up is some guitar noodling and a few additional black tape repairs to the Gator case I recently got as an eBay freebie with the soon to become "Punkicaster" carcass. The case has clearly had a life, having probably been run over by a stray Ryanair 737 a few times at Stansted Airport, where all lost luggage goes to die. Anyway nothing that a bit of Gorilla tape can't handle. It's in good nick inside too. For some reason I'm distracted by YouTube clips and fiddle about making some up. They all get binned, too jumpy. Ate a Christmas mince pie.

1600. Cats have returned to the fold, having not wandered too far, they get fed meaty Wiskas with no complaints and head off for a nap. No mice, birds or leaves brought back either. About time for a coffee and typing up this drivel. At least I'm not ranting about anything ... much, other than my normal inner rant running in the background. Just remembered that there's fitba tonight but not on cooncil telly. Plastic Whistle v the Pars, a mere week since the earthquake at Hampden and Scotland's most recent mystical and cultural reawakening, well up to a point. The Champions League is also on but I don't give a shit about any of that.

Five o'clock. I'm on meal duty this evening, stir fried chicken, peppers and rice. ETA 1830 all being well. I'll pace myself while Ali attends a lecture on line. Some but not all ingredients laid out in advance.

 

1850. Food done and dusted. The meal was OK, I'd give myself a 6.5. George the cat slept in my usual seat so I was demoted from the inner circle whilst dining. I can cope with that. DAFC Instagram snippet from Firhill via the Pars makes it look pretty grim there tonight i.e. cold. As ever I'm hoping for the best. 

At any moment, after a short but elaborate ceremony, the log burner will be ablaze and our primal spirits will rise as they follow the fresh new flames up to heaven where they will soothe the unjustified anger of the Gods of Winter. It's an old Fifeshire tradition firmly welded into our whimsical pagan belief systems. We're kind of stuck with it. The fire is alight.

Moving on ... got sent a link for a live stream of the footy, decided against using it, didn't look good. We're a goal down right now. 

And that's the way it stayed. Had a mug of Ovaltine and just let the remains of the day slip away while half watching something about Mozart in New York on Amazon.