Needs a good title

"The wind blew in from Africa, last night I couldn't sleep..."

I have no idea what this is about but I like the cat motif.

For some reason I have now become a collector of outside laundromats, they pop up all across Europe and are clearly an exciting, clean and lucrative business venture for some.

Saw these shoes in a shoe shop (surprise), they make no sense unless they were meant  to be presented to Donald Trump were he ever to visit Italy.

Food and Drink

Avocado and scrambled egg, "scravocado". Sangria, just the usual. A diet to keep you fit and see you through the World Cup.

Day 7

Well I think it's day seven, it may be day eight. It's a close call. The heat is bearable, the pool is cool, this is holiday weather and lazy haze has flopped over me making things in general an effort. There's light relief in a shower or a drink or stopping. The world conspires against stopping, it's not allowed, it's frowned upon. You must go out, take part in an activity, experience things, see with your own eyes, break sweat, visit a place. Well a bit of that's OK but generally I'll resist the pressure, I'll just float somewhere, safe and warm, over in the distance you might just make be out. A small particle of inactivity. 

Slow descent

After about 2000 miles of uneven driving I've made the slow descent to the bottom of Europe, Portugal that is. Actually I've been trapped here, by fierce heat and cheap alcohol, for at least a week. It's a struggle to survive right now with that complex set of guilt trips buddies burning away on my back; privilege and age induced righteousness. Nice to hear that the UK is quietly sweltering at the same time. There's also football happening. Busy.

Tree looks a bit like...

...Sideshow Bob!

World Cup

BoO Sessions

Bridge of Orchy Sessions. 2018. Out now on Bandcamp, for charity and everything.

Death of the British Navy

Photos taken from the upper deck of  a car ferry  leaving Portsmouth Harbour for France.

Whale Island, RN HQ Portsmouth, cafe at the top left of the building, Costa Coffee, sunlight and plans, some of which didn't quite work out.

Her Majesties' Naval Base Portsmouth, where they fix up ships. There's six Type 45 Destroyers in there, that tells you something about a) the state of the country, b) the state of the navy and c) the design and build quality of British ships.

The UHAF at Gosport but nearer Portsmouth, don't ask.

HMS Queen Elizabeth, not sailing anywhere at the moment but you never can tell.

Distorted view

A distorted view of the World Cup from a Scottish perspective. I really shouldn't care and the truth is that I don't. The World cup is like some sporting, animated wallpaper, good in short bursts, funny if laughing at the pundits and puzzling when the players and officials behave strangely. It's all too serious because it is serious. A set of moving adverts for Korean cars and American beer, training shoes and Russian gas companies, oh and Ally McCoist's  pseudo philosophical observations. I'm really hypnotized.

Elsewhere I enjoyed a job interview via telephone with a lady called Jackie. We talked for 53 minutes. It was pleasant enough. I probably said too much but at the same time failed to use the correct set of words or current terminology no doubt. Maybe I'm the right man for the job, maybe I'm an idiot. I'll hover between these views until my misery is ended by another phone call or email, that's how it is. That unavoidable procession of hope, guilt and WTF carelessness drawn to a concrete halt by the strength of a dose of reality. Caught up in life's brilliant soup or, better in most respects, fruit salad. Today's fruity salad got by with being light on fruit varieties, just pineapple and an unseen banana. I grow healthier and less affected each day.

P.S. Just received a phone call, I got the job.

Sympathy

Ripping it up

Last night we were here, or there in Edinburgh. Scottish pop music. You'll have heard of it, over the years and airways. Now it's in a museum. There's a lot you could say about it. Punched above it's weight. Always odd and interesting. Full of characters. Sometimes predictable. Occasionally commercially successful even. Petulant, downright odd and experimental. Niche. Derivative/destructive. Bouncy. Done with an accent. Colorful and qUiRkY. There's a large chunk of it exhibited here in rather nice glass cases, it's all history now. Form an orderly queue and go upstairs to your room (there's no sweeties left because I ate them all).

Welcome to America

Making history

I've put this up in the kitchen, held in place via a complex system of fridge magnets. It says at the top "history will be made". That's a rather easy claim to make and deliver. History is creating itself continually, sadly the most interesting parts are seldom properly recorded. We just get some other, spun out and soulless version that's chewed over and spat out sooner or later. 

It'll be interesting to see how the latest Glasgow School of Art disaster is covered over time. The higher minded apologists are already calling the ruined building the "heart and soul of Glasgow". OK, that's quite a claim, I'm not sure that most of Glasgow's inhabitants would describe it that way. Maybe the "adopted heart and soul of the artistic establishment in Glasgow" might be a better if less grandiose description, or just "the sacred cow". The heart of Glasgow is a far more abstract and precious thing that a burnt down art school however unique and wonderful the design was.

That's unlikely to be the point of view of the board, sponsors and academics who blindly managed their fine building in such a free spirited and irresponsible way that it's burned down twice with nobody held to account for the events leading up to the disasters. No proper fire safety, no obvious improvement plans or compliance, no decent security. I have a strong sense of: "Let's not allow the bureaucrats the pleasure of tying down our fine buildings and indeed our very way of being with rules and regulations...now, all of you, pay attention, please stump up and rescue us". History, will you be kind or honest?

A sorry sight, thankfully nobody died in the disaster.

Stainless style

Just a stainless steel exhaust system.

Cats n' Drams

The Jura single malt is rather good, add a touch of ice just to cool it a little and extend it's life (in the glass) and it's a fine, smooth, late night sup. Sweet dreams/drams. Meanwhile Tesco cat returned to his regular perch albeit the products beneath him keep changing, such is the speed and volatility of the retail world. Not a spot you'd expect a cat to easily settle into but...

Edinburgh daily photo

On a church in Princess Street.

Had a sneaky BLT down by the canal at lunch time sitting on a pontoon. As I was happily scoffing I saw some waterway action there for the first time and actually witnessed the lift bridge being lifted to allow a canal boat into the basin. It all went rather smoothly. Just a shame that much of the canal walkway and surrounding area is very much a work in progress but then again what isn't? 

Groot v Groot

Baby Groot and his adolescent counterpart or perhaps some sort of Blair Witch / Guardians mash up. They seem happy enough and ready to dance and then save the universe. In other news the World Cup has won me over by stealth. Blog less, think less, couch more, empty head, fewer snacks (?), no heart attacks, the winner doesn't matter and neither do the pundits or anyone else's opinion.
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Two dishwashers

As a result of  what can only be described as a First World and creepy privileged type of near death revelation I no longer have peace of mind in the kitchen. Accidentally I stumbled upon a twitter stream* discussing the obvious cleanliness, storage and space saving benefits of having two dishwashers. Now I am stuck with an inner conflict that I cannot shift. My life will never be the same, it all makes way too much sense and the conventional single dishwasher lifestyle with cupboards and drawers full of stuff seems both stupid and wasteful (?). There.

*Also on Pinterest 

The joy of cassettes

In black and white

Black sky thinking

Today's lucky and inspirational card prompted me to give myself an action packed day. It was chaos inside and outside my head. Firstly there was the storm damage to deal with...so I left it till last. I headed out into the big bad world where for some reason the supermarket car park was blocked off by a glossy black Mercedes parked across the bay entrance. It looked like some gangland shit was going down so I avoided making eye contact with the driver and parked elsewhere. I bought more shorts. I will not be short of shorts this summer, that is my goal. I bought other stuff but none of it was interesting. It's in cupboards, fridges and freezers now, awaiting discovery. I came home and felt the familiar disappointment of an eBay-less sales day, I moved on. Then an email from Hermes arrived saying that my parcel couldn't be delivered at 1155 today for some reason. I looked at the clock, it was 1156 but no ringing on the doorbell. They hadn't even tried. They'll be back in 24 hours they say. I have an email but no parcel. How can they be back when they've not been here in the first place?

A quick and unhealthy lunch and then out into a temporarily sunny garden to rake up leaves, twigs, dead birds and other storm casualties. I counted 12 trugs of collected stuff and I was sweating. A good aerobic workout for the tired old frame though. I did take frequent breaks to watch World Cup action, I had to start somewhere. I also fired off a few oblique tweets into twitter oblivion where indifference and the odd lukewarm and grudged "like" hang out together. Brewdog make a .5% beer for the feeble of mind and constitution, Nanny State. I drank one whilst laying out in the recovery position. Then more World Cup, nothing remarkable here I'm afraid. Then more leaves and the ritual unblocking of drains in which no hands were stuck in the pipe nor were any gloves lost in the black hole. Success. I sifted through the twists of the news, too depressing; Trump talks more evil shit and nobody does anything, the Tories have produced a great ignorant lump of a man called Christopher Chope who is still living in the 19th century and Universal Credit has been slammed, that's not the same as actually scrapping it and rebuilding a fair system though. So, back to the World Cup and Portugal v Spain. Hmm.