The beat goes on

Badly behaved Space monkeys visiting the Ideal Home Exhibition and making full use of modernistic furniture and appliances. The connection with Half Man Half Biscuit and whatever nonsense they are up to will make sense to some. These monkeys were won in a magical fairground far away and are, in real life 100 times larger than this image.

The cats stare out of the window and ponder the wonders that float by on the other side of the glass. Wasps, birds and bees and everything that lives in woods and hedges gets caught up their lazy radar until one day the two collide and something tragic happens with the cats coming out on top. No matter how much we feed the cats and try to civilise them they refuse to leave their wilder ways.

Trying to put a pedal board together should be simple enough I suppose but I find it all a bloody pain. Firstly there is all the fiddling and setting up and understanding what the various things do, then putting them in an order that works and then connecting and testing. Once done its reading the manuals and a long trial and mostly error process to get the sound, effect or rhythm that you want. So far so good (it works) but I'm still a power supply and few patch leads down. Then I have to coordinate my feet to stamp on the stomp buttons at the right time so it all sounds right and tuneful. It's been a long term work in progress but this weekend has at least seen it stutter forwards and who knows where it will end?

Best photo

After some consideration I've decided that this is the best photo I've ever taken.

Things we like

impossible songs

things we like......................

There is nothing quite like honest work using gardening tools, rakes, spades and getting a blister on your palm and black fingernails. The rattle and smoke of an old lawn mower spluttering into life and bumping across an uneven lawn.The pain of physical labour and the satisfaction of having done something and not just looked at it and walked away. Cold beer in a deep glass flowing into a froth and promising a taste and experience never delivered. Doing things that aren't quite right, smoking a cigar, laughing at an un-PC joke, getting the better of somebody you don't like, spilling a secret, eating a fish supper in your car, drinking a bottle of wine alone and allowing your thoughts to drift almost endlessly, sweating and not changing your T-shirt. Sitting outside and listening the millions of sounds that make up the backdrop of the countryside, the chirps and squawks of life and death, the rustle of unseen creatures in a hedge, fat raindrops plopping onto flagstones, birds flying low like lost angels on a mercy mission. Peace.

I love the bizarre thoughts that come and take over and are then forgotten despite their colossal importance, unlike reading the poorly scripted magazine articles and listening to the non-news on the radio that never ends. The stupid bulletins based on speculation and opinion whilst around the world a billion bigger dramas are unfolding that the news reporters are missing. Real life played out under their noses and ignored and unrecognised. Shame.

Soon there will be lollipop man and women called Darren and Sharon, the young become the grey and repeat the mistakes of the past as we rely upon our inherited opinions for guidance. This is where it goes. Older.

Vacuum Song

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"I'm just sitting here trying to sing a song that's good enough for you.

Staring into the vacuum and wondering what to do, where to place a lift and where I can just go 'oooh'.
I'm just sitting here trying to sing a song that's good enough for you."

Advice:

The best chocolate is that that is taken directly from a 5 degree fridge.

Always have your strimmer fully charged, ready for the unexpected.

It may be cheaper to take a taxi for a single journey.

Warm beer is best avoided on a hot day.

Trouser pockets are not necessarily safe places.

Dirges are just that.

Your satellite TV will do more for you than you imagine.

Crossing the road in loose shoes can be hazardous.

Drum machines may contain hidden metronomes.

Early to bed, early to rise is generally a tiring and tiresome way to live your life.

Come to think of it.

Place the ashes on the beach at low water and the tide will wash them away. Of that you can be certain.

Weekend

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None of these Antorias are mine I'm afraid.

The return of Cadbury's Smash to the store cupboard and the dining room table has been a significant event in this weekend's nutritional experiences, what with the Chicken Kievs and the home made apple crumble and all that. Some of this was washed down with cans of root beer whilst putting together garden type toys such as slides - before the thunderstorm redefined the weekend. I remain happy and well fed but I do have a small pile of outstanding ironing to do, DVDs to watch and various instruction manuals to read. If it all gets too much they'll simply be placed into some convenient flight case for a rainy day.

Moving forward there are some plans taking shape but their shape is variable which may well be for the best. Staring into the West Lothian woodland and the fine mist that seems to hover around the edges of it soothes and helps no end. Every so often a cat, a game bird or a set of fat squirrels emerge to add movement to the landscape. Meanwhile the sky remains peppered with noisy swifts back from Africa, full of gossip and hell bent on the repair work necessary to restore their small holiday villas located in the roof of our coal cellar. The cats look on, licking their lips and yawning, ignoring the wasps building their nest under the slates and the fat and dizzy bees who seem to have recovered from the recent media panic about their extinction. Nature is a wonderful thing when left alone to get on with it's business.

Cat burglar

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Mavis the strange, stranger of a tortoise shell cat has been finally apprehended sleeping in our lounge. For some time, we suspect she's been sneaking into the house via the open all hours cat flap and pinching Clint and Smudge's supper. This morning Olivia discovered Mavis asleep on a chair - caught in the act. The other cats were puzzled but not overly disturbed by the interloper who based on her friendly behaviour and freeloading life style may well return tonight.

Secret CDs

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www.secretcds.co.uk

Thanks to the mighty Jim Igoe and friends for putting on Secret CDs VI at the Phoenix in Edinburgh last night. A rash of rare talent was on display and the discerning audience contained a few famous and familiar musos from the Edinburgh "go it alone and don't give a damn" music scene.

Our set was radically shortened by Ali catching a cold so we struggled through about six songs all in the key of sore throat a la Marianne Faithful. A couple of the pieces emerged decently from the ordeal and the tweaking of keys and capos to suit a major voice variation was a challenge i almost enjoyed. Afterwards we feasted on fish and chips outside a midnight Italian Pizza Friary - some comfort food after a busy evening.

Dr Drum has arrived - well he has been collected from a shed in Livingstone a week late. I'm not sure if this exactly how Internet purchasing is supposed to work, I saved a tenner on the price but had to make a 22 mile round trip to rescue him from pallet city. All I have to do now is read and understand a 60 pages instruction manual and write a few songs.

Iron manic

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Life is full of little surprises, never did I expect to be teaching any one of my sons the guitar riff from the Sabs 1971 "Iron Man". A truly awful piece of work that even then (I recall there was a very short time when handling the first Black Sabbath album was cool) was disliked by everybody except complete meat heads. However time and marketing are strange things and now that leaden, 6th form, primitive riff has re-emerged and become associated with what looks like a very good film. My 13 year old likes the basic riff but not the rest of the song so at least he has some good taste. Iron Man should be last of the big Marvel movies, I can't imagine Dr Strange easily making it to the big screen and if he did what music would fit - the Cure? The back catalogues continue to be pillaged and our imaginations and memories are put firmly back into some desolate and dark place.

The return to NYC

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I reserve the right to return to New York, that is my stated state and I love the paradox. To be a tourist on pilgrimage to the haunts and quarters and pavements that first fired my imagination before it froze with age and experience. Bob Dylan, Nico, Lou and Andy on the mean streets and in the plush hotels and waterfronts and galleries bless me with a jolt and jump start. I'd swear I saw the ghost of Elvis being carried out of there or was it the Algonquin or the Somewhere Else? Cheap guitars and t-shirts in a Greenwich Village store and old furniture shops in Soho and the waving cats in porcelain. The intellectual bums and the taxis and the easy breakfasts suck up the sacred dollar and the all seeing eye but I fly by in my Volvo-like helicopter, safe with my borrowed insurance. Why does this all resonate and trigger reactions in a Scot from the Central Belt? (Borrowed and not returned from the library of the buckle of the Bible Belt and the cults of lesser men.) Where is my heart and memory in these last and late days of the green and blue familiar planet? Why do I gravitate towards Expedia and Trailfinders and browse there, savouring their hook, line and sinker wonders? Saviours of the modern man and benefactors in a time of discounted famine and need. New York is not my town but it is my city - I shall return and eat a Kenny Rodger's roast chicken and sip the world's finest coffee whilst avoiding the soup kitchens and the desolation rows.

Confessions

Confessions of a food poisoner: It was "Old Sparkie's " first outing of the year yesterday. The cleaned up barbie was fired up to feed the hungry family, all exhausted after numerous wheel barrow exploits around the garden, dinosaur hunts, football blowing up and (eventually) successful searches for bicycle pumps. The food was well done and marginally less hazardous to consume than anything the local fast food joints are cooking up (I hope). I do think that the sausages, which contained bits of apple and onion and other things were rather good, their subtle flavours and their finely carbonised exterior were missed out by the numerous small children present who seemed to prefer munching on Pringles and cheese. Whatever else happens we've at least welcomed the summer and the arrival of our family of nesting swifts from Morocco with our first outdoor spectacular.Next morning everybody woke up in fine fettle and I'm taking that as being a good sign that all the toxins in the food and dirty fingers were burned away.

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Pan's Labyrinth: On Friday night we watched this strange and disturbing film, set during the Spanish Civil War it blurs reality and fantasy through some horrific events and graphic imagery. The overall effect was one of inducing the viewer to keep on drinking large amounts of red wine in order to dull the senses and focus the mind elsewhere. It may not sound as if I did but I liked the film and the sub-titles, been a while since I read a better movie.

The power of lime

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There is a link between this Innocent looking material and a variety of problems that can occur in the inner reaches of the human body. I have proven that but I am still strangely drawn to this powerful substance both as a dip and an ingredient. Regardless of the consequences I am strangely drawn. I am a strangely drawn man and not a badly drawn boy. Such is the power of a jar of pickle that though I know it does me no good and in fact it causes me some discomfort, I am driven to finish the jar by fair means or foul. I must add it to more recipes and test the overall effect on others - my victims and victims of the pickle. Apart from participating in this kind of activity from time to time I am a normal person. I should also like to record that I do not enjoy the taste or texture of this lime pickle.

Now that it is truly May I feel that it is OK to get serious about gardening.

I'm listening but I'm not hearing very much.

Scribbles are returning to inhabit the empty pages.

Doctor Drum is in the post.

Human traffic

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The feeling of not knowing where you are going but being aware that you are heading (led?) in a certain direction.

The loss of precious time and not being in control.

The soap suds running between your toes, along the shower bottom and down the drain.

Eating sausages, beans and fish cakes and calling it turf n' surf n' company.

The remembering of things passed and past.

Confusion caused by repeatedly mis-reading a series of signs and acting on them.

Far away rain that never falls, stays in the distance and hovers over higher places.

The last day of April and the first day of May.

Asking for the thing you really want and being surprised when you get it.

A jumble of words and ideas that travel around inside of your head and come out in the form of a song after a long period of time.

Dehydration.

Every moment can be a tipping point moment.

Sitting for a long time in an uncomfortable chair is better than wearing tight shoes all day.

My left foot switch

impossible songs

It was a nice weekend for the most part. Saturday was spent all day in all of Aberdeen mostly. Swimming with kids, bacon rolls at Brechin, a tea-party for a grandchild's birthday in the afternoon and then buzzing back down the A90 both conserving and wasting petrol by dodging the numerous speed cameras. Back on the couch with pizza and wine at 10 to watch an annoying episode of Dr Who set somewhere near the present day. I always feel short changed by these episodes, no proper time travel just another alien threat that manages to avoid any serious media exposure. I mean can you imagine how the media would react to an actual alien invasion, particularly on a slow news day. I don't much care for the regular contracted BBC cast of over exposed Londoners either, (it's better than Cardiff mind you).

Sunday allowed us a little recovery, after the regular Sunday morning football it was time for a lengthy potter in the strangely sunny garden: Cleaning the BBQ, stacking logs, hammering nails into things and rearranging the garden furniture back to where it was before we started rearranging it, though it does look a lot better where it is now. The cats chased bees which I hoped they would not catch, then gave up and disappeared into the hedge, a large and unique wildlife reserve in it's own right. No carnage was reported and we pottered some more until we grew hungry. A few drinks were consumed and by eight we were comatosed on the couch in from of a flickering TV screen. On Monday the rain began.

Also on Monday my new foot switch arrived heralding a rare outing for my flight case full of odd pedals and guitar related stuff. I fiddled for two hours and an understanding the basic layout of the fretboard is beginning to return.

Their greatest hits

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Strange how listening to the past can be an effort. The greatest hits of Jefferson Airplane is not any kind of an easy listen. The music is often tuneless, with half baked songs, lyrics that are shouted rather than sung, harmonies that are clunky and two fingered guitar solos played through gutless amplification. Of course there is something else going on that I like (not just the nostalgia), I think it's the feeling and the anger but some of the material is hard labour on the ears. The quieter, acoustic stuff ages a little better, a lesson there for us all? Whatever nobody ever had cooler sunglasses and a better bass sound than Jack Cassidy and Grace Slick can wail with the best.

The fuel crisis has meant we've had no heating oil (so no heating) all week. The crisis was however self inflicted as we managed to run out prior to the real crisis and then had to wait for delivery and then for the plumber to bleed the system. Now we are bled (8.30 tonight) and hopefully warmer.

Favourite things this week:

Wooden Ships by Jefferson Airplane.

Bacon and eggs, toast and brown sauce.

Looking at but not using the new wheelbarrow.

Fires that stay lit.

The New York skyline.

Three days to eat an Easter egg.

A paperback.

Fixing a long time buzz on the 13th fret of my Antoria.

Dr Pepper Breakfast

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Today's breakfast of choice was a can of Dr Pepper and a Mars Bar consumed alfresco at the Pitreavie Playing Fields in Dunfermline under a pale early morning sky with a fierce East wind slapping me in the face. However the accompanying football match had a good outcome, 4 - 2 in our team's favour. Not a bad start to the day.

Soon it was time to purchase a new wheelbarrow so I headed of to the local B&Q and acquired a nice mid-range model. The great thing is that when you buy a wheelbarrow, you don't need a trolley, you just wheel it around the store, clip a few heels, then through the check out and deposit it into your car.

Home via a fast food outlet (coffee break) and straight into the garage to attempt to start up the ancient, cranky lawn mower. It has been in hibernation for a few months and was pretty reluctant to start. After much futile pulling on the starting cord, sweating, swearing and a sore shoulder I removed the spark plug, cleaned it with a Swiss Army knife , sprayed WD40 here and there and tried again. It roared into life complete with a complaining cloud of blue smoke and a shower of dust. Together we ploughed across the garden narrowly avoiding a collision with the wheelbarrow and some solar lights. The garden has at least now been attended to this year (apart from one failed bonfire) and I felt fulfilled. It also helped that yesterday the kids and I rebuilt the trampoline, straightened the battered poles (Winter gales to blame) and thanks to numerous cable ties put the safety net together (correctly this time). Never forget that it is those same cable ties that keep the space shuttle flying, Disneyland functioning and also hold together much of the USA's nuclear deterrent. Cable ties are a vital invention that should not be over looked, they might just save your life, so keep a few handy.

Thanks to the limited West Lothian oil crisis we're heating the house using alternative fossil fuels, though the fossils all look a bit like coal to me and I know for a fact that the logs came from a petrol station so they are not fossils at all. If fossils did actually burn they'd be quite useful instead of being boring lumps of stripy rock that clever people seem to think were once rubbed on by fish or prehistoric snails. Most seem to end up as paper weights or under glass in a museum and are not used to fuel anything. It's a shame that they don't have a dual purpose. Of course in the future all that will be found to reveal our superior way of life with be the snipped ends of cable ties under a layer of Tesco bags.

Pot holes v speed bumps

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The road building, modification and repair strategy in South Queensferry (and other chunks of the blessed UK banana republic) leaves me puzzled. Understandably speed bumps have been installed close to schools, pavements, houses and the resting places of dead squirrels. These creations slow traffic down and reduce the value of your car and any life remaining in it in the same unpleasant process. So the traffic is calmed, the drivers are irate but all is almost safe (unless you ride a motorcycle). However as time passes these fine roads and their bumps deteriorate until they resemble the surface of the moon, so providing a less than soothing, undulating and mostly awful experience to road users of all types.

My suggestion to resolve this pattern of chaotic road conditions is to dig up the speed bumps and deposit the surplus material into the pot holes thereby at least getting us back to a basic position of having roads that are all on one level. I think the Romans had this idea first and it is a good one. Speedfreaks, Subaru drivers and nutters should, after 12 penalty points get their left pinkies removed with a Stanley Knife. If only everything in life was so simple.

Santa Maria

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We're playing at Jim Igoe's Secret CD night on the 7th of May. First live anything in about three months so we may start to practice any day or weekend now. It's a 30 minute slot along with Rosie Bell, Fi Thom and David Ferrard. This (from the outside) unproductive life is possibly on the verge of being productive once again, when we get the garden right.



Today at work I avoided coffee, my coffee maker was away and I survived on a can of diet Irn-Bru, a cup of tea and two cups of chilled water. Remarkably there were no blinding headaches, sneezing fits, spots before the eyes or attacks of the spider monkey chills. I did find myself staring into space or was it the BBC website?



I know that my holiday has done me good: I do not feel the need to rant, either inwardly or outwardly, I am tired at times but in a normal way and I've not put on any weight or developed any rashes or ticks. Time to book the next holiday I think.

So long and thanks for all the dolphins

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Not too tedious a day today as I returned to work after two weeks in the sun, snow and the strange, thundery and wet weather of Aberdeen. The Algarve is now a distant but pleasant memory, grandchildren are elsewhere clutching dinosaurs and tractors and children are back at school mining for gold. Older children are busy making their way in the world and generally doing fine. I'm eating more than my fair share of chicken, Ali's home made bread and the pecan and raisin loaf that you can buy from the M&S petrol station in South Queensferry. I have recently had some red wine also, for the benefit of my health and well being of course.

Other things:

I wish I supported Queen of the South.
Enchanted is not a bad film if you've nothing else to watch.
The Eels make interesting music but not eating.
A dead wood pigeon in the garden - killed by various cats.
Sunday newspapers on a Monday.
Little pots of fruit parfait lined up in the fridge.
The sweet mystery of life and love and staying in bed.
Zorro.
Sticking pins in your windscreen washer jets and seeing where they may squirt.
Odd, unscripted bits of random cookery dished up to guests.
Pop Tarts for breakfast.
A birthday party in Aberdour with Spanish salad and prawns.
Filling road potholes with ashes from the fireplace.
Cakes in dreams and dreams in cakes.
Apple pie and custard in reality.
Reality in all it's forms - pleasant and not so. It needs to be faced up to.

Fish flags

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A short list of various things done and experienced:

Saw the Spiderwick Chronicles.
Clean jeans tramped over by a muddy cat.
Realised that there is much to be done.
Couldn't get the bonfire to light in the rain.
Shopping in Livingstone.
Harry Ramsden's fish and chips.
Liverpool v Arsenal.
Grandson staying over = dinosaur youtube searches.
Moved the shed back with only minimal injuries sustained.
Pestered by cats when typing.
Frying eggs.

My favourite sardines

Skate fillet from "Julias'".

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Sardines from "That Shack".


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Oily fish, garlic, potatoes and a glass of wine, eaten and enjoyed on a warm Portuguese afternoon and at no time did a bone stick in my throat. That didn't happen until I ate my second plateful a few days later, the antidote to this problem was the simple application of bread and butter washed down with a bottle of red wine, some Superbock lager and nine hours sleep and "hey presto!"no fish bone, just a mild headache and the memory of a tickle. Seafood consumption is not without it's problems, try the spaghetti and clams if you don't believe me.

We rented a car that was amongst other things "sixty day blue" from a company called Thrifty. It was a Renault Megane estate. Thrifty were not the most attentive or punctual of hire companies - the first car they offered us (also in sixty day blue) was all bashed up and had a broken mirror, I thought at first they were having a laugh but they were serious. We got serious also and got another car.

("Sixty day blue" is a trade term for a certain colour of vehicle that will remain on a used car lot for approximately that amount of time before it eventually sells).