Friday, July 04, 2008
What lies beneath
It bothers me that the bulk (?) of our religions were formed in the middle east, share common folklore and imagery, common characters and events and all believe themselves to correct and beyond criticism. So why did bunch of pagan, Celtic toe-rags like us Northern Europeans buy into their imported ideas and worse why do we continue to do so? Why did we fight pointless wars, burn heretics, build unpleasant and ugly churches and form ourselves into football teams and communities that fervently oppose one another with a passion, all in god's name? The answer? "We tend to believe what we're told and were easily led then and we still are now".
A cheese and ham toasty eaten in the garden. Olives.
Fresh strawberries with cream and a tiny pinch of sugar and a tiny squirt of honey.
A wasps nest hidden under the slates awaiting my cunning plan of wasp destruction.
I'm not keen on Far-Eastern religions either, perhaps I'm just not on the right wave-length.
One of these weekends it'll be T in the Park and the heavens will open.
Last week I bought ten bags of ice and have nothing to show for it.
Despite the somewhat alluring appeal of having people fawning before me and agreeing with me in a sycophantic way I still refuse to form my own religion.
Fixing a model helicopter with bathroom silica filler and it still flies.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
I don't know either
Ok I don't get it either but if Dr Who is dead and must regenerate is it not possible that he may return as the Alex Kingston character from the Library or am I missing some plot twist or other obvious distraction? Everything must lead somewhere I suppose.
Four days of eating party leftovers and we are still going strong although even I am not quite so keen on the garlic filled olives now (two jars to go), the tiramisu (almost aged nicely) and the various selections of cold meats and cheeses from around the world. The French "soft" red wine still holds a fine fascination however and I'd like a little more creme fraiche please.
Tennis is boring and I'm sorry to say nothing can make me root for the dour, petulant and un-pretty Andy Murray, boy genius and son of Dunblane in Central Scotland. If he grunts enough and wins something fine but my life will not change. I love Scotland but the Scots themselves can be a pretty annoying bunch sometimes. Now if a tennis champion came from Kelty or Buckhaven or Valleyfield, I'd be amazed and supportive in a complex and contradictory way.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Lost (and found) weekend
Firstly thanks to CBQ for "collage 31" (above) which sums up in a rather nice pictorial shorthand the major activities here over the weekend. I reckon that over 100 brave souls partied away till at least 2am, some managing till 6am after starting at lunch time the previous day. I escaped with very few burns and only slight injuries and no hangover as we celebrated a huge birthday for Emma and then a farewell to Emma and Kevin, now bound for one of the colonies (not Zimbabwe) for the next few years. It rained, the sun shone, the wind blew and nobody really cared much once the party got going. Next day I was up at the crack of mid-summer to walk across the Forth Road Bridge as part a sponsored fundraiser for my son's football team, a good cure for stiff party joints and a creaking back. Now it's Monday and I'm back home, sane and in my right mind. I won't even begin to try to describe the condition of the house and garden on Sunday, I'm only glad that a passing group of elves and fairies popped in to clean the whole place up.
P.S. Pop up full size gazebos I now know are less keen on popping back down and into their rightful place in a storage bag. Ali and I struggled for a while to collapse what felt like a scale model of the Blackpool Tower, bending, twisting, shoving and getting nowhere. I injured a few pieces accidentally in the process and became only slightly angry with myself and the construction - I was in control. It was about then (20 minutes into the task)that Ali suggested we read the instructions and of course this resulted in the beast giving way and packing itself up perfectly. The moral of the story is...
Friday, June 27, 2008
Escape to the gazebo
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Nelson speaks out
Meanwhile I've discovered that the NHS Cafe (in a Fife hospital) has banned the sale of Coca-Cola as it contains too much sugar. However in a brilliant piece of food policing they continue to sell cakes, sweets, Irn-Bru, Pot Noodles etc. etc. There's nothing like this kind of ridiculous "healthy" posturing to destroy credibility and completely baffle patients and punters alike.
Song of the day - Frankie's Gun by the Felice Brothers.
Meal of the day - Six Pack by Burger King,
Shirt of the day - White George at about £7.99.
Riff of the day - Black Dog.
Athlete's foot of the day - Small red patch on right pinkie toe.
Question of the day - What's on in Madison Square Garden this summer?
Result of the day - 3 - 0 to Spain.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Muffins
A shortage of muffins and cakes but a decent scoop of ice cream.
Stuffed crust pizza, chips and cocktail sausages.
Rain that plays with the hair on the back of your neck under brooding skies.
Mid-summer in Finland, heavy rock, vodka and fish heads.
The wind blows a party and horse trials down our un-named street.
The changing colours of the inside of the compost heap.
Recycling unnecessary packaging again and again.
The postman brings materials, gifts and bits for i.pods from Amazon.
Driving on summer headlights.
Another day at the office and far away puddles.
Things past remembered and the concept of negative time (before time) explored.
Monday, June 23, 2008
A few things are wrong
A few things are wrong with me, primarily physically (but you can never really know the root cause of anything) and mainly minor. Most irritating is a mysterious tiny red blob on the ball of my foot (thankfully not the foot of my...etc.). I'm crediting this new crippling and annoying red mass to an insect bite of some kind. Insects being small and only able to bite or sting are of course easy to blame for things and because of their inherent creepy crawly nature deserve all they get. Anyway I think I must have stood on this one a few days ago in the garden and now it's getting some horrid revenge from it's tiny unmarked grave somewhere in the sole of my sandals. I'm sure this could be seen as some kind of Karmic thing - if only I believed in the power of Karma.
I also cut my finger by absent mindedly picking up a sharp kitchen knife that was hiding in a tea-towel, that little nick hurt like Hell and nearly caused me to forget the Pop-Tarts (another burn hazard - see my long suffering right thumb) and the boiled egg (pick those mothers up hot from the pot and split them with a knife = more pain). Perhaps kitchens and sharp objects are best avoided when you're in a spiral of self induced pain production. The good news is that I seemed to manage to go all weekend without banging my head on anything, falling down the stairs, hurting my back by looking too long at a spade or getting a paper cut.
I should also write a bit about Strimmer injuries, flying stones, thorns, nettles and "objects d'art" that fly up and pepper your legs and goggles and embed themselves in any exposed flesh. Yes I have learned to wear goggles and despite the head strap cutting the blood supply to the brain (not always helpful but the cause of colourful, happy hallucinations), my sight has now been saved many times over. Protective clothing, though frowned upon in France and other under-developed countries has at least found it's way into Scotland. Thank you B&Q.
Karmic revenge also seems to work on the hurried use of any kind of Sellotape. I've noticed that the more urgent the need to wrap a gift then the more difficult it can be to find the end of the tape. Of course many modern aids exist that should prevent this from happening (a sonic screwdriver?), sadly we don't have any. Our strategy is to have many rolls of tape, all stubbornly stuck at the point where their ends have disappeared into some invisible mass of tape that cannot be found and attack the roll with scissors. The other deciding factor in this is how recently you have cut (to the quick) your fingernails. This drastic pruning of said nails happens a few hours after a black finger nail experience (previous posts) and then renders any Sellotape manoeuvres completely off limits. I will not give in to this and reserve the right to rebel against these cruel universal rules which frankly must be the fault of either the fervent prayers of Muslims hoping to confound the infidels or a direct result of my bad thoughts about the hysterical and nonsensical headlines in the Daily Mail.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
The most evil...
Today I purchased a new frying pan, a red dot Tefal super pan from Homebase. The packaging promises perfectly cooked food, a robust non-stick surface, it's easy to clean and it may manage to give the owner a happy life in which all kinds of resident evil(s) can be avoided. It can also be used, in extreme circumstances, to batter those pesky Vashta Nerada or Fascist extremists should they come scuttling across the floor of your kitchen whilst being pursued by the food police or green militants. Not bad for £14.99.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Bad Wolf
Wolf City: Is it the best Prog-Rock album ever? Is it better than a resprayed black Delorean with 666 number plate? Is it a predestined piece of prophetic rock heavy metal treason to add further weight to the "Bad Wolf" in Dr Who? Possibly and probably and in effect none of these. The Bad Wolf in Dr Who is a recurring theme, a metaphor and a person, a landmark and a milestone. The clues are of course hidden in the detail and graffiti of every episode like a giant conspiracy formulated by Russell T Davies, you have to keep your eyes wide open people. It is the end of the world as we know it and very little shall be revealed.
Funnily enough tonight during the Dr Who episode we experienced a series of time travel problems brought about by using Sky plus and pausing real-time TV. We inadvertently created a time paradox by stalling on a Euro 2008 prompt whilst recording. This resulted in us having to fast forward the recording whilst it was still recording, as we had had lost the real time (back in time by 5 minutes) version. Confused? You should be. Shine on Mr Wolf.
"Oh Rose, thou art sick! The invisible worm That flies in the night, In the howling storm, Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy."
Friday, June 20, 2008
Delorean Blues
Monday, June 16, 2008
Man on the moon
A good example of simple complication is that ultra reliable process of purchasing goods on the the Internet. Pay your dosh and wait on the delivery. All fine until you're not in to sign for the brown shiny package and it's a hike to the depot and a gallon of unleaded to collect that elusive prize held in check by a load of grumpy guys all on the minimum wage. That in turn reminds me of my ambivalent relationship with petrol. I use it but never see it, never spill it, touch it, only tug at it and irritate it with my right foot to spray it through some tiny fireman's hose into a blazing engine and it's converted into energy and blue smoke and gone leaving only a ghostly image on my credit card, like a frozen imprint on the moon's face. You only know what you've got when it's gone and when you have created a carbon footprint far bigger than Neil Armstrong's.
Fevered memories of the day and significant things:
Tie of the day - blue speckled M&S now a little frayed at the bottom.
Coffee of the day - first cup of Gold Blend, at work at 0745.
Meal of the day - an Ali special of rice, salami and various left overs and vegetables.
Song of the day - "Useless Money" by Impossible songs (in development).
Drink of the day - Grouse + 4 ice cubes.
Goal of the day - Ballack in 49 minutes against Austria.
Chord of the day - Cmj7 as used in many songs by the Velvet Underground.
Websearch of the day - How to buy live stock.
Bank balance of the day - £97.80.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Indiana Jones and the Skull of Crystal Tips
For Father's Day I ventured out into the wide world (with my thirteen year olds) to view local classic cars, buses, motor cycles, steam engines and general motorized junk from ages past, some of it even older than me, all on show at Lathalmond in Fife. I was in my greasy element staring into restored interiors, under blasted and painted bonnets and admiring huge and tiny engines, all robbed by enthusiasts of the chance to rest at the end of a long life. In the classic car world, once you dodge the compactor it's an eternal life of shows, pampering, waxing and no road tax for you. What did I like best (apart from yet another buffalo burger and a melting 99)?
A gleaming 1969 Wolseley 16/60 exactly the same as my first car (but it never did gleam).
Seeing open ended buses and describing to my kids how you could leap onto and off them while they moved - exhilarating and dangerous as I recall.
A VW micro bus in Irn-Bru colours - oh yes I want one.
A yellow Ferrari Dino - not really practical at all.
A Triumph Tiger motorcycle (not unlike my first mc).
A great, puffing traction engine that smelt like some kind of weird coal burning heaven.
3 Ford Mustangs in a row.
An old green lawnmower and a red pedal car.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Black finger-nail day
Thursday, June 12, 2008
King Burger
Can there ever be a greater burger than the BK Angus? All others fade into insignificance and at only a white Victorian fiver for a meal (chips + strawberry milk shake) is there any better way to get vital proteins into a pale, thin, artistic body and tomato stains on your tie? I don't think so. No doubt Frankie and Bennie do a nice cheeseburger, McDs do bargains and if I was in the US I'd go for a Wendy's or Checkers but here in South Queensferry where choice is a little more limited then it has to be BK. As the incredible (what's green and sits in the corner) sulk would say "nuff said".
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
ubuntu utnubu
Monday, June 09, 2008
Euro 2008 running in the background
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Reach for the ambience
The weekend's nearly over and we are sunburned and worn out for various reasons. All meals (with the exception of breakfasts) have been al fresco, all cooking has been experimental, all drinking has been necessary to avoid the twin horrors of dehydration and reality, clothes have been functional and loose and our attitude remains a healthy mixture of positive, reflective and de-constructionist. Speaking of which I have managed to deconstruct some of the skin from my hands, mainly thanks to the rough edges of garden implements such as spades and heavy, unforgiving materials like concrete slabs, the guitar playing hasn't suffered mind you. A little rough skin is perfect for the Johnny Cash dunk-dada-dunk C to F to G7 sequences I'm perfecting along with my associate the good Dr Drum, I've no idea where it's all leading. Many new plants and seeds have been scattered across the garden and puzzled birds and squirrels observe all and try to correct their bearings in this seismic shift.
Today's under 13 football match was disappointing, the cruel and unmanicured pitches of the so called "garden city" (Rosyth) were useless and as there were no stanchions on the goal posts our team coloured nets could not be erected. We also got beat by a Kelty side that didn't really look up for the job but still managed to do it. Sunday is often the worst day of the week for football dads and soccer mums. Next week we'll try bigger bottles of Lucozade, the veiled threat of physical punishment and avoiding shouting anything intelligible or helpful from the touch lines.
Politicians - I'm fed up with politicians who are:
a) Unmarried, middle-aged, have no children and are clueless about real life.
b) Unable to drive and dont know how to operate a petrol pump.
c) Professional politicians who have never had a job outside of politics or Trade Union business.
d) Tory toffs with independent wealth and total detachment.
e) Scrounging socialist bastards who screw the system for every penny of expenses and their "creature comforts".
(I've nothing much of a creative nature to offer on this topic).
I'm also fed up with the UK media's covering of the USA's ridiculous pantomime of primary, pre-presidential money wasting, flag waving and utter drivel speech-mongering. Who gives a toss who gets elected in the US? Which ever grinning puppet gets in we're all on a hand-cart to Walmart via Hollywood anyway. I do love America so.