A place to park those random thoughts, stolen images, hidden conversations and incoherent babble from beyond the wall of sleep. Odd bits of music and so-called worldly wisdom may creep in from time to time. Don't expect too much and you won't feel let down.
Not quite the table setting for tonight's feast
There in some tractor garden, still rusty and in daily use. To pull the lobster pot boats from the land to the sea and back again. Fordson engineering and British steel and iron that can last for fifty salty years, in fields, on roads and in the water. That was at the weekend however...
On a sunny beach in Brora pea soup is ladled out, it is everyday, special day and it is far away. I'm enjoying my new appreciation for the north east, the land, the sea, the cliffs, the horses, the people, the food, the pea green soup. Then it was Monday so the weather turned back to normal, rain all the way to the airport in Wick and above the clouds in an aeroplane made by Saab.
The tipple known as Sloe Gin or "sloggin" or Long Island Tea or something, it's not gin, it's not mulled wine, it's something that folks imbibe on sunny afternoons when lager would be too much, Pimms too pretentious and white wine too obvious. Goes nice with a Mars bar, a scone and some black grapes.
Through the gate and onto the beach and if you stare into the sea you may just catch a glimpse of a mermaid playing a violin. The artist who designed these gates certainly did. As for me I'm relaxing after surf and turf and stumbling along cliff tops, peering into Cromwell's midden and avoiding bulls in fields, always the best line to take (and all without a Barbour jacket).
Summering is better than wintering and the hole of blue sky that we currently inhabit remains around us and above our heads. Grey clouds roll close but seem to be held back from crossing our path by some great force, in this case the influence of the North Sea. It froths and bubbles and carries away the daylight and seaweed and returns to pound now rounder stones and to deposit some fresh driftwood. The chain and flowers in the photo above are nearby, found on an underused quayside, holding back the beach and securing a family of smelly lobster pots.
Possibly the end of this occasional and seasonal series - behold the wilderness and the native's accommodation.
Up at 6.20, little or no hangover, mild sunburn wearing out, finding the way back to work along familiar roads signaling the short end of the short holiday season. Never really as bad as you think it's going to be despite the avalanche of out of date emails, too much coffee and the incessant rain beating against the office window, it's a kind of life.
Pardon the tilt of the earth's crust and the quality of the pastry, these things happen. Just outside of Lower and Upper Largo lurks the little known place aka "Key Largo" famed for shell shops, shell suits, wooden toads and films shot in Hollywood but credited to the Fife Coast, if only. I will return one day to put Bogey right and to calm the many storms and errors in scripts and overall plotting. In the mean time I revel in their high quality rest rooms, water at a $1 a bottle and the smooth road surfaces that greet even the casual visitor. What a hot and funky place.
Keeping it simple today, just returned from Miami where the weather is hot and every so often coconuts fall from trees, even in car parks. My metabolism is slowly recovering from a series of IHOP breakfasts, Welch's Grape Juice, freeway madness, smoothies and chicken give-aways and no alcohol for a week. I'm still traumatised by the sight of iguanas running across the road in front of the car and the alligator eyes staring up from the swamp water, I need another Reece's peanut butter cup and some more sleep.
Despite being 14 at the time and not totally daft I recall being a bit unaware and unimpressed by the moon landings in 69. For some reason my little world did not stand still and I didn't stare into those grainy TV pics in wide eyed wonder. Seems I missed out on one of the biggest events in mankind's history thanks to indifference, rampant hormone activity and a spell in the Army Cadets (I was at summer camp at the exact time, learning to smoke, drink and throw up). I can't be the only one of my generation who was like this, afflicted by some virus of Scottish working class dunderheaded apathy and indifference? At least I've grown out it now (I think). Sorry Neil, Buzz and the poor bloke in the command module who had to whistle and read magazines, I finally get it.
Anything made by a firm called Pigtronix has to be good, not so keen on the $169 price tag however.
The first crop is the deepest.
The Halo of the blessed ********** (you choose according to you're current belief system) has appeared on our cat blanket following a spell of quality time spent with and within Saint Ariston, creating an unlikely but compelling Turin Shroud effect. All would-be pilgrims should apply in writing (cheques or cash welcome) then form an orderly or disorderly queue if you wish to view the artifact. We don't care much about such trivial things as how you may make a line, the pilgrims can work that one out. The picture has been scrutinised by a panel of experts from the BBC (expenses pending) and the original blanket is now in special display case made from bulletproof glass. None of this is made up so bury your scepticism and unbelief. We do still respect your right to believe whatever futile twaddle you wish, it's just your equally blessed money we're after.
Perhaps not looking so attractive in this photo but none the less a landmark piece of smoothie making in the making. Home grown black currants, not home grown bananas and strawberries about to be mashed into smoothie oblivion by the kids. Turned out quite nice.
Devil’s haircut
...you do a step at a time. Some days you feel strong, fully formed and vital, you step further and you accomplish more, on other days a few small moves forward are all you can manage, occasionally you stay still and hear only heartbeat and breathing, once in while you will step backwards and a friend will come up close and to your rescue."
For some reason we had a chicken salad for breakfast today and then another one at tea time. Keeps things in food preperation simple I suppose, freeing us up for more manual labour in the wilderness. In between the salads I accidentally smashed two bottles of wine, moved a bonfire and rebuilt it, cut the grass, fixed the fence and generally pottered and drank beer in the sun. Meanwhile Ali tackled the hedge, many times. The hedge, a sizable beast finally capitulated and is now smaller than it was prior to the first chicken salad. The blackcurrants, featured in the photo were left untouched, their day of reckoning dawns tomorrow.
