Poached Eggs

Birdhouse now in place, in the afternoon...

...breakfast scoffed in the morning.

The unexpected heat wave found us breakfasting alfresco in Dunfermline. A fine opportunity that allowed me to renew my relationship with poached eggs, Parma ham and coffee. A warm, satisfying if a little inconsistently served breakfast, yum.

We returned home and then like mad dogs toiled all afternoon in the peculiar and ever increasing heat, squaring off numerous gardening and outdoor tasks and exterior odd jobs. A very satisfying day that passed quickly and thanks to sugary drinks and some alcohol without any adverse dehydration taking place...all this as we count down the hours to the final moments of LOST.

Walk away

I'm not much of a blogger really, I can see by the overall frequency and patchy quality of my posts. Often they are indistinct and often they exclude altogether major life events or occasions (those may appear in pieces on Facebook or more likely nowhere at all). Then again there are no rules, it's all vapour, vacuous and variable stuff, life passes by and we pass through it, somewhat bewildered but happy in that questionable and cosy state. Many things happen to us, planned and unplanned, exciting or routine and mundane. Whatever goes on or in here I'm glad I have family and friends to rely upon and daft projects to pursue and at the end of it all I can walk away with Ali beside me.

Thanks again for all the wedding wishes, the unexpected gifts and the special way you made us both feel. You know who you are.

Married

I got married to this stunning lady on the 15th May. There are many things I could say about the event and the experience and maybe I will one day. In the meantime Mr CBQ records it all very eloquently and with brilliant photography here.

Running out of time

Sweets for my sweet.

Sugar Rush: I was glad to eat some pork chops for tea after a day filled with various chocolate related food testing (apart from breakfast), most of which defied the laws of physics. The sweets however keep on piling up, fortunately our up and coming house party affair should see the stock diminish.

Earlier on it was football at East Fife, a 5k run at Hopetoun and me scouting for an interesting property to revitalise, a retirement project you may say - anybody got a spare £1m they'd like to share? You have to dream big, imagine, visualise, realise, acclimatise and as necessary rob a few banks. We're working on it.

Front elevation: Facing south, a lot of potential here. Garage space for the two Bentleys, the MX5, an auto giro and three Ducatis. Lovin' the laundry chute, family rooms and "longhouse culture" developing, the potential for grape cultivation and the extensive use of large Velux windows. A river also runs through it - accidentally.

End elevation: Some DDA issues to resolve but I'm quietly confident we can sort them out, my quad bike should also get through the doorway. Roadies please note the fairly easy hump for the 4x12s and the Transit sized door. Handy.

North side: Small, secluded courtyard and rooms with views of woodland, trees, stones, more woodland and a wall of some sort. Curtains and glazing strategy required.

Pending a favourable result on the financial markets, the bingo and a stable Euro tomorrow we're in business, I'll (almost) wager.

P.S. We awoke this morning to discover water that should be in the upstairs bathroom pipes dripping onto the downstairs dining room table - never the best start to a Sunday morning. It was also running down the light fitting, onto various papers and projects and soaking the period furniture in it's soggy wake. I took immediate action and headed out to the fair city of Methil for an urgently needed bacon roll and a polystyrene coffee. Oops!

Splatter

Spent most of the day clearing out and painting the downstairs toilet in two shades of white, now official designated a confined space- but one with a peculiar echo. If I can ever get a 3/4 size guitar and some tiny recording device then I'll maybe spend more time there.

Meanwhile in the wilder, wider world I'm wondering when Billy Bragg will become PM (or maybe David Miliband by Tuesday?) and poor wee Alex Salmond has been labeled as irrelevant, he doesn't like that much. A few people wont sleep well tonight.

World's most expensive car....

...looks pretty funky to me but not really quite what you'd expect. Must be the B name.

Meanwhile we are all quietly drifting along without a government, so far the world has not come to an end. So far so good so predictable.

In Scotland not much happened really.

Election

Thank goodness the election is nearly over, perhaps we can get back to some kind of normality for a few days.

Voting in Newton today was a bit of an anti-climax, at 5.35 not a soul in the Polling Station and only four candidates to choose from - I coloured in my ballot paper with the blue crayon on a string ( a primitive but effective security device) and returned home for a well deserved bowl of pasta. I'm traveling tomorrow so an early night beckons...

Turkish Barber

On a mostly unplanned trip to Livingstone and with a few minutes to spare for stumbling I stumbled upon a barber shop and entered hoping for a good pre-wedding scalping. In a rare (for me) gender twist I soon found myself in the torture seat and having my hair cut not by a blond thirty/forty something lady but by a swarthy, hairy young Turkish fellow. Here in this leather haven in the heart of a fabricated heart of a shapeless town centre there was no small talk, psychotic mirror staring, elaborate and puzzling hand gestures or meaningless conversation about schools, holidays or the weather, he just got on with the job. Best hair cut/ear cut/eyebrow cut I've had in years - but it did cost twice the usual price so there may be some equality and diversity issues going on in the background...hmmm. No it's the rates, overheads, rental and FM costs.

Wedding cake

Eating wedding cake more than a week before the wedding may seem peculiar, actually it's quite alright to do this, even in mixed company so damn you all with your social conventions. I enjoyed the sugar rush and the sticky jam on my tongue, what will the cake be like on the big day?

Around here there is the real potential for things to get frantic, you can feel bad boy frantic pulling at your sleeve, whispering in your ear or lurking there at the back of some deep cupboard, claws at the ready and fangs sharpened. It's always worse when you become confused and in my case absent minded or dippy, once you realise you've had a bout of this you wake up the sleeping frantic demon and he sets about devouring you alive. The only known non-medicinal antidote? A cup of coffee, a comfy couch and a slice of (wedding) cake - for breakfast.

Clint eats breakfast from the cat breakfast buffet narrowly avoiding the wedding cake and the Wednesday sacrificial mouse (out of shot, possibly under the comfy couch).

Public Holiday

Fruits of my labours. One I made earlier.

Another (Public Holiday) day spent messing about with engines when I should've been gardening. Well the engines form a large part of the garden activity, powering lawn mowers and strimmers. After the winter break they are pretty stubborn about starting so everything becomes an effort requiring extra gas and numerous cord pulls, swearing and sweating. When they do burst into life at long last, it's a great feeling. Unfortunately then you have to do the work, generally resulting in more pain, swearing and sweat - then you have to stop to refuel.

So after a few hours of shovelling, cutting, fencing and wandering around the garden looking bewildered I gave up and built a fire, sat down beside it and swallowed 8 olives, some spicy couscous, a can of Magners and a can of Bud, then I fell asleep in the watery sunshine. Roll on the next public holiday and/or day spent in the garden.

I try to avoid those "ten daily photos" or "weird signs" or "bizarre" bits you get in the on-line papers. I try and then of course I look at them like everybody else, always silly, funny and within the tirade of other information bombarding you, all equally forgettable. So much information to view, scan and quite quickly consume and lose somewhere in the ageing grey matter and wispy pre-election ether. The Huff Post is a decent source of crap, tat, gossip and meaningless American media stories, not sure why I like it.

Typical Turkish Hotel?

Warm Velocette

I love the strange beauty of the old British built single cylinder four-stroke engines and in particular the examples of Velocette models from the fifties that still survive and roar. One broke down outside our house today, well it didn't break down it just refused to start, a bit like my lawnmower or strimmer might. "Way too much compression" said the expert owner, "just needs five minutes before I kick it again". Five minutes later, a spray of Redex and three kicks and it roared and ran magically like some Black Country built Swiss Watch - what a marvellous sound but the old Velo is a tad unreliable for everyday use.

After 55 years of avoiding rugby (for no good reason) I watched three matches yesterday, drank 6 pints of beer, ate a Loch Fyne Bambi burger and enjoyed the novelty of the non-segregation of rival fans in a sports stadium. Suddenly rugby makes most football spectacles seem archaic, over controlled and filled with malcontents and intolerant, abusive fans - which of course here in Caledonia it clearly isn't.

Complicated

The place where kitchen, scientific and sexual equipment almost meet.

I don't usually eat hot food during the day at work, too complicated, but yesterday I did utilising the office microwave and some surplus common crockery and cutlery. once I'd heated and eaten the so called snack I realised that the plate I was using was in fact a plant pot base. Hmmm.

Today it's raining and the rugby beckons - magic weekend?

In Order...

...to have great books you have to have great authors and libraries and book shops or on line providers or e-books: simple really. So...

If you are bored with the election coverage, ill considered blogging, Facebook rants, cinematic blockbusters, tweets, cookery and home improvement shows, music, fatty and sugary foods, cigarettes, alcohol, comedy, prescription drugs, television presenters, air travel, looking out of the window, physical activity and extreme gardening - then try reading a book. There are some around here somewhere, I'm almost sure.

Lobster car daily photo

Today the lobster car is parked and at rest, temporarily, or is something else going on?

That was a disaster

That "just lost 50 Grand and I can't find a decent crash helmet" look.

The self inflicted wounds continue; the SNP blowing £50k on legal fees in a vain attempt to keep wee Eck on the telly must hurt, particularly if you are one of the tartan mugs gullible enough to stump up the cash. It always hurts us when you hit us in the purse or pocket because we're a nation of toady stereotypes of course. Meanwhile Gordon Broon laid into new media star Gillian Duffy by calling her a bigot. Just as well he didn't go the whole hog and call her a coffin dodger, so that's how to treat the electorate, a fine balance of respect and abuse. The sight of the ravenous Sky news hounds lapping up the poisoness spillage was equally nauseating, ugh! Not much news from the Tories today but there is plenty of time for a few more gaffs to emerge from their slimy quarter.

Meanwhile back in the real world the volcano family was in part reunited today and I got a giant fridge magnet plectrum and some peanut butter M&Ms, none of that being any kind of a disaster as far as I'm concerned.

This is England

Typical English signage

This is England

Designer shopping villages are peculiar places, rows of strange, expensive shops, coffee bars ready to refuel the exhausted shoppers and strangely huge amounts of non-English speaking clients. Japanese, Chinese, Lebanese, Eastern European and from almost everywhere else. Each group of wandering shoppers chatting happily in their mother tongue and burdened down with numerous huge designer bags containing their afternoon’s worth of purchases. So where are the locals, at this village near Oxford there were none, apart from me and I’m err…not local.

World Cup Fever Pitch

Meanwhile English supermarkets are gearing up for the World Cup bonanza. Cheap nationalistic and jingoistic tat abounds; flags, plastic banners, collection cards and mountains of beer boxes are all on offer and no doubt sales will rocket over the coming weeks. By July they’ll be landfill. Events like the World Cup seem to produce some kind of strange mass national masturbation or self abuse effect, building hope, excitement, pleasure, confusion and then if it all goes the way we’d expect, disgust and that horrid empty feeling. Sometimes I’m glad we’re not there to experience that peculiar misery.

Handy Hints # Scribbling on your head at meetings

Every so often meetings drag and you may absentmindedly play with your Biro. If you do, never do it with the action end against your temple. If you do you may find that you’ve given yourself an abstract tattoo all over your face, not the best way to enhance your gravitas or credibility. So be warned, do not fiddle with loaded pens or any other permanent writing implement.

The sun goes down on a village where no one lives but everyone shops.

Loopers paradise

A rare outing and gig in the Kingdom last night - Dan Arborise in the Abbot House (house) in Dunfermline. Dan mumbles a lot and is awkward and very hairy and has discarded his shoes. This is so he can ping a number of foot pedals and so wring a few marvellous sounds out of a mid-range Yamaha. The vocals are drunk Dave Gilmour but this man has a good brain and can memorise where he is in complex loop patterns and delay sequences, skills I admire and frankly covet. Hours, days, weeks and months of practice have clearly passed and been rewarded. He re-tunes a little too much and is a straight up the fretboard player, no cross over licks or four finger runs but some twiddles that are nicely developed. The gay geek boys down the front were salivating at some of his turns and turnarounds. I waited patently on the slide and echo passage but it never came, what he did bring was a marvelous layered crescendo piece that really hit the spot. A good night out in a peculiar, quirky and fine little venue.

This is of course cartoon Locke from cartoon LOST which I presume is another time/dimension/hell/heaven place that any day any one of us might end up in, if you ever happen to step mistakenly onto a cartoon aeroplane.

Proof that we all came from the sea

As a proud and 100% genuine Fifer I was pleased to see that the remains of one of my ancestors has been discovered trapped in stone along the rocky edges of Fife's golden coast. Quite a strong and striking family resemblance I'd say, just look at the dark lazy eye socket and the slightly squint grin, light on the feet also. Probably would be quite nice lightly steamed with a portion of chips and some salt and vinegar.

For further proof please listen to "1983 etc." Electric Ladyland, the Jimi Hendrix Experience.

Free Disneyland

Free for some, others must pay the full price, it's an ill divided, wonderful world out there.

Meanwhile the airports reopen: the blame, recriminations and law suits will follow shortly.

Not cool

It's not cool to worry. Cool people do not worry, they are impervious and resistant to and above the slough of worry. They float above the clouds of worry or sometimes just for the hell of it they dive down into those same dirty clouds and inhale and on the other side emerge with no worry. No worry, injury or consequences; for the ordinary and mortal there are consequences, for the cool there is only continuous progress and the shining light of being right.

Worry is unbelief, lack of trust, confidence and conviction and in general terms thinking and believing in the worst. Of course the worst hardly ever happens, it's an illusion, a beast, like the Devil or the Bogeyman or visiting some sterile industrial wilderness. The conclusion? We can be cool, we can not worry by choice, we can breathe in the cloud in great hearty lungfuls. Then one fine day we might all fly again - by Zeppelin of course.