Not easy being a leader

Listen, squat (and ignore the Vancouver rain) as I tell you the story of Noggin the Nog...

Full time recovery mode is being experienced this weekend:

1 pot of curry, 2 fish pies and 3 Chinese carryouts.

Children, grandchildren and a successful operation.

No grass cut thanks to the inclement weather.

Apple pie, bacon rolls, copious amounts of red wine and a feline reunion.

Sleep, perchance to dream and recover in our own strange bed.

Shopping and a trip to Belgium.

Down the long, windswept M74 to Dumfries, the Queen of the Stone-Age South and a surprise 2 - 0 defeat for the mighty Pars thanks to two of the flookiest goals I've ever seen and I've seen a few. Nice (small) mince and onion bridie for £1.50 though.

I thought I saw X Factor and Strictly Come Dancing but I may have been mistaken, now it looks like REM and ELP in concert and in HD or is it Spooks?

Back up to a damp Cupar for 2- 2 draw in the mud, blood and incessant rain and thankfully no serious injuries.

Reading the Sunday paper - was I wrong about Donald Dewar?

Driving a white van from Arnold Clark through the battered streets of Edinburgh and moving what looked liked lots of furniture but proved not to be.

Reversing a white van down a long narrow street, as if in some recurring dream.

Bought the Oliver Stone Wall Street DVD on Amazon, now thinking of a sandwich I once bought and ate in that very place.

The history of the Yardbirds at Pro Guitar Shop, nostalgia is big again.

That'll do for today, tomorrow it's laundry (and return the van).

Rocky Mountain Way

Back home from the Rockies...unforgettable and fantastic...and jet addled. Thanks to Air Canada for a nice job, free internet, nice noodles, drinks, Toy Story 3 and four episodes of "In the Loop".

Meanwhile Tony Curtis is gone and the Flintstones are 50, as is their baby elephant vacuum cleaner, my favourite stone age gadget of all time.

Great Urinals: No 3

The last word and the last post from Canada and strictly speaking something that is a little more than an odd urinal. This is of course a bear proof dunny from high up in the Rockies, sheathed in it's own one person timber shed. Main feature is a disturbing 15' drop into the dry "black hole" area. The smell? Well it's designed to keep bears away. The technology? Primitive but effective. The justification? Well it is a lot better and safer than going behind a tree; smoking whilst on the can is not recommended.

Great Urinals: No 2

Still in Canada, this one is from a sports bar in Granville Island, Vancouver. It appears to work according to the same principles as the other but of course the object of the exercise is to score a field goal - per American Football, and get the tiny ball over the bar. Alternatively UK and lesser placed colonial visitors may well decide that precise peeing on this is in fact a perfect opportunity to practice some rugby moves.

Pacific Ocean Blue

Looking out west from Stanley Park, the ten oil tankers are parked up and the sun is warm, sea planes buzz past and the puddles are steaming and drying up. We're about to cycle 18 miles around the coast, drink cold beer, eat salad, shrimps and cheesecake and just wander the shore side markets doing nothing in particular apart from being tourists. A perfect day.

Great Urinals: No1

This footballing themed urinal is in the "Elephant and Castle" Pub in Vancouver. Housed strangely enough in the building used in the TV series "Smallville" as the Daily Planet's HQ. So to get maximum fun from this urinal you need to hit the dangling ball (?) and then get the (dangling) ball over the line. A couple of pints of strong ale may be required to power the apparatus and so get a result. Best used in solo mode, not advised (by me) as any kind of team sport.

Train

Long Train Running.

Canadian Pacific Railways: The journey from Jasper to Vancouver was a strange but mostly enjoyable experience. The train carries an odd mix of passengers, mostly the cast from Cocoon, railway geeks and folks with a crippling fear of flying - and Japanese tourists. A cruise liner sense of community is fostered whereby everybody mingles except when you can make it back to the sanctuary of your own cabin. Four days of this would be unthinkable, a night is just enough. Meals are random affairs where you sit with incoherent grannies and Scottish lunatics whist enjoying decent food and very civilised table service from the railway attendants. The views and scenery are fantastic although a kind of “tree” madness descends on some as they respond to the millions of forest giants lining the route. I began counting trees when driving up from Calgary but quickly abandoned the count at the first set of traffic lights, others not so lucky have persisted with counting and teeter on the brink of some kind of tree mania.

In the late afternoon we finally got lucky with the wildlife. We were up in the iconic observation dome still mesmerised by blurred trees when the shout went up, “bear on the right!”. As we were at the rear of the 22 carriage train we had time to prepare and sure enough, five minutes later the bear was spotted. A little black fellow munching vegetation with his back to the tracks. A huge cheer broke out amongst the geriatrics and drunks and high fives were exchanged. Now we were a team. Some guy with a camera the size of a portable TV had captured the moment and email addresses were franticly swapped so that the precious pic might be shared. The bear meanwhile faded into the distance as we headed west and back to civilisation. Ali was however given her ceremonial Indian name “She who looks for bear” or “Chingachonk-Bana” as it is in the native Pawnee language.

There is no hurry with this train either, no fixed schedule, people are vague about timings and it stops and starts and crawls subject to the vagaries of the mountain and weather gods - as if they cared. This listless approach lulls passengers into a careless stupor which in our case was amplified by a liberal amount of alcohol, all at $7.00 a shot. Through the shiny panoramic glass I observe nameless and remote places I’ll never visit and am comforted by the thought that at least I’m not driving nor am I really affected. Canada rolls by like a pleasant film backdrop, replayed a hundred times over but still unrecognisable as anywhere in particular.

After the evening meal we returned to find our cabin had been transformed for night time use and bunks replaced the two reclining seats. Sleeping was easy for me, Ali chose to look out of the window all night and became both hypnotized and comatosed. Even the omelette, toast and honey that made up the early breakfast (6.30 Pacific Time) could not easily reinvigorate her.

Showering on the train was fun, I managed to find the compartment and get in as it gently rollicked along only to tip a bottle of what I thought was shower gel on my head. It was mouthwash. The water was warm and as the train was still moving slowly I felt safe enough - at 100 mph it would have been a different proposition. So now onwards to Vancouver and the West Coast.

Icefields Parkway Daily Photo

The weather around here is interesting and changeable to say the least. Somewhere in the foreground and the distance is an ice field the exact shape and size of Fife and as deep or deeper than Loch Fitty.

Alberta daily photo

Funny how there is always something annoying to be found in any car. This Nissan Rogue has a loose number plate, the self tapper screw is stripped so it cannot be tightened; therefore it rattles. Complete niff-naff and trivia of course and well and truly compensated for by the warm weather (?), hot tubs, cocktails and spectacular scenery. That's me in the spotlight, that's me reflected in the chrome.

Banff daily photo

Tree shadows cross Bow River Falls at 1500hrs.

A triumph for Canadian Pacific and a surprisingly good place to shop.

Looking down on Banff from 7676ft on top of Sulphur Mountain - on a chilly morning.

A long way from Kansas and everywhere else.

Highway #1a Revisited

The last time I drove on a Highway #1 it was from Miami to Key West. This Highway 1 is a long, cold, desolate, strange and semi-industrial piece of winding road that passes Ghost Lake and assorted other ghost towns and abandoned pickup trucks until it opens up, the clouds part and you realise you are in the Rockies.

In Canada most things are made of wood or steak, a fact I like, however I've yet to find an iHop, 7/11, any Welch's Grape Juice or peanut butter M&Ms, the quest goes on.

Tip of the day: if you encounter an elk on the street (or anywhere else, maybe your hotel room or in a hot tub?) make sure you remain at least three bus lengths away from it. I will do my best.

Complicated relationships...

...exist between the sky and the earth. When you add a human factor to the relationship it gets quite interesting and can be dangerous. The other useful additional thing is of course a sheet of tough glass.

More ridiculous

Who is more ridiculous, the Pope or the Dalai Lama? The Pope re-energises with each generation like James Bond or Dr Who in a puff of Papal white spoke - by that time too old to change or possibly even care. The Dalai Lama however reincarnates into some chosen small child once he reaches the end of life's long runway. The child will be brainwashed by lunatic monks into thinking he carries on the golden thread of the godhead and then parade around the world saying deep and not quite meaningful things for the chattering classes to consume. Meanwhile life on earth goes on...

Bottle Bank Blues

Public spending cuts have now struck a devastating blow to the community that clings on to the edge of life (as we know it) at the Newton. The bottle bank has moved! This meant that the numerous wine and vinegar bottles rattling about in my boot had to endure 25 miles of speed bumps and cobbles and my bad red light driving around Edinburgh before I returned (full circle) to the Tesco talking bottle bank which was, conveniently NOT WORKING! How I hate this blabbering, electronic and pointless conveyor belt. So it was down to the faithful SQ Coop where the clinking mass was eventually deposited, thus leaving a nice beer, wine and balsamic vinegar cocktail swilling around in the car boot. Just don't ask about the Coop policy of closing all the checkouts after 20:00 so that all purchases have to be made at the lottery till.

Walter Kasper is wrong

Dear Walter the friendly ghost says that landing in Heathrow and visiting the UK is similar to experiencing life in a Third World Country. Wrong! It's more like landing in some Eastern European ex-Soviet State that is rusty from it's dimly lit core. Our economy is fucked (in certain key areas) and we are morally and spiritually bankrupt, led by lunatics and to make matters worse we persist on driving on the wrong side of our potholed roads.

Following in the footsteps of the Pope

Tomorrow Mr Pope comes to town and there will be some disruption and muted Catholic frenzy; some people will be happy, some disappointed, some will stay hurt, some will be indifferent, some will experience an experience and SuBo will sing. Most of us will get on with our lives and nod either way and watch the biased aftermath on the news. Fame, power and position are peculiar things, proven to be empty and strangely unfulfilling. I bet that much of the time the Pope and the Queen must just wish that they could just walk away from their assumed responsibilities and simply sit in a cafe somewhere and enjoy a cup of coffee whilst scanning the daily paper. Maybe, or maybe they are sadly delusional enough to believe that their duties are actually more important than the quality of their own precious lives.

Meanwhile on Sky Arts Jimi is still playing Berkeley 40 years on.

I've no idea

The remnants of a lost weekend following on from an explosion in a chutney factory, the ritual and unplanned squashing of toads and high level tree based fruit picking. As the weather closed in about us production intensified into a wide range of fruit based products, some liberally doctored and fortified with Leven's finest and Fife's national drink. These emulsified products will be released and cleared for general consumption in a few months, possibly by 2011.

Chutney Diaries

Some raw materials, duly gathered.

Fruit torturing equipment for the S&M fans.

Early stages of the elaborate stewing process.

Hot and steamy as the definition of simmering is discussed.

From pan to pickle jar in one simple and slick movement.

Leave to cool and ferment for at least three months (first batch).

It was later in my life when I was introduced to chutney as both a consumer and a manufacturer. I use the term manufacturer loosely, it was more as willing Munchkin. My duties were simple enough, shake trees and gather fruit (plums, apples), climb trees and gather fruit (plums, apples), gather fallen fruit (plums, apples), bag fruit (plums, apples), sort and wash fruit (plums, apples) and peel/core and stone fruit (plums, apples). Awful sharp cutting devices were employed on these production duties, huge spinning blades, sharp and ruthless knives, ice cold water and hot metal implements. To soften the physical pain numbing amounts of alcohol were consumed as we danced in a mashed up fruit cocktail of pickling frenzy. I was bloodied and bound but strangely ecstatic, somehow lifted by the experience, the raw process of creation, the boiling and simmering, the temperature plateaus and then the joy of bottling or compressing the rich mixture with a final twist of the lid.

Somewhere in the background wild and ragged conversations raged, “Was Jesus a contemporary of Elvis?”, “Who does the Pope think he is?”, “Why are there not more Masonic Lodges in Scotland?”, “What kind of business is Google really in?”, “What does Felicity Kendall apply to her face and bottom every night?”, “What exactly would you do if you had a fully stocked cellar full of handy spices, vital ingredients and useful groceries?” , "Has the cat got a mouse in her mouth?“. There are of course no clear answers to any of these.

Later I was granted a bit of a day off and spent it wisely but used less time than allocated. I had a few loose, straggly and grey thoughts and then read the Sunday Times from cover to cover, very little of it made sense but I did make friends with black eyed Miliband Brothers (creepy), swooned at the apologists for the Papal visit and then was puzzled by the condensed diaries of Christopher Isherwood. Soon it was time for a coffee and a warm Kit Kat as lap 18 sped past my glazed stare - at Monza.

I am careful not to overeat except for those periods of fulsome and healthy gluttony that I occasionally allow myself, having said that I no current chutney fantasies at all. Once made and secured ready to ferment chutney represents little danger to the general public, it’s explosive phase having passed. It can therefore be stored in crowded cupboards, pantries or in some other cool dark place that is seldom vacuumed or disturbed such as under the stairs. Once mature and of the correct viscosity it may be given away as additions to already complex Christmas presents, as a social gift or as a spontaneous treat for workplace colleagues.

Lifetime continuity explored

Still life with cat and fresh fruit.

Sitting in the crowd at East End Park today (4037 certified attendance) I realised that in terms of lifetime continuity it's here that I have the most ongoing lifetime history. I first arrived here with my dad in the early sixties when everything was literally black and white, one of the few places we regularly visited together and in fits and starts I've always kept coming back. As a teenager, then as dad, as a puzzled fan and as a dad and grandad, again and again. So sitting up in the West (Norrie M) Stand (?), where there once was just sleepers and dirt and looking around I see many weathered familiar faces and bald heads, ex-Dockies from Rosyth now wider in the waist, Toon people from the Kingsgate, ASDA and Park Road School, the same wheel chair folks, Hurley from LOST, old retired gits, boys from the local football teams and Sammy the Tammy. Half time means pointless banter, daft raffles and penalty kick competitions and of course a Stephen's Bridie, steak naturally, never the mince and onion variety. Final Score: Dunfermline 3 Dundee (City of Discovery, Desperation and Despair) 1. That'll do nicely.

£445? Kidding?

Odd, unseen and interesting photos: Recording sessions for the second album...

Shepton Mallet in 1970 - but £445 for a photography book? Not for me.