Cynical

...use of a reconstructed cute cat in the lotus position, a photo that lured unwitting search engines to this blog, an exercise from which nobody benefits in any tangible way other than those that get a whiff of satisfaction from a picture they have never seen before and a few percentage points more endorphin(s) in the middle of their nodding heads. Some people will just ignore, others click on to Facebook or the Daily Mail, more folks push on some interesting and hopefully live link on the right as their journey away from this page continues. Meanwhile the yoga cat and I stay calm and serene and are at peace with things in general, here in our small corner of the shared space we call the universe.

I made a good curry

Non-specific driftwood from the Forth.

A single chicken that feeds the family for four days, despite not being particularly big must be a good chicken. This one (you can't see it because we've eaten it) went through the full three days of Christmas phases starting with roast with veg and gravy, then stir fry with leftover greens and oranges and finally Korma and nan, with a little help from a jar of Coop sauce. I know that this is trivial and boring but in years to come folks will look back on this kind of cooking and marvel...

Meanwhile a site that caters for geeks, engineering drawing freaks and fans of tall buildings etc. There is something strangely compulsive about the lists, numbers, stats and diagrams.

Honestly Officer

"I was only testing the rope for an unreliable friend and checking to see how my new jolly rancher jacket dealt with the occasional passage of underarm friction and heat that occurs when arms and shoulders are stretched a little more than would be normal for a Sunday afternoon activity. If I look a little blurred in this photo then it is simply the effect of my non-prescription drugs, a cold bacon roll and a bottle of Dr Pepper I obtained from a reputable source earlier in the day (I paid cash). The dog shit on my shoe, the occasional burst of middle-aged competitive spirit and the wrist and leg abrasions I cannot however explain."

150 tons of sunflower seeds...

...scattered across the floor of the Turbine Hall in the Tate Modern. Each seed handcrafted by a member of the Chinese Secret Police or somebody in a Beijing ceramic sweat shop. God help us and save us from this madness and grant me the opportunity to take off my socks and shoes, drink a bottle of Buckfast and walk across this artificial porcelain landscape once in my lifetime. The artist Ai Weiwei is as mad as an unopened box of frogs and has a funny name.

"The seeds are the memory of communist times," Ai told The Sunday Times. "We would share them out with friends."

Sting's last stand

My darling wife enjoyed the recent Sting concert in Edinburgh. Accompanied by the Royal Polyphonic, Syncopated and Symphony Orchestra I am assured that music was entertaining, energetic and at times sublime. However of most interest was his mike stand, used on this occasion in full boom mode and complete with a tambourine attachment. "Can you get the roadies to set one up like that for me?" she inquired. Well should we ever venture back out into the live music circuit I will ensure that this requirement is carried out in full.

Star Wars Pooh

This stuff is brilliant, see more here.

Columbia Icefields revisited

Spent a relaxing day with the grand kids building an exact scale replica of the Columbia Icefields from a variety of soft, makeshift but appropriate materials. This shot shows the glacier crawlers parked high on the freezing ice whilst the passengers disembark for a well deserved cup of coffee and a yummy portion of Rocky Road. Shortly they will be chugging back down the mountain via the seaplane airport and then headed for their garage in the Thomas the Tank engine sheds. All in all a good example of play and a geography and geology lesson combined.

Lukewarm latte

The opposite of factory flying.

This time it’s serious

Back to work again and travelling a little so I’m enjoying that marvellous early morning experience known as the airport security line up and departure lounge challenge. Hundreds of people, some zombies, some eager, some obvious Indie musicians, some clearly impatient and clutching their worldly goods, designer bags, titchy laptops and small children. Meekly queued in an endless and managed line for the pointless privilege of x-ray and search and processing in order to fly from A to B. Every time I find myself in this parade I promise myself “never again”, then a few weeks later I’m back for more sub-human humiliation and boundless evidence of international distrust. Everybody is a suspect, so don’t laugh, or make eye contact or make some witty quip, the senseless humour detection system will pickup your bad and disrespectful attitude and then it’s a small room, a stainless steel table and a two way mirror for you, you may even be barred from your bargain flight. Meanwhile the real criminals and terrorists are bouncing their Range Rovers and Mercs across the airport speed bumps as they rush to pick up the mule’s dirty luggage a few yards away in international arrivals. British passport and straight on to the Green Zone anybody?

I then daydream and imagine that we’ve all snuffed it (me and the other daily 420000), so the security queue is the entrance to eternal life, heaven or hell or whatever they have on offer and will you and your atrocious hand baggage stand up to scrutiny? What about the pathetic contents of your ragged pockets and the few coins and tissues therein? Then there are your evil thoughts, actions and deeds and of course, worst of all the good that you did not do. Bugger, no hope and less faith, I have taken strong drink, smoked the odd fag and I once voted Liberal Democrat and bought a Black Sabbath album. Just as well I checked in my excess baggage of extra strong original sin and in return received a sticky bar code receipt for it, let’s hope some mix up occurs and it’s shipped to Panama or Indo-China.

A worst picture is conjured up, this is the entrance to Belsen or Auschwitz and our rucksacks and duffle bags are being scoured for any small items of value, gold, silver, jewellery. We also have to open our mouths wide as we walk through the metal detector. Then we will be separated from possessions and our families and the curtain will fall. The officious security checkers are indifferent to our fate, writing on clip boards, they are just following orders, doing the business, making sure everything is in order for the cultural vacuum we are to be sealed in - the Flybe Lounge and series of dismal shopping and coffee experiences sound tracked by pop tunes from the 90s and sheathed by images of de-constructed lipstick red models who never were real people.

By now and despite these metaphysical challenges and bad thoughts we’ve made it to the wide oasis of the shops. WH Smith have triumphed with their shop design. The newspapers are skilfully hidden from early morning eyes behind piles of tartan rubbish and sinister looking S&M straps disguised as travel aids. Once your chosen daily rag is gathered and you’ve bumped into fat young insurance brokers mulling over the chocolate bargains then it’s back out of the shop and in again via a geometrically challenging route to the tills. This fenced and winding maze holds all sorts of wonderful impulse buys and offers, mostly batteries, shiny objects with no obvious use and chewing gum in at least two flavours, essential for the frequent flyer so they can meditate on, absorb and understand the economics of selling to jaded travellers offering little resistance. Once you get to the till the kindly assistant asks “Would you care for these two bags of mints, on special at only £1.50 today?” “No thank you, I’m saving my cash and hallowed PIN number so that I can buy £50 worth of tickets at the ‘win a white Audi’ display a little further into the mall, then I’ll get my magnums of lunch time Champagne in see-through bags and a few souvenir rugby shirts on my way to Gate 20 via Wetherspoons for my all day breakfast bap and a lukewarm Costa latte, so no thank you once again.” Next time I’m headed M74, M6; maybe.

Monopoly money to be won

OK, repeat after me, "I am a false prophet; God is a superstition!" ("And I drink your milkshake!")

$100 in Monopoly money and a Ritter Sport are on the table if you can name the film.

Goat on the highway

Monday: good day for a photo reminder of a lonely goat on the highway.

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.