Sun sinks

The sun sinking slowly in the west. Photo by Joe

Today (and it's not even over yet) has been a frozen curry kind of a plastic container and chilled but not chilled out day. When I get back to work later I may reflect on some of this or at the very least hoover the laptop's hard drive. Always a rewarding experience.

In the afternoon I paid a rare visit to an innocent banking establishment and for most of the banking experience managed to contain my deeply cherished and twisted inner rage. Even when the poor clerk apologised for keeping me waiting in a well rehearsed and insincere way I did not bite nor grimace. I behaved and waited twenty minutes whilst the latest banking technology wheezed at the prospect of transferring rainy Scottish money to sunny Maltese money, then printed out 6 forms which I duly signed and then repeated the process. I was a picture of middle-aged calm, the large queue of winking and blinking townspeople standing behind me seemed less pleased at this extended test of their patience. "Sorry to keep you waiting" I heard her say.

Tomorrow is Bod Dylan day, well mostly night I suppose. Bob's been there for me on many crucial lifetime moments, explaining, justifying and amusing. Other times he's been completely absent. That's the trouble with Bob, you just never really know. We'll see how well he's doing when being ritually covered by the Edinburgh glitterati (good if inappropriate word) at the Voodoo Chile Slight Return Rooms.

Castouts

Is it dull, is it human or is it dancer? Cod psychology and religion, bits, shapes and shards and locations possibly in the Canary Islands or Dalmatia or somewhere similar. We're on the second episode, some folks are already hooked, six more to go. Big stones are also featured, quite beautiful at times.

Meanwhile I exist, not unlike an outcast, on soup and toast and strange exotic combinations of soup and toast but not soap. That's soup and toast with cheese and maybe 17 pieces of fruit.

I got my reckless wish today, no rain just frost. Careful what you wish for.

Weekend over

Bad cat gets a cuddle.

A cup tie visit to Aberdeen yesterday is now a distant but not entirely unpleasant memory. The best part being the tasty £1.00 (very hot) pies and the ceaseless witty banter and relentless sing-song abuse you only get truly absorbed in when a part of the travelling support. The home fans were given no quarter and we were well ahead in both incisive comment and volume until a cruel 92nd minute own goal wrecked our afternoon party. Ho hum. Tails between our tails and some pie aftertaste in our throats it was the long walk back to hastily parked cars and the long dark drive back to Fife. Down on cash and petrol maybe but we'll be back.

Rain returned today, grim and forceful, lovingly leaving puddles and temporary floods, held in fields like saucers, drowning the winter crops and gathering toxic salt and mud and mixing it more and more to coat cars and roadsides and fill treacherous potholes with unseen slime. Come back Jack, Mr Frost, cold and shining, dry and open, clean and strangely perfect.

34 Hours

Another RIP post, Gary Moore this time. Probably best remembered for a lot noisy music he must have felt fairly much indifferent about, even some of the Thin Lizzy stuff. In my humble opinion the (very) old album by Skid Row, 34 Hours, was one of his best and a worthy memorial. Go out and buy it in vinyl. Not only are the songs pretty good but the lengthy sleeve notes which explored guitar and recording techniques in some detail are even better (for guitar nerds). I learned a lot as I listened, then promptly forgot it all. You cant get any of that with a download experience.

Late great Christmas present from the past

The shed fell over the other night thanks to the 90mph winds that were crossing Scotland on their way to Siberia, today I re-erected it. Inside it was feeling pretty sorry for itself with many things damp, ruined and therefore damp and ruined. There was also a mystery package, addressed to my good lady, posted out from the Internet box-shifter known as Firebox. On the delivery instructions it clearly said, "leave in shed, safe place". Indeed it was safe, having sat there now for about 7 weeks, undetected and pretty much forgotten until Hurricane Ned struck. Inside the floppy packaging and in perfect condition was of course "the world's largest Gummy Bear", what else would you expect to find lurking in a wrecked shed?

Meanwhile guitar noodling has reached new and almost tuneful heights thanks to the super-noodle neck now fitted and fully working on the Gibson Noodlemaker. You should hear my Bm7 noodle and my Lemon Song riff and turnaround.

Boxed set

Keep safe on this wild and windy night, watch a boxed set in the comfort of your own home or if you like living dangerously in your static caravan in Roseneath. The shed and the chimera have just blown over. Eek!

Double Neck

Despite the extreme weather today's pony express got through bringing six machine heads, one Gibson neck, one nut, some circulars and mail not meant for me. The first three items allowed project #1 to move forward by a few degrees. (Above) The new neck is on the left, the old iguana neck is on the right. The photo below was taken after a short struggle that saw the neck fitted, the nut glued in place and the machine heads fitted and my palm getting a screwdriver burn. Strings on tomorrow.

A brief history of time, idleness and ongoing projects:

1. As above, supersonic neck refit.

2. Record outstanding works of musical significance.

3. Stop leak in car floor pan.

4. Fix sunroof in car.

5. Fix air-con in car.

6. Fix bathroom ceiling.

7. Various outstanding chutney issues.

8. Book holiday.

9. Reorganise kitchen broom cupboard.

10.Many garden related things.

11. Win lottery.

12. Eat unseasonal food currently blocking up the freezer.

That'll do I think.

Taman Shud

When you google Mars Bar, photos of Marianne F turn up. Forty odd years on and the new fangled web and old but magical black and white news world have long and persistent memories.

I continue to lose weight thanks to my dogged refusal eat anymore Mars Bars or one a day as was the custom round these here parts. In a daydreamy state today I calculated that if all the Mars Bars I'd ever eaten were laid end to end they would stretch all the way from Newton to St Bridget's Kirk in Dalgety Bay (via the coastal path). After 56 years enough is therefore enough and I will no longer tread the long and winding chocolate path between here (or there) and the birthplace of Bridget the famous Fife midget. My diet is therefore safe for the time being as I cling to the wreckage of this inspiring and slightly worrying vision.

It was fairly late in the day and in life when I first discovered the hidden world of the Lego album cover cult. My infatuation lasted a few hours and then it faded away to not very much as I failed to find a Lego Sergeant Pepper or a Tyrannosaurus Rex, Prophets Sears & Sages the Angels of the Ages (in mono), better luck next time Lego people.

Meanwhile, the hidden codes of Taman Shud or Shad or Shod and the radioactive death haunt me like any good mystery should.

Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells

In a spectacular piece of Kamikaze reorganisation the BBC are replacing Radcliffe and Maconie with Jo Whiley from whenever they get around to it. Unbelievable. The evening R2 slot goes to a blond, sycophantic irritant who knows nothing about music and R&M head out for a 1300 - 1600 wilderness slot on Radio 6, an interesting enough station but not one that is car friendly in any sense. "Cheerio all you truckers". What are they playing at? Spoiled my day it did, until I undercooked and then overcooked the tea time pizza which really spoiled things. I'll get over it eventually but in the mean time I'm grinding my teeth like a proper old codger.

Cute Dinosaur

Dinosaur doodle.

Thought collections

THE LARGE THE SET IN UPPERCASE IS NOT IMPORTANT. "These fish are very, very sad. The sad fish send their beams of concentration towards the target. Loud ZAP! ZAP! noises are emitted, they echo across the room stunning members of the public and unrelated animals. Any casual observer might well think that these fish are playing a game of darts, well... what do you think? It's easy to misunderstand the ways of scribbled fish, particularly around here."

Any similarity between these fish and the silver ones on a slab in a fish shop is purely coincidental as these fish were hand crafted on paper and brought to life by crayon and pencil by various incredibly talented people when in the Owlers last week.

Danelectro 12 string on which you can play many more chords than the normal 4. Depending on your talent and dexterity it may be very difficult to play if you only have 6 fingers on your left hand and even more so when you only have the regular 5 digits (that also includes thumbs and things) but don't be discouraged by apparent limitations such as these. Stretch the boundaries.

Well that's my thoughts collected.

MRLS

It's not often that an impromptu celebratory pyrotechnic display comes perilously close to wiping out your entire family and laying waste to a large part of a Scottish city centre. Yesterday we came squarely up against that point and thankfully all walked away. Some of the wiser and more aware spectators ran away at great speed. I presume that the ASBO is by now in the post. What'll happen the next time we get together?

Starting the revolution

Up early awaiting a delivery from John Lewis, due sometime between 0500 and midnight. It's also my second son's 30th birthday today, a time for reflection, family gathering, meals, drinking and if possible some revolutionary activity. The card above is a reminder of such possibilities, an analogy (the fuller exploits of Mr Ernesto) I wouldn't want to take too far but even now, after all these painful years I refuse to give up on my heroes and my world wide and wonky ideology.

Laptop still working though the battery has now completely given up the ghost and is sending feeble, occasional, blinking messages asking for help or urgent replacement. I think not.

On a rare musical note (did this blog start out as a music blog?) Mr Gibson/Baldwin Les Paul Jr long term restoration project is undergoing a neck transplant. One delinquent neck has now been surgically removed and a replacement is eagerly awaited. Like Mr G/B I have also lost a little weight, something like 2lbs this week simply by avoiding the twin evils of chocolate and more chocolate.

Forget the sledgehammer

Above following on from the KoL picture below.

After a whole day of running utilities like Algerian diarrhoea the laptop has risen, Lazarus like back to a working state of some sort. praise the digital gods etc. and abandon the sledgehammer for the mean time.

Sledgehammer

It appears that Gary Tank Commander (right) has joined the Kings of Leon. Good then.

The laptop saga carries on, unfortunately taking a downward slump with what appears to be a collapsing battery and relentless set of disk/disc/dusk/dosk/operating errors that try to correct themselves but never get better. The question is, disk doctor or sledgehammer. Enough to drive a man to drink smoothies and eat toast and double thick, organic marmalade.

Soup and Dolphin Bagel

Losing weight by the religious avoidance of chocolate and normal massive amounts of fried food is not as easy as it sounds. It may be the greatest test of endurance I have ever experienced as I struggle on uphill to get back downhill. The revised but punishing soup strategy however may be the answer. Yesterday I made a large pot of bubbling vegetables and pulses allowing it to settle and metamorphose (?) overnight, today I am eating it along with pickled dolphin from 1953, lightly spread across as toasted bagel. I can feel the pounds and the guilt and years of care falling away like snow in the sun sliding from a country dyke. Soon a new and lighter spring day will dawn as I use up less gravity and space within this rarefied and slimmer atmosphere. Thank you soup. Also nice to drive home in what is an acceptable attempt at daylight.

Anther view of Narnia World, so turn left at Mordor, take Junction 9 to Hogwarts and then straight down the rabbit hole and you're almost there. Alternatively stare at this picture and wait for the mysterious swoosh.

ned ned rose

Burns night: I always feel a little guilty on Burns night, whilst I appreciate his huge body of work and worldwide status I've never really enjoyed his material. I could blame my mean and dull upbringing or my schooling or my thick and prejudiced head but what's the point. I'm a traitor to my homeland and national bard, as bad as an Andy Gray, a Nazi sympathiser, somebody who doesn't respect Islam or dislikes Heinz Beans and doesn't go "whooo" when they see a shooting star. Mr Burns I apologise for my serial ignorance, all I can say is that your namesake's got some pretty good lines in the Simpsons - most episodes anyway.

Narnia Theme Park

Nice to see that the estate of C S Lewis have sanctioned the building of the world's first Narnia Theme Park in Penrith. The only slight problem is the perpetual winter weather and the unscripted outbreak of distant traffic cones. The rides are mainly walks but as entry was free I didn't expect too much, that's a good business model for anything outdoors in the UK. Meanwhile upstairs in the coal fired restaurant the soup was excellent, unfortunately they'd run out of Turkish Delight by the time it came around for dessert so we were able to get back to the real world before any time had elapsed at all. On reflection it was a pretty narrow escape and we were soon able to rejoin the familiar width that is the long running saga of the parallel M6 Theme Park in a twinkling (whatever that is).

Aslan and a gay friend guard the entrance to nowhere in particular.

This experience was called "The troubled thoughts of Vince Cable and other misconceptions".

Buddha likes to hang out in the bushes, he still manages to see everything through closed eyes but understands very little.

Kylie Minogue set in stone and thankfully neither dancing nor gyrating. Needs to lose the headgear I reckon.

Whaley B Daily Photo

Err, not quite Whaley B, this was lunch, upstairs in Narnia, just outside Penrith. It's a salmon sandwich with couscous and salad. Frozen Dr Who related pictures to follow.

Owlers.

A snip at 89 Grand, one careful owner, full service history, modest MPG however and only available in black. Get your summer 'Vette right here, right now.

Memory

The Madcap Laughs

I now realise one of the great problems facing my generation. Memory. Ghosts and black and white footage from a guilty and misunderstood past. I’m old enough and just about lucid enough to recall the recent old world order. The last days of Empire, the fabled, pink tinged and toned Mercator Projection classroom map of the world, made of some kind of glossy cloth. Perhaps that is why I am in this perpetual state on unease, shifting my weight from foot to foot, side to side, twitching occasionally, waiting on the Royal Procession to pass and hoping for permission to carry on and put three spoonfuls of sugar in my tea. It all comes flooding back when I go to a school parents night and talk to those young and dysfunctional teachers: I get the jitters, perhaps it was that chav lady language teacher with bad teeth and complete schemey accent from Lochgelly that did it.

Three minutes thirty seconds is too long for the contents of a small tin of soup to spend in a powerful microwave.

Labour on the rampage. What a bunch of complete tossers make up the shadow cabinet now, I cannot, anywhere inside me find a kind word or thought for any of them. It’s a chronic source of disappointment to see how we (one time socialists) are represented: Milliband Vanilli, Ed Balls, Yvette Cooper, Douglas Alexander and the rest. Absolutely awful, at least it’ll be 4 years before they get a hold of anything they can properly screw up. Of course that means the others, the bloodsucking Tory vampires (not the good kind) with their toady LibDems will prevail. Oh to be in Bermuda, in a triangle, just sitting tight, to avoid the scandal.

Dundee cash machine (in a Scotmid no less) pays out double amounts of notes. A living dream in the septic city of jute, jam, pies and thirty year old grannies. Marvellous, worthy of a folk song. The bookies, drug dealers and off-licences will be rejoicing. The cash machine company director said “If people using the ATM see it as a bit of fun, so be it” and they can all keep the money. The ATM was shutdown shortly after the company were alerted. I’d love to think it was all part of an ongoing conspiracy or anarchist plot.

I don’t have any mouth ulcers at the moment but if I did I’d apply some Bonjela to those little, painful and unwelcome oral volcanoes. Oysters give you ulcers, not many people know that.

Still life with Bonjela.