Lost posts

Blogger has been down and out for 24, 36, 48 who knows how many hours. All those lost posts, where are they, will they ever be found? Who really cares?

Rain stops play

It's raining away across the fields but you can't tell.

More (damp) still life.

Strange how indifferent cats can be towards rain, other times they plainly refuse to go out in it. Today it's not a problem.

Unplanted potatoes.

At work this afternoon I was struggling with a fiendish and slow moving piece of on-line training. A modern form of torture with little else to compare, worst of all the topic was Microsoft Share Point (groan). That prompted the day dream of coming home and doing a little relaxing gardening in the evening sunshine, then the rain came and that dream died.

Slow and surreal news on a rainy day: The SNP are now tucked up within their ugly monster Parliament building and at full and gawky strength, the work on the trams is going to restart (by stopping up Princess Street again), four hives worth of bees were stolen in Dundee and Edinburgh Zoo's dodgy management team appears to have been cleared of wrong doing in time for the panda's arrival and an old bloke who fell over in a cave was rescued by Border's Mountain Rescue (?). Then the Bank of England announces that inflation may reach 5%, that actually sounds quite good compared to what it feels like at the moment. How many economists and statisticians did it take to work that out?

Mug shot

Artwork can be reproduced in different ways that may allow them to be more easily seen, appreciated, function and, best of all they can sometimes turned into something different altogether. Transformation, one thing to another.

Artist David Reilly with flowers and white bowl.

Meanwhile Anne Reilly specialises in all kinds of things: still life with prawns, avocado, chili sauce (100% edible).

The pleasure of sweetness

At a street market in Aberdeen: never did quite get around to sampling the pleasures of BAKLAVA unfortunately. Some strange combination of molten rock and knitted headgear perhaps, that would be something, like that stuff the stone god eats in Return to Oz. We settled for sugared crepes instead, a little undercooked, over priced and not quite tasty enough. On another dodgy sea-food stall the giant prawns (or prawnies as they were described) were a strange, red, chewy experience. Street food in street markets seems to be the main draw for the general public, everything else, all the crafts, beads, books and plants are secondary. Scotland loves food, hates liberals and just about tolerates it's own weather.

Times up...

...for the Scottish Labour Party. After years of neglect, poor leadership and awful representation the arrogant Labour overlords who assumed the (good old, honest, hard working etc. etc.) Scottish people would love them and forgive them indefinitely have lost and lost badly. The wheels have fallen off the party machine. Hopefully they will recover but it will take an internal revolution, massive re-engagement and some honest apologies over the next five years if they are ever to offer a credible and serious alternative. Having said that, as usual 48% of potential Scottish voters find a toddle to the polling station and marking a few crosses on some pieces of paper too much like hard work, particularly if it might rain or something's on the telly- they'll get what they deserve, perhaps they've got it already.

What to do next? Sit back and munch a fish finger sandwich of course, waiting patiently on the AV results coming out.

Are we Almond Valley?

Some conceptual art (left out in the rain for added effect) laid out on the Art College car park.

Voted eventually, held out until 2100 or thereabouts. Three kisses on lilac, peach and white papers, not easy if you happen to be colour blind or over 55. Earlier in the evening it was the Student Fashion Show at Edinburgh Art College, an entertaining and informative 90 minutes; women, men, scary monsters, super creeps and a good choice of music. I live and learn. The salmon caviar and the roast beef on toast was particularly enjoyable - these days it's always about food unfortunately.

Alternative Vote

Smoke rising over it

I wish I cared a bit more about AV and the arguments for it’s apparent (but unproven) superiority over normal voting systems. If we do get AV tomorrow when the scribbled blue crayon Xs are counted up and counted down then the way is paved for us to explore AV plus. AV plus is of course a fully proportional system which would of course be the next natural step. Whilst this may in various scientific and statistical ways appear fairer (an over used and not wholly attractive term if there ever was one), the real problem will all voting systems isn’t the system, it’s the candidates. When you look at the field, their pedigrees, careers and their actual capabilities it’s hardly any wonder that voters are fed up and apathetic. The truth is that he current political system does not attract people of a particularly high calibre nor people with the necessary backbone to represent their constituents honestly and wholeheartedly. That’s the problem and few extra Xs and some magical algorithms wont fix it.

Disaster today. Up, fed cats, cleaned cats, cleaned me, frittered about and rushed out of the house, no petrol so a quick pit stop for some of Arabia’s finest snake oil and onto work. Once there I realised I’d forgotten my fruit. My gorgeous green apple and nicely bruised banana were back home, idly lying back in the kitchen fruit bowl.

Imran Khan says “Pakistan has lost its dignity and self belief”. The reason is? “ Pakistan has the most corrupt and incompetent government in its history.” Well that’s good to hear, they’ve also got atomic weapons and have been given $28 Billion is US aid over the last few years.

In the good old days I mostly attended a chilly primary school and cared little for external things other than occasional assassinations and the way that Britain seemed to be in the centre of every crisis in the world (or to blame for them). I believed that Britain was hated by all foreigners because we’d stolen all their sugar, corn and butter and locked all of their zebras and lions up in our fashionable zoos. Then there was the Cold War which just seemed to drag on and on. Living in a council house with only coal fire and no central heating I understood that pretty well, cold was something you fought against with blankets, curtains and pots of soup and the air-attack siren that was tested once a week, just to add a little drama to the otherwise silent and grave soundtrack. My uncle and aunt were high up in the Civil Defence, they had hats and armbands and went on exercises every weekend in their Austin A60. I had absolutely no idea what was going on and looking back it’s clear that neither did anybody else, we just became indifferent to the cold, sterling in a non decimal form and the black and white lifestyle. Maybe that’s what was good about the good old days. Funny how I recall the fifties and sixties in monochrome and the seventies in wishy washy colour, the eighties are like a fireworks party, the nineties are white with a chrome trim. The last decade, whatever it was called has plumes of smoke rising over it.

Euthanasia Roller Coaster

Ok it looks pretty strange in this image and it's unlikely that it'll ever be constructed but as a design concept it has some interesting qualities and dare I say it has some potential. Some say it is on display in Dublin until June. You can of course take safer roller coaster rides anytime...

Scottish elections: I'm thinking Intertoto Cup here and as for AV vote, the possibility of everybody voting but still getting something they didn't vote for isn't attractive albeit maybe that's what we deserve. Roll on Thursday.

Fish finger sandwiches: In a stunning move Scotland's premier healthy snack has returned to the number 1 spot effectively ousting the two pretenders, coconut yogurt and sliced banana ensemble and the rhubarb crumble (avec nutty sprinkles) and creme fraiche.

A world without Osama

Up and showered, Ali gone to the office, yogurt and banana breakfast and coffee. On the sofa with the TV remote ready to catch up on the news and the weekend football. Then it becomes clear it's no longer a slow news day today. Bin Laden killed in a fire fight in Pakistan by US operatives. News channels and media machines go nuts as the story spreads across time zones and filters into slowly waking minds. David Cameron describes it as a "major step forward", I wonder what that means, I doubt Cameron has any real plan that might somehow move in any particular direction as a result of this. So that's one man, one super criminal and terrorist out of the way and for many there will be a strong and understandable sense of justice having been done. A brief moment of triumph can be enjoyed before the next wave of reprisal or revenge attacks happen and unfortunately they will sooner or later, so the fear stays - a fact that suits governments of all persuasions, everywhere.

Pimms o'clock

Lazy gardening day, the recipe being:

A bottle of Pimms

Ice

Barrs Lemonade

Raspberries

Peppermint cordial

Orange juice

Mix in a jug, drink in the sun, pull out nasty weeds and plant various plants.

Optional: Red wine, plaice with mushrooms and boiled spuds and peas (of course).

Neighbours: what are they all about? Are they important? Should we love them? Are they affected by the weather?

Meanwhile the Auf Wiederseshen Pet illustration on AV is making a significant impact on our thought processes. Nobody liked it, nobody voted for it but we got it....hmmm.

Cappielow pitch invasion

A beautiful afternoon in Greenock saw Morton and Dunfermline square up for a game the result of which could give the Pars the title a week early- and did. A goal in each half saw us emerge easy winners and League Champions after four years in Division 1. As the final whistle blew good humoured mayhem broke out in the form of a mass pitch invasion. Not often that all the results go well for us, the soap dodgers of Falkirk and Kirkcaldy both got beat and the swindling pretenders at Dundee won their game but got hee haw overall, a nice day's work.

Hot sun, no pies or bridies all afternoon, just two burger vans for 5000 fans, no wonder we were going nuts.

Wembley style goal post attack, almost.

Championship team photo with the Pars travelling fanbase as a backdrop.

Royal Wedding fever cools down

Buttons and the Overdressed Sisters await their cab now that the ceremonials are over and done.

Thankfully the wedding fever in West Lothian has died down and life is back to normal: chasing stray deer and cats, dishwasher sculpture and compost juggling have returned to their usual places and this temporary love affair with all things royal has passed. I didn't actually see the much of great event, I was detained in Asda Dunfermline and B&Q Hermiston Gate for most of the morning, such is the pattern of a typical public holiday for me. B&Q was fun, a brief argument with a fellow pension dodger over their inventory system saying one thing and she saying another resulted in a win for me but no apology from them. Never rely on hand written sheets for your system, rely on the machine, it's seldom wrong and "one set of numbers" should always prevail.

Back home and after a confetti like blizzard of witty and very funny wedding related tweets it was back to home recording efforts, revisiting the equipment's finer details and as is the custom entangling the entire area. Three hours work and I has three (very rough) demos done, ready for the perusal of the lead singer herself. It's hard work being a part-timer musician and a full time moaning consumer but at least I dodged the big wedding and all the sycophantic rhetoric that surrounds it, anyway I hope Wills and Kate have a nice life in and out of the spotlight.

Am I alone in thinking?

Grateful Dead: Funny how many of the famous people who have died recently are credited with “changing the direction of modern culture”. It struck that if artisans and luvvies of all sorts continue to die at such a furious rate (mostly due to bad lifestyle choices dating back to the 60s and 70s) and their unmanaged crediting continues, the direction of popular culture might end up going full circle. If these deaths increase, as is likely, then as the cloying and exaggerated obituaries are penned for the Telegraph, Times and Independent modern culture may indeed start to spin on it’s own axis. Eventually it may spin completely out of control and possibly (if all goes well) completely out of sight. It may eventually spin into some glorious cultural vacuum where, as they say, the sun don’t shine.

“There’s nothing as sad as the laughter of people who have lost their faith.” I wish that I understood that or do I mean I wish that I misunderstood that?

A pause for a Pot Noodle: I was bored I think, I wasn’t particularly hungry, I’d eaten mostly toast and various pieces of fruit that day and it was, or claimed to be sweet and sour. On opening the pot I was straightaway disappointed, like turning onto Radio 2 by mistake. The noodles were all far away, compressed into the bottom of the pot, hiding it seemed. I added the water, a lot less than the instructions demanded and left it to stand for what I imagined to be five minutes. I then returned to it and stirred it with a fork. I also added a little more water and stirred again and waited a few more minutes. Then it was time to add the sachet of sauce. I cut the pack open and squeezed, the contents dripped in like an alien blood sample. Sweet and sour, pot and noodle, wet and dry, fibre and plastic, hot and cold, two for £1.20, Asda Roll Back. I drank a pint of cold milk thereafter.

Windows Pain

Slowly saying a not so fond farewell to this flag of inconvenience, it's stupid updates and adversarial attitude, I need an easier life, somewhere across yonder shimmering horizon. Will I miss it?...not really as I'm stuck with it at work and in various other places. Anyway after the false (but long lasting, still running) dawn that was/is UBUNTU it's back to the Mac.

A Lego ship sails away

Well constructed Lego vessel plies trade in local bath.

Bathroom: Nice to get over the painting the bathroom ceiling, the mess, the mayhem and the mystique. The actual painting time is insignificant in the overall process, the majority of effort is removing all the bathroom street furniture, the bottles and paraphernalia to a place of relative safety and then, perched on ladders, toilet bowels and bath edges scrape the old and flaky paint from the walls and ceiling. The paint of course has long since ceased to be paint or to behave like paint. It has transformed itself into sticky flakes of a white unearthly substance that floats from above and then congeals neatly into itself and onto whatever surface it lands upon. Ideally this will be one of the many newspaper covered areas but more oftener than not the paint flakes wily aerodynamic design allows it to travel to all sorts of other places. Like a shoal of slippery floating fish the paint particles find new places to land and cement themselves., hiding from their catcher. For the enthusiastic painter the only option is to pursue each errant flake and harvest it into the black bag. This process takes and inordinately long time, causes major frustration and delays the painting but once done the fuller and more creative works begin.

White on white in bright sunlight is not a helpful effect to have to live with or work within. Like executing the portrait of a beloved but always twitching albino cat in a blizzard happening in an avalanche whilst sniffing cocaine. Paint snow blindness skews perception, spatial awareness and the sense of distance. White spots dance in front of other white spots set against an Artic background. Then you drop the brush, kick over the paint tin or rub your head against the wet ceiling. You alight from the moving ladder and walk around checking things only to realise that your new spirograph footprints are the result of steeping on that fresh white blob. Only Laurel and Hardy ever made more of a meal of this. In a year’s time where will we be with this? It only took a few short moments really.

Game of Thrones: Two episodes in and despite the familiar nonsense running through the whole genre that this represents , GoT is starting to accumulate a respectable score of “must watch points” and “jump moments” along with the usual “awful and lame dialogue” and “stupid name to give anybody” blooper counts. Also there is a strong and unexpected “attractive animal” content and attraction in there with the domesticated but spiritually aware wolf characters looking good. You can hardly go wrong with a healthy smattering of wolves in a fantasy plot in my view, unless it’s the Twilight series. The sex scenes are just plain silly however and look to become fairly tedious as the story unfolds, the Tudor‘s bedroom choreographer needs to be given a call for series 2.

As good as it gets: There are those perfect moments but none are ever as perfect as imagined perfection. They are something else, ideal, blindingly happy, maybe beyond any regular category but, like the rest of life floating in either a mediocre sea of lukewarm soup or framed perhaps by edgy disaster or acute discomfort. It doesn’t really matter too much, the simple trick s to recognise them when they come along and then maintain the memory and resource to recall them and feed on them when you need to.

Essential reading for the week

Zombie Sunday

Birmingham Airport: Still life with chairs.

Another busy weekend burns out quite satisfactorily. Little bits of things almost accomplished, completely finished and done and dusted:

Back and forth to Aberdeen for the happy birthday of a grandson.

Lego challenges.

Western themed restaurants can be fun, have you tried an Apache bun?

Rain stops work but I read the Times in relative peace.

Giant eggs appear on a piano.

Said piano's life story is researched via a leaky shed in Inverkeithing. Guitar prices there remain a puzzle.

Macbook, macbook, macbook and more macbook.

Plants planted, mice caught, pots drenched.

Bagels.

Football matches both Saturday and Sunday return good results.

Paint scrapers come in sets of three and in perfect packaging.

Bikes and Karts at Knockhill. Irn-Bru and Coke, spring water and coffee.

The sun shines eventually.

A single fish, a fish supper, rhubarb and custard and Magner's pear cider.

A couch is definitely a sofa and should always be referred to as such, particularly by those who know what they know.

Holidays from blogs and the like.

Aberdeen: Still life with hot dog.

Game of Thrones week

Too many elections and voting choices resulting in too many fliers, supposedly personal letters, irritating party political broadcasts and predictable editorials in all the papers along with annoying comparative pieces about the party leaders and activists that try hard to make them sound interesting. May and all the games it provides is lurking around the corner. There will be blood.

Gripping new drama, scenes of a sexual nature, mild violence and half decent but fully acceptable (in the context) production values, not quite a stellar cast but familiar character chewed faces, some seasoning from the Tudors and the threat of monsters and magic somewhere over the horizon, the script has more mean looks and grunts in it than dialogue. Sounds like Game of Thrones, based on “A Song of Ice and Fire” chronicles the nobles and hangers on struggling to control the Iron Throne of Westeros. The first episode is over.

The spring fogs that hang across the Forth Valley like badly parked clouds are a joy to behold. These irreverent plumes of lost vapour sit on the river like a frigid blanket, sent to dampen down the twin bridge’s spirits and test the light bulbs on the cars and signs. The patches are never quite strong enough though, never deep enough to smother all the daylight allowing the sun to meekly smile through it all, glowing with the smug knowledge of the coming summer as the fog rolls away, far out to sea set to rejoin the vapours and powers that we on land never see or appreciate. Home.

Back home

Nice to get home after a couple of days working in the balmy temperatures of the south; unbroken sunshine and 23 degrees of April warmth. The weather god smiles on our English cousins. Arriving back tired and hungry it was (almost) straight into the fridge to rediscover a few choice leftovers from Sunday's epic roast dinner. Creamed parsnip, garlic rolled roast beef, broccoli and deep green peas, all scooped onto a plate and microwaved back to life. A meal fit for Lazarus and a hungry traveler.

Next it was a review of Fraser's TV debut on the Beechgove Garden, miscellaneous other media, catch up on Facebook and Twitter news and a load of washing swirling around in the washing machine and of course that dreaming cat fast asleep on the stairs, completely uninterested in any of our pointless comings and goings. What are our travels and our trials? Mere feathers in the wind.