Low flying angels

We visited Edinburgh's newly fixed up museum today, clambered up the stone steps and then down again; the old brass and wood doors were closed tight, redundant in the brave new museum model. The entrance is now via a vaulted basement, formerly hidden away under the old great hall. Inside familiar exhibits remain, moved around like victims of some domestic removal strategy, shiny bright on new plinths and displays to be ignored or pondered over by the drifting, shuffling and confused masses. Lots of good things to see still, my favourites being the aircraft and auto gyros, just a shame that few of the exhibits were already out of order and some of the snagging and finishing isn't quite right yet. The kids enjoyed it though, I'll return some rainy day and wander around alone, hands behind my back whistling to myself, I might even take my glasses with me.

Flower People

The guerilla flower children are stalking us, hiding out in the woods, scrambling across roofs and sneaking behind stone walls. Their wild music drifts across the hedgerows, sometimes tuneful, often tuneless, the sing and whistle along, random drumbeats follow. Slow and long. It's as if they thrive on the anarchy they produce, self perpetuating energy, running down time and chasing the fade. We've never really spoken, never made eye contact, never been close enough to see more than blurry detail. They are like foxes or badgers, in the night mostly, in the sun occasionally, drifting away into the landscape of changeable weather. Rainproof and unafraid of rampant mud. All they do is leave disturbing traces, messages, signs and sticks, piles of twigs, parcels of dung. Frog and elongated lizard conversations; misheard.

In chalk on a dry road I found a paragraph from their manifesto, I might have written it myself: “I'm no longer searching in the media for answers, for wisdom or for any collection of things that I might at one time have considered useful. I feel a barrier going up; the world is no place to live but is the only place to live. The news repeats itself with increasing regularity as do I. Nobody really knows what they are talking about and all power must be some form tyranny.”

When I say that I might have written it, that's true of many things. I might also have said that I made a cottage pie from local cottages and locally grown potatoes (all known by the name of Charlotte). There are many things I might have said and made. Meanwhile in a field not far away a man stands with a high powered rifle leaning against a small Japanese 4 x 4, part of me thinks he might be up to no good, part of me thinks otherwise.

At night, in the dark, as we sleep, mice scamper across the ceiling about our heads carrying the raw materials needed to make shoes for hedgehogs. Not many people know of that and the related endeavours.

Lettered up and distorted

Messing around with some photo app or other, it makes the trees grow which is useful, nice quirky font.

Squawkie

The wild places beyond the window.

Toilet trilogy, day two: today's toilet event began at about 7.30 this morning. I was relaxing (maybe not quite), in the downstairs loo in a somewhat exposed position when I observed a strange green object jumping about behind the cistern, then I heard a loud "awk!". I looked down to see a small frog jumping along the skirting board clearly somewhat upset at my presence in what I think he considered to be his private space. "Awk!" he cried, not hearing that properly I immediately named him Squawkie, it was more of a squawk than a croak or any other traditional frog sound. As I recovered from the shock of the discovery I tried to apprehend the little fellow with a toilet brush, but he was having none of that and darted around looking for an escape. He then hid in the drain pipe area, beyond the reach of me and the toilet brush.

Resigned to the unsatisfactory fate of not catching him I made a cup of coffee and quickly briefed all other potential toilet users that they were now not alone. I returned to the toilet area and he was still there, making less noise, presumably in some kind of sulk and beyond reach. Ten minutes later I returned to check on his progress but he had vamoosed, back into the wild, the drains or thereabouts. I miss him a lot, he seemed a stout and robust little beast but I've heard it said that time heals. His arrival marks the sighting of a new species, not a toad, a mouse, a vole, a mole or a badger but a proper shiny green frog, or maybe a fat and agile newt impersonating a frog. It's pretty hard to tell these days, one from 't other, and he did sound like a parrot.

Unknown events

Who knows anything about the unfortunate circumstances leading up to this poor fellow meeting a watery end in our downstairs toilet? Not me.

Spot the super car

An idle hour at the airport can tip a person into insanity. It may be gadget shopping, eating overpriced sushi, drinking at ungodly hours or (in my case) entering stupid super car raffles. Of course I 've always look disdainfully on as tourists and travelling business victims hang around at these dream counters, gazing at the ridiculous cars and emptying their wallets in a futile bid to own one, egged on of course by the nubile Asian girl or the tall male student. Both of whom are decked out in Steve Jobs' black and appear to be in the pay of the devil himself. It's an attractive, magnetic and absorbing little scene that I struggled to ignore.

At least I only paid a tenner for this brief flirtation but apart from a nice line in chat from the Asian girl (and the promise of a date if it won (?)) all I got was a computer screen version of spot the ball and guaranteed email junk for the rest of my life. My soul, once again well and truly sold, oh to be a little less feeble minded and starry eyed. Just think I could have had a memory stick from Dixon's, an expensive paperback from WH Smiths or three pints of this month's real ale from Weatherspoons. All I'm left with is a possible crack at an Audi TT and that (unlikely) date - all will be revealed on the 31st when I get that personal phone call from the founder and CEO of the company; fair enough then, a tenner well spent.

Fungus in a little more detail.

Daily cartoon

Popular fungus

No #17 in the series, here is the local "Battle of Abercorn" fungus seen in it's natural element which is as you might imagine outside, sucking up to an old, rotting piece of wood. A high quality and nicely composed piece of fungus. Stay tuned for more next week as the growth season continues and the tension heightens.

The Great British Bake Off on BBC2 is entertaining tosh. Contestants and eccentric judges get wildly enthusiastic about cakes mostly (and of course good luck to the winner). You can't help but worry about the kind of undocumented havoc this kind of TV show creates in kitchens and households across the country as enthusiasts have a go. Hours of shopping, mixing and pushing around uncompromising ingredients wasted as ordinary people try to emulate these bizarre but attractive creations - and then the dismal failure, gluttony and family arguments that must follow. All in a good cause I suppose.

Post apocalyptic microwave.

Trugfulls of recycling

Every so often somewhere in the western world a potato explodes in a microwave. Today it was our turn. Starch is a persistent and stubborn enemy that finds it's way into even the smallest and furthest away places, I'm sure there are valuable lessons here for terrorists and demolition men, one day I'll share them. On the positive side the chicken pie survived almost intact and may even have been edible.

The trugs of junk were taken on a long and rainy journey to Dalgety Bay, from there they will travel by diesel barge and parachute to Korea where they'll be turned into the kind of useful household objects you find on sale, upstairs in TK Max at the very back of the shop in a dump bin for 99p. It feels great to be looking after Mother Earth in this way, I would hug her if I could just get my arms around her.

October Festering

Potato harvest

Apples in a sack

Now that it's MoT is about to expire I wondering whether or not now would be a good time to somehow convert the Cougar for time travel or failing that the possible use of a light speed upgrade in order to undertake some interstellar exploration. At 134k it's already been round the world 5 times and needs to broaden it's horizons a bit, motoring can put you in a rut at times. In truth I'm not sure the old girl/boy is up to and my back a little gippy thanks to digging up potatoes and plundering apples, the vibrations may be just too much. It is Oktoberfest so the harvest must come home and I should spare my failing strength for that.

Growing potatoes is quite a rewarding experience, first you buy a bag of potatoes and carefully plant them in the ground, you can also add various fine dung combinations, chemicals and salt and pepper to taste. During the summer months when the temperature is high and the air dry and pretty girls are everywhere you need to hose them down a bit, the rest of the time they can be ignored apart from a little unobtrusive weeding and gentle whispering (my particular forte) Then six months later you dig them all up and you have a lovely bag of potatoes.

Unexpected item in the bagging Area 51

Panic at the Tesco: Buy one get one free on strawberries and other soft fruits - the mixed fruit and vegetable aisle is a weird place where little makes sense. Everything is set out looking nice, in shiny boxes but I remain confused, the packaging sizes change all the time, the fruit is from different places, nothing is clear other than that blueberries are way too expensive these days. A squishy victim of foodie propaganda and daft TV shows. There is something sinister going on, a plot is hatching: the Innocent Smoothies are now in smaller cartons, the Muller corners are two packs for £5.50 (?), green bananas are called "eat later", the stuff you want is never on offer and the rules on multiples of alcohol purchases changed a day ago (and of course retailers will stick to the spirit of the regulations say the SNP) so wine is err... still available. Food is not in short supply here but if we only buy what they give us, what choice to we really have? Out here in wherever we are there are no easily accessible markets other than the self proclaiming super ones. I'm bored with this routine of foraging for meal deals for a tenner, pizza v pasta, club card points and that bloody unexpected item is still in the bagging area - how can it be unexpected when the whole science of shopping has become so predictable? Maybe we need to move out to the great green spaces of Morningside or Stockbridge so we can support the fictional, virtual and struggling vintners, fishmongers and greengrocers of yore, anyway I've had my tea.

Life, love and the end of social networking

Molly the lovable dog from the big hoose always looks like she needs a good wash, which indeed she does. Today I decided against letting her and her mucky paws into our house as we'd just spent most of the morning Octoberfestingly cleaning things. Then the BT repairman arrived and order was restored.

Facebook's desire to morph into an even more irritating version of itself has caused me to reflect on the future of social networking, I think we've passed the peak and we're finally bouldering down the other side and into something possibly more straightforward and effective - just meeting people normally. This week we'd a pub meeting with friends, a music night and a meal in a local Indian restaurant with friends, all much more enjoyable than posting one liners and random status messages.

Every so often a tree falls in the forest and nobody hears it, here's one that fell earlier and presumably nobody caught the audio crunch - I certainly didn't, I was most likely engrossed in Newsnight, the Borgias or perhaps the Tom Morton Show. Bit of a shame really. This fallen tree is halfway down Badger Street, just up from Deer Lane if you'd like to come along and inspect it or respect it.

Post from the cloud

Due to numerous technical problems and an irritated phone and router I'm connected to things via the McCloud. A lot faster than at home, sometimes the wrong kind of progress is good. I'll be here the next time I'm uploading any music or feel the need to be hacking into a double cheeser. However I might choose a more comfy seat a little further away from the door.

Thanks to CBQ for the bizarre and distorted bar panorama from Wednesday, what a creative he is. He made a trick photo out of a gig that was not a gig without a venue and everybody went home happy, reminisced (?) and fulfilled as far as you ever can be. Can you spot the cultural and artistic luminaries in the pic? No, neither can I, but I've got the wrong specs on.

What they all say

I'd like to be able to stick with this but frankly it just doesn't work or to be precise it only works for the few. That's those with a) lots of talent and b) those with less talent but a good agent or manager.

I'm finding the latest batch of home brewed lentil soup hard work but highly sustaining. It just seems to expand in the stomach like a pulse filled balloon. One bowl and you're not hungry for days, everyday is like Christmas in fact.

Today I considered putting my foot down in Norway but then changed my mind, now it's someplace in the background.

Some signs of the times

What can you really believe on the web or afford to take seriously? I'm easily confused and duped but thankfully usually take a moment to consider my actions - so I've managed to avoid this nonsense for at least 18 months; I presume everybody else knew. That feeling of being behind, dumb and in the dark isn't so good but having now managed to get used to it at least I can understand it.

Deer in the headlights

Spotted these two wandering Bambis on the way home from the Blue Blazer last night, both just about to dodge back into a field and then into the wide open woodland between here and the Bo'ness backyards. As they are clearly on the left side of the deer park wall I doubt that they have come from the domestic herd. These chaps are wild and free and probably covered in ticks and nasties.

Meanwhile back at the pub we both enjoyed the Wright Brothers last gig; "Portobello Slam" impressed as did "Arty French Film" and a nicely remembered version the Kinks "Tired of Waiting". Some fine mandolin swapping and guitar tickling efforts were on display. Also present and all very polished and entertaining were Fi & John F, Nyk and the ever resolute Mr J Whyte who did an unexpectedly soulful version of "Guitar Man" by David Gates, somebody I'd not heard of in a long while. Sunday nights at the BB are of course known as "The Listening Room" and feature a wide variety of singer-songwriters relaxing and playing their tunes unplugged. The music and few squibs of whisky caused me to temporarily forget the mannish flu bug that appeared from nowhere and planked me between the eyes in the afternoon.

Time traveling advice for the bemused drinker on the hand drier in the Blue Blazer bog.

Lost in Glenrothes

Gilvenbank Park in Glenrothes is hard to find. Shielded by mature trees and shrubs, surrounded by houses and other types of piles of bricks, it's green spaces and copious amounts of dog poo finally yielded a couple of secret football pitches. Of course the Sat-Nav was right all along, why would I ever doubt such a device? In the end we got a result, coming from 2 down to win 2 - 3, more than the Pars could manage yesterday against the Currant Buns. The sun (?), the early morning and the relentless driving of the weekend did produce a fine headache in me, it lingers on even at 1900 today. Classic.

Free Sky and new Billys

After running about spending £s getting football tickets I discover that we've got free Sky Sports for the weekend - they never warn you these freebies are coming up; Murdoch's revenge I guess. At least there was double Modern Family last night, that may have rebalanced things between me and my Sky user anxiety and guilt.

Right now I'm waiting on the arrival of a mattress and in an unrelated move a consignment of IKEA Billys. The Billy manufacture and transfer plan is now up and running: Build a Billy, empty a Billy, sort a Billy, hoover behind a Billy, fill a Billy, recycle (or even sell) a Billy x 3 at least. A Billy progress report will be published in due course.

Oh well

It all makes perfect sense.

Can-opener angst

Living in a branch of the sticky part of the sticks our broadband is water and wind powered. This means the uploading of .wavs is tedious but I am persevering. I wouldn't want the good folks of Japan, the further out colonies, the North & South Poles and the many distant islands to be denied the opportunity to download our tunes and so swell the many swellings that make up our great pile of music related cash. So my struggle goes on.

Facebook continues to irrigate or even agitate us by morphing again into some other irritating monster version of what it was last week. Don't these people in California realise that some of us are dumb, clumsy and can't reality be arsed to relearn what button we have to push? Don't they understand that we struggle with railway ticket machines, electric can openers, Sky Plus and MS Office 11 on a regular basis and are soundly and roundly defeated by them all? Probably not.