The sun up close

This is what the sun's Facebook profile picture would look like assuming the sun was a person and was at all bothered about being on something as flip, vacuous and self indulgent (but useful for staying connected) as Facebook. I'd be friends with him/her inasmuch as I see him/her everyday and often get blinded by him/her when driving. Generally we don't converse all that much or exchange ideas though. Taking a slightly different view I owe the sun quite a bit; existence, life, sustenance and so on. I'd probably like his/her profile and most of things he/she does. I'd imagine that the sun would be a bit conflicted about the whole Facebook thing but would persevere with it anyway, just to see what happens, that's the dilemma of opting into any kind of social networking circuit. You can log off any time you like but you can never leave. Of course in some cultures the sun is seen as a god, that might cause a few problems in terms of friendships and passing idle or silly comments. Beware the wrath of the sun and other heavenly bodies.

Images with not much text

The crowds gather for the 2011 Hopetoun House fireworks extravaganza. The fireworks and the weather were very good indeed. Not so sure about the Real Radio disco - awful. After the show the traffic cleared surprisingly quickly, the dark skies and the November silence returned bringing a warm peace that enveloped the evening.

Earlier in the day; a busy morning.

Last night, 10 years of OOTB was celebrated at the Cabaret Voltaire. A super-group Confushion line up lines up for an epic performance.

Whyte & Mackay.

Some kind of elaborate finale with a cast of thousands, a fair bit of chaos, many laughs, a double bass and not a lot of the singing carried out exactly in tune, but that's the beauty of live and original music.

Incontinence: is it all in the mind?

You may have noticed that I often choose to use daft post titles, all in the hope of attracting odd google results, it's surprising how well it actually works. Indeed for every hit this blog gets I receive virtual credits towards the virtual Jaguar of my choosing and multiple bonus Karma points.

Far away in the distance we heard the sounds of throbbing machines and buzzing chain saws. Then in scenes reminiscent of Bambi's climax (?) and the first chapter of Watership Down, hundreds of tiny animals ran past chattering and squealing and recounting tales of horror and home wrecking. The (very) birds of the air took to the (very) sky and buggered off somewhere else as this thunderous forestry apocalypse took place before our (very) eyes. In a mere matter of days all the tall trees were cut, the ground was cleared and a scorched earth policy undertaken and enacted (not as good as a Scotch Egg Policy). Fair enough, now the twin cities of Cumbernauld, Cartagena and Cairo will receive fine gifts of real Christmas trees and bundles of pungent Yule logs thanks to the generosity of the people of Scotland and our top quality rain. As for us, we now get 9.5% more sunlight, 14% more infestation and a nice pine smell in the upstairs bathroom. Win, win, win.

Here some of those Invisible Helper folks playing guitars and stuff.

A difficult year

Clearly it has been a difficult year for some, but exceptionally not so for us; we've had a bumper crop of streams and downloads for impossible songs and we would like to thank all those good people who allowed us into their lives, hard drives and at great expense their ipods. We salute you and would like to remind that if you'd just taken the trouble to click somewhere else possibly to the right of where you are just now you'd have gotten the same stuff for free. That's rampant capitalism for you.

OOTB was celebrated at the Voodoo Rooms last night. Some good music played and displayed - Jill Hepburn shone on the voice and banjo and NL & the Invisible Helpers were superb. Thank you Jim Igoe, an MBE for services to music should be plummeting through your letterbox if this was a just and fair world.

One more cup of coffee

This small cup of coffee is in fact actual size, one of those tiny, expensive ones that you get in places that serve such things. They go by some Italian name that is used to embarrass customers and encourage mispronunciation and bad attempts at European accents. At my age the challenge of getting my tongue around any complex word is a worthwhile exercise in brain stimulation and little drop of coffee seldom has the powerful diuretic effect of a large soup bowl type of mug.

Tonight marks another event in honour of OOTB's tenth birthday celebrations, but can it be ten long years? Well yes it can and I missed the first two years anyway but there is a lot to look back over and dare I say a lot to look forward to.

In between furniture moment

We're in between furniture at the moment. No comfy couches or Billys, no shelving or TV stand. The overall effect is to make the house appear strangely more spacious and dare I say it cleaner looking, if a little less comfortable. It's good to get out of that comfort zone thing, well just for a few days. On Friday new stuff arrives and we'll lounge around and snooze in front of well housed TV once more - for the few hours a week we're home that is.

Potential Energy of Collapse

By way of a brief explanation: The "potential energy of collapse" describes the terrifying potential of the pieces made up by Scotsman Aeneas Wilder at the YSP (Yorkshire Sculpture Park) and across the known world. As a self confessed sculpture turd I am way impressed by these fantastic creations. No glue, no nails, no joints, just wood and space (+faith, patience and a steady hand).

Standing close by to Wilder's works is a strange and frightening experience. But then not as strange and frighting as walking across 2km of Yorkshire cow pasture to actually gain entry to the exhibition - that's how they do things in these parts.

The event ends on the 3rd of this month with an unceremonious kick down which I'd have loved to have seen but there are very obvious space restrictions for these events; health, safety and sanity also play a part I guess. I believe you can view a video of the collapse on the YSP web site after the day and of course if you google Aeneas Wilder there's a whole lot more.

The YSP is a great, rusting scrapyard of a place, messy and inconsistent, set in a stately home's untended grounds, where bizarre and oddly formed artistic pieces hide behind trees and bushes or roll across fields whilst set firmly in Somme like mud, not all of it my cup of Bovril either. I don't quite know what they were thinking when it was set up but it is worth a visit, particularly if you want to exercise your dog and like to stare at things.

Ninja cyclists of the Peak District

Even when going away just for a few hours or over night plans have to be made and preparations done to ensure that the cats enjoy a normal standard of living. On our return we saw that indeed they had not starved nor had they consumed much from the Saturday feast. maybe they ate out.

Our long drive to Manchester started badly, a burst tyre on the M9. We think it was the M9 but it could've been a number of other roads. When these things happen on cross cutting motorways it's pretty hard to tell where you are and we failed. However the bloke from the AA seemed to know and thankfully got us out of an awkward predicament.

Eventually we made to the winding open roads of the Peak District, each one clogged with mad cyclists clad in black and covered in mud. Presumably townies out for their own kind of dirty weekend; slogging up hill and down dale and blocking up moving traffic. It's an interesting place, mild, stony and with good family connections made, highly enjoyable. I'm pretty tired now having just driven back, so more about the peaks and YSP tomorrow.

Deacon Blues

At times its good to sing a song to yourself just to get the lyrical pleasure from the words. Steely Dan's “Deacon Blues” works for me and better than best today I learned why they call Alabama the Crimson Tide. It's nothing to do with racial tension, shoot outs or a bloodbath following the call up of the National Guard. It's just American football and an auburn coloured mudslide and a victory that took place some hundred years ago. I wonder if Deacon Blue ever considered writing a song called Steely Dan?

“I'll learn to work the saxophone, I'll play just what I feel, drink Scotch whisky all night long and die behind the wheel. They got a name for the winners in the world, I want a name when I lose. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide, call me Deacon Blues.”

And so it came to pass that sensual and heady mix of deep heather honey and crisp breakfast biscuits carried me away upon a perfect cloud of clear thought and reasoning to place where I could contemplate and create the mantra and manifesto that is set to become the centrepiece of the way ahead for the New Pragmatists. God bless them and all who sail and put their shaky faith in them. I need to learn to touch type and dictate simultaneously so that the rapid flow of ideas and concepts can be fully captured and none of the detail or nuances are lost. That's what usually happens and it all ends as a screw up despite all the good intentions unless the latent power of the lentils prevail. All indicators hint at this being an accurate indication.

10 years gone

Odd to think that this peculiar and influential film has been on the go and building it's cult and bizarre following for 10 years. As they say "time will crawl."

Songwriting thoughts

Tea was...an elaborate menage of boiled up lentils, herbs and spices and the eggs of three hens.

After I'd absorbed their greenish orange yellow white goodness I got to thinking, "whatever doesn't kill you may still give you a nasty cut and that irritating and slow to heal cut may well prevent you playing a musical instrument or using hand tools." Beware. Then I thought about the biscuits and the cleaning lady and thought "she'll know that those are yesterday's biscuits and no mistake," but what can I do about it? Then in another piece of lateral brain maneuvering I thought about songwriting and came across this. Then I ate some M&S walnut whips.

Ancient ritual games

A century of ancient ritual games but who's counting?

Rather than watch this I'm watching the one millionth rerun of the Blues Brothers on ITV4 in HD, must be a slow Wednesday evening. I should really be writing songs, making daal or at the very least practising on my Algerian nose flute. I blame the persistent evil of the dram, the fine and spiky taste of Stilton and the black black open sky spinning high above my lazy head.

Earlier in the evening I went to my daughter's art exhibition in the Queendom of Fife; superb of course and here and there there were strawberries, M&Ms and cocktail sausages. Things have changed a lot in the forty years since I attended that type of full time education. Just as well.

No country for middle-aged balding men

After a two week absence Squawkie the frog returned home today. For some reason he chose to take an early morning dip in the cat's drinking water, not something I'd recommend but I'm not familiar with frog customs or their rehydration habits. The cats ignored this new source of protein in their dining area and carried on sleeping, yawning and targeting passing insects as is their custom. After a short period of observation and reflection I decided to release him back into the wild; it was quite a charged and emotional moment for us both. With a steady hand I carried him, still in the cat dish back to the great outdoors. I then placed the dish carefully into the mysterious realm of plants, slugs and sprouting weeds that exists by the back door. I whispered a few well chosen words and then left him alone in the dish, set to explore this strange new country, all at his own pace. At moments like this it is important to maintain a little dignity, vital in fact for all the parties involved. Over in the east the sun was rising and it was about time I changed out of my pyjamas and gave my teeth a good brushing and my hands a good washing. So I did.

P.S. Here's a piece all about frogs that we made up earlier.

Still life with Billys

The end on an era looms, the Billy Mk1 has had it's day around here and is being retired to the green green pastures of Midlothian. Meanwhile we will host the Mk2 Billy resurgence here in our stately library and move from the clinical but useful white to the warm and smooth ash finish. I for one salute our new Nordic masters in shelving enterprise and look forward to the mighty sorting spree, cataloguing and recycling extravaganza that awaits. Having said the ground rules have yet to be established so I've no way of knowing what items (books, CDs, solar chargers and Rosetta Stones) will stay and what will go (and what will be added).

The new pragmatics

Is it a) Casper the Friendly Ghost, b) the sky over West Lothian at night, c) wine stain on carpet, d) an infra red shot in the dark or e) the last ever sample of raspberry Cremola Foam crystals? Answers on a postcard please.

So it's been a busy weekend made up of lots of family stuff, some socialising and lavish meals, taxi driving across Fife, Billy preparation works and Sunday football. The football was tough, a two hour cup tie game, 3 - 3 after extra time and then into penalty kicks. We won on the last kick taken by my youngest, a moment of tension and pleasure to savour. On the way back from Perth I decided he needed some protein so we stopped at Burger King at Kinross and refueled. In the toilets above each urinal is an advert for Lloyds Pharmacies offering help for erectile dysfunction, premature ejaculation and baldness, gets right to the spot placed there. I'd no idea Lloyds sold their magic potions on line. I'll maybe explore their other offers, maybe not. It's a shame you cant even take a pee with somebody trying to sell you something.

Meanwhile I'm forming a new political party, the New Pragmatics, I like the word pragmatic , this what it means:

1. Dealing or concerned with facts or actual occurrences; practical.

2. Philosophy Of or relating to pragmatism.

3. Relating to or being the study of cause and effect in historical or political events with emphasis on the practical lessons to be learned from them.

What the New Pragmatics might mean in political terms I'm not sure but it could be quite revolutionary - dealing with facts and actual occurrences and learning lessons from history and applying them. It could work. I'm working on the manifesto.

We can change...

...bits of the world, a step at a time but you might have to be patient with us.

What will £500 buy?

There's a lot of trouble out there and there are few easy answers, if any. One might well be to retire into fantasy and just stay there. Movements from the people and of the people are pretty hard to stop. If good people are intent on changing the world for the best is it right to try to stop them?

Yesterday was my birthday, every year I have one, I've heard that this also happens to some other people. Anyway I like my birthday and I'm not embarrassed about it nor in any kind of birthday denial - some people get badly affected by this. So another year, another few milestones and I've actually come to terms with my own mortality and gone out onto the (wide open spaces, beaches and deserts) of the internet and purchased something known as life insurance, my own personal ticket to Valhalla. I can only speculate as to how it will be spent; a space funeral or maybe I'll be placed in a bottle and cast adrift in the Indian Ocean or my lumpy ashes will be mixed into the concrete of a motorway flyover or the new Forth Road Bridge. What will £500 buy in 2030? I'm also in line for a free meerkat.

Edinburgh Daily Photo #99.5

Some people (like me) get a perverse pleasure from avoiding the use of travellators, escalators and lifts. In the odd and self inflicted one horse race you create for yourself you can occasionally win and thereby enjoy a brief moment of stupid superiority over fellow travellers. The venue? There are many but the airport that lies a simple tram journey from the Heart of Midlothian in Edinburgh is a good place to try this, some of the ideal locations for these indoor sports are:

a) Short stay car park, race top to bottom and beat the two squeaky lifts, it can be done going down, tough going upstairs though.

b) Travellator in the East Terminal (the one that goes past the stupid big wall photos and irritating quotes), almost impossible, no running allowed.

c) Exit escalator. This one is easy-peasy, great for beginners, only one go per flight so don't mess up.

You can do it at the airport and many other places, but not in John Lewis.

Bucket list eggs

Things to do when your over 50 and unsure where exactly your true talents lie: It's something of a dexterity challenge, piano players, puppeteers and guitarists should try it. Wrapping up eggs in sausage meat, dipping them in beaten eggs and then coating them with bread crumbs, six times over. Like putting a jacket on a kitten or peeling apples up a stepladder as they're still attached to the tree. A ready supply of hot water is required and remove any wedding rings or superfluous or ridiculous clothing.

Once you've created the eggy spheres cook them in oven or something similar, (don't go away and mess around on the web and forget about them like I did, they need 25 minutes not 45).

No Photoshopping here, these are the real McCoy, ready to be test driven as an early part of my new fast food franchise; McScotch Eggs. There's a branch opening near you sometime towards the end of the decade, don't be late. (Haven't eaten any yet, I got distracted by Nutella (one t two ls) Lawson once again and I'm not really all that hungry, damn you bucket list.)

Edinburgh Daily Photo #99

A barren and embattled Princess Street, tram reworks for the second time, fixing the badly finished first phase of snagged engineering errors. Rain has of course stopped play for the day. On the left shops sit empty or vacant, the trading heart long since transplanted elsewhere onto out of town retail parks with easy parking and in anonymous big sheds serviced by the web.

Still looking East into the October Edinburgh gloom, more puddles and eerie emptiness; seems to me the best way forward for Princess Street is to focus on high quality hotel and residential development, the days of the big shops are over and I'd quite like a retirement flat with a balcony that looks across to the castle.

Meanwhile over in the sculpture hall in the Art College a choir dressed in black runs through 60s soul and Coldplay numbers as part of the opening of a display of fine Japanese and Scottish art works. The TOKOKU - SCOTLAND exhibition runs from 18th to 25th October and has been put together by Kate Thomson and Hironori Katagiri, Ukishima Sculpture Studio.