Transcendental mediocrity

Far far away, near and as close as your nasal fluff, all across the world and in this case Fife, wind farms are standing stock still, looking up at the moon, wondering what their place and purpose in the universe might be and what kind of muscular exercise regime might suit them best. Then it became clear, in a flash, in an instant. There is a tunnel at the end of the light. DO NOTHING.

The daily windmill

We stayed a night or at least 16 hours in this lovely old hotel on the fringe of Aberdeen on Deeside, well known for the mis-ordering of words in English & Doric. Warm, comfy, with full health reviving spa facilities and long and winding corridors - also good for steak sandwiches and a solitary but near perfect poached egg on brown toast. In the baronial hall a modern wedding was taking place, the piper played the Star Wars theme as the happy couple checked out and drove off on their honeymoon in a Rover 213, that must count as a vintage car in these parts. We mingled with guests, photographers and would be crashers - I was tempted but I didn't take the bait. I was wearing grey M&S cords however.

Anyway after a few nicely coloured beers back in the city centre I slept like a West Lothian log/pig and awoke sane, relaxed and in my right mind for a change. Just to set the day on some kind of edge I pinched a carton of yogurt and a tea spoon from the breakfast tray. Some may wonder at this petty crime but I consider it fully justified on a) a time basis (it was 07:30 on a Sunday), b) there's some potential for a blockbuster film script there and c) sometimes I just feel like sticking it to the man (oh yeah!).

Beyond a joke: OK I've checked this Fife windmill 39 times and I've yet to see it move, perhaps I've misunderstood it's purpose, it may in fact be a simple Airfix life sized replica for training, aesthetic or research purposes. That sounds feasible to me. Research of all kinds is always welcome in Fife, I heard that from a respected health professional over a friendly beer the other day. It seems Fife has a worst health record than Glasgow for heart trouble, strokes, cancers and obesity, yes you can get it all here and it's worse than anywhere else in Europe. The media, the politicians and God don't want you slackers to know that, they like to hammer away on the masochistic West Side for some reason, maybe to keep them humble and afraid and in their place. The old Fife Diet (occasionally championed on these irrelevant pages) may need further development, I propose that we start by building a full scale model...

Please note: it takes two of those firelighters to light a fire, not just the one, meanie.

Let's not talk about testicular pain

As an avid supporter of the many abstract and absurd things around here I was of course happy and in no way resentful, spiteful or conflicted on hearing of and seeing for myself the wondrous white structure that is Dunfermline's new windmilly thingy. It stands proudly erect in the back garden of some factory or other resolutely refusing to move but just the same looking as if it might. Well I've never seen it move and I've driven past it 35 times in the past few days, maybe it needs a bit of WD40. Again perhaps that is it's purpose, to stand there stiff against the West Wind like a true Fifer and stubbornly refuse to budge at least until it gets a bridie and toffee donut fae Stephens. I'm sure it'll prove to be a shrewd investment for it's no doubt currently disappointed owners but you know what they say; he who laughs last laughs longer because there is nothing much else to laugh about as everyone else has left the building and you're on your Jack Jones. Of course what I'd really like to see is a Dunfermline factory with a handy Korean built nuclear reactor pumping away down amongst the yellow skips and splintered pallets, that would be a massive leap forward.

Before glory goes humility

I think that says it all. Aside from that this is a real life picture of one of Saturn's moons above Saturn's rings, way out there in space, in the distance. Probably a remarkable photo.

Bristol Daily Photo

I was travelling yesterday and unusually for me wearing my big cowboy shoplifting jacket, the weather has turned you know. I decided to check the depth of the cavernous pockets whilst loitering in the airport waiting on a flight to Cardiff and just look at what fell out. I'm sure I have receipts for this stuff somewhere. Cardiff turned out to be dull so I moved on quickly.

Eventually I made it to Bristol where large mirror balls are used as fire escapes. I'm not quite sure why, it may well help the emergency services in some way or it could be the architects were just having a laugh. They like to have their little jokes and you won't know about them or recognise them as you are not in their secret circle.

At night they switch on special lights that turn ugly buildings into ugly lighted up buildings. On the right is the IBIS hotel, the rooms reminded me of submarine (U Boat to be precise) accommodation, the shower is a large oil drum hollowed out and the tiny white beds are from a Romanian day care centre. You can pee anywhere in the bathroom area and not miss the drain (I can't really elaborate on that), quite an achievement in room planning and people management; nice to see many diverse needs being met in peculiar ways by facility layout. Breakfast was Actimel, Marmite, a large West Country sausage and really hot coffee, all for £67. Bristol I love you and I shall return and wake up in good time this time.

Logged off

And lo, I destroyed 6 IKEA Billys (well gave them away) and in three days (lo) I raised them up again, as if from the dead (and in a nice ash finish c/w doors) and then my dear wife stuffed the four wise IKEA Billys full of books, jungle drums, miscellaneous Chinese pamphlets and precious stones and (lo) peace and tranquility came upon our land. Now I'm thinking about another kind of woodwork project that I may well undertake.

In other news a large asteroid is passing over our heads right now enroute to the Planet of Dinosaur Monkeys from the Future, watch out:

alisongraham Ali Graham

Asteroid #Yu55 on course for close encounter with Earthgu.com/p/336p7/tw via @guardian - but everything will be ok, they say.

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).