Part of the machine

Winter Trees, photo by Duncan Jones.

It’s not easy being part of the machine with no means to opt out; inextricably stuck and trapped in the gunged up system, seeking a route to claw back to the surface, some white light and clean air perhaps. I am of course pondering the unthinkable consequences of a mass supermarket boycott. Following from the Tesco PR gaffe over work experience for benefit credits (which may or may not have been accurately portrayed), can I, can we live without the comfort factor of a regular supermarket fix? Let’s face it, Tesco is annoying in its blandness and ubiquity, it’s cloying “every little helps” campaign of brainwashing and it’s manipulation of our appetites and aspirations. I want a world where supermarkets exist but don’t really matter, where they don’t dominate and suck the life out of town after town, where there is some semblance of commercial coexistence and less of a blur between suburbia and nowhere, that funny place where most Tescos are located. But it’s a dream that comes wrapped up in an uneasy sleep though, go elsewhere, pay more, get less, and is that really the true consequence of abandoning the big boys? Has the propaganda made us all so dependant and afraid that any extra cost or inconvenience is just too hard to bear? Or is nothing in the game really worth the cards anymore? Certainly the fact that loss leaders and special offers are only possible because the grunts and stackers just get minimum wage (or qualify for benefits) isn’t good news and are we so naive about capitalism that we thought it could be put together some other way? If it’s too good to be true then it’s not true and it’s making me pretty uncomfortable. I may return to Fife (home of the Amazon low pay long day model) and onto the Fife diet for inspiration.

Meanwhile Iran sneezes out a slippery isotope, a few sanctions are launched, and the fiddly, jittery oil market reacts by bumping up oil prices to $120 a barrel. That’s a good piece of international diplomacy and cooperation, the value of which of course I don’t believe in. Somewhere in New York, Singapore or London the balding, stressed out diesel brokers sleeves are rolling up and their eyes are watering and rolling in their heads at the nice little margins that are suddenly possible here and here and there. We all pay more instantly, as if Shell and BP petrol pump price gauges were linked by long stretched out Heath Robinson elastic and pulleys to the taps and valves in Iran. All of which are still turned on but running temporarily down another pipe and in a different direction but ultimately into the same grubby pool of dirty oil and money. And by means of a valued customer survey feedback piece I’d like to say that buying petrol and shopping in those overpriced calories infused aisles that lead to the gapping wide tills is not a pleasant nor economically sensible experience. Of course for the simple customer and end user it’s all explained away by the old chestnut of supply and demand – the trouble is there isn’t a problem, there’s only full scale world-wide manipulation by those terrible lizard people…but it is still a penny a litre cheaper in Tescos (and you get Clubcard points).

Thought collections

Catch 22 as a diagram, by Joseph Heller.

Thoughts are really made of helium (and sponge cake), lighter than air and impossible to suppress and capture. They float away though, despite everything;  they're unstable, hollow, unformed, ghostly and constantly anxious to escape. And they do. I've just spent  a whole loose weekend thinking up a fresh batch and now, lo and behold they've all evaporated leaving me with only a pan of salt, some granules only fit for preserving a dead fish. It's the price of a muddled mind, a blunted pencil and procrastination. Perhaps I need some more regular stimulants.

If I see another cheese cake then that'll be three I've seen but I'm not planning on that.

Under your very feet

Geologist's Dream: A ground breaking and secret report commissioned by Cadbury's Crème Eggs has revealed that large areas of the UK are siting on top of a vast lake of molten chocolate. It is believed that the lake may at least a mile below the surface of the land and follow, almost exactly, the surface profile of this great and sceptered country. The molten chocolate is believed to be at a constant temperature of 40 degrees Centigrade and considering it's peculiar location is in a relatively stable state. Plans are afoot to harvest this unique discovery and use it as a source of power, heating and nutrition though experts are divided on the actual full potential of the resource. There are of course numerous technological problems and many of society's most deep seated prejudices that will have to be overcome. There are also issues over cowboy or gypsy type white van miners who may well, by using cheap and unhygienic equipment, attempt to draw some of the precious hot chocolate from the bowels of the earth and introduce it to the food or energy chain. A special task force is planned to counter the possibility of this. So below our green and pleasant and minted land a chocolate sea is churning...

Cheap guitars, eyeshades and guns

A fine example, one careful owner, then three others that were not so hot.

Setting yourself a limit is no bad thing. A self imposed ceiling on spending or expenditure allows you to live within you and your credit card's  means, in theory. And so it has been for me with luxury car purchases; never spend more than £2000 on any random vehicle and stretch that meagre amount to get the best deal you can. Following this Puritanical principle I've now obtained a different car, I've had it for two weeks and 700 earth miles (no light years as yet) so far the sub-£2k spend looks ok. That's the problem of course, ongoing peace of mind and holding onto it. It's all trickery, I learned about it in Far East, Cellardyke.

Welcome to reality

The only chase that Rangers would welcome right now are Chase Manhattan, assuming of course the bank were prepared to stump up £75m to clear the team's accounts. It wont happen however. Rangers have reached too far over too long a period of time, been sold for £1 to an asset stripper and are headed for err...survival I guess. The humiliation will pass, there will be a struggle but they'll return and probably try to employ the same business model that has just torpedoed them. Lessons generally don't get learned that well anywhere in Scotland, we're not that type of nation, and it's hard to feel sorry for those same fans that have crowed over their golden years and abused and belittled all the "lesser" teams who ultimately fell in their overpaid and unaccounted for wake. Dunfermline Athletic are now £80k down following last week's drubbing from this crooked outfit. Will we ever see that money? Not likely. I'm just glad that I've put little or no cash their way for about twenty years, Hell and handcarts spring to mind (and no more blogging about this, I'll move onto cars and music any day now), speaking of which...I now own a car with a CD player and a cassette player. All the long undead music can be played; Steely Dan, the Gin Blossoms...mmm.

No Valentine for Old Men

In Swedish folklore, to capture someone’s love, you should carry an apple in your armpit for a day then give it to your intended. There could be a grain of truth here: “We humans have very smelly armpit regions capable of producing molecules that it is difficult to see the function of, other than sexual signalling,” says Dr Peter Brennan, an expert in olfactory processing at Bristol University. A 1998 study from the University of New Mexico also showed that during their fertile periods, women prefer the smell of “symmetrical” men.

What's wrong with this picture?

My soup collection: it's been coming together steadily for about two years, the Ainsley Harroitt pretentious packet soup collection in my desk drawer bottom, an eclectic mix of soup vapours and colouring atoms that populate the space besides my breakfast crackers and one cup coffee sachets. The trouble is that I've lost control of it. It started with a few Stilton and lookalike Leeks, then some Mulligatawny and now it's grown like floppy bunny Topsy into an encyclopedic display of unknown but coded packets of mysterious powders, each one containing the basic ingredients of some exotic soup or other. As they are mixed and anonymous I have to guess or imagine the contents; Carrot and Bamboo Giraffe, Merseyside Mud Pie and Wensleydale, Chicken and Plum with Scrotum Lemon Grass, Suet and Blue Budgerigar, Italian Matto-Grosso with Chick-Pea Turpentine, Seaweed El Greco? Mmm can't wait till lunch time.

Glasgow Rangers RIP: Over in Scotland's favourite city fans have been rocked by the news that their great bigoted and ignorant institution has been quietly run into the ground by a combination of swollen headedness, ineptitude, chronic failure and Karmic consequences. Yes, Rangers FC, now ready for anything including the administrator and are up to their Broxi Burgers in debt. “It's like watching an ill relative that's not going to recover.” said a commentator. More like an ill dictator or despot hanging on the barbed wire or from a lamppost in my view. The fans will of course rally round, sing a few heartfelt and plucky folk songs and then quickly desert the sinking ship as if it was the Costa Concord on a barrel roll. Then as Rangers slink slowly into the West so will the rest of Scottish football along with them as the golden goose chokes. It really should be so easy to succeed at success but then again it's heartening and possibly humbling to know that nobody is too big to fail. I wonder if the SNP will band together and bail them out from the Tesco tax coffers? Maybe one fine day we can all relax, forget about keeping up with the Champions League, the pressures of Sky and stupid salary levels and just play decent and entertaining provincial football that we can all follow set at reasonable prices and within realistic costs.

Science comes to the rescue: Scientists and clever students with Persil white coats and Nike shoes have stumbled upon the elusive mathematical formula that even Leonardo Da Vinci failed to find. In a announcement that will be celebrated by men of a certain age all cross Scotland it's become apparent that the answer to middle aged nasal hair growth and stimulation has been found. Using only a simple Casio calculator and some ex-Post Office rubbers bands scientists have made a full genetic model the predicts and illustrates the possible outcomes and consequences of certain key genes on nasal hair development. “It's a great day for all fashionistas and sufferers,” said Doctor Kelvin Bidet. “No longer will blokes be worried about nasal hair projections, root dysfunction or impulse tweezer purchase from Boots the Chemists, they'll be able to enter in their details on a simple web site and monitor their growth prospects and follicle projections on line.” An Ap for those fiddly about to be obsolete iPhone things is also planned.

Never mind the Snake Oil

Greatsnakes Oil Company Ltd.  From the mouths of babes (or grandchildren): "The old cat's just trying not to die." Never mind your religious snake oil, philosophy, meditations, prayers, petitions, fetishes or argumental political sciences, they won't provide the big payoff you're looking for. As the young man observed in the cat's natural actions, that's all we're really busy doing, trying hard to live and trying equally hard not to die. Enjoy the moment(s).

Wit's lowest forms

Sneezers: Following on from the proposed yawning while driving ban there is a further option to include in this keynote legislation a “sneezing while driving ban”. This is designed to prevent germ ridden drivers from passing their spiky blue bugs onto passengers and the velour upholstery when they sneeze within the confined space of the vehicle’s cabin during any car journey. It’s also intended to prevent the numerous traffic accidents that occur in those few seconds when, in the act of sneezing, eyes are closed tight and any semblanceof normal physical coordination stops. During these critical moments the risk of bird strike, rear ending the car in front or swaying into another busy traffic lane or hapless cyclist is increased by a factor of 17% according to recent studies carried out by the Fellows of the Aberdour University. £100m in ex-Westminster funding might be released to allow the construction of special “Sneeze Zone” lay bys on Scottish trunk roads, the A90, A92, A9, A81 and so on. On motorways drivers will be advised by flashing overhead warning signs to pull over onto the hard shoulder, open their window and sneeze out into the direction of the oncoming traffic.


Professor Finlayson McBeanie from Aberdour advises that this unselfish action will best disperse the cold germs and allow them to fly back to their homes in Norway. A special graphic designed by fun loving graffiti artist and enigmatic attention seeking multi-millionaire Banksy could underline the message for all drivers. The neon telecaster would also be automatically translated into Polish, Hebrew and Esperanto to aid foreign visitors, catering professionals and Welsh tourists. A spokesman for Lothian and Borders Police praised the initiative but also took the opportunity to criticise the inadequate lengths of lady’s skirts and the strange bulbous nature of the modern wine glasses used in trendy bars and at airports. 


“Whilst I’m all for eradicating the careless, lazy, anti social sneezers and exterminating those geriatric drivers over 55 who still think there’s a war on I can’t help but feel that the young girls of today might just be asking for it, particularly when driving in  their pink Fiat 500s and hanging around in establishments like the Dome or Whighams in Edinburgh’s more Bohemian districts.”

Lottery: In other news the SNP government has decreed that ugly people should be discouraged from entering the lottery. “Seeing their stupid, smug, winning faces does nothing to uplift the morale of the common man or woman as the case may be. We don’t want to live in a modern Scotland where the ugly and often overweight are seen to succeed just because they can pick a few numbers or happen to do well with the vague and criminally repetitive lucky dip algorithm. What kind of message does that send out to young mothers and the unemployed?”

Football:  An FA Spokesman and occasional Sky Soccer pundit has said that the England Team really needs an English manager who is “old school and knows best”. This mythical foot-balling saviour should come from solid middle England foot-balling stock with a proven heritage of village idiocy, straw sucking and chronic under achievement. The successful candidate should also have no idea what’s in his bank account and be able to get over emotional at the drop of a Morris Dancer’s straw hat or a ragged Spurs tammy. Tick box application forms are available but they are running out fast. A decent salary and the chance to appear on Breakfast TV defending your corner are only some of the smaller parts of the attractive package on offer. Don’t forget that that this year is yet another Jubilee one so no excuses will be tolerated.

Sexuality Geography:  An independent study has revealed that many lesbian and gay couples are living in ordinary houses all across the UK.