Tales of the Wooden Fish

The first in an occasional series:

I'm not completely sure but I like to believe that after some social interaction, debate, sharing and reconciliation they all lived happily ever after in mild and clear EEC controlled waters.

Heat, insects etc.

A hot day eventually. Today I tried cycling in the opposite direction from the other day, so that was mostly West to East. I still was battered by many confused insects headed in at me this way (and mostly while going up a slow hill) and finally and absent mindedly managed to swallow one. I didn't much care for that and so I spat a lot. Maybe six times. The insect however must have gone straight down and that was that. I tried to cheer myself up by thinking about the wayside flowers and then by inventing a rather clever automated method for putting large amounts of coal into the firebox of a speeding steam train. I imagined that the adoption of my system resulted in a record breaking run, it was a good daydream. Then I wondered how the crews of speeding steam trains coped with flying insects coming at them. Then my chain came off and my fingers became oily when I put it back on. With that I forgot about the insects, records, trains and inventions and just puffed my way up the final long hill. Then an insect hit me in the eye and seemed to immediately turn into a soggy raisin (or perhaps sultana) in my blinded eye socket. Bravely I cycled along with one hand whilst scrunching my insect infected eye with the other. I was wobbling a bit at this point but failed to fall. Then my eye cleared up and the insect was gone but I've no idea where. About then I reached my final destination and considered cycling techniques that might prevent further insect related injury. Cycling with the mouth and eyes shut tight seemed the best option, though that may well lead to further problems and complications if I ever do try it.

Insects and genius

Today would have been Tesla's birthday. I wonder if the great man knew why it is that when you ride your bicycle on a hot and sunny day insects, despite all their keen flying skills can't seem to get out of the way and collide with your face and head as if attacking you just because you are there. I suppose the thing is, who is in who's way anyway? Probably me.

There was something missing

Sometimes words are not enough...I presume Wee Eck gets it next.

Hobs of Ceramica

Good Lad Andy: (During match) A late burst of near nationalism almost occurred in me today thanks to the fantastic efforts of Andy Murray at Wimbledon. Well Wimble-done son! Less welcome of course are the shameless freeloading glory hunters and politicians lined up like some Slitherin grease balls at a Quiddich encounter  - as seen above. We know their names, well almost,  and come the revolution...

Hobs of Ceramica: (Pre match) No it's not the latest album by rock gods Muse, just a gentle reminder to myself that when cleaning such surfaces the correct materials must be used. The same can also be said about guitar neck and fretboard cleaning materials.

Banana Fritter: (Post match) I clearly asked the very busy girl in the Chinese takeaway for a portion of fried rice (what else goes with Fife's own version of S&S chicken?). What I received was two sweet banana fritters in syrup, not really rice at all or even a good substitute. File under unfortunate kitchen mix ups and post- Murray Mayhem culinary disappointment coupled with mass hysteria in the Scottish Celtic-Chinese heartland.

If dogs run free

For a short while today we were dog people. Down on the beach, on the mudflats and by the old pier our guest's dogs ran and played on that rarest of things in a Scottish July; a sunny afternoon. The cats lay low for the afternoon and remained as bright eyes in the grass. Firstly we kept the work ethic alive by...working and doing a little shopping. Then it was prep time and then Pimms,  Cava, prawns and bread and the buzzing of insects and the throb of a distant unfamiliar sun. We dodged the BBC and tennis and non verbal opinions and scooted out towards the sand and seaweed. The beach changes by the second, tides and pools swirling and losing themselves. Dirty weed, rotten wood and plastic rubbish, then the golden punctuations of fine sand and shiny stones, dog ready sticks and footprints, beautiful articles of warm landscape detail, hazy horizons and the imagined barking of seals and puppies. Looking back at how far you've come. Up on the lane wild roses, mint and brambles made fragile paths of scent and prickles. I sucked on grass lengths and tried to look lazy but intense enough to grasp and measure the tides and the church spires and chemical chimneys of the other side. I naturally failed (or failed naturally) but picked the best driftwood from a bad batch and prepared the well exercised bleaching process. By that time we were ready for a cuppa tea (once I'd respectfully moved the dead crow). Then the dogs ran home.

Atomic

First of all I'll admit that it doesn't look particularly atomic, not on any level but I am assured that it is - atomic. Fender Atomic to be precise and a foundational part of the latest Moonbeam Partscaster. I may be be setting myself up for a major shredding disappointment or a dose of the low tone blues. The truth is I seldom use any meaningful volume so it's all either academic, arthritic or just absurdly aspirational. We shall see. Buyers beware.

Private sky

Not the actual sky in the text, a different sky altogether. A reverse sky (with added watery details).

One day I just sat down and thought about myself. I don’t know why I just decided, you may be familiar with that feeling and that action. The first thing I thought about (left to myself) was that my head was empty, really empty. Empty like  a blue sky is when there are  no clouds and there were no clouds sure enough. Pleasant to look at and quite nice to sit under but empty and sort of endless and rolling. So I looked around inside myself hoping maybe to see something else in the blue. Some shape or colour that would pierce and change it, some cloud, vapour trail or random object, there in the private sky inside my head. I looked around for a while but nothing materialised. Well nothing much that is.

At times it was hard to say what was going on. Sometimes my levels of concentration seem to drop a bit and I lose track of things. But that episode ended and I slowly became aware that in my sky a small bird was circling, just there at the edges. A  bit indistinct perhaps but clearly a bird with feathers and a beak and so on. I willed it to become sharper and less fuzzy and it did. There it was, really there.  I wondered why it was flying about loose and apparently free inside my head in my sky and then I wondered why I thought any of that was odd. Where else would I expect to see a bird. It was reasonable and logical if, based on it being inside my head it was all unreasonable and illogical.

Then I thought, well, these are just my thoughts. They are not bounded by rules or conventions (well not much) so a bird, any bird circling in a sky inside of my head is perfectly ok. So that’s the way it is and that bird is still there, circling inside my head today.

When I next get some spare time I’ll have a look around and see if there are any bright birds in there or perhaps there will be something else, more interesting and unexpected. Clouds this time? But I would be curious to know what the bird feeds on, how it got there, stuff like that. Perhaps I left a window open, perhaps I was careless (that’s a common enough weakness) or it came in via a crack or physical defect – you pick them up unnoticed the older you get, that’s what I’ve been told. It could be I made the whole thing up or that maybe, once upon a time there was just an egg somewhere…

Mystery cheese

Needs some minor repairs but still not bad for a tenner.

In the aftermath of a weekend spent in gay abandon with party fare and families I've encountered a household surplus of cheese and ham rolls. It forced me to consider for how long a person might survive on a diet of cheese and ham rolls but firstly taking the view that the ham is a constant, the rolls are a constant but the cheese is very much a variable. Add to this the raw spinach (non-variable) and the pickle and seasoning (very much variables). So after some head scratching and red wine I concluded that the answer to the question (how long can a person etc. etc?) was INDEFINITELY. There you have it.

The variable cheese factor is set of course because of the many (infinite?) various cheese types and families available. Ham (which has some variation) is mostly just that - boiled ham. I then realised that much of the cheese I was eating was in fact "mystery cheese". This is because at some point in it's recent history it has become detached from it's wrapping media and now is in anonymous cling film. This adds a spiced up mystery factor to the cheese and applied to the formulaic roll (and once the pickle is added) - you get a whole lot of variation - indefinitely.

These are the white blueprints.

"Where's your shame?

It always looked fine in my mind's eye...

You've left us up to our necks in it. Time may change me, but I cant trace time." So all really need now is to design the hippy dippy Moonbeam logo and pyrographically but not pornographically start assaulting these here guitar headstocks with it. Easy Peasy.

...and then reality set in once again.

Wolves of Fife

An old legend has it that once, on the pilgrimage route between Cramond Island and Oakley a poor beggar sat begging at the ferry landing at La Punto de Cromby on the the dark and gloomy northern side of the river. Everyday he was there, holding out a rusty tin cup in the cold salt air begging for alms from the passing pilgrims and passengers. One day an arrogant  rich young man travelling on the holy way passed and cursed the beggar casually throwing some dirty seeds from the bottom of his pocket into the empty cup. The beggar responded by blessing the man with the words, "You fail the Deil and I with your disrespect, the Wolves of Fife shall stretch your neck!" Angry at the retort the rich man had the beggar flailed alive at the root of the ferry pier. Some say that as the beggar breathed his last the howl of a lone grey wolf was heard from across the barley field as a new moon rose. The rich man continued on his journey eventually making it to the Priory of Oakley where he spent a troubled night. Next day the beggar was buried in the common plot but his few belongings were scattered to the four winds. In the process the seed the rich man had cursed him with  fell onto the stony ground that formed the base of the pilgrim's road.

The rich man completed his pilgrimage but found no lasting peace. On his return journey back to Cramond, miles out in the Forth the the ferry struck the Beamer Rock in thick unseasonal fog and sank with the loss of all. A few days later the rich man's body was washed ashore and on a some chilly morning devoured by a pack of hungry wolves near to Dalgety Bay. So now, at the spot where the beggar died some say those cursed seeds still take hold once in every 35 years (the age the beggar was when he was killed) and bloom there on the cold stones somehow, from the beggar's spilled and still warm blood. They rise up, defiant through the rocks and ruins, a testimony and tribute to a poor Fife beggar and in warning and remembrance  of the quick and unjust anger of a rich man - and in the nearby woods, the great grey ghost of an old Scottish wolf still cries alone and prowls unseen in the June half light. Well some say that kind of thing anyway.

Something profound

To be continued...eventually.

Amazon Cloud Player exists

Name the bonkers film then...

It's handy reading the Independent some days. I found out that as of today (probably but maybe yesterday) Amazon Cloud Player automatically accesses all the music you've ever bought on Amazon and dumps it into Cloud Player, even if it was CDs or Vinyl and more importantly even if it was someone else's birthday or Christmas present. I came home to find my cloud has 377 songs in it - including some Take That mind you and some that I quite like. Now can I get this all on my phone?

Don't be alarmed

This summer we'll visit the actual studios where some of this hot action was filmed.

Today the confusing and politically correct bin collection rota switches, well tomorrow actually but the bins go out tonight in order to annoy local barking dogs and neighbours. Just as well, having wondered what he strange noise outside was (and routinely checking all our electronic devices) I went out to place the blue and black bins by the kerb. There I found my car in full alarm mode, hence the strange and unfamiliar  loud beeping ten minutes before and a WTF moment. Clearly some reprobate squirrel or weasel has tried to break in and steal my precious Joni Mitchell, Mozart and Gin Blossoms cassettes and extra strong mints, that's the problem with having an eclectic taste in music and mints and parking your car in a deep and dark forest.

Teeth falling out

Typical everyday scene on the nearby Fife Coastal Path.

Apropos of nothing: Not so good but surprisingly painless when an ex-tooth (a filling I suppose) just fragments and falls out for no reason other than you munched the final piece of Sainsbury's Rocky Road. Then it becomes lost in the digestive system and is pretty much unreachable without keyhole surgery. It's the Fife-time equivalent of a pork bullet for a Muslim. The sweet ironic hit of a sugar and chemicals mix and then the dull ragged feeling of something not quite right in the back end of your mouth sending you to dental hell for however long it takes to get an appointment. Actually all was fine until I probed it with a sterile cocktail stick. The moral of the story is, leave the last bit for someone more needy that yourself or God (who let's face it has not much else to do these days apart from keeping NM alive) will take out some terrible revenge.

Scotland the lost

Need to look a little harder maybe?

Having been charged £7 for enjoying a 26 minute parking slot in the "Drop Off" Zone at Edinburgh Airport I've been pondering the merits of private transport v public transport v staying at home and watching the world go by on GoogleTube.  Naturally I've concluded that I must from time to time venture outdoors and move from A to B and even as far as C if need be. Costs and charges have to be sucked up and gotten over but it doesn't stop me from thinking FFS. 

I did notice a certain hostile friction today at the super duper  "Drop Off" Zone as the sweating parking attendants tried with little success to shepherd unruly cars and anxious passengers into their idea of parked order. Even on a serene Sunday afternoon voices were raised, windows rolled down, horns blared, gestures were gestured and pedestrians loaded with luggage struggled to connect with expected vehicles...I just thought one more little thought, "welcome to Scotland, we really think we know our shit here but..."

Unfortunate mouse

This unfortunate mouse seems to have met a sticky end and, for some inexplicable reason, was deposited somewhat disrespectfully on top of the cowling of the electronic cat flap (yes we have two of them, that's cats and cat flaps). Naturally the cats are the prime suspects but nothing can be proved as all the evidence is pretty much circumstantial. I scooped him up and after saying a few interfaith type blessings gave him an appropriate woodland funeral. The post internment function went well despite the short time I had for preparation and planning. The catering was of a high standard with the sausage rolls and salad bucket in particular both deserving a special mention. Many thanks to Bambi's mum, the two naughty fox cubs, the robin, the woodpecker and a family of disturbingly inbred rabbits who also attended. I then played a slowed down and shortened version of "Ain't Nobody Got Time For That" on a rather distorted guitar and so ended the proceedings in what I considered to be a sweet and uplifting spiritual moment. The official version is here...

Cigarettes of the future

Yes that's right. It's the ultimate fate of the automobile that's yet to come. The love affair will die, spiralling away into oblivion. There will be a slow dawning, a gradual realisation that these washing machines on wheels are a thing of the past. We will no longer worship their stylistic subtlety, their speed and comfort or their extravagance and expense. They will  become extinct and so will petrol stations and forecourts and garages. Our world will no longer have these things,  but it will happen gradually. Firstly the fuel prices will be hiked up by wars and the SNP, then the roads will be too busy and angry, the infrastructure will break down as the routes and surfaces become unrepairable. At the same time virtual travel via the internet and other unreal means will become quick, commonplace and affordable and so we'll just stop...we'll stop exploring completely, we'll settle. Well I suppose other than the odd ride on some uncouth piece of public transport should we need to visit to see somebody or do something. Meanwhile the super rich will fly free in streamlined helicopters and humming private jets, high above out of reach and at improper speeds in five star comfort. Our only course of action will of course be to systematically take them out with our hand held rocket launchers as they streak across our grey skies...it'll become one of the brave new Olympic socialist sports by 2044. Having said all that I may just stick with the old Volvo for as long as I can afford it's stalwart protection and clunky comforts and where else can you listen to music in peace and occasional tranquility?

Washing the house down

I eventually got around to watching Part 2 of the Eagles' history. That wasn't so good. All serious pronouncements, justification and money troubles (too much money that is) mixed up with not a lot of good music, the 70s was their era really. It was hard to stay with it but it seemed like it was some important part of modern history, how not to behave when you're successful. I don't think anybody has cracked that one yet. The low key thrill of being unsuccessful, obscure, undiscovered and possibly overlooked may have some advantages for those wishing to retain their sanity and self respect.

After a while and some beer and sausages I went outside and washed down the house with a high pressure hose. It was a soothing and cathartic experience to remove all the bird shit, spider webs and debris from the white walls and made my evening. Then I applied varnish to guitars and spoke to cats about cat related matters, they ignored me for most of the conversation. Perhaps I'm rusty or they may have heard it all before. I should get out there and practice more often.

Moving on and backwards