Farewell Jeep

And so after about 40000 miles, various house moves and pop festivals and not too much off-loading or rough treatment we say a fond farewell to the faithful and slightly idiosyncratic Jeep that has been a part of family life for about four years. Gone to a good home we hope where various canine activities will be supported by it's huge rear end and wide tail gate. We won't miss the choking fuel filling system or the gutsy petrol consumption but these things fade when considering the many good times and happy travels; thank you Ms Jeep.

Getting back at iPhoto

Some kind of artistic shot here.

The love/hate/baffled relationship with Apple carries on. When my precious iPhoto  crashed and  all of my 9999 photos were locked deep behind some Apple induced firewall I was confused. Five years of living images trapped behind some complicated code that cannot be cracked. The help forums were no use, what I needed was a happy accident to come along and free up my data. This then actually happened due to my own persistent blundering and so the files were unlocked and rapidly transferred to a memory stick where they await further surgery and action. My current sticking plaster route to photo freedom requires me to email photos from my phone straight into the black heart of Google, Instagram is also proving useful, take that iPhoto! It's working and I'm still afloat but a new laptop and methodology beckons. 

The photos above were taken at the local botanical garden open day (how many can claim that prize on their doorstep?), lovely weather, wildlife, cats, cakes and creepy crawlies.

The Great Outdoors

Headed up the hill (the Hill o' Rowan as it is locally known). We were all a bit puggled by the time we reached the summit. 

The monumental monument at the top. A good spot to stop, picnic and relax before the slow descent back down to Tarfside and the River Esk.

Spent a really good day in the green and rolling hills by Glen Esk yesterday, the weather was superb and the countryside was brilliant. Hot feet were cooled in chilled streams, bees buzzed, we chattered and wandered, took in all the views, checked out the wildlife and let the kids release some pent up energy; it was as close to a perfect day as you get. 

Feeder

Two strong and controversial women, looking like they were perhaps separated at birth. Anything is possible.

So far it's taken the best part of three days to clean and paint the front of the house, stonework, windows and various odd bits. It's something of a test. My will and fitness levels v the sticky smell of paint and most worryingly, working at heights carrying paint and brushes whilst wobbling. The good news is I'm near the final stages and can look back on some completed work and (what now seems more important) a series of high scores on the Fitbit. The Fitbit is a medieval torture device updated for today's self obsessed digital generation of exercising weirdos. It that tracks all your moves and nuances as if you were some kind of sex offender under constant monitoring. At the end of each day a compelling set of data is available for you to enjoy or recoil in horror from. So three days of house painting, fetching, carrying and going up and down ladders = great joy and inner peace because the numbers are so good and the graphs are like the New York skyline. 

An alternative workout, just sitting on your arse drinking beer and watching box-sets results in abject humiliation and feeble scores that make you look like an inactive slug dowsed in heroin. What's not to like then? Today more painting, tomorrow some driving but lots of hill walking, the day after walking and cycling a bit more. Live long and prosper and just feed positive data to that hungry Fitbit.

The retired economy

I was out in the garden carrying out  a brief early morning survey and coffee. I could help notice that the few surviving bees all seemed to be extremely busy. Still carrying on working despite their threatened status and their hazardous working environment, they bravely pursue the industrial activities that they know best. I congratulated them on their stoicism and forbearance, they are still out there, doing their job in a kind of zig zag haphazard way whilst their world lives with possible and imminent destruction. I did mention that their weird buzzing might not help their image. I presume that the great bee conscience has sent out a series of strong messages telling each one to keep it together and that doing what you do best (and naturally) will result in survival for them and even success as a species. It could work but I doubt it. The evidence isn't strong.

It's not enough to blame the Tory government, excessing use of sugar as an ingredient, second hand cigarette smoke or global warming for the bees' various problems. It all goes deeper, into the suicidal mind of Mother Nature who is failing to encourage the quick evolution of bees and other creepy-crawlies into a more useful survivalist state. New breathing and filtering apparatus is required to counteract the shit we're putting into the air and possibly a more varied diet and improved life style. The bees need to fight back but they need our help to do it. They need to take control but their current economic model is flawed, a bit like mine. Some new investment is needed...here's an idea somebody had in France one day. (We all need to adjust to the awkward fact of disaster being there on the horizon staring us in the face like a puzzled cat.)

Windows are the eyes of the house

Cleaned, prepped and ready to paint. 

Rusty shutter hinges.

The old windows at the front of the house have been rather neglected so I'm spend the next few days and possibly the rest of my life fixing them and also painting the stone wall. Blog time and any form of relaxation is therefore limited while the sun is shining. This is dry days only work. The refurbishment of the windows is necessary to curb the nasty rumour that we're an odd squinty eyed couple living in perpetual darkness behind closed blinds and greasy glass, shuffling around and eating spider's web soup and green crackers. Not a good image so we're upgrading to a more open arrangement where great streams of pure sunlight pour in on us constantly enlightening and invigorating and providing inspiration, a state of high spirituality and Vitamin C. The only other problem (apart from being covered in paint head to foot) is my temporary snow blindness brought about by staring intently at white paint on a white wall in strong white sunlight. Flaming June indeed.

Jupiter Soup

It's that awkward time of the day when I'm up and ready to do some DIY but can't really start because it's way too early for any neighbourhood noise. There's a pleasant warm May time fuzz quietly laid out across the gardens and woodland this morning that I don't want to break (too soon) with my hosing, brushing and clattering of ladders outside. We're good, well reasonable neighbours. So I'll settle for a quick psychedelic breakfast of the organic, non narcotic kind; eggs and toast that is. Radio Scotland lasted all of five minutes before switch off. Yesterday I came close to drying out and over compensated with an overdose of fruity milk bombs. There is such a thing as  too much of a good thing apparently so I've a mild milk hangover that eggs and toast should fix. This simple self-medication is just a matter of doing what your body is kind of telling you to do, following a craving or an appetite and seeing where it takes you. Into the land of well being you hope. They come around for good reasons and who am I (are we) to deny them? 

The pictures? Crazy, lurid eggs that you'd never want to eat, slurply gloop, the great red spot of Jupiter captured by a powerful phone or post LSD spittle? None of that, just last week's bath bombs from the emporium known as Lush (and the bath wasn't mine either.)

Jutland

I've seen a couple of TV programmes about the Battle of Jutland, now 100 years in the past. One on C4 and one on BBC2. The BBC one took the usual Home Counties Blue Peter approach and whilst it made some great points about the lethal operating procedures of the RN's ships it was all a bit cloying and irritating. C4's was a better programme, more down to earth, looking at the two senior RN officers leading the day. Sad to say it seemed to be another case of (poorly trained and prepared) lions being led by arrogant donkeys as is the way of a lot of the WW1 narrative. 

Much was made of the weaknesses (and relative strengths and inner conflicts) of Beatty and Jellicoe. Men trapped in 19th Century warfare methods armed with 20th Century weapons that they did not fully understand. In fact the way the great Dreadnoughts were built and operated made me think that they were never really intended to be used in anger, like today's nuclear weapons. They were a shaking fist to frighten any upstarts who growled back at the British Empire but their onboard regimes and lack of safety systems and design could not support or sustain any kind of fire fight. They shouldn't have been out at sea so ill prepared and inexperienced. One decent hit from the enemy could destroy a ship as it was full of open delivery shafts and unclosed doors leading to huge amounts of shells and cordite buried deep in the ship. The poor untrained men had no chance once hit anywhere near a turret or magazine. Awful stuff really and testimony to the dreadful truth that time and time again people fail to learn lessons from the past and fail to understand the weaknesses of the technology they are grappling with on the day. 

The only consolation seems to be the view that despite the huge losses on both sides the Germans never did try again to unblock the North Sea routes and so slowly ran out of supplies as the war raged on. Anyway, a real horror story, God bless the poor souls that were out there...

A very muddy place

Today I cycled so far that I almost felt drunk half way there and had to apply lashings of foot lotion and take a cold shower on my return, (when I say a cold shower I mean a shower that took advantage of our shower's "eco" setting, not quite sure what that does in terms of eco but it was OK for a post cycle clean up and cool down). Then it was a long milk bomb based siesta in the garden only stopped by it dawning on me that I needed tonic to go with the gin. The tonic was 47p, the rest of the shopping as £49.52. I must try to focus a little more clearly when venturing out and into shops.

Here's so my scenes from today's outside of the body experiences:

Some lazy bastard just dumped this freezer in a field nearby to our house. If people think this is a regular, OK way to behave then we're fucked and no amount of education, charity assistance, medical help or human rights improvements will fix it. The dump's only a few miles away FFS. Remove yourself from Fife and a curse on you and your possibly equally feckless family also.

Pylons and cows. The pylons are redundant now that the power station has closed, the cows seem still to be in a job for the time being.

Pylon and sunshine.

A muddy place (as referred to in the title).

More mud. More place.

Redundant railway line.

Another part-destroyed old ruined pier elsewhere on the Firth, just like our own but of unknown origin. Clearly things were booming around here once before the horseless carriage, strong drink, spitting from the corner of your mouth and large flat caps ruined it all.

Economics etc.

I saw this photo on Twitter, it had been captioned, "Lost Pete and Dud sketch unearthed".

Lazy, recovering Sunday, too much TV news, opinion and news browsing. Does a man no good really. Anyway even economists say "never trust an economist". So what with this other vote coming up and a "pall of uncertainty over the future of the UK economy on the near horizon" what are we, the common people to make of it all. For me most of the debates and nonfactual broadsides that are fired mean very little. Here we are really voting because of a schism and running sore in the Tory Party, all wound up over immigration and failed numbers and unable to use the main tool in the arguments, sovereignty. We here in the far north had our vote on that very subject and in different circumstances threw the opportunity away. This is because we feel the economic weight first (the thing nearest) before we consider how we are ruled and regulated (further away). So as an non-economist I'm predicting we stay and by that I mean stay in Europe but also stay conflicted.

Quiet Breakfast

We had quite a quiet, peaceful and long running breakfast this morning. Starting at 0930 or so it meandered away through the first hours of the day ending about 1330. I'm known for my slow cooking  and general easy come easy go attitude to breakfast preparation. It's a gift. Things just take time and I let them. Square sausage in particular requires a low heat, no oil, no fat and just being allowed to slowly burn. It tastes much better as a result. So the sun shone, the apple juice was exhausted and the bacon was crisp. In the back ground a few hangovers hung over but we fixed them with a vigorous outburst of trampoline activity to a soundtrack supplied by Spongebob. Then it was a Jedi v Ninja battle. The marathon session produced no clear winner but it's likely that some litigation may follow from the office of George Lucas. That's the trouble with being creative, everybody thinks you've pinched their ideas and the fallout can be a pain. 

I've seen things...

From the Department of  Old Chestnuts: 

"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears ... in ... rain."

Just checking on a listing in this month's (freebie) Empire magazine, revealing someone's idea of the top 50 Greatest Sci-Fi Moments. A fairly predictable (all the big, expected movies figure one time each) but still entertaining list. Everybody likes a good list now and then. This Blade Runner piece of tosh comes in at No3, No2 is the BMX flight over the moon in E.T. and No1 is HAL shutting down with all the trauma that goes with it in 2001. I'll just leave it at that.

Jeff Beck Book

Following the Great Pink Floyd stamp sell off I noticed this in my twitter feed advising of a new Jeff Beck "collectors item" book. Not some cheap fan-boy rip off either, priced at £345 in a limited edition run. I recall Jimmy Page put one out a few years ago so I guess they'll all (rock heroes) slowly jump on this special edition literary bandwagon sooner or later. Actually I don't think the book is a bad idea but is is priced high for...a book after all. Keith Richard's "Life" is probably the best rock book you'll get and pound for pound beats these costly collector things with the mental pictures it creates. Having said that I've a soft spot for Jeff Beck despite his grumpy, moody image (which is probably unfair) so I'll take a view that this is some kind of celebration of his achievements and it's only going out now before he gets too old to market it. It looks like there are some interesting old photos in there with all the major 60s hair styles being represented. I like the "Blow by Blow" worn out looking Les Paul (above) and the additional stuff on his passion for souped up cars at least adds a bit of diversity. However I will not be shelling out any cash on this one or any other, just not the type that does that. 

Free - an advert for some stamps

I woke up this morning (sound familiar?) to the bizarre news that a set of Pink Floyd are being issued. Well this is certainly the 21st century, when stamps are issued celebrating fifty years psychedelic music on the same day that legal highs are made illegal. I'm not the only one seeing this contradiction in a world full contradictions. The Establishment is actually pretty hard to define these days, it's like some black hole that devours everything, crossing lines, pumping out money and then clawing it back. Any culture, any reference, any idea can be bought and then sold on and celebrated to the point of destruction and is up for grabs and it always was the way; justified again and again as some momentary lapse of reason. Anyway as I'm not a stamp or a record collector, not in any serious sense, so these stamps will surely pass me by as I ponder the moment and decide not to get sucked in.

Not sure if I'd have picked this selection of covers to use: Meddle, Saucerful of Secrets, Obscured by Clouds, Ummagumma?

Lullaby

As usual, moving relentlessly at the pace of a lazy snail we're working on a beefed up version of this recording, currently played "live" with voice, guitar and drum machine only - as per the video. The new mix will include bass, a second guitar line and extra drums, hit-hat and cymbals. It's just being remastered/rehashed and all being well will be in the shops by Christmas...not sure which year. It's all pretty exciting stuff.

I now wear a cycling helmet

Now that I am a man who has achieved a certain level of advanced maturity, mentally and physically  I've decided to dispense with some of my health and safety prejudices and get on with wearing cycling helmet when I'm on a bike. It's the right and sensible thing to do but for a number of years I just didn't because I considered myself to be the kind of person who seldom falls from a bike. I'm not sure if there is a proper medical term for this condition other than delusional. That's because I know myself to be the kind of person who falls out of trees, from shed roofs, from stepladders, pavements and generally bangs his head at any given opportunity. To continually go bare headed on a bike just seems daft and tempting fate in an unpleasant way. So today we got up early (whatever that means on a Sunday) and set out to patrol the shores of the Forth, out to Preston Island and past Culross while the still, fine morning held some promise for the day ahead.  Amazingly everyone else out at that time seemed happy and carefree, said cheery "good mornings" and went about their business as if in a Mary Poppins' kind of world.  We were an unlikely part of it for a short time. Unfortunately the talking animals and helpful bluebirds didn't turn up.

I was cycling along, unrecognisable in the helmet and sunglasses thinking about pitch invasions at football matches. The melee at Hampden yesterday was in many ways understandable given the emotion of the moment for the Hibs fans. Not so good that people invariably got assaulted or abused as a result. The last good humoured one I recall was at Greenock Morton's ground when (we) DAFC won the title. The fans were on the pitch but no damage was done, nobody was hurt and there was only singing, back slapping and cheering going on . It struck me that the old commentator's cliche of "and the fans have invaded the pitch" seldom get's heard these days, probably just as well. Anyway I'm glad Hibs cracked it on the pitch and beat the Huns, sorry that the fans screwed up and happy that I can now cycle a little bit more safely than previously now that I've downgraded a major part of my stubborn streak.

Four days of pasta

That's correct, it's been pasta for tea for four days now, three days of a tomato based, minced beef kind and one day of a cheesy, onion concoction. There's still some of the cheesy variety left as leftovers for future consumption. For some reason pasta, unlike most other food types seems to do reasonably well if left alone in our fridge. Who'd have thought it? I've still not reached the more desperate point of covering it with brown sauce, that's an intense and needy level I've yet to hit. I don't really feel any the worse for this dietary experimental experience either, in fact I'm positively thriving with creative juices, guitar-man-ship and idiot dancing now all operating at quite a high level. I've also gained new skills as a Mayfly whisperer. I can walk amongst these short lived and challenged insects and come to no harm and what's more as I pass through them in their best cloud formation they move out of the way. Strangely untouchable as they dance on the breeze as if with some burning religious fervour in their little hearts. This is quite civilised and sophisticated pattern of behaviour compared to that exhibited by most of the local wildlife most of which appears either just greedy or stupid. Perhaps they sense the high levels of pasta in me or it may be related to the magical powers of the deeply overcooked garlic. I'll probably never know.

Some educational extras: This is how it all works for the Mayfly, no mention of gardens, sources of stagnant water, garlic or interaction with humans. It's a short but eventful life and I like the idea that they experience time quite differently from the way we do (something I just made up).

Science Fiction Morning

Worlds evolve in parallel: This morning I'm feeling the deep and blinding sunshine of a pseudo Science Fiction Morning complete with a light breeze and some dense hoovering. The rain has gone. I've discovered the added joy of connecting lots of different wires and leads together, all towards the great goal of eliminating that buzz, that crackle, that dull hum, that noise that defies and confounds the silence, where ever it may hide. This of course is the faint hum of the universe, a great machine that runs without any stopping, as far our feeble time lines are concerned anyway. We run in the hum, slightly oblivious and determined to remain uneducated and cheap. "That is why I have created and captured these recordings" said the Professor. "This story will run and run and never worry if you fail to understand first time around."

From the Dark Ages

So it's back to doing a little home recording, mixing and unnecessary fiddling. The equipment is not quite state of the art, a little primitive and pretty clunky. However I actually understand how most of it works, only having the refer to the manual every five minutes or so and then having a reasonable period of thinking time followed by giving up followed by starting again. Easy when you know how or just can't be bothered learning new stuff. So the first step is to set up the already (live) recorded tracks, get them balanced and then add in some extra elements that will hopefully improve the whole sound, then mix and master and...we'll see how things progress.

National Savings and Local Complaints

Once again those pesky robots at Google have fiddled with my photographs in a rather high handed way and I've of course tacitly approved of their shoddy workmanship by adding it in as above. Still and so to speak; however irritating they may be they are not as bad as our own National Savings/Premium Bonds organisation who require you to  register your details on-line, then print them and then post them off to them. WTF? Is this not 2016 and are they not fully digitally enabled as per our wonderful government's (woeful) promises? Apparently not quite.

P.S. I wholeheartedly apologise, I promise to buy some of your shit products and I need that million quid jackpot ASAP.