Behind the times

Behind the times and behind the curve, only now getting around to watching the final two Hunger Games films. Thank you incessant rain and the expected early end of summer. This one seems to have been panned by the critics at the time. OK not the greatest film but I thought it was reasonable albeit it's obviously there as an attempt to extend the franchise and make a few bucks more. Still not as bad as the overlong and overblown Hobbit movies.

As for Orlando...awful. We're a long way away from the tragedy thankfully. Prayers and good thoughts aren't going to fix this either. The descent continues.

Bomb in the base

Loitering in the downstairs shower this morning I noticed this solitary bath bomb sitting on the shelf.

I know it's (almost) wrong but when Russia scored the equaliser last night against England I was off the couch and only one beer and two glasses of wine were involved. I think that it was the English fans jubilantly singing "God save the Queen" that started me up. One (pretty decent) goal up they were singing like they'd won the tournament and I hate that feckin' smug tuneless and oppressive song. Is that really what you sing when you're supporting England? Anyway you can't really beat a goal in the final minutes as a way of deflating fans, just think of Hibs and Rangers last month, a quite magical few seconds of collapse. Last night was up there with the best sickeners, a great moment to savour and a real bomb going off in the psyche of the English camp. Sour grapes from me of course, we serve them up regularly here in Scotland.

Uncomfortable

When I saw this in the Kitchen Aisle in Tesco I felt rather disturbed, queasy and uncomfortable. I imagined disgruntled/angry wives/husbands or serial killers eyeing this up and thinking "that just might do the trick, I'll sneak one of those in my trolley along with the egg noodles and the deodorant". Maybe I'm just way too sensitive or maybe I'm crazy...anyway down with this sort of thing, just buy your meat at the butcher's counter like a normal person and then you wont have to figure out ways of easily hacking it up.

Lebowski Day

In the spirit of nothing in particular and because it's raining I've declared today to be an official Lebowski Day. Despite that I will allow my serial slow paced decluttering work and mind purity programme to carry on as I sort out my tools and trivia in preparation for my trip to some tropical and commercial Nirvana in a week or two. I've also promised myself not to drink until the Euros kick off later tonight (hopefully peacefully) so will survive on tea and milk bombs. In other Lebowski-like pursuits I will admire our rugs, move around the house slowly and think deeply whilst considering what peach to eat and how long to remain in the shower before getting out. I draw the line however at bowling matches, getting beat up and being pursued by gangs of nihilists.  I did break out briefly there to walk around the garden, in said rain hunting for a lost package, delivered apparently and then cunningly hidden where no man, beast or woman can find it. A hand written card with few simple instruction might have helped. Anyway back to dude land...

The slow paced day has allowed me to allow the glue on the sandals renegade strap to dry. I may well have executed an effective and theme park proof repair. I will report on progress in due course. 

Oaps

A late lunch today was provided by the restaurant run by Baxters near to Kelty just off Fife's premier motorway, the slowly crumbling M90. A good menu, good value food with decent portions but few customers. Maybe they get coaches of lost pensioners (Oaps as they are known) every so often to boost trade but today, a nice warm day for buggering about and supping milky coffee saw little action. So where do all the bored Oaps go on a Thursday? Probably Dobbies.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mini

(As the village priest may have said somewhere in the past in some solemn and serious way, the black bands do not represent any kind of mourning or funeral type situation, this is not the end, we remain alive and mobile).  Despite it's rough ride, occasional tripped out warning light blips and some serious rattles my Mini Cooper actually makes me happy. In the sun, in this weather, at this time of year, with the windows down, rolling along some twisty A road it really is the dog's... I'll probably only have for a short while (maybe another 10k or so) but it'll be an enjoyable journey. I wouldn't swap it for...well I probably would actually, a mental list does exist of alternative fun lovin' vehicles. Some more green than cool and others less greener than cool.

Windows 10

Another fine day and therefore good cause for more spontaneous and unplanned activity, this time cleaning and painting windows that I hadn't considered painting. That makes it about 10 windows so far (just to tie in with the title anyway). Hundreds of innocent spiders were moved on and declared homeless and many dead flies were given a quick burial up the spout of the vacuum cleaner. The windows have had their first coat of paint but remain sticky at the moment so the second coat will have to wait until the time is right and at least elevenses are over. In the mean time I've decided to re-forest the general area, mostly outside; that is as part of my slowly forming regeneration of the Great Caledonian Forest scheme. One more unplanned idea supporting wildlife here, there and at the bottom of the garden already taking shape then.

Down goes the sun

And along come the clouds but there is no rain or storm to break the tension hanging in the early summer air in this Scottish outpost. Tomorrow will come along with all it's new and predictable challenges at just around the usual time, that's all I'm really confident about at the the moment, well that and the cat across the way peering in through the cat flap and giving us his best thousand yard stare to freak out our cats. Happens every morning at 7:15.

Great Purple Aliens

Non-Google photo.

Google altered photo.

These alien looking blooms have appeared in the garden (because they were planted in it some time ago), their exact name escapes me but they are attractive to bees, last a while and look pretty funky. For some reason we have seven of them.

The long running "paint the whole outside of the house" project is drawing to an end, just as the weather is about to break, (there's a Yellow Warning you know). It's taken place over the last couple of weeks and so far has gone pretty smoothly despite the use of ladders and working at height juggling paint pots, rollers and brushes. Mess has also been minimised due to using covers and sheets and regular sweeping. All in all it's worthy of an award (a cool beer at the end of each day perhaps) and some recognition (a photo on Instagram) at some point. Maybe once the putty is dried and the plant pots have returned to their rightful places I'll record the look for posterity. Anyway I'm off to build up the beetroot stocks, hoover some money around and thoughtlessly shop for groceries.

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.