Little Botch #2

Nearly finished this now, just waiting on the correct jack socket arriving from eBayland any day now. The botch factor has thankfully diminished for the time being, some furious sandpapering and planing this morning finally allowed the neck to fit the neck pocket at just about the right height. So no coins or shims hidden under the bridge or neck. One of the problems with assembling these partscasters being that dimensions, between part to part from various sources and guitars are seldom consistent. This often means serious adjustment and (hopefully) invisible bodging going on to get everything to fit and most importantly be playable with good action and intonation. It can be a laborious process that seems never ending. Thankfully this one's turned out OK, octaves seem good and the fretboard has most of the buzzes ironed out. As it warms up and gets used to the string tension all the little bugs should clear up. Any day now.

Post Political

"From a US Air Force Base near Las Vegas an operator flying a drone takes out the lead vehicle in a convoy carrying Col Gaddafi and his entourage through rebel held roads. Following the attack Gaddafi tries to hide in a road side drain culvert. His fate is already sealed." 

Sunny warm day

At an Air Force Base

Near Las Vegas

No time for a shave this morning

Pickup trucks in the lot

A Drone is being guided

Flying across the Libyan desert

The operator obeys the order

Sipping an ice cold cola

The target's offered up

Lead vehicle in the convoy

The drone's systems lock on

And fire

Take a break

Repeat "Pakistan"

Repeat "Afganistan"

Repeat "Syria"

Repeat "Call of Duty"

And so on we go...

Hypernormalisation

0745: I stumbled upon this when I mistakenly opening up BBC iPlayer early in the morning. There it was, a title and some scrapbook style images that looked intriguing and right on the very first screen, clearly an engineered promotion. Little did I know as I fired up the box that it was a three hour epic of reverse brainwashing docu/propaganda filming determined to explain and make sense of recent history from 1975 onwards; through the eyes of Adam Curtis.  Annoyed that I'd somehow missed the (likely) Guardian write up that preceded it I entered this doomsday epic ignorant of it's origins. So it's both disturbing and annoying at the same time and best watched in 60 minute chunks because of it's stilted and repetitive style. I did say reverse brainwashing but maybe it's simply in a new genre called  "I told you so" even though you might have heard a good deal of it before down the pub, via twitter or on one of those days when paper aeroplanes are flying around in your office. 

So stitch up, sound bite driven blog TV is here but if you've the stamina it's as meaningful an "all our yesterdays" session as you'll get anywhere without any happy ending. Here we are, now in a post-political world where you can't expect politicians and leaders to have the answer to global problems because nobody does, unless they happen to be a machine.

"How we got to this strange time of great uncertainty and

 confusion where those who are supposed to be in power are paralysed and have no idea what to do".

Evolve or be consumed

In the hard edged world of hard edged business if you don't adopt some flexible strategies and add in bits of innovation from time to time then you will be thrown to the wolves, be exposed as a loser or have some kind of bad experience or other. So in my hard edged and not yet fully formed guitar up-cycling business I'm pulling all the stops out now in order to survive the current economic fox's paw that so threatens young schemers like me as we try to launch ill conceived business models towards the dimwitted general public. So I've now learned that, in serious cases where pyrography is not a realistic option, that there are alternative methods to place a unique and bespoke design (something of a trademark of mine) upon the glossy parts of a refurbished guitar. Ta Da!

So more wee, fiddly designs can be added using this (secret) technique which also allows the addition of a modicum of colour to really funk up the whole piece. One fine day in the distant future well spoken and sensitive customers will be beating the door down, metaphorically I hope. They will also be waving large wads of spending cash...it's all a foolish dream you might say...I certainly would.

Unrelated: Here's Clint the cat waking up slowly.

Little Botch

I've been working on this guitar in slow and irregular bursts for about three years. It was one of the first blank canvases I experimented upon, not altogether successfully. Recently progress has resumed after a long period of nothing. Somewhere along the way I just lost interest and even now I can't see this as a great piece of work, too many little botched bits, however it may well turn out to be a good player once assembled. That key point of test and measurement has yet to be reached but any day now it will hopefully make some musical sound without too many buzzes and nasty hums. In the mean time it's been christened "Little Botch" and some of the artwork efforts have been extended.

His Bobness

All over 'tinternet today like a rash.

Dylan: Well I for one am quite happy to hear that Bob Dylan has been awarded this year's  Nobel Prize for Literature.  As a spotty teenager and then as a spotty adult I used to read his lyrics from the pages of actual paper paged books. This was primarily because I couldn't quite make out what he was saying when he was singing and spitting the words out quickly, as was/is his habit. He certainly had a lot to say and, looking back I'm surprised at how much of his verse I have retained onboard and can readily recall and I feel happy about that. His works gave me, in very simple terms, some level of assurance that I wasn't any more crazy than he was and that if he was crazy and seeing what he saw then maybe being a bit crazy isn't so bad. In fact it's clearly preferable to being the way most around me then (parents and teachers and authority figures) actually were. That is worthy of a literature prize because good literature is surely about changing the lives of ordinary readers like me for the better...and so on.

Illness: OK, I'm a bit ill, I pee into a bag via a tube, I'm extra tired at times, suffer some minor discomfort and I am anxious because the surgery needed to correct this has yet to happen. All this is new to me, a few days old and requires some adjustment in my own way of seeing myself. For 60 years I've been an energetic grumpy/cheerful lump of indestructible resilience, now I'm less than that, for the time being. I'm not comfortable with this altered state but I'm stoical and determined to be better soon and to get on with my various half baked (but meaningful to me) projects. Normal service will be resumed shortly.

Stroke

A sweet drawing on an envelope by one of my granddaughters shows me unwell and on a hospital trolley. The Post Office have kindly added the word "stroke" in the postmark just to add extra drama and up the tension a notch or two.

As good as it gets

OK, onto day 5 of the great waterworks repair project. Good news is that there is no pain, mediocre news is that there's just regular discomfort, inconvenience and a general slowing down in all operational activity as I get used to apparatus and evolving routines. Hygiene and care and control quarrel for first place now, movements are measured and steady and of course this isn't really me, it's a version I don't quite recognise and the couch has become my friend. Can I carry on like this indefinitely? Well yes, even this awkward little set of disciplines though annoying are far better than many things others worse off than me have to suffer. Simple answer? Just take a few "suck the fuck it up" pills every day.

Dystopian Meritocracy

There, I've said it and that's what we've got or at least what we're headed towards. The Mail and Express readers, the UKIP supporters and their bigoted allies, those who voted for Brexit 'cos it seemed like a bit of fun, the politically lost, older ex-liberals and staunch Tories who fail to see the writing on the UK wall that's collapsing onto their heads. Thank you all very much. Now there's no more reasonably priced Marmite for the time being.

Pink is not the colour

Dear Satan* (and also the Scottish Football Association),

Exactly what is it that you think is attractive about kitting out football players in pink strips? As a "national sporting colour" and that's a term I've come up with myself, it simply doesn't work. I'd also add that grey, purple, electric green and brown do not work either, so it's not that I've got anything against pink. I'm also not saying that the pink strip made a significant contribution to our defeat last night but I doubt it helped and it does colour yet another Scottish sporting tragedy in an unflattering manner. 

P.S. That team is pish as is their manager and they're going nowhere fast. However should they, by some miracle or act of god actually qualify for something, I'll gladly wear that daft pink strip for a week.

Here's an example of a good football strip for reference:

* I'm not saying that Satan sits at the helm of the SFA but you can never tell. He's certainly currently  doing well in the Conservative Party, the Daily Mail and in the fast food industry.

Robots in disguise

Oops, looks like they are back, on the run and possibly living locally.

View from the office

Prostrate Hypertrophy: Not a term that I was familiar with until yesterday when I woke up in hospital discovering I had it. All pretty common in a fellow of my age but still strange to discover you're a victim. So as it turns out the NHS is pretty good and the people who helped me were first class. I'm still not right but I'm not as wrong as I was when I was admitted to hospital on Sunday just a few hours after winning the Saturday night pop quiz in a local pub. First there's triumph then, just to keep the universe in balance it's followed by some tragedy, or at least an unpleasant experience. So I'm back home now, operating at a much slower pace and as ever being looked after and kept right by my dear wife. Further procedures are in the pipeline in order to clear the pipelines but that's not something I'm planning to worry about; I'm rejoicing in being in the system, eating bananas on toast and drinking plenty of liquid in order to flush out my radiators and oil filters. The future is as bright as ever and even a short stay in hospital (my first since the dark ages of 1963) has reminded how well off I am health wise and how valuable our free health care is.

Saturday

Activities: fixing the gate, pointing walls, painting posts and the gate, clearing up, cycling along by Torry Bay and recycling. Glad it was a sunny afternoon. Phew. Pub quiz next.

Garden Gate

Gate - note unfinished posts, under construction.

Days, weeks, months, possibly years in the making. The garden gate is now almost in place. The stubbornly awkward to replace old post has been replaced by an exact replica and is currently screwed and cemented in place. All we need to do is to wait on the mortar drying out and then the new gate can be hung on it's new hinges and everything will be new and gate-shape, as it were. Even I was shocked to discover how good (almost anyway) the gate fitted the gap after a long drawn out measuring, ordering and custom gate building process. Next dry day the gate gets itself well and truly hung.

Faulty Knausgaardian reasoning

Hmmn, so the new book has arrived fresh from the dusty but well stocked but randomly organised shelves of Mr Amazon's Emporium. What a to do. Should I quit my tempestuous little job, stall the fitting of the awkward gate even more and avoid ironing and basic hygiene for a few days so that I can find the space and appetite for a little alcoholic lubrication and this book. I'll add it to the list of numerous outstanding things and try to find a proper time slot for it's consumption in my busy if slightly fractured schedule.

Jelly Meet Whiskers

JELLY, MEET WHISKERS

Why did the people at Whiskas drop the Jellymeat from Jellymeat Whiskas? It may not be as snappy as Whiskas but it has more of a gangster/badass lilt to it that plain old Whiskas. It was all so long ago...great band name though.

Only robots read this

And so it is written that in the Last Days/Revelation/End Times/Rapture/Doomsday (delete as applicable) a great portent will appear like a flash of lightning from the west to the east and then the Beast shall arise and be seen clearly by all mankind, those saved and those unsaved. It will take the form of yet another beast etc. etc. you can never tell. Anyway don't panic yet.

October salad

A close up of a plain salad looks a bit like the bottom of  the sea or equally a lot like a plain salad. We added a fish cake or two for extra sophistication. This is the season of made up midweek meals eaten later in the evening than they should be while we pose topical questions; who are the USA vice-presidential candidates? Why is the headline in Time ambiguous? What is Putin actually up to? Are the Tories really bad people or really just very stupid people from wealthy backgrounds? Are the fishcakes warm enough? Do we have enough projects on the go or should we have one more and add it to the list?

Getting over a rainbow

This rainbow remained stuck  in position and on duty for at least five hours on Saturday, is this a record?

So it's time to come down both physically and mentally from the heights reached over the weekend, there with the all day rainbows, the sheer drops to certain death and a quick pint of shandy in Aberfeldy. (As a younger man I did the Aberfeldy half marathon twice achieving respectable times (1hr 35m or so) on both outings), that esoteric level of fitness and the quasi-mulleted look that went with it has long gone. Now, after one Munro my legs feel like mature Swiss Cheese with extra holes drilled in. I did however manage a few speedy laps of the fulfilment centre today powered by a fruit and cereal diet that will no doubt restore the burned up muscle and the petered out stamina to something like normal levels...for a racoon.

Schiehallion

Alien markings carved into rocks at the summit using alien lasers and suchlike (my theory). 

A grand vista

Loch Tummel and few clouds gathering.

Tough day yesterday, tougher than a day at the big A but possibly not as tough as a Tough Mudder day. So it was my first Munro ascent in about thirty five years. Turns out the old dog still has no new tricks and an old man has no new ideas but some degree of life left in him but it was tough. Did I say that?  The last of our four family hillwalks this year and like all the others the weather was great, the conditions good and the views from the summit were wonderful and the people perfect. Next year we plan to go further and higher until one day we all just walk off, disappear into some strangely glowing cloud and go to be with our own personal god.

The ritual passing of the blagged Tennants lager can.