Internal politics

Struggling through the blizzards and general winter bleakness I actually made it to a bus stop just as the bus was about to arrive and stop. Getting on a bus is quite an adventure for me and also a bargain as I get free travel due to my condition. Usually I go for seat on my own by the window. Today was no exception and I enjoyed uninterrupted views of the 9.30 blizzard for the entire journey. I noticed that despite reports on Top Gear (on Dave) cars with fat tyres and cars with thin tyres didn't seem to be at all bothered by the snow, the regular potholes had however broken a few of them. They died where they lay. In a bid to maintain my current level of fitness I got off a stop early and trudged around for a while. Then I collected the car, bought pizza and a large loaf and headed home. Once there I poisoned a few rats in a controlled experiment, fed the squirrels in a less controlled experiment and then fed the birds in an completely uncontrolled experiment. The sofa beckoned so I watched an adaption of the Cod War sagas taken from an Icelandic perspective and then began to photograph the fireplace in a 17th Century style (as above). Next.

Windy Day

One those days that began badly with the dustbin full of recycling (yogurt pots and beer cans mostly) being blown over along with others from the nearby houses. That recycling material is way too light for the winter months. We'll have to start recycling proper heavy duty waste to maintain a little bin stability. Then whilst en route to the Forth Bridge the crackling news bulletin told of war and waste and a Curries International HGV defying safety and good sense and ending itself on the bridge in the wee small hours. Teams of vigilantes were roaming the fields looking to lynch or de-friend the hapless driver or at the very least a company representative, sadly no one could be found as the queues of traffic grew into something just a little worse than normal. 

Scotland was stuck and we prayed to a jealous Hebrew God to at least let a single carriageway open but the great minds of Amey Highways who can't stop a fucking lorry from getting on the bridge had no chance in these conditions. The wind was having none of it anyway and continued to blow, trapping people on buses and in cars (?) for hours, forcing them to drain their phone batteries by whining on Twitter about Trump's golden shower party and also to delete photos to create memory space to take photos of friendly road rage incidents. But in Scotland in January we fully expect some shit to happen and so were not really disappointed, and there's still at least 20 days to go and the promise of a Yellow Weather Warning for tomorrow. Time to hide under the duvet.

Reasonably delivered

Yesterday morning came with an orangey sunrise.

"For sale, baby shoes, never worn". So goes the famous six word short story by Hemingway, or so I believe. Today's version: "For sale, mobility scooter, your price". Turns out that if you are ever selling a mobility scooter you need to brace yourself for the sad tale that the prospective buyer will bring and then add into the bargaining process like some financial hand grenade. Inevitable really and though I was well prepared the reality of the moment was stronger and more intense than I had expected. You can call me weak or naive, it doesn't really matter, a deal was struck and I was not disappointed. All in all I'm just a sucker for a good twisted sob story, if  reasonably delivered. After all, I made this one up and Roman Polanski isn't even interested in filming it.

Soon to be a world leader

Sleepwalking into the ring. I was going to make some unfunny Trump comment here but what's the point so let's not get bogged down in modern life, there has to be a bright side...

...Oh yes. Our children are now well and truly sucked into an unsustainable and disappointing future thanks to the advent of the smart-phone a mere ten years since it's introduction. It's really odd how progress like this is completely unchecked, ungoverned and very much in the control (at the marketing end) by large corporations. What no one can control or predict easily is quite where this is all taking us. The digital world is not really being built, in all it's various levels, to any single, thought through and agreed design. Chaos Theory in action.

Winter Garden Textures

Yesterday was almost pleasant, although it's a damp, cold and typically grey January day. For some reason the colours and the wood and stone in the garden all seemed peacefully attractive and interesting and worth stopping for and looking at and simply capturing and placing here. 

Rogue One and a Free Strap?

 Three sets, size 9, reputable make, free strap, what could possibly go wrong?

We're probably amongst the last people here in the Grease Belt of Central Scotland to watch this Disneyfied blockbuster. It felt that way last night in an oddly crowded cinema where battle commenced in an fiery mix of Saving Private Ryan and Full Metal Jacket, all nonstop shrapnel and near misses set in a troubled place in space. This is of course the film that fits in between all the other films in the traditional non-linear creation pattern of Star Wars as it seeks to answer the questions that only the Geeks ever asked and the general public didn't seem to care about. Well now we all know how the cartoon like plans of the Death Star came to be in the possession of the Rebels (unruly bunch really, portrayed as being a bit like the Labour Party) and so the whole Star Wars franchise makes more sense. If only the Empire didn't design everything with those huge, unlocked USB type portals so readily available on every corner, they really need a security expert badly. Talk about joined up communications?

Along the way digitized dead actors populated the screen in a video game-like twist, notably Peter Cushing and a young Carrie Fisher. There may have been more lurking like ghosts earning eerie fees for their family inheritances. In the end after a lengthy "beach" battle at the Empire's own Cape Canaveral, everybody on the Imperial planet base dies, good and bad alike as the Death Star wipes them out. This left me wondering quite how the true story could ever have been told, of course that fails to take into account the ways of the Force which now seems to work for you by some kind of repetition or rote style of deployment. I must try it the next time I'm under duress. It could be that Donald Trump (a secret Sith?) is already using this method via Twitter, though he's too dumb to realise it. 

I guess I enjoyed it and there's a few good roller coaster or thrill rides in there so it'll have a life certainly for the rest of mine. Good to see the old X-Wing's getting another outing with the usual dog-fights. I almost expected some kid to stand up amid the burning palms, shake his fist and yell "X-Wing Fighter, Cadillac of the Sky!" It will happen one day. So some say that it's the best Star Wars film yet (though it leans heavily on the original for it's tone and the stolen references) and they may well be right; 9/10.

Out of date...

...but in the frying pan. That post holiday problem, the exploration of the nether regions of the fridge and associated cupboards and tins for unused food that may still be considered safely edible. So the good times have all gone and all we have left to gnaw upon are the ship's biscuits, film wrapped leftovers of uncertain origin and slimy packets of carefully chosen but never consumed meats and cheeses. Like some stranded Martian colony down to it's final set of supplies we try to calculate what kind of food combinations might work for a cook up, and it's all to be done against the clock as if in competition. Everything with food is time critical except when you're buying it. Now the day of reckoning has arrived at long last, no room to dodge the issue and eat favourites. So some is prepared along with complimentary products and eaten, tasting strangely good and some is dumped and some...the crumbly but mouldy bread products, feeds the local birds and bees.

Silvery Tay

Breakfast Bait: Jolly's Hotel in Broughty Ferry does a large Scottish breakfast for £4.95. It's feckin' enormous with two of every thing (except for the beans and a tomato). It was so big I, hungry as I was,  couldn't finish it and needed an emergency 40 winks on my return to Fife hours afterward. I can't understand how this phenomenon hasn't featured in some tragic but lightly humorous Bob Servant story as yet.

Click Bait: OK, I did laugh at the "Real Housewives of ISIS", but just a little, mainly the eight foot chain (how come ISIS are not metric yet?). Watching it was a bit like playing Cards Against Humanity (which I have not put into inverted commas) in that conflicted/funny way you feel when you're being just a little too naughty and others are watching.

Some kind of trick of the light.

Up pops the Pope

We've just trudged through all ten (or was it twelve) episodes of "The Young Pope", I'm still confused. This fantasy, quasi-religious mash-up ran out of steaming holy water around episode three turning into a slow, repetitive churn-fest of familiar Roman Catholic themes, where every other priest is gay, a child abuser, a substance abuser or sexually active in some odd way. Power has corrupted everybody and generally few bishops if any actually believe in god or have any clear understanding of Catholic theology. They spend most of their time prancing around in silly hats and gowns that would look better on a flock of Disney Princesses. There's also a lot of schoolboy level Papal titillation included in a kind of "will he, won't he" way that quickly becomes tiresome and really there's no proper plot other than a sombre orphan narrative that's slowly rolling downhill to nowhere (other than the bottom of the hill). Every so often there are flashbacks and fantasy scenes that make wish that the young Pope would just get over his past and do the job of being Pope however ridiculous that is anyway. I feel sorry for any Catholics or believers watching, god knows (?) what they made of it but it's clicked somewhere, apparently they are filming a second series.

Here comes the Voodoo

Sunny, frosty morning, here comes the cold of the Voodoo, the sharp pain of the spell, the tired out piercing and the dulling of sensations follows. As if life was just some long running and confused celebration.

In some other place a ghostly lion avoids sleep, day dreaming in the hope of finding heat as outside the windows the world spins by and the trapped and frozen lion wonders why.

I don't talk to the early morning trees as they never listen. Cold shards break the light and the day times awaits the coming of the night. Spring will be along soon, green and fragile will return. The persistence of seasons shines through as we dream of warmer mornings and a brighter noontime. Bees and insects, birds and flowers, only away for a few short hours.

Don't worry it's normal

It's normal to worry, usually it's about things that are outside of our control. Things like health, far away and unstable countries, grinning MPs and meteorite strikes all tax the mind, eating away at happiness like some unopened Christmas gift that has a doubtful shape and feel. So unwanted reminder sessions in the school of hard knocks and the unexpected consequences of well meant actions are never too far away. They hang in the air like the smell of urine or dumb Americans praising the good works soon to be done by Trump via some badly constructed text message. Worry is a slow form of mind cancer that is best overcome by studying the blue skies, sipping the milk skin from over heated coffee or puzzling over musical scales and drum beats. Worry sinks without trace like a Russian sub or your bank balance on the 30th day, if you mask it with idle happiness and baseless optimism. It's all a puff of self indulgent mind wandering pollution corrected quickly by any unexpected positive jolt. There's one due at any minute.

Moon, Venus, Mars

Those of you watching the recent Sci-Fact series Mars on the History channel will be aware that there's a fictional planet called Mars not so far away from the Earth. Apparently a cartoon space craft can get there in about six months if the internationally sourced and ill-matched crew can stop arguing and avoid pulling the incorrect lever to the left of the steering wheel. Married couples, brooding scientists and do-gooders should also be avoided as passengers and would be colonists cause they just screw everything up. Venus, also nearby is best ignored as it's very hot and it's surface is covered in boiling vinegar according to the Roman star gazers. Anyway these places plus some large tide pulling moon or other are all visible to the naked eye or any reasonably priced phone in a single shot these days. It's all called celestial alignment and spells good omens for all aboard our troubled planet. Failure to observe these night time sights may bring you bad luck, boils or temporary blindness, bit of a lottery really. So don't shrink back from looking out of your window, simply pause the TV and social network inter-blethers and take in the blessed spectacle before we all get blown to pieces.

Slow start

For whatever reasons I've decided to allow 2017 to start at a much slower pace than previous years. This falls in line with Einstein's  Theory of  "the older you get the less fucks you give" about anything. It may well be that for me 2017 might not start at all or I might postpone it until 2018. If you think about it (?) time is only exists in your own head.

End of the year show

A few hours from the end of 2016 here in time trapped, storm lashed, baffled old  Scotland. Thanks to all the readers and robots (more robots than readers I guess), the good people of Alaska and Russia and god knows where for some odd statistics and sporadic support and to Google for free hosting. Frankly I'm glad 2016 is done but I've grave reservations and trembling anticipation over what 2017 may hold for us all. Signs are that I may not be able to cover future developments in any kind of clear or rational manner. This blog has been going a while, it probably will continue but I'm not so sure about life on Earth, as we know it.

Millennial Blues

Reflections shared on the second last day of the year 2016: I've just watched a video via Facebook that was (almost randomly) shared because somebody I don't know well decided they liked it. It may have been click bait but I watched it anyway. It lasted about 15 minutes and it went on about the problems that millennials (born around '84 and onwards) have with modern life i.e. interaction, ambition, expectation and working. It seems that phones, media and all the general shit that life casts up is too much, parents and parenting has been poor and corporations and employers have failed to understand. The result is a troubled, confused, joyless and unfulfilled generation. I'm not sure that squares with my view or experience but it was an interesting tirade to watch. Now I'm slightly confused. Have I missed something? Not picked up tell-tale signs? Been a dumb parent? I'm not exactly going to torture myself about this, it's all water under the bridge. Time was that thoughts and views like this could not be shared at all unless in some book nobody would read or from a street corner speaker. The times were not right. The technology not in place. Now we've got it, we're stuck with it and clearly we don't really know how to handle it and of course it (that is the technology) will quite simply destroy us. There, don't expect things to be a whole lot better in 2017 once the January 1st party is over.

Wrong side of Christmas

Girl with cool plectrum. 

Aberdour light prison.

Bags of light to take away. 

A curious mixture of fruit, vegetables, eggs and kitchenware.

So the wrong, incorrect or troubling side of Christmas is upon us. Those few days when we drift between years and festivals unsure when to stop eating and drinking but also preparing for the incoming year as if it was going to make anything any different. A noble but ultimately flawed idea and really there are no grounds for celebration and as the harsh reality of our impending future bites. It's also  a good time to reflect on how it was things got so screwed up in the first place and how far beyond redemption we now cosily sit. Amen.

Sweet

Last Christmas

Probably the first and last Christmas for this little fellow. Pranged by a cat early on Christmas morning and deposited at my feet as a gift on the kitchen floor as I stuffed the turkey. A strange, paradoxical and sad ending.

Beefheart lives on

As above: Not even sure what this really is, spotted in a pet store presumably for pets that need a healthy amount of Omega 3, which we all need anyway. The sight provoked memories of the good Captain, now long gone. Not sure if he'd be amused. Is there an animal simply called a Beef?

Another thing: If you happen to be feeding squirrels peanuts in order to fatten them up to eat them would you not be better just to forget the squirrels and simply eat the peanuts yourself? I'm wondering if this idea might have wider significance and possible applications.

Now back to the preparation of the vegetables...then running about.

Seasonal timbers

I can seldom resist the lure of bargain Eastern European sourced kiln dried hardwood logs, even during monsoon style rains and strong HGV threatening winds from Storm Barbara. These are the Mercedes Benz of logs or possibly the Stella Artois, something like that. Buying logs in the pouring rain is also a category #10 hazard for the terminally unfit man about town. Having said that there are only so many logs you can fit into a Mini Cooper's cramped load space but they certainly help with the traction control required whilst aquaplaning at high speed on one of Scotland's well cared for and manicured (?) motorways. Fortunately there was room leftover for a dead turkey and a dead chicken and some cow pies upon which we will feast in 2017. Things are a bit calmer now...it's going to be a mild Christmas they say.