Newly weds and nearly deads

Apparently a large number of  the people who live on the south coast (?) can be described as mostly newly weds and nearly deads. At the start and close to the finish of something. I like the phrase, it seemed to resonate around with me  and I'm looking for some container to put it into. This isn't it. The phrase remains an orphan in my circle but in the world of the local estate agents, plumbers and fixers it'll mean a whole lot more. That's not where I run or where I position myself. Perhaps it's a song title, some kitchen sink drama lived out in three verses, a chorus and a middle eight, shot in black and white as a couple move through the struggles and pleasures of ordinary life. That thing that most songwriters seem to know so little of, they're too busy with their introspection and their egos to bother. Of course I don't mean any of it, I'm just trying to plant a phrase and, unlike the tomato seedlings I buried today, not finding it so easy to  get it to take root anywhere.

Spring in the walled garden

A heavy lunch today in the cash friendly/card hostile cafe in the Walled Garden, Fife's best kept hidden garden and temporary white topped caravan site.  Somewhere off in the woods, along a bumpy road and then strangely at the top of a hill, there it is. A mug of herb and mushroom soup, a ham salad sandwich was enough to floor me, that and two flat white coffees. I've just no staying power anymore, weak willed and lacking in stamina and the ability to resist reasonable temptation. The afternoon turned out better than expected. Once soup ran out I was in the mood to wander. I made it all the way to the root of the old pier where, as usual, nothing much was happening, but it looked good. 

Well that was yesterday, today I'm revelling in the reflected glory of a bright new Windows 10 laptop screen (Apple fanboy no more) and understanding it's many quirks. I've also had a new, snake like and supple caffita fitted, my health is in good hands, thankfully not mine. At the moment neither Windows 10, Apple whatever it was and my plumbing are fully connected. Tests, intrusive probes and intensive treatments will no doubt sort it all out in due course.

Space Rock

Orbital Challenger: Nothing really new here, just some space rock. That's basically a few weird noises, some NASA radio recordings, a drum beat from Dr Drum, distorted guitars all joined together by a a few simple riffs, drops and whatever you call the other musical plot devices. I could make up a story as to how it was inspired by my childhood in the 1960s or by last year's visit to NASA at Cape Canaveral but neither of those things would be true. Happy Wednesday.

The Sorority of Lesbian Dogwalkers

I'm just parking this title here, in a Monopoly board kind of free parking way, letting it settle, letting it brew. It came to me in a dream, like a word from above or in an inspirational moment but actually it didn't. It was a chance remark made on a car journey heading north, slowly stuck behind a tractor ( or a fucking tractor to give it it's full title). The title seemed to stick, like it was there, living a breathing and full of stories, adventures, encounters and relationships. Dogs, women, customers and punters and the occasional puzzled man out there somewhere on the horizon. So it's here, for a while before it heads off to some other, non-specified place.

Here's a remix of Air Kisses, an old song of ours, when I googled the title an image of Trump and Pence came up. They all seemed to fit...

Brunel's Birthday

From the Guardian: Engineers have tested one of the UK’s most intriguing railway legends: that the rising sun shines through the Box tunnel near Bath on the birthday of the 19th-century genius who created the line.

For many years railway enthusiasts and mathematicians have argued over whether Isambard Kingdom Brunel, the creator of the Great Western mainline, did design the two-mile tunnel with his own birthday in mind.

On Sunday – 211 years after Brunel’s birth – the line was shut because of upgrade work, providing Great Western Railway and Network Rail with a rare chance to observe whether the sun really does shine through the length of the tunnel on 9th April. It does.

The supposed link with Brunel’s birthday was first reported by the Devizes Gazette in 1842. The Daily Telegraph followed the story up some time later but until now, as far as GWR knows, there have been no photographs of the supposed phenomenon.

Matthew Golton (GWR) said the idea of building such a long tunnel between Bath and Chippenham was hugely controversial and was described during a debate in parliament as “dangerous, extraordinary, monstrous and impractical”. Railway pioneer George Stephenson said passengers would be terrified.

The project was over-budget and behind time. At the height of construction, 4,000 people were working on the tunnel and the engineers were getting through a tonne of candle wax and a tonne of explosives every week. One hundred people died during its construction.

It is no surprise that Brunel might had added a mischievous detail to his astounding design. “There are lots of good reasons why Brunel might have wanted to provide a riposte to his critics by not only completing the structure but putting a special architectural signature into the job,” Matthew Golton of GWR said.

Analogue People

Brews and dogs

A sunny spring afternoon so we spent some of it at the international HQ of the Brewdog Brothers in Ellon Aberdeenshire. Not everybody likes Brewdog, they are nontraditional, a bit spiky, pompous and self righteous and the beer is pricy, it's also mostly quite good, but I'm no beer expert. So I managed to visit a brewery, drink no beer and emerge only with a Brewdog dog collar (for an actual dog), a bottle opener and a beer mat. Oh, I ate some pizza and drank some apple juice.

The joy of a new phone

Well it's a kind of joy tinged with confusion, head scratching, questions etc. My favourite question being "why does none of the sparse literature that comes with the phone actually explain anything and when you go on line to download the manual, as per instructions, you find there isn't one after all?" So more trench warfare begins, mostly in my head and a little on line of course. Typical. 

Eventually the new micro SIM card was authorised and it breathed in some non Korean oxygen and so the phone woke up, slightly after the two hours it was supposed to take. By then I'd discovered that there was no memory slot so another means of copying contacts over had to be found. I worked it out after a few minutes of mistakes. Then a barrage of confusing messages mostly saying "such and such has now stopped, configuration in progress and Microsoft Excel has been launched", things I don't want to know but do now. 

What I do want to know is how to set the alarm, that took up most of the time. I'll be waking up to some strange modern bleeping tomorrow and thinking I'm in hospital. Things that are designed to be intuitive never seem to be for me, my intuition is clearly elsewhere and running a different code. The phone's OK anyway.

Nobody understands anything

When it come to broadband, it's performance and actual substance that is, it seems that nobody really understands anything. Who knew that placing a router near a (glass) window, on the floor or beside seemingly benign electrical items can disastrously affect performance? It can cause the poor router to have a seizure or start operating in Japanese. The whole thing (?) is just incredibly flakey and temperamental, like having an Italian film starlet or some conceptual artist at work creating something in your home. The stubborn refusal to operate when most needed; ordering on line, fiddling with bank details or sending that vital email is a pain. It senses your anxiety build and then makes it worse by cranking up the tension, showing some promise and then fading away altogether till only the desolate amber glow of disconnection remains. 

BT of course run their tests to find the cause, "try it in another room", "stand on one leg", "did a bird perhaps fly in and unplug something?",  "what did you have for tea?", "barefoot, socks or rubber soles?", "urine a funny colour perhaps?". So many factors to consider, then mitigate against, then eliminate, then sit down and read a book for a while as the lights of communication change colour or flicker out altogether. 

Well that was last night. Today I'm sitting in a basin of tepid water with a beanie hat on reading the Broons Book 1967, while a cat munchies Dreamies in the next room, overhead a helicopter is flying by and the radio is playing Planet Rock melodies and I'm considering using the nose flute. I also had a banana and made a to do list of things I might well do some day. Funnily the internet is now working, it's all so simple really, just give it what it wants. Chaos.

Meanwhile here's a nice picture of Shetland seaweed that Tom Morton took, I found it on the internet.

1971

Older age brings with it a certain desire to wallow in the warmth of nostalgia. That complicated but simple lie we tell ourselves that whilst "we've never had it so good" or this is "as good as it gets" the hazy past remains a place of peace and golden perfection where mostly good things happened. Anyway, any recent history that happened during my conscious  life is of interest, if only for me to learn how my opinions or experiences may differ from that of the author. The case for 1971 being the best year in rock history is likely to be a pretty solid one. David Hepworth knows his  cultural onions and at that point in modern time I was but a mere lad of 16, confused, ill informed and advised and with little or no concept of harsh reality or the unique moments in history that I was living through. In other words I was the same as everybody else, passing through, sometimes sad, sometimes blue etc. etc. 

Now it's all gone for a ball of chalk; memory is an unfaithful mistress and forty odd years of living have deeply etched over the vivid images and sounds of those days. Blue skies, grey skies, lots of sky and lots of self indulgence and ignorance mixed with the teenage arrogance that (hopefully) you grow out of by the time your twentieth birthday card hits the mat...I was perhaps a little late in blooming with that attribute. I'll read this, disagree about a few things no doubt and then reflect that if somebody wrote a similar book about 1972 or 1973 their case could be equally strong. None of it matters now, all those bright young creative and influential people are now in their seventies or just plain dead, read and remember, weep maybe but don't look back in anger.

Graphics Interchange Format

For whatever reasons (presumably the rise and rise of the smart phone and the smart arse) the .gif formatting of files and the cottage industry that goes with it must be booming right now. There someplace over the blue horizon in pleasantly decorated sweatshops, craftsmen and carftswomen with their craftrobots craft these marvellous forms of 3 second illusion so that the great (insert suitable country as necessary) public can keep themselves amused and entertained for a small period of time in between visits to coffee shops, bingo parlours and gymnasiums.  

On a more serious note there is that strange stopping of time, the almost hypnotic effect where the loop runs on, like some golden drum beat or bass line that you never want to stop. Slowly you enter the groove, then you're snared and hooked, you're sucked in by the repetition and the mindless state that it produces. Everything; movement, colour, tone and expression runs in the short cycle that is the equivalent of a musical earworm or six McNuggets never being enough and twelve more are then required. A visual sugar hit. As it's an image it sears the mind, and as it's likely to be some impossible or imagined creation that makes no proper sense and doesn't belong in the real world the effect is even more compelling. 

I have however learned to pull myself away, to resist and not to go where the pulsing beat and the flashing picture lead, that poison place of ruin and no return, it's easy you just click on the next one and graze elsewhere a little longer. 

Short Stories for Long Afternoons

Note to self: this is what you get when you Google "Short Stories etc..."

Also "Short Stories for Endless Evenings".

Must try harder

Must try harder: I love this little gem (above), it popped into my Facebook feed, you can almost see the smug, digital index finger wagging. 

"If you'd just made a little more effort, put salt in your porridge and were just a bit more sociable lad, then you'd get to see more videos of cheeky cats, cute puppies and clips of old politicians with new comedy soundtracks added it, but will you? Oh no, not you! You're just not interested or committed enough, you're  not pulling your weight and as result we're certainly going to have to ration the treats and funnies that we provide. You need to make some more friends, get people to join up, work that network! This is a business you know! Oh and by the way you've been deleting and disliking adverts from some of our most loyal and best paying customers, you do realize that you get the privilege of Facebook use for free? We need these insurance company's and car dealer's money to run this and make a healthy tax free profit, so let's see a bit more of that team spirit and enthusiasm you showed back in 2007 when you first joined up.  You liked every fucking purile post then, remember?"

Smartly moving on: How things can escalate quickly when on a virtual date and learning the Icelandic language. Take care out there in the land of the hot springs.

Read this and weep: So it seems I've lived 62% of my life under the rule of various Conservative governments and by a simple calculation the other 38% under a fair few dodgy Labour governments. When you're down, you're down all the way. 

Matchsticks under the Mircoscope

I've recently been lining up my Super-Pubic Microscope with my regular Samsung phone in order to capture the strange world of used matchsticks, a random Reddit thread took me there and now I'm a buff. All as seen on BBC2's famous thing about stuff to do with physics where some celebs and scientists sit around in a studio in Salford ribbing each other and making jokes and profound statements while you gaze slack jawed at your smart screen supping milky coffee on the couch (catch it on iPlayer any day soon). 

These geometric shapes are really there and are original, along with the carbon stains and burned up sulphur snow flakes. The colours have yet to be given proper names, a team at Leeds University are working on it while we speak, they've received a grant for the research piece. Funding can be an issue. Looking wider and across fields it turns out that there are many such problems in the world. Meanwhile I'm keeping busy un-developing the photographs in a kind of post-industrial post-analogue way. April already, no holidays booked and no cookies to crunch. There are no precise outcomes.

Epiphany Failure

Here I am at the Dali Museum in St Petersburg, captured and distorted by various electronic devices and not really sure what I'm doing except that at one point, probably when staring closely into "the Persistence of Memory" I may have actually had and actual epiphany but I can't quite remember much about it (brushstrokes?).  I did eat steak and eggs on the way home and it rained pretty much all day but that was the summer of 2016.

Failure to have an epiphany: It seems I've managed to avoid any experience of clear, bright guiding light, probably for a number of months. One of those moments when, out of the blue or the golden glow, clarity of thought and a new understanding emerge. I thought I'd maybe hit one a few moments ago when I was trying to reduce the pixels size of a photograph, indeed I did do it but on reflection there was no great buzz of achievement nor satisfaction, I'd just followed some simple instructions. It was the same yesterday as I toasted cheese and anchovies for lunch, for a brief moment I thought I understood the complexity of the selector knob that operates the grill, it was a sham experience it turns out. Also when my phone touch screen froze and I was unable to operate it, I switched it off and on, sure enough it worked but I felt empty and cheated. There has to be more. But then what about the NHS? They've offered me a plumbing repair operation on May 4th (Star Wars Day!), surely this is an omen, a word from the Jedi Lords, a touch of divine mercy and comfort in troubled times, I'm going to be fine ... or just an accident of the calendar. So what about resetting all the clocks for British Summer, including the hard to fathom central heating system and the cooker. Nah! All it seems to be is emptiness and chasing the wind, to quote my one time mentor, the depressed and confused writer known as King Solomon.  

Some feelings are just way too abstract, way too tantalizingly special, they come along but then they let you down with a thump. That moment when you know  you meant to look up something on Wikipedia but can't remember what and then it never actually dawns on you. That decision you make to cancel fucking overpriced Sky subscription but only once Game of Thrones finally concludes, so it goes on. That YouTube clip you fancied watching that now you just can't find anywhere. The chord sequence you discovered that's good but the timing isn't right and it won't fit anywhere else and you write it down on a yellow sticky and lose it. That funny retort you had but failed to post on Facebook because it just might be misconstrued or might be the post that actually kills the whole stream of communication, nobody actually likes it or adds a comment. Not buying the reduced price chunk of salmon in the Tesco "out of date" section and then having fishcakes for tea. Getting a perfect hold on a tuggy bit of fur on the cat but not having pair of scissors handy. Forgetting all the smart-arse things you'd like to list in a blog post but...

Septic Tank

What really goes on in the world's dark and soft underbelly? There beneath our low profile tyres, flat screens and coffee makers, goings on that are always a bit of a mystery for the modern kind of person. We're happily disconnected from most kinds of routine, household filth, so for Townies sewage goes via some tortuous, invisible route or other, through pipes and channels built by the Romans and Victorians until it hits an industrial plant that converts into it nice, sweet smelling waste paste that we pass onto Norway in used potato sacks. 

Those of us living way off the beaten track however only have a) the septic tank or b) some Commando based woodland solution to rely upon. So when it comes to septic tanks, those with no outlet, they must be emptied from time to time, or a sanitation disaster is likely to occur on a grand scale. A man with wellingtons, gloves, a big tanker and a long hose is therefore required.

Our tank was emptied yesterday, probably just in the nick of time as the photo above shows, though you could describe our actions as being an example of careful, timely planning correctly executed. Actually it's likely that the bacteria in the tank, a vital component in the process, was really working well, had it not been we'd have had to chuck in a dead rabbit or some other piece of roadkill just to kick start the dead system via resurrection. It proves the need for little, useful bugs in things, don't ever be too clean, just be ready to light the blue/brown touch paper and stand well back.

So what's it like to peer into your recent past via the domestic and personal time capsule that is a septic tank? Not as bad as you'd think, strangely it wasn't particularly smelly though the contents were obviously pure shit as was the consistency. The colour speaks for itself (?) becoming darker, more granular and muddier as the tank emptied. Thankfully no dead bodies, dinosaurs or alien space craft were uncovered this time. As an operator once said to me, "after a while you just see it as mince and tatties", fair enough, I've been to a few pop festivals myself. So now it's all hoovered up, removed, pumped into a road tanker and no doubt on it's way to...Norway I suppose.

Sparks

...have a new album out, something about a hippopotamus thereby joining the long line of rock albums named after animals, none of which I can recall right now...err except Animals by Pink Floyd?

Apart from some lengthy conversations most of today (which is by now yesterday) was made up of research into engine warning lights, lambda sensors, the prices of them, refitting them and then resetting the ECU of a car.  All a bit tedious and ultimately leading back to the inevitable practical solution being that maybe my local garage were best placed to carry out a fix. So that was the research done, thankfully (having done research via YouTube) I also now know the correct way to peel a banana and make it taste better, ten dreadful secrets about the Vatican City, ten movie endings that are deliberately confusing, which Australian built SUV I should best avoid, how to correctly apply moisturiser to the skin, what John Lydon said to Piers Morgan recently on some couch, why Richie Blackmore and Ian Gillian split up Deep Purple, why you should never skateboard, ski-do, ski, cycle or generally move on a steep snow covered slope near fir trees and of course the fact that there was a nuclear explosion in what is present day Pakistan some 12000 years ago. Job done.

Footering about

Some days coherent, sensible behaviour seems almost impossible, even when there are important things to do and that need doing. Distractions come along, little time bandits that steal away the moments, pleasantly but suitably wastefully. Some say that's what the internet is all about, not news, gossip or discoveries, not photos of cats, music, movies or recipes, just playing around, pointlessly. I suppose I may have had some better thoughts than if I was engaged in meaningful labour but that's unlikely right now. Here's the questionable distractions from a few moments ago. In the bottom one I quite like the way I've just morphed into the middle of the picture along with everything else.

Images of Pluto

 First of all we have the cartoon dog...

Then the dwarf planet...

Gauge against the machine

Who wouldn't get excited about finding out which ancient Greek statue you might resemble? Well a museum in Montreal has solved that for us all; simply upload and unsmiling likeness and they'll pair you with your Greek (Geek?) doppelganger forebear.  I didn't fare as well as I'd have liked, I scored with an anonymous male philosopher then turned up as Aphrodite and then Ahata. I suspect there's a random aspect to this that pulls up and matches anybody with a nose, two eyes and a mouth to any statue or bust that has the same. There may be quite a few of them out there in the museum archives. Secretly I am of course chuffed, there's something of a ego boost that I'm taking from my obvious resemblance to a Greek goddess?

Sage/Age/Gauge/Veg Against the Machine: Reflections on the BBC6 Music festival, old (indie) folks day out as it turns out, did it live up to the hype? I've no idea, but I do like the idea:

1. Very good coverage, sound and length of set. Just what iPlayer was built for because I obviously wisnae there but enjoyed it as a radio/TV experience for a Sunday's background music. I had other stuff to do.

2. Sleaford Mods: Your drunk uncles ranting at a party. Clever and all that but it's just beats, brawn and pub banter really and I struggle to make out the (obviously meaningful, socially scathing) lyrics.

3. Ride: Hmmm, another band load of Fender Jaguars and Jazz Masters resulting in a fairly tuneless noodle fests.

4. Jesus and Mary Chain: I had hoped they'd aged a little better, turns out they haven't. Now looking like a bunch of grumpy social workers leaving Wotherspoons having enjoyed a £5 pint and burger combo. Now they're not so sure what to do with the rest of the evening, game of darts maybe or hit the slots? Not much threat or menace there then, not much of anything.

5. Sparks: Marvellous stuff from a 69 and 71 year old. Ron and Russ are a pair of troopers. Energy and weird enthusiasm as well as a pretty decent celebrity pickup band behind them. Top stuff.

6. Future Islands: One word, dross.

7. Goldfrapp: Well she can really sing and the combination of synths and bass and drums  works well and comes to life with her soaring vocals. That and a real depth and variation in material all the way from the back  catalogue to the new album. Her red booted caped outfit wasn't the best choice however.

8. Shins: OK: Never was into them apart from the song featured in "Garden State", that all seems like long time ago.

9. Warpaint: Another Fender love in but I quite liked them, have heard of them but haven't really heard them. Different for girls you might say.

10. Around about Grandaddy the interweb stalled to the point where it slowed down to the annoying revolving buffering symbol and a fish supper tea arrived - events not connected. The viewing pattern effectively broke. I may catch up again later in the week or at some new point in my life.