Horses on Mars

Good Friday? One of those rainy and drizzly kind of days when your car battery decides to die in the Aldi car park and the AA have to rescue you but the repairman happens to have the correct battery on board which you can buy and...it's my third AA emergency sourced car battery in three years for three different cars. God and the universe are telling me to buy newer cars but I'm stubborn and I kind of like clunkers because running any clunker  these days is a bit like owning a horse on Mars. Take what you will from that. I guess that I'm a little odd in some respects and so everyday I pay the price.

In other news the cats are getting on quite well right now, catching up it seems. Missy's just back from a long chemically induced sleep at the vets involving some routine dental work and a small amount of trauma. I also went to the dentist today and whilst there was trauma it was all bearable. Small talk, already forgotten advice, a tiny filling, a scale and polish and "see you in six months". Thankfully I didn't have to be put to sleep, get carried around in a basket or have my chest shaved. Sometimes, despite the costs, it's a lot better being human (or is it?).

Confounded

"Has anyone seen that confounded bridge?" 45 Years ago today that phrase was released upon and unsuspecting world apparently. 

If it's Thursday then that must be the day you capture an unwilling cat and take it to the vets to have it's teeth cleaned. Teeth cleaning for cats is an actual operation whereby the cat is knocked out (humanely) and then gets a dental "once over". Poor beast, a traumatic experience but it's the only way. On handing over the cat for treatment I found out that cat tooth extraction is a fiddly business and one that is not done lightly, it's £52 per tooth. In human terms that's about £1660 for a full mouth clearing session, ugh!

Great Doughnuts

Today has mostly been about discovering the next level in doughtnut building. Firstly deconstructing the donut so it's not too sweet, as might be said of your average Crispy Creme offering. Tantrum Donuts seems to have removed the sugar to some extent but added a rare and unique texture coupled with great flavours that are not saturated with sugar. Alas I scoffed my wonderful Creme Brulee special before I even had the thought or desire to take it's photo. Now it's just a happy memory and a lesson in knowing that doughnuts do not have to exist at the far right of the taste spectrum. These are doughnuts for grownups. Now that's a strap line you could use.

Immune to advertising

I am that's for sure, strong in mind, body and spirit and unaffected by mass media interventions* but despite that I am still wondering where the yellow went since I brushed my teeth with Pepsodent.

*When I say mass media I'm also referring, in part to any type of advertising that might appear quite innocently or by chance in some of my on-line encounters. If it's just popping up here and there. I hardly notice it at all. 

Staying put

I have a healthy respect for tomatoes, as a former grower and an actual consumer I have a well rounded perspective. A bit like these tomatoes, rounded and  all up close and personal.

Yesterday we stayed put, we cleared the decks, we lubricated the hinges, dusted down the moss and glazed the glorious perpetual piece of pork or lamb or something. In all I felt well fed by the end of that great day of staying put. Today (as it now is) has been different. I took Mr Stuttgart for a longish run through some of the finest motorways in Scotland. It's a rewarding pastime. The sun arranged to meet us too. All in the name of ensuring full lubrication and a healthy battery system and blood supply. The wind in your hair etc. By the time I returned home and supped a small pot of soup I was quite ready for a short session with Stormy Daniels. Turns out that was a bit of non-event though she seems to be a reasonable person. Then the eBay alarm clock sounded and it was all bubble wrap and sticky tape and a tiny bit of relisting. What a day!

Latest victims

Only the other day my favorite doctor said to me, "We need to talk about those types of odd shopping choices you make and the subsequent serial hoarding tendencies exhibited." I had no idea what he meant, so I thought for a bit and then a pale light became to appear faintly, somewhere deep in my subconscious. Sometimes we buy soft drinks, we keep them for years, in dark places, chilled but unopened. Then one day we open them, just to see what they might taste like but sometimes, other times,  bleaker times, we just forget about them altogether. These two are our latest victims.

Stop Working

Everybody STFU. Here in the UK we're isolated in the nether regions of a popular and possibly corrupt graph. The UK is going it alone, like some mad and erratic asteroid headed for outer reaches of the solar system. We wave goodbye to the cruel outside world safe in the knowledge that our economy is somehow growing whilst our workers are paid less. I doubt that this is healthy or sustainable but then again that's probably the no nonsense British way.  So workers, just stop, what's the point? All you're doing is digging a bigger hole for yourselves whilst propping up an unfair regime, same as it ever was. 

Band Pics and Lark's Tongues

 From last night's CD launch in Edinburgh's Voodoo Rooms, Norman Lamont and the Heaven Sent. Very Good.

You might well say that I have god awful taste in music and you might well be right. Many people are celebrating the 45th anniversary of the release of King Crimson's Lark's Tongues in Aspic. To be honest it's not really my cup of biscuits (and I am re-listening to it now just to confirm my loosely assembled and possibly unpopular opinions) but I quite like the art work. I might try again on the 50th anniversary but at the moment  it's still sounding just a bit like a few people trying to be too clever.

Somebody lives here

Interesting looking residence, up at the top of a hill.

Public transport is one of my new things, well buses and travelling on them are. Turns out they are interconnected. You can step off one and almost straight onto another and just journey on. During the step off part you can pop into any handy hospital, buy a Costa style coffee and just chill out a bit, then move on. Eventually you will arrive somewhere and then all you do is walk for about mile and you're home. If you're over 60 in the principality of Scotland you can experience all this for nothing. Quite pleasant really. I'm sure Iggy Pop could write a decent and rather raucous song about this if he had to.

Tomorrow Night

These folks are launching their album tomorrow night at the Voodoo Rooms in Edinburgh (where voodoo may be practiced occasionally). They are Norman Lamont and the Heaven Sent. The album is called "End of Tears". I'm looking forward to it and I'm particularly excited about hearing the enormous piano that they have.

Essentials done

Without any filters other than the Springtime sunlight.

With filters added without me asking, done by the kindly little Google robots that live and work quietly in my laptop.

So I found a tiny clump of purple flowers in the middle of nowhere, they've been Googled hi-jacked much like everything else. Now that Spring is here you can go for a wee wander once all the essentials of the day are done and dusted. Far away from the world of Cambridge Analytic's truth perversions and the Brexit tangles and traumas. No news, no rattling speakers or flashes from the archives, just a strange and enjoyable warmth. A soft kind of glow even. Nobody seems irate about anything, birds sing, other's hum if they don't know the words, it can be this simple or even that simple. On the old pier (below) as strange and unworldly pile of seaweed has washed up blocking the way, that's an odd phenomenon. Must be the time of year.

The Book of Gibberish

First few entries:

That moment when the golden cube of golden brown cane sugar slowly sinks below the surface of your eagerly anticipated flat white. Gone forever into a milky morass from which it can never return. Then you sip it until you're forced to gulp the final few centimeters. Normally I don't bother with sugar either. Those are badly constructed sentences: some easy examples. I could go on.

I was out walking and noticed this: It seems that the more watery parts of the River Tay have disappeared and been replaced with sand or some similar material. A seasonal blip I presume.

I write this from a safe place set behind the flood defence systems. More tomorrow.

Headed for the Highlands

I'm just not ready for heading to the highlands, another easy way out and into the wilderness yet. There's no escaping local history and the five to fifteen minutes of fame and notoriety that it may generate. Today though, as the irregular March weather coats the paths by the steps from the door with unwelcome snow, what are we to think? Stay cozy.

Overhead crane pulley

1917 was a great year for overhead crane pulleys as I'm sure you know. Powered by human muscle using chains or ropes, these iron gantries allowed heavy items to be moved around in stores and workshops before decent electrical motors and reliable hydraulics were developed. I stumbled on this obviously removed and restored piece standing outside in the boatyard in South Queensferry. Most likely an ex-MoD machine rescued from the remains of the old Naval Yard that closed down in the late seventies. With a SWL of only 2 tons and a test load of 3 it's not exactly a heavy metal beast but it's nice to see it remaining in good condition. The question is where on earth and in what building and with what supports would it ever be set up and run?

Power flowers

My intention was to write a long reflective piece about "Tusk" by Fleetwood Mac following on from a chance remark I picked up at a dinner party (?) a few weeks ago. Then there was some kind of review or non-spoiler alert for Ed Byrne's "Spoiler Alert" tour that we saw and laughed a lot at last night. Then there was a piece on the Russians and some kind of return to the sixties whereby subterfuge and spy killings all seemed quite normal. That's three ideas and none of them are about food, the weather or my advancing years and how best to spend them. I thought they were all OK(ish). Anyway then I decided to head out into the rain and leave these on the shelf and just go with some flowery pics.

Eight hungry pheasants

A procession of pheasants. I've been up in Aberdeen for a couple of nights so the regular bird feeding routine has been broken. I came home, opened up the garage door to put away some trash and these guys turned up, hungry it would appear. Nice to be missed I guess.

Artificial Incompetence

You just can't afford to drop your concentration at any time, stare at the screen and quietly ruminate. Well I did burn my tongue slightly on an over heated steak pie. The burn and the overheated inner pie parts being my own fault. I was distracted but I saw the steam. A lack of self discipline whilst under pressure. It was planned to be a quick lunch in the middle of some regular Ebay activity. A moment of calm amid the hustle and bustle that sellers, buyers, bidders and watchers create in the final moments of cataclysmic or non-existent sales, yes there are only the two kinds. I may even have scalded a little bit of lip on some hot coffee at the same time, such are the routine but largely undocumented dangers of the careless side of internet auctions. I should add that it's all about selling these days, nothing out there worth buying.

Iron Giant

Here's an iron giant we recently met, it's not actually made wholly of iron but incorporates lots of other interesting materials that are a similar kind of thing. I'm saying "it" as the giant's gender isn't clear to me, please don't take offence. Maybe it's not all that important.

Imaginary cat

Here's an imaginary cat that I actually saw lurking in the foyer of the local Tesco store eyeing up the customers and staying warm and comfortable on a pile of bargain Astro Turf. Every supermarket should have a cat or two on the premises, a bit like the feral cats of Disneyland or No.10 Downing Street. A cat presence keeps things in order and brings a sense of calm to otherwise awkward public spaces. Just ask any Buddhist. 

Lost Aeroplanes

I think that it was the Lockheed Electra that I really liked. It just looked like proper aeroplane. It was up there with the Ford Tri-Motor and the Fokker Tri-Motor in terms of design (minus an engine) and some other odd engineering quirks I liked. There's a timelessness there I wish had been just suspended so they might fly and work on today but with updated equipment. Imagine those classics regularly flying about instead of looking like curious engineering markers that are as lost in history as hot rivets, radio valves and full cream milk (forget the cancers and infections for the time being). Planes had deadly and short lives as a rule, you fall out of the sky once and that's pretty much it, hence the ghosts and the turmoil. Aviation of course enjoyed constant development... engines, streamlining, reliability, security and safety, that's all important.  A world where development stops at some key point might be pretty interesting and artistically attractive but a bit dangerous but we might also get proper golden eggs and creamy milk back. Then there was the Joni Mitchell song, all sadness and blue skies and steel guitars:

 "747s over geometric farms, I tell Amelia, it was just a false alarm. A ghost of aviation, she was swallowed by the sky or by the sea..." 

I listened to that a thousand times, cricking my neck up to see the imagined jet trails leaving their sad, passing autographs on the bright blue paper thin universe of broken flight plans. Turns out Amelia Earhart was swallowed by the beach, that's if the bones are telling a true story. Experts have subjected them to rigorous testing says a headline today. Another lost aeroplane that didn't make it. Another historical footnote. Being famous for aviation achievements but being even more famous for being lost is a strange legacy to leave. Then there's all the other others, the non-celebrities, pilots, crew and passengers who just fell to earth and vanished into nowhere. Somebody somewhere is still searching for someone. We like a good mystery.