Out here in the fields

Very old and complex trees.

Meditation. For me the most important part of the day, connecting and being, simply taking in and breathing out the peace and the mindful presence of things higher and farther away than me. I discovered this special place that may be within but equally it may be without. I'm actually pretty confused by it all but covering that up with an applied air of seriousness and a colour wash effect. 

Given time, a good climate and the application of a few chemicals things will grow in this field.

Little actual contact

In that still time before the sun fully achieves a working altitude the mind can wander. Drugged by the sleep and the thought of porridge or some exotic yogurt, pineapples in chilly suspense or the crackle of some ill tempered radio host, step into the kitchen. It must be morning if it's a new day. We could possibly run out of milk. There may be clouds in the sky, I should look upwards more. There's a slow building, cold wind blowing in from the Forth. Magpies are gathering and the pigeons are considering this week a good one to breed in. They flap a lot, break branches and chase each other around with little actual contact. The kettle has boiled and I count my distances around the square circle that is the shower bottom, a white glazed rock pool under a waterfall. Considering toast and then dropping the idea, buttered side up. Of course that was all just yesterday, today we return to rain.

Post from Apple Dan

Here's an apple, purchased via the supply chain from an unknown origin. Once cut in half (the non traditional way) the apple gladly revealed it's secret. Inside was a five pointed star and a small number of apple seeds. There was also a tiny piece of parchment rolled up into a scroll. Carefully I examined it and using a pair of tweezers I unrolled it. I could see that there was some tiny lettering written on the parchment, faint but legible. I took out a magnifying glass and read the following:

Dear Finder, 

These words were written on some spring day, when the blossom was newly ready and I was young. I had but a faint idea and little hope that I would ever complete my task, it seemed daunting. So much to think over, compose and then write down and so little space and time. You see I am the guardian of the seeds. I start the process, I begin the multiplication, I wish for greater things. I invest. The seed I watch over may end up as a huge tree, or a single piece of fruit, or simply as a fallen shard of blossom dropped from the branch and trampled underfoot. Whatever way all will return to from whence it came, eventually. It is the passing of time and these options for new life that I promote, so please take good care of it (and them).

Yours Sincerely,

Apple Dan


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It seems that there is a cat for sale in the local Tesco, decent enough price but there may well be some hidden costs involved in any long term ownership.

Smoke on the water

I love the story of the over zealous individual who reported a set of "heavy metal campers" braving the spring weather out on an island on Loch Leven to the emergency services. Thinking that they were a death cult on some kind of suicide mission Scotland's finest invaded their wild camp site using boats and a helicopter in the dead of night. First of all they broke into their parked up cars looking for clues and possible suicide notes and despite finding nothing weird began the invasion and rescue (?) mission. Wow, that is all quite a leap of presumption and imagination. Turns out it was a dads and kids weekend complete with teepee, open fires, face paints and some metal music playing in the background to set the scene. These dads (academics and engineers as it turns out) will be heroes forevermore as far as those kids are concerned.  "Do you remember that time dad took us camping out on Loch Leven?" Danny Boyle needs to make a comedy movie based on these odd events, now.

Wordsworth Country

Yesterday's weather was better than today's, that's almost official. We're going to a revised version of Hell in all it's Catholic and Gothic glory in an elaborately designed  handcart. Here's the site where the SS Wordsworth ran aground in an April storm over one hundred years ago. All hands were saved but the precious cargo of daffodil bulbs was never fully recovered and the loss of that cargo delayed the Spring of 1916 by almost four Gregorian months. Scotland was shortly to be consigned to the Dark Ages of badly organized gardening and religious fervour. A series of events almost unheard of in the register of modern shipping losses though a few folk songs were subsequently pieced together and played on leather bound accordions by the old folks. That was followed by quite a lot of murmuring. 

The timing of the Tropic of Cancer seasons has never fully recovered and a large area of the Scottish coastline was badly contaminated and remains so to this very day. At low tide the darkness of the tainted mud and the skeletal remains bear witness to the seasons' tragedy as the fog rolls over. So to you weary walkers of the Coastal Paths, a word of warning; tread carefully and respectfully and be mindful of the history that lies beneath your boot prints. 

P.S. Please don't collect your dog shit in plastic bags and then hang it up onto the branches of wayside bushes or place it on the top of our dry-stane dykes. It only encourages local aggression and fosters despair in the farming and fishing communities that our fragile economy depends upon.

Tit Photos

Blurry blue tit in between flight and branch.

I spent about an hour this morning staking out the birdhouse in the garden hoping to get a decent photo of a Blue Tit either going in or coming out. I know they live there, I've been observing their activity but I'm damned if I can catch it on film. You'd think that, based on the ongoing support I've supplied them with all winter they'd at least hold still long enough to allow a simple photo to be taken, but no, my human presence clearly disturbs them and when I show up, stand still and get ready to point and shoot they're gone. There will other days, my arms ache and all I got was this poor photo.

Out and about

Photo by Malcolm McLean.

Out and about for a change, chugging through  a few tunes in Edinburgh (well that was last Thursday but time is a fairly elastic concept according to unpopular physics). A capital city some sort. The venue was Woodland Creatures organized by the OOTB Clan. 

Later, but I'm not sure quite when, we arrived into the newly composed world of Wes Anderson via a couch based viewing of Moonrise Kingdom. A film which quickly renders anybody susceptible to visual contradictions into a dreamlike state where reality becomes some faraway friend you can't quite contact. Typical night off for us, as usual chocolate and coffee were the drugs of choice.

The beginner's guide to septic tanks

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. That's how it is here, off grid, far away from civilized services and plumbing you can ignore etc. So once again the tank was playing up and the consequences were starting to show. Being both emboldened and embittered I decided that a surgical solution was required. I was going in...or at least going to have a wee look down. I suspected that the tank was full and that it needed emptied but on prizing off the hatch I found that it wasn't. Hmm. I could see a lot of solid material around the inlet pipe. How best do you a) explore and b) clear that? Turns out that a modified plastic  apple juice bottle when taped to a length of cane is the tool you need. I dipped the tool into the top of the inlet pipe and removed a few scoops of material using it like a plunger. Immediately the suction I'd created released the water piled up and trapped behind and with a lot of gurgling and agitation the pipe cleared itself. The rush of water caused the tank to fill up but not overflow...maybe the soak away is working after all? This situation requires careful monitoring. Happy tank filling everybody!

Writer's block

Today the fields were full of eager buyers, farmers in their 4x4s viewing the various lots of machinery and plant that were up for sale at the farm next door. The farm is "restructuring", contracting out as it were, so the equipment must go. There were hundreds of people, trudging through mud, looking, photographing and ultimately bidding hoping for a bargain. A sort of farmers day out for farmers. You see the ground is too damp to plow or work so a sale day is kind of a useful social activity, though it could also be viewed as feasting on a warm corpse. There may be more warm corpses around the corner. More farmers selling out to the big boys or nobody at all and then just kicking back. But today I was chilling, I resisted the temptation of a cheap tractor or a stack of used potato pallets and instead mused over things like writer's block and the piddling streams of creative output and the good ideas that seem to lack the adhesive necessary for them to stick and gain traction. Ho hum, it's all just around the corner.

Django hates jazz

Strangely it's now over two years since my once brilliant career stuttered to a halt, I've hardly given it a second thought. Time flies by real slow. Cutting across the cobwebs that have formed over the keyboard, catching up with the laundry, experimenting with the drains, avoiding the rain. Easter is finally over and April has opened up on us awaiting to be enjoyed. I'm eager to get on with it. Too much soup on the menu and regular woolly hat requirements, the over seasoning of foodstuffs and mushrooms taking root on windowsills. I'm convinced that the sun will slowly emerge one day and that the mood music will go upbeat by quite a few beats, because the beats are beating but not towards any interesting or challenging rhythm at the moment.

Cleaning the coffee machine

Cafe etiquette is slowly coming apart. When a cafe is closing at 1600 is it OK to clean the coffee machine out at 1550 and so be unable to sell coffee for the last 10 minutes of operating time? I don't think so. South Queensferry on  an Easter Sunday afternoon. Otherwise fine, maybe best to blame the bus timetables.

Easter Weekend

There's no doubt that when the early Christians (?) were hijacking Spring Break and calling it Easter a whole raft of odd heathen bits of baggage were added in along the way. Religious holidays were no doubt a profitable income stream for churches, bring in the poor, oppress them a little more, add some guilt, spice up the misery and shake the collection platter. Today we live and move in the debris and aftershock of these troubled times thus rendering Easter almost as daft as Christmas but less daft than Halloween and the August Bank Holiday. I like the surreal (that's extra real but actually unreal) twists that it brings; The Easter Bunny, Easter Eggs and the death and alleged resurrection of Jesus (a possible Palestinian guerrilla fighter and teacher). So no Easter would be complete without the revolutionary Easter Pineapple and the Easter Egg Pineapple (with Pina Colada truffles), it's the best time of year ever.

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.