Some safari or cruise

I find myself trapped in a luxurious Portuguese prison while the World Cup, Donald Trump, Brexit and Wimbledon rage elsewhere. Please don't send help or mount any rescue mission, I'm calm and intend to remain so. It's an education, a slow, warm and selfish one. Also self imposed. I read "Poverty Safari" by Darren McGarvey whilst sitting by the pool sipping red wine and/or slugging cold beer. My guilt, empathy and recognition materialized as beads of sweat. I asked myself many times "how did I ever get here?" There was no clear answer any more than asking Darren McGarvey "how did he ever get there?" 

We are all passengers on some large karmic cruise liner it seems. Some are up on the sun deck or in the lounges, drinking, laughing and socializing with well chosen friends. Every day there's high tea and dancing. There's a lot of chattering and academic and aspirational manoeuvring. That's the few. The rest are in the engine room, shoveling and swearing, leaning on shovels and staring into a well managed blackness. Some are serving in the dining rooms, ironing in the laundry or busy in the kitchen chopping up pig's trotters and squeezing oranges. Some just hide in lockers and damp sea chests afraid of discovery.

This travel plan is fine for some but bloody unfair for others but it's the luck of the draw or an accident of birth. Of course the officers and regular crew on the ship are reasonably happy, they need the poor, that's part of the evolved plan and the main part of the industry. Exploit, ignore and patronize them, that way everybody stays in a job and has a career plan and a mortgage and the poor just get poorer. As for me, I remain a traitor and indifferent parasite, a stray from my working class roots. I grew up ashamed of them and tried to bury them, that was/is a fucking stupid and ignorant idea. I won't be doing it again. Whoever you are you should read this book.

Windows to the soul

Behind these shabby shades there can only be more rot and ruin but the make pretty shapes and pictures for the passing tourists. If was a proper photographer with a decent phone (?) I'd shove these up on instagram but this afternoon it's too warm and sunny and too lazy to bother.

Needs a good title

"The wind blew in from Africa, last night I couldn't sleep..."

I have no idea what this is about but I like the cat motif.

For some reason I have now become a collector of outside laundromats, they pop up all across Europe and are clearly an exciting, clean and lucrative business venture for some.

Saw these shoes in a shoe shop (surprise), they make no sense unless they were meant  to be presented to Donald Trump were he ever to visit Italy.

Food and Drink

Avocado and scrambled egg, "scravocado". Sangria, just the usual. A diet to keep you fit and see you through the World Cup.

Day 7

Well I think it's day seven, it may be day eight. It's a close call. The heat is bearable, the pool is cool, this is holiday weather and lazy haze has flopped over me making things in general an effort. There's light relief in a shower or a drink or stopping. The world conspires against stopping, it's not allowed, it's frowned upon. You must go out, take part in an activity, experience things, see with your own eyes, break sweat, visit a place. Well a bit of that's OK but generally I'll resist the pressure, I'll just float somewhere, safe and warm, over in the distance you might just make be out. A small particle of inactivity. 

Slow descent

After about 2000 miles of uneven driving I've made the slow descent to the bottom of Europe, Portugal that is. Actually I've been trapped here, by fierce heat and cheap alcohol, for at least a week. It's a struggle to survive right now with that complex set of guilt trips buddies burning away on my back; privilege and age induced righteousness. Nice to hear that the UK is quietly sweltering at the same time. There's also football happening. Busy.

Tree looks a bit like...

...Sideshow Bob!

World Cup

BoO Sessions

Bridge of Orchy Sessions. 2018. Out now on Bandcamp, for charity and everything.

Death of the British Navy

Photos taken from the upper deck of  a car ferry  leaving Portsmouth Harbour for France.

Whale Island, RN HQ Portsmouth, cafe at the top left of the building, Costa Coffee, sunlight and plans, some of which didn't quite work out.

Her Majesties' Naval Base Portsmouth, where they fix up ships. There's six Type 45 Destroyers in there, that tells you something about a) the state of the country, b) the state of the navy and c) the design and build quality of British ships.

The UHAF at Gosport but nearer Portsmouth, don't ask.

HMS Queen Elizabeth, not sailing anywhere at the moment but you never can tell.

Distorted view

A distorted view of the World Cup from a Scottish perspective. I really shouldn't care and the truth is that I don't. The World cup is like some sporting, animated wallpaper, good in short bursts, funny if laughing at the pundits and puzzling when the players and officials behave strangely. It's all too serious because it is serious. A set of moving adverts for Korean cars and American beer, training shoes and Russian gas companies, oh and Ally McCoist's  pseudo philosophical observations. I'm really hypnotized.

Elsewhere I enjoyed a job interview via telephone with a lady called Jackie. We talked for 53 minutes. It was pleasant enough. I probably said too much but at the same time failed to use the correct set of words or current terminology no doubt. Maybe I'm the right man for the job, maybe I'm an idiot. I'll hover between these views until my misery is ended by another phone call or email, that's how it is. That unavoidable procession of hope, guilt and WTF carelessness drawn to a concrete halt by the strength of a dose of reality. Caught up in life's brilliant soup or, better in most respects, fruit salad. Today's fruity salad got by with being light on fruit varieties, just pineapple and an unseen banana. I grow healthier and less affected each day.

P.S. Just received a phone call, I got the job.

Sympathy

Ripping it up

Last night we were here, or there in Edinburgh. Scottish pop music. You'll have heard of it, over the years and airways. Now it's in a museum. There's a lot you could say about it. Punched above it's weight. Always odd and interesting. Full of characters. Sometimes predictable. Occasionally commercially successful even. Petulant, downright odd and experimental. Niche. Derivative/destructive. Bouncy. Done with an accent. Colorful and qUiRkY. There's a large chunk of it exhibited here in rather nice glass cases, it's all history now. Form an orderly queue and go upstairs to your room (there's no sweeties left because I ate them all).

Welcome to America

Making history

I've put this up in the kitchen, held in place via a complex system of fridge magnets. It says at the top "history will be made". That's a rather easy claim to make and deliver. History is creating itself continually, sadly the most interesting parts are seldom properly recorded. We just get some other, spun out and soulless version that's chewed over and spat out sooner or later. 

It'll be interesting to see how the latest Glasgow School of Art disaster is covered over time. The higher minded apologists are already calling the ruined building the "heart and soul of Glasgow". OK, that's quite a claim, I'm not sure that most of Glasgow's inhabitants would describe it that way. Maybe the "adopted heart and soul of the artistic establishment in Glasgow" might be a better if less grandiose description, or just "the sacred cow". The heart of Glasgow is a far more abstract and precious thing that a burnt down art school however unique and wonderful the design was.

That's unlikely to be the point of view of the board, sponsors and academics who blindly managed their fine building in such a free spirited and irresponsible way that it's burned down twice with nobody held to account for the events leading up to the disasters. No proper fire safety, no obvious improvement plans or compliance, no decent security. I have a strong sense of: "Let's not allow the bureaucrats the pleasure of tying down our fine buildings and indeed our very way of being with rules and regulations...now, all of you, pay attention, please stump up and rescue us". History, will you be kind or honest?

A sorry sight, thankfully nobody died in the disaster.

Stainless style

Just a stainless steel exhaust system.

Cats n' Drams

The Jura single malt is rather good, add a touch of ice just to cool it a little and extend it's life (in the glass) and it's a fine, smooth, late night sup. Sweet dreams/drams. Meanwhile Tesco cat returned to his regular perch albeit the products beneath him keep changing, such is the speed and volatility of the retail world. Not a spot you'd expect a cat to easily settle into but...

Edinburgh daily photo

On a church in Princess Street.

Had a sneaky BLT down by the canal at lunch time sitting on a pontoon. As I was happily scoffing I saw some waterway action there for the first time and actually witnessed the lift bridge being lifted to allow a canal boat into the basin. It all went rather smoothly. Just a shame that much of the canal walkway and surrounding area is very much a work in progress but then again what isn't? 

Groot v Groot

Baby Groot and his adolescent counterpart or perhaps some sort of Blair Witch / Guardians mash up. They seem happy enough and ready to dance and then save the universe. In other news the World Cup has won me over by stealth. Blog less, think less, couch more, empty head, fewer snacks (?), no heart attacks, the winner doesn't matter and neither do the pundits or anyone else's opinion.
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Two dishwashers

As a result of  what can only be described as a First World and creepy privileged type of near death revelation I no longer have peace of mind in the kitchen. Accidentally I stumbled upon a twitter stream* discussing the obvious cleanliness, storage and space saving benefits of having two dishwashers. Now I am stuck with an inner conflict that I cannot shift. My life will never be the same, it all makes way too much sense and the conventional single dishwasher lifestyle with cupboards and drawers full of stuff seems both stupid and wasteful (?). There.

*Also on Pinterest