Photographs of food

Here's your 24 hour warning. An alert for a red alert. Some good taste that's described with bad taste. A simple click and an upload and it's done. The dirtiest deed of the century, blogged and digested on Instagram and all the rest. Social medicine, settles the stomach, easy on the eyes, gives bragging rights, stakes and claims, maybe steaks and clamsge. All to get likes and shares and hopefully generate a healthy level of envy. Is envy healthy? Is aspiration wrong? Are all our appetites now feebly exhausted so as to allow us just struggle on by the strength of will and memory. Only hungry people go to food banks. Only people who've been hungry donate to food banks. Half the world is hungry, the other half are taking photographs of their meals. Photographs they'll never look back on but they've been uploaded now and live forever in  vault in California.

I have to put these things out of my mind. I have to find a balance. I can't help where I find myself. Luck and chance have placed me here. The messiah of food, drink and various complications. I'll survive, I know how to follow. That's what we do best. Hear no evil, eat no evil, donate what you can when you can. That's the three wise primates for you. I'm going for white meat now, things that look sustainable, no farting cows or bull's cheeks or wild things pulled dead from some shooting moor. No exotic birds eggs or insects. I'm saying that now but I'm easily tempted. I can resist anything except the things I aspire to. They get me every time. I'm a wounded buffalo really, that's my explanation, my soul was tainted and now I'm trapped in the deja vu of a loop of deja vu about something that might have happened in past.

OK, there will be consequences, but they'll be sweet and in the morning, I'll be a better, more reasonable man. I may have a slightly upset tummy though.

Feb 14th

Theresa and Jeremy's

Breakfasted in Bob & Bert's cafe yesterday (or maybe today depending on how I adjusted the flux-capacitor in the car), poached eggs on toast, a side of bacon and a flat white; all for a reasonable price plus good conversation (mostly about Muriel Spark and birthdays) with my daughter. I do get confused of course (?) when referring to Bob & Bert (who don't seem to actually exist). My many attempts at describing them range from, Ben & Jerry to Bert & Ernie to Slash and Axl to Pinky and Perky and eventually, almost relentlessly to Theresa & Jeremy. If ever there was a cafe or eatery name just waiting to explode onto the unsuspecting British public, that has to be it. You're welcome.

The slippery slope of sleep

To sleep, perchance to dream. Over dosing on cheese that comes with it's own formidable streams of bacteria and mould, as it was designed to be by years of food science. Built to interrupt sleep with lurid visions of past, present and future worlds. None that make sense but all are strangely recognizable and familiar. I move through this peculiar world as if it was my home and it may well be but I simply cannot be sure. It has a life. All references are understood though they jar and disturb, but on a nightly basis I volunteer to enter this wild and unregulated domain where Dali meets Warhol meets Dante and Bosch. Each one battles for supremacy and influence and I awake, slowly, blinking, memories of cheese and bright colours, or monochrome, film noir and blank spaces. 

There's a broken narrative, a series of senseless jump cuts, great panoramas and vistas and a falling away of reason. Things I see that I cannot touch, all trapped on the edge of place I can never return to in the same way, not ever, though it might yet happen one day. My head clears, I have a cup of tea and take account of my surroundings, stable and hazy in the early morning's winter gloom. There will be news of Brexit, celebrity deaths and adventures, sports results, economic changes and predictions, wars, crimes and misery. Something happy or light weight might make it through as a temporary antidote. They'll all be as real and as sensible as my dreams and most as quickly forgotten as another juggernaut of information passes my way on whatever side of darkness I reside. 

This is overload but I have my filter, my touch stone, that manufactured fungus on the cheese that opens up the doorway to those other places. Should all of that dissolve and decay and become lost to me then I may well discover some purer fungus on the jam as I twist and pop the lid and use it for my own little taste experiments. The jam underneath will be fine, no doubt.

Curiosity

Today I enjoyed the privileges of being privileged. By that I mean I was out, talking to neighbours, buying coffee, doing a few hours work, shopping for groceries and driving home. None of these things were done whilst in a state of fear, without any money our without any sense of being an outsider or not belonging. The truth is I don't really know how being an "outsider" really feels, I might have some outlaw type of romantic concept in my mind, some idea of that being a kind of freedom but I don't know diddly squat. I'm nothing more than (as most are) a curious observer, a passer by, a number on a list and most importantly for the modern world - a consumer. A fairly reliable payer-upper and contributor. I'm not on the edge (but I know the routes that might get a person there), I'm just sauntering down life's highway paying the toll money like a good, compliant little chap. Inside I have my rants, my precious little issues that boil away and soak the flannel but in the end I can be relied upon to get back in my box ... maybe I need to feed my curiosity a little more.

Been bad

I suspect that my weekend's food consumption wasn't the best for me: Two carry outs, two cafe snacks, random sugary treats and not much fruit. It started well enough with a buttered egg breakfast and toast on Saturday then, though remaining consistently tasty went a little more down hill as the days progressed. Afternoon tea was a milky coffee and a Malteser slice, yum. Saturday's tea was a Chinese in Aberdeen, naturally I wolfed down the chicken, S&S sauce, shoveled on the rice and munched along with the prawn crackers and sesame toast. I also hoovered up various other bits (as you do). Then it was an M&S hot chocolate cookie desert with ice cream. Suddenly I was feeling happy but bloated. Nature will of course take it's course.

Sunday found me in a cafe in Aberdeen starting the day with a fried egg and black pudding combo on a roll with brown sauce (and an extra sausage my grandson failed to eat). A good start. The rest of the day I was careful but still fell foul of various chocolate things and sweets. Tea was an Indian take away in Dundee; Korma, rice, nan, pakora ... all too tasty and easy to eat. Just not what my delicate internals were used to. Actually I felt, well a bit bloated again, but pretty much fine. What I did suffer from was guilt rather than stomach ache. The 21st century curse fed by a) too much food and b) too much information and speculation and about the adverse effects of over indulgence. If you read or watch TV then the fun can be sucked out of just about anything.

Monday morning and normality have now arrived. I have survived and am home. No serious side effects, no pain or discomfort, just a nagging inner voice and the need to exorcise my indulgence and appetites by this blunt and generally ignored medium. I feel better for it all already and I know I'll do it again.

Aberdeen daily photo

A broken, outdated sign and two neglected street signs all within 100 metres of one another in Aberdeen.

Reasonable IT

I understand that there are some IT problems. All across the world, with real and digital consequences. Everything has been switch off and on again. I also checked the date. Dates are important, if you happen to get the date wrong then you're stuck with the wrong date and that just doesn't work. But it wasn't the date. Did I say there were IT problems all across the world? I did but I really just meant with me, on my laptop. The laptop I use for work. Other people's IT problems are theirs and I'm eager not to become involved. So mine has a fault. I blamed the touch screen, I never did trust that, so I cleaned it. Then I cleaned it again between switching things off and on. Then I touched the screen in different places, just to test, just to understand the consequences. Nothing changed, I still couldn't/can't access the bit that I can normally access but can't now access. I tried the touch screen using a stylus instead of fingers. It was very accurate. I looked for key-stroke short cuts. I looked at the IT helpline number on the list of useful numbers. That was tempting but would involve a phone call, a wait and then retrying the things I'd tried. Then the cat started clawing me. Purring and clawing at my thigh. The rain fell and turned into water where it landed. Then I had an idea. Maybe I didn't really save yesterday's work? Maybe I didn't even enter it? Maybe the things that I though I had done I didn't actually do and so when I touch the touch screen and it opens in the wrong place it's because it's the correct place because I didn't do what I thought I did. That was possible I thought. I need to retrace my steps. A step at a time. At first I took baby steps, retrieved data. The papers are in the car, I just put them there when the rain stopped, to save time I thought. Now there's rain but I'll have to get those papers. I got the papers. Reentered a date. Yesterday. Checked dates. Turns out that dates matter and it turns out that if you don't complete what you did on the day, on the day then the day disappears and you have to start again but there's no warning of this. It all just disappears. Apart from the stuff that was elsewhere (elsewhere is an important place), it somehow isn't lost it's just "elsewhere" (a place that eventually ties up  nicely with places that are not elsewhere but I can't explain that). So I recreated the past using archive and elsewhere and ended up somewhere and the touch screen suddenly yielded to my painful, plaintive prods and the lost and invisible became slowly visible and for a short while I was happy as I uploaded my work and the integrity and accuracy of it all seemed, well, reasonable. Pretty reasonable. We have reasonable IT. 

Dennis Hopper daily photo

The great (?) man looking baffled at the Monterey pop festival in 1967, flanked by Judy Collins, Nico and Brian Jones. In the long lost days when the gods and demons walked amongst us, I suppose some might say, perhaps even me. Now we have processed cheese, musical tittle-tattle and something called "reality" which in no way resembles any reality I recognize. I was also guilty of going to the wrong parties, joining the worst cults and being in the wrong place at the wrong time much of the time. However if you get it wrong often enough but learn from mistakes you'll surely be right eventually. Interesting to see an old picture like this that randomly captures distinct aspects of my past (tastes, culture, distortion and heroes) in a previously unseen way. I'm sure the German language has a word for it.

Mystery Mud

Mystery Mud is my new favourite term, coined by NASA scientists it refers to "mysterious mud" on a new and as yet unnamed volcanic island near Tonga.

Melody

Thanks to GB for the photo.

A nation's capital

We were at large in the nation's capital for a few hours. There were things everywhere. The weather also turned out and people hurried by as I hurried in other directions. There was the usual dawdling quest for reasonable coffee and convenient toilets, interesting shapes and graffiti. I have a collection. Some were of course better than others, some were recorded. 

The night before we were wined, dined and danced out, it was a late one. I awoke in unfamiliar circumstances without a cat on my chest and then ate some salmon and scrambled eggs whilst spilling the coffee. Once in the fresh air a series of craft markets and stalls beckoned (it's the sweet smell of warm food) as did a record fair. By the time I'd scoffed my coffee and cake in the Film House cafe it was time for a rendezvous at the Poetry Library (which I think needs to be urgently renamed the Poetry Laboratory or "Poetry Lab" for short).  So we did the poetry thing and the reconnection thing for a bit and then ran back to Fife to unravel various domestic issues as the great freeze of 2nd February covered and blanketed us with it's weekend gloom. I lit a log fire and then we watched Sully on Amazon Prime (it's a film about an air crash you know). I suppose we sound civilized and bit lazy but that's just how it is. Glad to be home and not going out. There are winter showers today.

Doors and Windows

Lately, as I explore (mostly on foot and often on feet) my fatherland and hinterland I seem to encounter doors and windows, often attached to homes and houses that hearken back  to some other dreamy, sublime time where proportion and common sense didn't matter too much. You get the feeling that people where trying out house building and step at a time, exploring the possibilities just to see what might turn out, having fun. They stood against the elements and convention and they used robust materials. There was of course less regulation or inspection, maybe just whispers and back-handers. Quirky sizes and strange gaps were OK so long as they fitted together and in the end if the client is happy, what's the harm? Many years have passed but these properties still stand, albeit a few are a little squint, off side and obtuse. I hope that one day, if you're very careful you might accidentally come across one of them and perhaps even walk by it. Good luck.

East Neuk Daily Photo

A peaceful harbour in a stormy world.

The far away May Island, or Island of May.

Another sunny but nippy afternoon spent working down in the East Neuk of Fife. As ever the trusty (if a little ancient now) phone camera was put to the test to try to capture anything vaguely interesting or potentially artistic. In hindsight I see that I miss so many good photo ops, particularly people ones. I just don't quite have the courage to snap complete strangers however compelling or artful their pose, stance or look might be. Even stray cats are a challenge. I've a morbid fear of somehow being outed as (even) a reluctant arty type. The upshot is much of my viewed life is self edited out and replaced with static images that wont talk back. A street life photo man is something I'll never be. Ho hum. I suppose it's good to know your limitations but not so good to be limited by them.

Across the seven realms

Almost everything in this picture is thanks to Google in some way. Google being the god of heaven and earth and the sparks of electricity that connect us all  in a new and adaptable religion forming up in the Western world.

There were (are) seven swans a swimming but when I took this shot the other five were under water. Damn clever and versatile birds. Sorry if the swan's arses offend anybody.

Number one of an occasional series. The seven realms being earth, sky, water and four others that I can't quite think of at the moment. Anyway it's always nice to be out and about seeing and appreciating the wonders of nature even on a chilly January day. 

Euro septic

The annual ritual known as "removal of the poos and liquid" is complete. That's the local pollution cleared up, of in a tanker to somewhere where this wonderful material, with all it's good bacteria, might be useful. Perhaps it's piped to the centre of the earth, or launched into space or just spread across a vast lettuce field in Spain. I'll never know but a small part of me wonders and the smaller, less pleasant parts of me ... I forget things quickly.

Under the sea

Under the sea, under the sea, there's so much plastic, really fantastic, join us and see...

Let Scotland flourish

Through a brandy and rose wine haze I can see it all laid before me, a great panoply of invention and disaster, the story of us. We used to manufacture things, there was heavy industry, coal, steel, ship building, fishing,  innovation, enterprise and ... misery. A few people profited, everyone else was left with a plague of industrial diseases, generational poverty, a cultural vacuum and a strong sense of being exploited (though we were never sure who to blame). Now we are in a post everything scenario. Nothing really exists, our history is imaginary, our future is doubtful and our present is only marginally bearable. We have parks where our heritage is buried and our battlefields are ploughed over, museums and media that tell an alternative version of history and a disabled Scottish government who wants the best but have no clear idea nor mandate as how to achieve that, ever. Welcome to 2019, Brexit, scandals, sandals, socks and all. Unreliable history.

Anstruther daily photo

Today was in fact yesterday.

There's always one with a garish filter, this one was of course done by a friendly robot from outer space.

In winter very few people bother to sit on these attractive benches by the public toilets.

Petrol station observations

Under the stars and artificial light, the distant petrol station.

Petrol station: Some pumps are out of diesel, there's never an explanation. Traffic cones on the spillages. Pay at pump on the pumps with the longer hoses, why? Those strange products they advertise on the pumps, blue-tooth beanie hats, tool kits, head torches, a scarf you can heat in a microwave and portable electric candles, nobody else sells this stuff. In the shop those special offers will greet you at the aisle ends and at the till. I've never seem anybody buy these items, maybe late on Christmas Eve there's a boom.

There's no free screen wash buckets anymore, blue towels have run out but if you're lucky there's a diesel glove made out of a plastic bag. Special litter bins with letter box sized gaps to prevent you actually using them. Tight manoeuvres are required around those cars where the drivers are indoors queuing for the coffee machine. Some people are quite impatient. Some people pump their petrol and then go over to the cash machine hoping it might work. Signs warn of CCTV. You are being filmed in case you act like an idiot and the footage has some on line value.

Newspapers rest in outside bins that are way too big. Fewer papers are sold, possibly to pensioners. They (papers) don't even look interesting anymore. All the headlines are at least 36 hours old. There are logs and kindling, screen wash and BBQ bags, not worth buying at those prices. Don't linger in this area.

In the shop, waiting for a free till. The assistants avoid eye contact. Quite right. There are sweets on the left of the queue, this has been outlawed everywhere else but is still OK in a petrol station. All the chocolate bars are normal sized unlike the shrunken mutants you can buy in the main store. They seem over priced but what do I know? There are sandwiches and cold drinks, some are reduced to clear. I never stray into this area of the shop. I have no loyalty card either.

In the future these places will not exist, there will be charging terminals or just common driverless cars you'll call up with an app or something. Oh, there's no toilet here so don't bother asking.