Cat dinners

No.1 of an occasional series of looks, smirks and diving passes coupled with brave flights if fancy into what we're feeding to our cat prisoners. Mostly of course it's just cat food and the less said about that the better. From time to time they get cheap, cooked chicken that, like all pet foods, is fully fit for human consumption but doesn't look it. The cat dishes (shown above) have no name but consist of a mixture of dry, wet and that inexpensive chickeny stuff I mentioned. The portions above should feed two average house cats (ours do go outside but seldom eat what they actually kill) for about 26 hours. That's about it all really.

Angry Mob Required

A single, random photo montage that pretty much sums up a) the Daily Mail's dumb news* focus b) the general state of things. Forgive my slightly jaundiced and jaded view here, whilst I have numerous issues with the trio top left, some with the royal family (can't quite make my mind up exactly what), celeb culture (Ugh!) and I'm a long time GoT viewer (though not an authority), it's hard not to reflect on modern culture and think "this is rubbish really". We're wallowing in box sets, formulaic films and dramas, "balanced" productions of all things comedic and ongoing sanitized pop and background music that would stun a herd of lazy bulls. The irony is that in terms of health and relative wealth we (in the west) are living in the best of times despite the obvious political and economic race to the bottom going on around us. We are privileged and enabled beyond belief but seem to find it hard to do anything with it all. So doing the right thing is particularly hard, it's the lost art of the 21st century, only a few rare individuals can pull it off. They are there, out there, but are well hidden, by choice and deliberately not feature by any media provider. Here's my own angry mob, called up and chosen, it's the one I intend to set upon all non-believers.

*Nothing obviously Brexit here but it just runs along in the background like some lingering and highly unpleasant smell or an irritating and jarring piece of background music (to all our lives).

North East Daily Photo

Abandoned couch, chair and mattress by a sunny sports pavilion in Aberdeen.

Signage from a now closed hotel in Banff. Some tenuous family connection possibly.

Macduff sea front viewed from the grandstand at Deveronvale Football Club.

Cartoon time

Thanks to Neil Slorance for this cartoon that I stole from his Twitter feed today. Sums everything up pretty nicely.

Culross Thursday Photos

Up the steps and taking good care of business. Sleeping dog being left to lie (wakes up due to my clumsy approach).

Breakfast in Culross, Royal Burgh and occasional film and TV set provider. The view from the Admiral Cafe after coffee and a bacon roll, a suitably traditional gable end complete with crow steps. Just the backdrop for any stray Outlander tourists looking for a good shot. There are always a few lurking about, anoraks, back packs, large cameras, note books and a look of bewilderment.

A far away and well weathered unicorn stands up to the elements on the top of the Mercat Cross. You get the feeling things and people were much smaller in the past, doorways, public areas, windows, street widths, all set to accommodate some other kind of historical figure, scaled down from our current overblown proportions. I blame orange juice and the excessive intake of sugar.

Emergency kittens...

...and a puppy.

Every now and then

(You say)Every now and then everybody else puts everyone through everything.

The pace is relentless, tweet after post after sharing after caring after tearing, yourself apart. Only to discover you're just like some Kardashian princess except you have a heart. 

And you want to write a lyric that includes the word Lexus. But nothing much rhymes with Lexus apart from solar plexus and reject us (maybe a few other things). 

It takes the biscuit that I took the biscuit, that takes some biscuiting.

I'm neither Bi nor am I Polar. On a scale of 1 - 10 my anxiety would be 5 but I don't know if a high score or a low score counts.

Hello my love. We belong together. Moonpig.

Fife writes. I read mostly.

Noodles in a pan. Noodles in a pan. Getting them in the bowl is tricky. They are sticky. Noodles still in a pan.

Study Artwork

Artwork studies on the the Winter trees transitioning towards Autumn. Reluctantly. It's that time of year and time is playing a waiting game. Just waiting. Time is life, everything else is just waiting.

Thumb rules

It's much easier and safer to start a conversation with "I have heard" rather than "I believe". You have an easy escape route and don't necessarily offer any obvious sign of investing too much in the actual topic or any of the risky, potential fallout. Stay safe everyone, be vague, remain uncommitted and don't rip your trousers on that nail on the fence. Your future may depend on it. This is the basic rule of thumb for broadcasters and (some) journalists but can be successfully applied to all walks of life. Also never say "I understand" that's a ticking time bomb of a remark that has the subtle effect of association, the potential to support and the dripping, crawling consequence of nagging guilt. Careless talk costs lives.

Anyway, aside from puerile tips on crucial conversations and how to avoid social embarrassment I'm reminded that this came out about 44 years ago, almost to the second. Everything else is gone but the building is still intact, in fact it may well have been spruced up.

Graphic found

Lo and behold. After moaning in the previous post about not being able to find a relevant graphic up pops one. OK perhaps it's not wholly accurate, I don't really know much about the extent of the Tory's current bribery strategy when compared to EU payments or anything else but it's suitably passive-aggressive enough I'd say.

Slow puncture

Monday morning reflection: Politics and religion are all about control. Nothing else really. Give way and you're trapped. Get yourself born into whatever regime and your stuck. You relinquish your freedom without any conscious choice. Rebellion is tough, extrication seems impossible. The iron grip holds you down and you are stuck in a loop of unplanned consequences and trouble. A spiteful and damaging dysfunctional relationship running in every direction. You might think that they (?) "mean well" but they don't, that's the biggest lie. 

Somebody on Gogglebox described Theresa May as a slow puncture of a person. We all see her deflate in a tortured and slow motion picture, a human disaster unable to stop itself, another link in an ongoing chain of donkey brained and stubborn leadership, virtually sub human as it's woeful behaviour betrays any worthy humanity. A limp and impotent  caricature of poor judgment and disillusion. Ugh! Then there's the rest of them, politicians and priests ... This is Monday and there's no single picture I can think of ugly enough to go with this post. Frank Zappa once said that there's no musical chord dirty or distorted enough to describe the establishment. I'll leave it there.

How to be a man

The new international toilet sign for "men" has been chosen. No doubt the competition was stiff but we have a winner. Looking somewhat like a football hovering over a toilet pan it is apparently representative of how men actually are these days. No arms or feet, just a large pot/beery belly on top of a single trouser leg. Meanwhile an empty head (?) floats above with no obvious connection to the body. Pretty much sums up where we all are these days. I for one aspire to this rakish look and will be working towards achieving it (a bit) by altering both my body shape and life style to suit. Tesco toilets everywhere, the ill fitted and misunderstood men of Scotland salute you. Oh, wait a minute, we can't as we have no arms or hands. Tough.

P.S. There is a female version of this but I have chosen not to photograph it or comment on it for obvious reasons. Not my place really.

Perpetual Storms of Jupiter

When the universe decides to do art then you just have to let it get on with it. PSoJ might be a good band or album name...

Downside up

I'm pleased with this photo. A clear rip-off from the Beach Boy's Holland album cover except set in Scotland on a balmy February day and no attached music. The gulls make it for me, desperately swimming along, bold in black and white, on the ceiling as it were. Nothing is what it seems.

Doors

A selection of slightly odd, aged, rusty, misshapen doors from my visit to Pittenweem. The ones with the bottom "barrier" pieces are interesting I suppose as these are sea front buildings, I assume that this is a basic form of flood/high tide protection. Being so close to the waterfront everything is weathered and rusty, any paint or refurbishment work will only last so long before the elements start to eat away again at the surfaces. Don't park a car out there for too long either.

When I was about fifteen I read "The doors of perception" and "Heaven and Hell" by Aldous Huxley*. I didn't really understand much of either's very short content (really just lengthy articles) but I did understand that there was a doorway of sorts within the conscious mind that, for most people remained closed for all of their life. Religions, chants, sparkly bright items and meditation might open those doors, a chink of light might get through but there always was a more direct route. That direct route does however contain numerous risks and hazards but people will go that way anyway, often without any guidance or advice as to how it might be once you cross over. In life experience remains the best but the most costly teacher. Understanding yourself and having a little grounding are good things to have achieved before you turn any strange door handles. I'm going the long way round in saying that I like doors and doorways, highly symbolic, highly significant things that also mark boundaries and provide security, oh and keep out drafts. So I enjoyed this wee set of pictures, there were so many odd doors to see and capture, so many thresholds I'll never cross, work for another day and another time. 

*I also didn't know then that the Doors (a once serious minded little rock band) took their name from the book title.

Pittenweem Daily Photo

A small fishing boat chugs back into harbour.

Upside down harbour reflections on a glorious February day.

A warm but watery sun scrapes across the sky.

Rocks ooze green slime and tired sea weed in the lazy sunshine.

Another (bit of a) day spent working down in the East Neuk. Not too many visitors, just the local fishermen and builders going about their business. All strangely calm and peaceful, a healthy antidote to life's noise and the media irritations broadcast and suffered regularly elsewhere ... no phone signal in other words.

Powerful stuff

I'm not on Facebook all that often for all the obvious reasons however when I visited there today this image caught my eye so I've shamelessly harvested it because, whilst I'd rather it didn't have to exist and I know it cannot possibly cover all relevant situations and occurrences, it's a clever and effective graphic. Make what you will of it. The sad fact regarding this type of work is that it's unlikely to be seen or acted upon by those in power (of whatever kind) who most need to see it and react. Meanwhile we (the conflicted, affected and less powerful) can only shake our heads and perhaps boycott and/or grumble at the injustice, complexity and hypocrisy that we are all bound up in.

Lost signs

Fading away into history, manufacturing and trading concepts that seem hard to imagine today. Probably over 100 years old, hand painted onto the brickwork. The mills have gone, the looms and weaving machines are silent museum pieces. The people have gone too, the skills, the hard work, the illness and exploitation,  gone but replaced with other troubles in modern forms. Factories torn down or turned into highly modified flats and awkward homes ... but these gable ended bricks remain, stubborn on an empty old office building with no current use or purpose other than posting an historical footnote.

The earth dies freezing

Hoof marks from the Great Siberian Sabre Toothed Goat caught up in the remains of a melting ice flow recovered near the coast  where the sea and the land meet down by Pittenweem.

Moving on from Global Warming: The world will end not because of fire, fury and pestilence but because of the constant debate and argument centred around and by who/where in the world the best Spaghetti Bolognese is built or churned up. Turns out it's not even Italian, though Italians can take the credit for the invention. There's a lot of unreliable history and unreliable pasta and there's meat and sauce issues all unresolved. Tagliatelle gets the blame for the distortion of the base pasta, some say spaghetti some say tagliatelle. Then the controversy rages over ground beef or whole beef, cooked to destruction with various herbs and wines but always mushrooms. So battle lines have been drawn, it's everybody's (?) favourite meal but the variations and the developments spark fierce loyalties and strange beliefs. In my view it's just food but if the world must end over some thing ...

It was here, in Putney that the whole thing began, not sure who exactly is responsible.

Caturday

Saturday / Caturday on Twitter. Due to the mild weather these guys actually ventured out into the wild. Well they followed us around in the garden for about twenty minutes, inspecting their occasional domain. That was enough, now they're back in their safer, warmer kingdom. A place they control and feel safe in, no squawking birds, squirrels, other cats and strange noises from the bushes. Just the odd visitor attempting photography and disturbing their feline dreams. Caturday.