Today's late lunch

Back to extolling the virtues of food and taking pictures of it but without adding any meaningful comment. So there will be no technical references or useful information, not even a location. I've no idea how any of this spread was put together but it was very nice and the service was polite and timely. Such is the human condition in these troubled times, we now take some solace and comfort in these simple pleasures. Also had a nice coffee on the road side premises of Toyota & Corolla as a pre-lunch treat. We're very cosmopolitan here.

A message from our sponsor

Says the man from the past with the worried and serious look: "The Tories are in power for the next five years, your freedoms are being eroded, your rights are being dismantled, your media is distorting facts and cherry picking the news you see, your courts, justice systems and health services are being dismantled, religion and corrupt businesses and old school colonialism view you only as a slave and you are being controlled, manipulated and lied to on a daily basis. If you're happy with that, fair enough, I just hope you don't choke on it all and that you can avoid getting a Corona-virus sledgehammer cocktail next time your standing at a robot till in Tesco waiting for human help. If you're not happy with this situation then give yourself a good shake and join me in the underground. Otherwise have a good weekend. Cheers!"

Unreliable food blogging

Rudyard's Burger Bar, Houston Texas.

Khruangbin connections: Rudyard's Burgers are a thing and I'm easily taken up on a flight of fancy by interesting menus and the thought of actually eating there once a week, that's strange. Sandwiches are just called "Witches", a good idea, why did we not think of that? The promising sounding  "Not a Shitty House Salad" would be fun to order and generally the food looks to be reasonably priced when compared with the local fare in the SQ badlands. I'm referring to eateries such as Down the Hatch, Little Bakery and Manna House etc. No direct correlation is easy between here and Houston Texas so it's meaningless. 

You could read a series of full reviews based on my musings and  imaginary visits to other imaginary restaurants in the always truthful and reliable Daily Telegraph (on-line only). Click here to be amused to death.

Another day another cat another plague

Social and medical anxiety: Having what appears to be a regular, 2020, normal winter cold isn't a good thing at the moment, it never is of course but with Corona on the loose and massive health campaigns running (like my nose) on hand washing and kissing and traveling I feel like I'm sitting in the guilty corner. Am I unclean, a health hazard, a plague victim who should be ringing a bell up and down the street? Should I do what everyone else seems to do, feel a bit iffy so head off on a skiing holiday regardless and then happily infect most of Italy then go back to my day job in PR? It's the perfect time to panic.

So there's a bit of conflict based on how well I might know and recognize my regular seasonal ailments or failings. I'm not medically astute but I think I know myself, mostly. So this cold seems normal, a two/three day sneeze fest and a head that's muggy like the tail end of a serious hangover. Nothing to see here folks, all things must pass. So I'm self isolating in a low key way. I'm avoiding public transport, I'm using robot tills and petrol pumps, I'm ordering coffee to take out and I'm holding in any potential public cough or snuffle as if it was a bout of career ending diahorrea. I wont be shaking hands, buying the Big Issue or attending any crowded public events. I'm just going to sit here with my pot of home made soup and a big bag of muesli and watch the world burn.

An Iron Birthday

Turns out that the bridge in our back garden is 130 years old today. Still looking reasonable after all this time with the greasy March sun slowly crawling out of the North Sea and lighting up the air and water particles...but rust never sleeps.

Not going out

Too far away, too much hassle, can't be bothered, costs too much, don't really like travelling that kind of distance, bumpy flights etc. Decent enough poster though.

Still Lives

Fine Dining

Some kind of lunch.

The crisp sandwich roll: ultimately it's all about texture over taste. Foodies might get that, I don't know but the appreciation of texture and how food actually feels is quite important. This is a good example that's cheap and easy to test out. It's possible that for some the experience could be enhanced or raised (?) by the addition of some mayonnaise. 

Long Strange Trip

Some say that the Grateful Dead were just a Country and Western band for people who liked LSD: Discuss.

Velveteen Rabbit's Message

A time of year to reflect, spring not quite springing yet but there is light and broken cloud. We may have made it. Of course there are massively dangerous and stupid things happening around us, what else would you expect when cartoon characters run the world and science is mocked and ignored? We're bigger than this, we are who we are, bruised and confused but still here.

Avoid Corona beer and you'll be fine

The faithful and bemused praying for the great man, all in the hope that he won't be struck down by the terrible beer virus from Mexico. 

Typical Sunday

A healthy portion of Corona. Part of your 5 a day.

Typical Sunday so far: A quick run out to the airport in the pouring rain, aquaplaned vehicles strewn across the carriageway, debris getting cleared up, some storm moving cross country etc.  For breakfast a nice petri dish of Corona Virus with a side of virtual reality and a small dose of actual reality. All quite tricky to digest. Flushed out some hidden IKEA boxes that were hiding out but no longer hidden as they've been caught. Short but inwardly effective rant to myself about the government and it's complete lack of competence and credibility (this line of thought is really a mental rabbit hole that actually has no rabbits and isn't a hole it's just a dark and unpleasant experience). For lunch some Eno & Fripp placed in alphabetical order rather than alpha male order. Now I'm headed out to panic buy a bottle of wine. Done.

One day all your fine album covers will look like this.

29th February

Only comes around every four years but in truth it's just like any other day. Same outlook, same light, same dark and twilight, same clouds. I'm underwhelmed. In 2024 something special needs to take place, some cosmic event. Over to you cosmos.

Altered States

The (funked up) Peacock Skirt by Aubrey Beardsley.

Living on in the "end of days": Nobody is talking about Brexit anymore, Scottish Independence has been sidelined (mostly), Boris Johnson's stupid outbursts and calculated misdemeanors have been shelved, Trump's lunatic rants aren't even worth clicking on to view. The BBC loves a cheap to cover story where editorial input is minimal and experts can solemnly comment from far away. Corona-virus rules the airways, the primary concern of everyone it seems, particularly those with those awkward "underlying health issues". That could be me or you, that 60th milestone is a long way behind now. 

We're relearning hand washing, not touching your own face, only flushing the loo when the lid is closed, a 2m rule between people and no handshaking or sneezing in a crowded room. We don't travel, we work from home (except those on minimum wage who need to actually turn up somewhere and sweat), we self isolate, alert the authorities, we cower down (TV on mute) and await the angel of death or fearful solitude or a chirpy Tesco delivery. Next it'll be looters in clownish beanie hats stealing your stock of surgical masks. Let them have them but cough into the carton first.

When the world is running down, you make the best of what's still around, black markets abound where farmers used to rule: cans of tuna and beans, beer and 7Up, books in boxes and box-sets that were never boxed because they're digital, candles to calm the demons and shredded 24hr news reports on a loop. A comfy couch and a room with a view of the bus stop where those still waiting can receive the Last Rights simply by producing their bus pass (or entitlement card to give it it's Sunday name). I hope none of it ever happens and I don't even know quite what it is.

Daily Cat

Blue tinge: No heating in the house but Clint the cat is still watching yet another episode of Hoovie's Garage on YouTube.

Another's Psychedelic Breakfast

I blame the large cocktail of porridge, honey, cream and mystery spores. The breakfast of champions in some cultures.  Clearly I overdid it but it was worthwhile and a new world record was set even as I stared blankly out of the window to visually survey the strange spectacle: Six vehicles of various kinds and one redundant aerated bath carcass all parked up in the front garden and eager for work. A compositional masterpiece. The sun will never rise or set set on such a random but well formed scene again in my lifetime (I suspect). Lunch was the less sophisticated but equally nutritious pie on a roll, a Scottish classic but it led nowhere in terms of inspiration. Well that's my food and drug blog done for the week.

Craigtoun

I was born in this house 65 years ago (give or take a bit and it's not quite my birthday either). Now a ruin it was Mount Melville House (owned by the Younger brewing family) from 1904 and then from about 1949 until the late 90s Craigtoun Hospital. It sits unloved and empty a few miles south west of St Andrews, a deep pocketed developer is required to rescue it so it seems. Not likely to happen any time soon.

Quiet Life

Yesterday: A non-sensational day, the promised snow failed to fall from the sky. It chose to appear as rain, the persistent kind. A million drivers and commuters cheered inwardly at the weather forecasts failure. Window gawpers like me were left with a sense of both relief and loss at the postponed spectacle (maybe next week). As the rain beat upon the house a new boiler was delivered, encased in heavy cardboard and on a barrow, various pipes and vents also arrived in bags and a single naked firebrick completed the bill of materials. It will be installed and hopefully set up and running later in the week. We'll also have a Hive device to control the beast remotely and so manage our environment even when we're not in it. The promise of luxury and a warm, quiet life for now and a hold on decisions until better, greener solutions hit the market.

The Gods over Fife

Looking down on Leven, Methil, Mossmorran, Dalgety Bay and Rosyth from what might be described as a reasonable height. Seeing into homes, pubs and allotments in Valleyfield, Crossford, Crossgates and Kelty. Peering through shutters and walking across the bare boards of homes in Crombie, Glenrothes and Aberdour. Creating potholes and puddles all across the county, hanging dogshit in black bags on bushes, allowing the bins at the recycling centre to overflow, finding your tyres and lacerating them with the correct amount of broken glass. Nicking your washing, your bank card and breaking into your garages. Whispering in your neighbour's ear that you're up to no good and that your missus is a bit of a .... and your weans are running wild.

These are the everyday tasks and actions of the Gods that look after this resolute, confused and tarnished little kingdom of Fifeshire. They breathe out and vegetables grow, they breathe in and your fag goes out, they cough and you drop your half bottle of Buckfast onto a slab, they sneeze and your cocaine is scattered across your mate's copy of the Daily Record, they think and you think that you don't (but none of it is true). Being a proper God is no joke, ask any of us, we'll tell you the truth (up to a point).

A clean pair of heels

Garage Band Revival: Another view of the everyday mundane aspects of everyday mundane life viewed through those rose tinted spectacles that your granny had back in the day when life was simple, beer was 10p a pint and Cadbury's Cream Eggs and Mars Bars were substantial pieces of fodder that you could comfortably live on for at least a fortnight in the "old money" version of black and white time that existed back then in 425 lines only. The trouble is that none of it really happened because it's forgotten and that renders the past redundant and open to dispute, no two views of the same experience are ever the same. Here in this fuzzy illustration, the past has been shown a clean pair of heels, we've run away, it's buried and gone, over the hill, in the back of beyond, packed up a shifted elsewhere. Or is it? I just caught a fleeting glimpse, from out the corner of my eye...