Another view

I look at my desktop and see nothing but ... desktop. Oh and Travelling Tabby's statistics.

So this is lockdown, umpteen weeks with nothing in between but unseasonal weather whatever the season. A cycle of eating, sleeping and TV, an occasional walk or cycle and messages from the government. Not seeing the ones you love, not seeing people as real people but bags of sneezy, coughy, sweaty germs. Nothing is healthy. Thinking too much about the risks involved in buying a pint of milk. Black coffee. Looking at yourself in the mirror with a mask on and thinking this isn't so good. 

Moving through a cordoned off supermarket like it was a minefield or a lava flow or a swamp full of crocodiles. Trying not to fall from ladders, scald yourself or bump your head on a sharp object, not getting too drunk and then falling over. No one wants to be the dick head that troubles the NHS. Then there's Zoom, a thing that used to called Skype and before that something else; a phone call perhaps. Now we talk pub talk about having done nothing much really, recount dream-scapes, wish each other good health, keep safe, have a laugh and hover over the end button. 

We're the lucky ones, we have a garden with trees and birds and the noises of other people at a safe distance. We sit in amongst the hubbub of passing dog walkers and sentient Yoga people who have found meaning, bairns in prams chatter and lawnmowers are unsure of where to spill their contents as the bins are full and the dump is closed. Sometimes the dustbin lorry comes for general waste only and the music of it's warning reverse tones fills the noticeable gap between anxious ears. I try to read but the words wont stick, I pretend to have hobbies but I don't, I check my work emails, I read then again, then I read other things. 

Everyday there are special bulletins and headlines to happily ignore with their sombre tones and alarming music, they know that nobody is really paying attention, it's all rather unreliable since the Government bailed out the papers and held guns to the BBC's throbbing, sweaty temple. They all also know they are on the wrong side of history, the great manipulators who are in fact the incompetent, mediocre manipulators. Throw more fucking useless made up numbers at us please. Information is key and they've all lost control of it. It flies as free as the sparrows and isn't so hard to find if you look. No point looking here though but try this.

Lockdown Hair Styles

One of these is before and the other is after but I've no idea which is which. Neither are remotely accurate either.

For a man of a certain age, your own hair is a bit of a nuisance. It's lost colour, body, and large chunks of it have fallen out and fallen by the wayside, like a dead carpet that's suffered years of abuse. A long time ago it ceased to be something you worked hard to maintain and so a period of neglect kicked in. A trip to the barber means a good scalping and your ear and nostril hair getting torched. The steady decline of hair care in the modern man's world seems almost inevitable. Remember when Crown Topper toupees were advertised in the Sunday papers? I'm struggling to remember Sunday papers.

Young(ish) hipsters and fashionable hairy types have no idea that this point exists in life and that they'll have to negotiate it one sorry day. For me that day has long passed. My hair and I are on good terms but that's about it. It's days of growing free and blowing free and being tended to are ... gone. Today a fresh air hair cut was kindly provided, I'm clean and cool and slightly itchy - young people be warned, I'm living in your future. 

Fighting Fit

By the light of her faithful dog Jasper, Julie Cruiseliner provides healthy advice on posture, mat size, well being and taking a positive mental view on the current state of British politics. All very welcome. 

Staying fighting fit and resistant to air-borne nasties on a Mexican/Mediterranean/Mac and Cheese diet. Once upon a time we walked everyday, the official gas-lighted government sponsored slab of exercise we're all rationed to under lock-down and fuck-up. It's worked well so far, we've met fellow puffing and smirking isolationists out with their dogs, hand weights, running togs and state of the art bicycles. We've nodded a guarded hello and avoided their flying spittle, it's not so easy out there where paranoia and pavlova run hand in mask. 

But that was in the fine weather of April, now we're trudging into the damp obscurity of a Scottish May, promising much but delivering little and so the crowded world of streamed exercise programming, good health tips and well being advice is enticing and attractive. All you need is a compatible mat, loose clothing and reasonable broadband. Now choose your smooth guru with decent diction and shorter videos for seniors. We're in there.

P.S. A nice sunny morning today so we returned to walking, pond searching and remembering the golden days of the bridge tolls.

What's the meaning?

Tiny, sealed bags with various cartoon cat graphics in black, white, blue and orange, oh and explained in Chinese, not my first language unfortunately. I suspect it's some kind of cat treat but can't be sure. They arrived unannounced. It could also be cat poison or cat medicine or it could be something (presumably for human consumption) made out of cats. This isn't a pleasant thought. Based on the graphics the odds are that it's a cat treat or at least a diet supplement. I'll maybe allow the cats a brief sniff test, cats have pretty good judgement about this sort of thing (apart from them eating mice and flies).

Truckin'

Truckin' got my chips cashed in. Keep truckin' like the do-dah man
Together, more or less in line, just keep truckin' on.

Thursday's loose and ill considered thought: "Whatever it is for you that gives life meaning...do it, but don't hurt people in the process".

Actual Bike

Actual bike: Not for sale but if all else fails as it probably will I would consider a swap for a) Mazda Bongo. b) a reasonably sized sailing boat. c) a case or seven of single malt 20 YO whisky. d) peace of mind via your guru's sage advice. e) low mileage Cayman (guards red). f) £3500 in used notes in a brown leather case. Helmet not included, no haggling or time wasters please.

If you're not sure

Somewhat ironic that the current UK Government, now set in a seemingly permanent state of incompetence and bare faced lying, should be advising us against spreading "false" information. I'll be doing my best to spread as enlightened a view as possible.

Paper Paper

Limited Edition: To celebrate, commiserate and commemorate the demise of the actual paper newspaper industry, our own modern inability to write with pen and paper and the difficulties that some folks experience in both reading and understanding (it used to be called comprehension by academic types but that term has fallen out of favour) this digital only piece is offered as a download exclusively via a site that can only be reached via a secret bot Twitter account that I've yet to create. 

In simple terms, numbers and price will vary according to supply and demand and the markets remaining open and flexible to deep and dark manipulation - if there is to be any success it will be for only those who seek the truth, but you must firstly break the hidden code. Good hunting. 

1055

Today I sat on a bench opposite this phone box in Dalmeny. I'd been out for a cycle on highways and byways (exercising and looking over hedges) and decided it was a good, sunny spot to take a break. It was about 1055 and the minute of silence was due at 1100 so I sat there, like many others and reflected on the deaths of NHS and Care Home staff as well as those who had also died from the illness. Huge numbers. Sad and awful. 

I sat for while and  also reflected on the ongoing lies, manipulation, avoidance of taking responsibility, duplicity, lack of empathy and the lack of funding of PPE and lack of planning and foresight this Tory Government has shown. I thought about their work to push through with austerity policies for 10 years, deny benefits for the needy, seeking to deport worthwhile and entitled citizens, restricting free movement and maintaining and actively voting for low pay for those workers they now celebrate as "heroes" - and their idiotic, stubborn pursuance of Brexit. 

This Westminster rabble is an ignorant and stupid government of greedy thieves, liars and cheats. A veritable parcel of rogues and I hope their time is short, in every respect.

The Great Wave

A great wave of distortion.

A great wave of action, a great wave of apathy, a great wave of positivity, a great wave of despair, a great wave of triumph, a great wave of failure, a great wave of belief, a great wave of doubt, a great wave of concern, a great wave of indifference, a great wave of chance, a great wave of calculation, a great wave of chaos, a great wave of certainty, a great wave of lower case, a GREAT WAVE OF UPPER CASE. You choose.

Extreme Chattanooga Choo-Choo

The older I've become the more I've come to realise that I have totally underestimated the metaphysical power and psychic strength of this tune and it's seemingly lightweight but profound lyrical content. As it turns out it's part of a Pandora's Box of Pandora related weirdness via an American railroad yarn set to music. However it seems that it's latent power is only fully released and realized in some transcendental way when you cheekily alter the lyrics as follows: "Pardon me boy, is that the cat that chewed your new shoes". What happens thereafter seems to stretch and then break apart the fabric of the universe and the space and time continuum itself. If you doubt anything I'm saying in this then by all means experiment yourself but tread warily, there may be something very powerful hidden out there in the magic of the sung or lightly hummed word when you are tampering with it disrespectfully.

Two chairs

Monday: Suns out, cats out, chairs out. A bit of early morning exercise around the block, pop to the shop and the post office for essential essentials and warm up a car to ensure it doesn't flatten itself out. Dodge the cyclists, the many beagle walkers, the puzzled looking kids pushed around by a puzzled parent and listening to the noise of so much less activity than old style Mondays. Then some guys turn up, out of the blue to cut a new drain into the driveway, they're back at work, essential services. Now we have proper noise and dust and puzzlement. Then I read that the PM is back, blabbering, saying nothing meaningful and telling stories from his own personal twilight zone. I'll avoid any live listening, even the sight of him creeps me out now. New style Mondays and normality, what do they even mean? They're either gone forever or just around the corner.

Repeat Until Complete

Another tedious mention for DIY masks and their simple construction using socks etc.

We, as reasonably compliant citizens remain currently locked down in a space station in inner space where you don't need a mask, however when venturing out in the rarefied atmosphere of a Corona Virus world, mask wearing is a good idea, so as to avoid any viral spores and nasty floaters (hopefully).

As a general methodical and respectful reminder, here is (as below) how you build an exclusive wardrobe of fashionable but somewhat non-compliant face masks simply with scissors, socks and coffee filters (or whatever filter/tissue paper you might have available). It's not our method, just passing it on. Come the day of compulsory wearing of masks in public etc. etc. these might actually be useful. What seems crazy or uncomfortable today may well prove to be completely acceptable tomorrow.

Psychedelic Salads for Saturdays

Psychedelic Salads for Saturdays No.1 - Avocado and Lupin with a hint of Chives. A popular choice in Central Scotland due to the kindness of the climate, the peaceful and open minded local inhabitants and the all year round availability of fresh exotic fruits from the roadside. Always a lunchtime favourite, tasty, mind expanding and quite groovy really and of course you can transplant the stones and get even more fruit in a year or two.

DIY Sock Masks

Today we're mostly crafting designer sock masks from designer socks. Obviously non-compliant but probably useful in a pinch i.e. when the mask riots start up for real. For full instructions on how to make the masks up in the comfort of your own home, simply tune into All 4 and watch last night's Gogglebox.

P.S. It is illegal (well it should be but we're in a free market and you can see where that gets us) to try to sell these for £9.99 (or any price) on Etsy if you're getting ideas. 

Here's a useful graphic:

Last night's sky

From the window last night, no meteors or comets or asteroids. No space stations or Space X strings of pearls. Just high and shady clouds, obscuring the higher sky but holding the sun to account and pouring out strange, wistful colour schemes. Putting on a bit of a show for the shortest of big times and then capitulating to the proper dark as it sneaks in and doused by the artificial light we throw around like water in a bath.

Thank You Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Happy Tree

As an alternative to the slightly puzzling post below here's an almost happy tree I made from virtual Lego.

Asleep at the wheel

Lockdown sleep perceptions. There's been some talk about "lockdown" dreams and how, now that we are all in this altered Covid state, possibly more anxious, fearful etc. dreams might have become more vivid or meaningful or whatever. Anyway here's a thing that I'm experiencing (or at least I think I'm experiencing) most nights during the descent into the big ZZZs and back out again. 

It goes like this: When I sleep for about the same amount of time as I slept before lockdown I now awake with a sense or feeling that my sleep time has lasted a lot longer than sleep times did before lockdown. Sleeping or unconscious time  somehow seems to my mind to have taken longer to pass than as I might have previously experienced. I'm not really dreaming much either i.e. to fill the time, but I never did much anyway. 

This is something I've only gradually noticed, at first I dismissed it as just a funny feeling but my awareness and sense of it has grown to the point where I am wondering if it's real, well real as far as the perception of your own sleep activity can be.

When you don't

A cat, happily asleep.

When you don't believe in any god, when you don't believe the government (or even in the government), when you don't believe the media. For a start it all sounds terribly negative, all this serial non-believing. Perhaps it's harder to believe than not to, perhaps it's also a bit foolish to believe. We all need something, believing in yourself might be a good start, if tricky at times. We're now in one of four camps, infected and ill, carrying and dangerous, been through it (but maybe not sure) and finally awaiting the hammer blow of a cough and a sweat that signals the arrival of the pestilence. There's also a fifth category but they are sadly not with us anymore. So we're hungry for advice and information. It's there but it's sullied by incapable people trying to explain their way out of things they can't grasp while more open minded scientist types move the goal posts as experiences are understood.

The Covid 19 problem has obviously brought these issues into sharper focus. so many versions of the truth circulating, point scoring, air brushing facts, avoidance of responsibility and my own personal favourite; telling yourself stories. My only solution, and it's not a very good one nor is it comprehensive has been to shut down a lot of my normal information gathering sources. Local radio, BBC anything, reading newspapers diligently, digging into twitter or blogs. I'm still doing bits of these but radio has gone and TV is very limited. I'm feeling better as a result, strangely less isolated and also less bombarded with "stories". That's not to say that the human experiences being shared are not important or moving or worthwhile, it's the context they now sit in and the way they are included with bigger "lines to take" strategies that dilutes their significance. So I'm watching and waiting like everyone else but I'm narrowing my field of vision. At least that's the story I'm telling myself.