Exclusive

 "Students judge their own pumpkin carving contest whilst a cat wearing a leash looks on".

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Part of an ongoing project intended to capture the wealth of good natured and optimistic projects taking place all across the country despite the troubling times we are all experiencing. This work is not for sale because it never was. People still do daft things, behave like characters in "Brideshead Revisited", stay too long in cafes, play golf in shorts in October, parrot Monty Python sketches but avoid the parrot sketch, stumble on pavements, marvel at fish, laugh. 

One positive discovery being that people can create bacon rolls also containing two poached eggs and ensure the eggs are cooked enough not to be running so the roll can be enjoyed without embarrassment or social difficulty. We may be headed into a bizarre and destructive Tory Hellscape but we're still capable of small pieces of notable greatness.

Goldilocks and the Three Wolves

Once upon a time there was a fairy story but instead of fairies there were only humans and wolves in it. Goldilocks, a local girl, was known to be "a little out of control" and one day she wandered off and headed to the home of a family of wolves. She broke into the empty house and tried out a few things. She wasn't bothered or afraid so Goldilocks sat in the chair that was just right, ate the bowl of Quaker Oats that was just right and then ran upstairs and snuggled down in the bed that was also just right. She was pretty clumsy and thought little of the value of other people's belongings. Meanwhile the wolves were nearby in the trees checking out possible food sources and meeting up with other wolves in the pack whilst their breakfast was cooling. That's how they roll around these parts.

After a while the three wolves returned to the house, Mum, Dad and Cub. On entering the house their keen sense of smell told them that a human was nearby, maybe even in their property. They tensed up as wolves do and began to search the premises. They were disappointed to see that breakfast was ruined and that their plans for the day were now apparently upset. Mum and Dad were also kind of excited but managed to restrain their feelings and allowed Cub to take the lead. They were good parents and liked to assign responsibility whenever possible to better teach their child about the real world. Cub was already hungry and then very angry when he saw his broken chair, spoiled porridge and a trail of destruction that led upstairs to the broken beds in the main sleeping area. When the wolves saw Goldilocks snoozing without a care in the world on the only remaining bed, well that was the end of Goldilocks. A neighbour called 999 and reported the incident.

The emergency services and social work report was inconclusive, some said that humans and wolves were never going to get on together, other's just hoped for the best and suggested that better educational resources should be allocated to the human and wolf communities. A Facebook group for both sides and a community picnic was also considered, in order to foster better relations and build bridges. At the time the wolves were asked to make a statement but a spokesman for the wolves was unavailable.

They all lived happily ever after once the humans were destroyed by a virus.

Infiltrate

 

Scotland's "collective of radicalized brain cells", as seen from space.

"You're nothing but a Socialist BioHazard."

Disruptive isn't constructive.

Why can't we see and hear the news we need to hear and see?

Nobody was a clue so let's ask nobody what to do.

They've successfully infiltrated the BBC, the Kirk, fast food outlets, the toon cooncils, the National Trust for Scotland, modern music, the SNP, social media and our Covid riddled sewage networks etc. Who are they?

(In answer to the question nobody really asked) Well mainly people I don't know and probably wouldn't like much if I ever met them. All I'm doing here is telling myself stories about how I think things are and how I think they should be. There is very little reality creeping into my ideas to match my opinions. Like the vast majority of people I'm adrift in a sea of imposed ignorance constantly buffeting against various other versions of myself equally lost and out of their depth. Then as an added bonus, from time to time media storms arise and we're all soaked and battered with their random and ill judged insights. Meanwhile far away the truth is slowly sinking.

I have a "doomed" sense of oncoming jackboots, intimidation, law and justice eroded, human rights ignored, economic exploitation and corruption on a massive scale. Control of any middle ground has been lost and/or, crucially, given away. Then I think, but there are scientific advances, new technology, better healthcare and diets (if you can find them), conditions are getting better in many areas of life. All is not lost but how can you be sure? When you feel powerless in this situation what do you do, how do you behave? Panic?

When we realize where we are and what we are like our natural course of action is to rely upon instinct and experience rather than evidence and sense. This doesn't work very well and the spiral, in whatever direction, continues. 

So maybe we should all switch off, lose the broader, assumed and inherited opinions and just float for a while, not playing the game. Ignore the voices. Perform a factory reset. Start over. Be different. Wake up from the confusion and, using the "enemy" tactics, begin to infiltrate and influence but build better. 

Trouble is the drugs we took when we were young have frazzled our imaginations to the point we think we still have good imaginations.

Now we're on five levels of alert, 0 to 4, so no actual level five. 0 1 2 3 4 = 5. Simple. 0 means Zero risk and 4 means 5 or something.

You have my permission to imagine whether you like it or not.

In the wake

Sailing along on the Forth, twice in a week. At one time it was nearly every working day. I don't miss any of that but it is nice to be afloat and feeling reasonably safe. Also the weather being calm (if a little cool and damp) helps. 

These are the many small islands downstream. Rugged, weird and neglected. Nobody lives there and the rain misses them I'm told. Stepping stones between the Lothians and Fife unused by familiar giants. Routes for unplanned bridges, impossible tunnels, fair weather ferries to zig-zag past on the white capped waves. The clump of battered rock below is now covered in garden gnomes, malevolent settlers, so nobody will be using that anytime soon, there's bound to be an ancient curse.

Not by me

When kids ruled the streets . Leeds, July 1970. Photo Nick Hedges

Another fine photo in the series of "Great photos I did not take".

This piece of work has everything.

A Great Tribulation

So the Lord will shortly accomplish two parts of his plan; sort out Israel (?) and judge the many billions that don't actually believe in him. That's a tough seven years. On the same theme here's some nicely batshit crazy stuff, lifted from the HuffPost:

TV preacher Pat Robertson says God told him that President Donald Trump will win reelection. Oh, and the world’s going to end, probably via an asteroid strike.

“Without question, Trump is going to win the election,” Robertson declared on “The 700 Club” on Tuesday, citing his conversation with the deity. “He’s going to win, that I think’s a given.”

Despite God telling Robertson the election was in the bag, he urged his followers to vote anyway. However, Robertson didn’t exactly give them a great incentive for choosing Trump considering what supposedly happens during his second term.

Robertson said the inauguration would be followed by global strife, widespread “civic disobedience that will be mind-boggling” in the U.S. and at least two assassination attempts.

“The country will be torn apart,” Robertson said, then he went off on some biblical prophecy stuff, claiming there would be a period of war involving Israel, followed by at least five years of “extraordinary peace.”

After that, better book the next flight off the planet because that’s when it all goes kaboom.

“There’s going to be a great tribulation,” Robertson said, predicting an asteroid strike right down to the size of the space rock:

God has an iffy history with presidential predictions, at least in terms of the ones He reportedly shared with Robertson. In 2004, the televangelist said God told him then-President George W. Bush would be reelected, yet claimed God said Mitt Romney would beat then-President Barack Obama in 2012 and serve two terms.

Robertson also famously predicted “a judgment on the world” in the fall of 1982, followed years later by a highly specific ending date of April 29, 2007. By all accounts both predictions were incorrect. 

A final few words from the Lord: "Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. I'll also provide ongoing guilt, a sense of persecution and inadequacy, you'll be subject to control measures, mental abuse and emotional blackmail but in the end everything will be fine, once you recover from the various kinds of tribulation I plan to unleash upon you and your family. So have a nice day and don't forget to a) worship me b) obey my commands and c) tithe your income to the church so the Pastor can get a nice house and drive an executive model car." 

After Birthday

"After Birthday". A gold leaf, ceramic, candle wax and driftwood piece complete with authentic cake crumb effect, wax shards and splinters. The work of an emerging local artist now entering the more commercial phase of his career with some topical, understated, low key and unpretentious works all in a contemporary and traditional style, worked up in homage to Scottish colourism and post colonial normal tone settings with a pastel glazed settling potion and Au Jus. 

Available to purchase *today for £9.99. Free high quality cardboard tube and luxury drawing pin included with every approved sale, simply enter the code:

"£$%^&*()_+_)zzO0👀m💀((***%$%^"

*Other special offers and full contact details are sometimes found at the bottom of the bottom of the leading edge of your device's screen.

Built in 1955

I woke up this morning only to find myself the same age (or thereabouts) as this fine but distorted machine. I suspect that it has a few less miles on the clock and is regularly inspected, scoped and probed for faults and wear and tear. I'm hoping to get a flu jab next week and that's about it. So I've no intention of getting philosophical at this time or getting into a state of panic. I think I'm in a pretty good place, well fed, well exercised, well looked after and able to keep warm. Life goes on in all it's forms and (ignoring the various world class idiots out there trying to make it all difficult) so it will continue.

Ultimate Brownie

Here it is, the cut cross section of a home made chocolate brownie. Made by my eldest daughter it may well be "peak brownie". Sweet, crisp on top, moist in the middle, a good chunky bite sized portion, it ticks every brownie box that I can imagine. Brownies like this have been on my mind since Bake Off was all about them a couple of weeks ago. Nice to try a home baked one that was so much better than anything you'd buy in a shop.

In other unrelated food news, sourdough bread certainly gives your gut something to do. Also if you add French mustard as a topping to sourdough bread the mustard starts to taste (as strong as) like English mustard. Tuna was also involved ... and mayo ... and tomato.

Unrelated sports news: Family flag flying (or fixed more accurately) amongst many others in the home stand at East End Park on Saturday. Handy that the Pars won their first league game of the season 3 - 1. Flags for spectators, never thought it would come to this.

Lego drone patrol

Incoming Images: Had the old/new Lego drone* out on patrol the other day, caught up on a few local locations. Firstly a home scene, nearing completion, already some furniture and appliances are in place. The designer and builder are currently on a break. Then zooming in on a fast food joint where a burger, fries and a milk shake await consumption. The ketchup is by the side, strangely enough dispensed from a bottle. Yum.

*Lego drones are as yet not readily available to the buying public. The military, the police and the secret services are busy conducting trials. There's a waiting list. It's exclusive but long. You wont be on it anytime soon.

Bin Bag Art

BIN BAG ART IS THE NEW NINE LETTER THREE WORD SCHOOL OF FINE ART THAT IS CURRENTLY DOING THE ROUNDS. SEE MORE AT #BINBAGART

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#ITSALLBEENDONEBEFORE.

 

Olla Podrida

 

When you first hear of a new name in Spanish for something you already know: If you're going to get into a stew then why not just make it a Spanish stew. Regarding recipes, methods and ingredients; they all may vary according to your taste and what might be available to you. Stew is stew I guess, make of it what you will. What a time to be alive.

Whilst on the subject of food here's a weird rendering of our crop of possibly inedible Scottish pears. Home grown and picked from a wonky tree that's the fruit tree equivalent of Bernie Ecclestone as a new parent. Pretty sure, however we prepare them, that they will not taste as good as this picture looks.

Recurring Themes

 

In a medium sized font for the good of economy and to retain balance in the ecology of ecology: I like this shape, it may be a snake, it may be a probe, it may be underwater or through glass. I've used it a few times now. Here and there. I can't quite recall all the places and times. If it was a voice it might be an IT helpline, calm, in control and working to a precise script, icy but appreciated and effective. 

Also, as is the custom these days, further career advice/guidance (or at least possible suggestions) from the archives of oblivion:

After dark but bathed in artificial light. The old harbour at South Queensferry. Taken whilst everyone else is either staring into space looking for the brighter than ever Mars or fixating on the Forth Bridges.

Daily Pigeon

 

Above: A pigeon pointing left and below that a pigeon (the same one in fact) pointing to the right. There are a number of pigeons that seem to reside in our garden, but you never really know where they go, what they do, they're just there. The flop about and only really fly if they need to get to the top of a tree or onto the roof apex. Local chickens may have corrupted their ideas around flight and how to do it. They may also be reincarnated friends or family, making their solitary way on the long journey back to redemption, you can never tell. Fortunately they don't bother the cats and the cats don't bother them either. 

All is remaining in balance, in quite a fine balance of things in an unbalanced world. Occasionally one might fly by and bump into a window. They probably are quite dumb but have happy faces. That's about it, hardly Blue Planet standard of wildlife monitoring, photography and depth of content I know. I'm just glad that these birds like it around here.

PTSD

 

Series 2 is done: Without disrespecting anyone suffering from PTSD I have to say that "The Boys" (currently running on Amazon Prime) is a tough show to watch. Twists, turns, jump scares, unexpected and instant deaths and fruity language and a sprinkling of social commentary. I'm not sure how we started watching this and despite myself I'm not sure if I could have stopped. Perhaps we're being slowly desensitized by the media in advance of some awful predicted or planned event. All in the name of entertainment. A true blue version of Trump's American dream come to life with all of his integrity, self awareness and self control on display (sic). I wonder what any of Trump's supporters watching the show make of it.

Spoiler alert: "It was so beautiful how the three of us sat there, in the shade of an apple tree. Do you remember the day Frederick? Chloe's arms out of the car window. We found the perfect spot by the river, in the shade of an apple tree. It was the first time Chloe ate fresh apples." - (Translated).

Sweet Dreams

 ...and flying machines in pieces on the ground. Life is a series of birthdays, each one a milestone and a marker. A way of trying to remember people and places or a prompt as to life's slow but steady progress and the confusion created along the way. My first pandemic birthday is now on the muddled horizon despite my best attempts at denial. Pubs and restaurants are closed, travel is discouraged and gatherings are prohibited. Fun sucked up by the Covid sponge. The window of opportunity has closed as we struggle with the quirks and paradoxes of staying safe and alive and being human. An unfortunate and unavoidable state we all suffer from.

Society: It's never been easy but now it's mostly confusing and the sense of inner conflict we all feel rises like a bad smell from each crossed out diary date. We're enduring a slow death in order to live, smiling on in the margins, standing in the cold supping coffee like amateur detectives on a tough case. Casing the joint, just waiting for a break, it's not here yet. Hoping that party hungry idiots don't blow up in our neighborhood with their lack of distancing as they skew the infected numbers and condemn us to solitary confinement for Christmas and beyond. 

Entertainment: I probably should be more bothered but I'm puzzled, do you run away from or run towards the threat? Do you simply stand still and obey as the angel of pestilence and inconvenience passes over killing our hopes for 2020? What TV show or film should we stream to dull the pain? What steps to take? There's too much shouting going on and social media is a mess. The phone line to the Chinese take away counter is permanently engaged and the apps are jammed. Try again later. We are experiencing high demand and higher volumes (regardless of the time of your call). The new contract to free up the systems will be awarded soon but not to anyone competent or with relevant experience. 

Trouble: Four Romanians in a black Audi are patrolling the streets looking for a business opportunity or to make trouble. Not all Romanians behave this way, though these guys are stealing tools from sheds and trying door handles. They're real but they're in a fictitious disguise, nocturnal, a clear and present threat, possibly not in your area yet, they may have indeed moved on, such was the fury and indignation expressed on Facebook. They're to blame for the litter, the excess revving of engines, the broken glass and the flickering of a hundred security lights ... and still they come. Their presence invades our dreams, bogey men and undesirables forcing us to pull up drawbridges and close the blinds. Eyes shut tight we sleep on. We will awake in the spring, assess the damage and submit a well put together report. It will be ignored, the courts have more pressing business to deal with and there's a high volume of calls. Sweet dreams.

Hidden in plain sight: And another thing, I'd always imagined that our leaders, as we lurch into dictatorship and downright corruption, would have been better looking and better dressed. Hmm.

Ideas used as maps

What is it about those old Bob Dylan songs covered and performed by the Byrds? There's an almost perfect pop quality in them, a lightness of touch, an innocence and a freshness in the dreamlike delivery. The simplicity and brevity of the arrangement, nobody trying too hard. It all just works. For all the styles and genres of music I've enjoyed over the years this still pleases me the most, well most of the time (?). I'm probably losing it. Don't look back, don't go back.

Crimson flames tied through my ears

Rollin' high and mighty traps

Pounced with fire on flaming roads

Using ideas as my maps

"We'll meet on edges, soon," said I

Proud 'neath heated brow.

Ah, but I was so much older then,

I'm younger than that now.

(And so on)...

National Careers Service

 

Above and below: Just some of the wonderful career advice I received from the National Careers Service when I stumbled into their website. In a highly optimistic and positive manner, having analysed my answers to various questions the helpful site offers up possible careers for the bewildered and the confused. I've always felt at home in that type of category but their recommendations did surprise even me, particularly in these peculiar times when retraining and upskilling are being advised by the powers that be as a sensible course of action for those out of work. 

It seems their outlook is biased towards a kind of "anything is possible" or "be all you can be" form of thinking with all the tonal variation of an episode of Trumpton or Camberwick Green (a reference for readers of a certain age) or Blue Peter on a bad night. The harsh reality of the big bad world of work is played down and swept away in an almost narcotic and fanciful fashion. There's fake fairy dust scattered across every web-page.

I was naturally intrigued by how they assessed me now that I'm into my twilight years but it seems they don't give up on anyone and the possible variations for the things I could do are many and varied. I've only included a couple of tell tale screen shots of the outcomes, I kind of had to walk away after a few minutes browsing the results. So it's boxer, football referee (nice and specific I thought), actor, or editor for me. If these don't work out there is also stockbroker, engineer, dressmaker and leather technologist (?). 

In the end I'm a bit puzzled and quite unlikely to follow up on these suggestions. I'm reminded of the old Ian Dury song "What a waste" and left with a strange, hollow feeling of just what might have been.

Hold on to yourself

Like something from the last days of Pompeii we toddled on, on our fitness route we meandered and then we ate out yesterday, a very pleasant brunch. We failed to share it via Tweeter or FarceBook so I'm sharing it abstractly via Blowger now. No images however. I may have missed a bit here and there and my camera wasn't used. We enjoyed brunch as the sun peeped through busy windows by the waterside, on a brave new morning. There was coffee and bacon, pancakes and French toast and syrup and a kind of serene atmosphere of pretend masked up normality. We sat and chatted but not for too long. How long does a welcome last these days? Don't overdo it.

The staff were attentive and friendly but I guess by 1800 today they'll be packing up and heading off into the sunset till who knows when. This is the new reality, living and working in the moment. The cruel uncertainty of what might be around the corner. Some peace and order or some fresh eruption? I hope the promised safety net is tough enough and big enough. I hope we can do this again soon.

P.S. We have dead mouse odour circulating. You see the signs, you apply the treatment, you wait, no signs of life ... just the feeble but pungent smell of a dead mouse returning to nature in some unreachable part of your property. No need to explain but you want to know it's fate and those unbothered by mice simply don't understand.

Not going out

So for the foreseeable future (currently looking at about a fortnight) we're stuck in Lothian. Lothian is a vague kind of a concept of a thing, a mythical place and a set of boundaries that exists only in some Health Board definition of where things might be or should be put. I guess the provision of health services looms large in the thinking but not in the same way as the emptying of dustbins, allocation of parking permits or postcodes. 

It's abstract in a way that challenges spacial perception and makes a person question quite where they might be standing in the universe (or if that is even possible). So as my shoes touch the muddy earth or the damp and rotting autumn leaves on the path or the new tarmac on the road I live near to I'll wonder to myself, "Am I really here or am I really in Lothian?"

In the end I concluded, after some slow coffee and rapid chocolate, that I knew what I always knew but perhaps due to educational influence or societal programming I did not dare admit it. Like Camelot or Middle Earth, Valhalla or Narnia, Lothian is quite simply a state of mind, and for the time being nobody can leave it or enter it. Peace be unto you all on your abortive travels.

In other news the nearest Aldi store is in Borrowstone Town Ness and the nearest Greggs is in no man's land between Broxburn and Newbridge. I'll just play relaxing music during the essential journey.

Meanwhile far away across the water, Fife burns like a Big Country lyric. (Photo Tom Duffin.)