Sparrows

 A short film by AG.

Venceremos

 

Tennants

A poor review with vague opinions on beer types: Some say the craft brewers are snobby twats, some say their beers are over priced, over hyped and over rated. After all it's just beer. Maybe but as an irregular drinker I must confess I mostly like old school English beer, slightly flat, room temperature bitter, not chilled, yum. So Tennents? Makes a good draft shandy, a nice mural, good from the can in the garden after mowing the lawn, a tin on the beach or at a barbie. The right thing at the right time? Sometimes, not always.

Avant Traction

No.1 Lightweight.

No.2 Normal.

No.3 Family Size.

Citroen Traction Avant.

The Citroën Traction Avant was a range of mostly 4-door saloons and executive cars, with four or six-cylinder engines, produced by the French manufacturer Citroën from 1934 to 1957. Approximately 760,000 units were produced. It's now seen as an iconic piece of car design. I'd have liked to own one at the time, (if I was a character in a French film or novel) maybe not so much today.

Avant/Forward: Is this what blogging and the internet and social media should be about really, just writing about things you like and posting pictures you enjoy and want to share, loosely meandering across life's nicer parts? It seems rubbish that I (we?) spend energy and time feeling that to rant about, moan, criticize and berate failing institutions, religions and the poorer/meaner aspects of human activity is necessary. Ho hum.

 

Dead Flowers

 "Dead Flowers" Acrylic on sacroiliac, in vinegar and pencil. A lightweight piece that looks at the plight of untended, lonely and overage vegetation summoning up uplifting but neutral themes of abandonment and desolation. The artist pursues these valiantly in energetic blue and teal tinges with an almost black metallic precision and an eye for dread and finality.  Offered at a very reasonable pre-sale sale price of £999.99 (delivery not included). The purchaser will be delighted to receive a full brown bin of inspirational organic material (part rotted) arranged within the pre-collection bin, also an empty plastic milk carton once use to water and tend various now defunct house plants. Please be aware that slight spillages and staining may occur in transit. This is quite normal and not age related.

Unfortunately, everybody is busy

 

"Everybody is a busybody and if you're not busy then you're not much of a body and we are experiencing an extraordinary amount of online clicks, traffic, comments, calls, tea breaks, fag breaks and interruptions right now." 

In other words our systems and our manning levels are not quite up to the task but as your time costs us nothing then you can wait. We might also just skim a small amount of cash for ourselves from the lengthy call you've now found yourself entangled in. You are after all a highly valued customer (Cue the enthralling music).

If you or a member of your family have been affected by this post them please take a few moments to stare at the two cows (pictured) and their reflections in some far away pond and try to calm down. Thank you.

How to solve boredom and restore a sense of control and purpose in your life on any rainy day. Simply head into your email inbox and, one by one seek out the unsubscribe link lurking at the bottom of all those pointless and irritating messages you now get because you once bought something from them or whatever ... and click. You're done.

Other people's lives

 

Crash landings: At school there was always somebody, could be a boy or a girl who would be the one to speak up and speak out about something, they'd decide on a course of action and announce it expecting the rest of the class to agree and follow. If they don't grow out of it then they grow up to be unbearable adults.

So forgetting narcissism or psychosis for the moment and just looking a plain, childish behaviour, the attention seeker with no actual clear ideas or inspiration can easily push through on an ill conceived course of action on the basis of strength of personality alone, or being just plain bullish. The lazy and the easy going will be ok with this, it saves them from thinking, challenging or questioning. Here's a fix from somebody who sounds as if they know what they are doing. Buzz words, slogans, repetition, simple messages and the promise of ... whatever you want to hear.

Classroom politics, playground dynamics, kids squabbling as the pitch of play rises and falls. Trump, Johnston, Cummings, forever childish, self righteous and petulant.

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Moving on from grim reality but still looking at other people's lives; a couple got married pretty much at the foot of our garden the other day. A small but stylish Bohemian kind of ceremony complete with pumpkins, candles, kilts and leather. Romantic relief and a sunny period of fun for the party in these Tier Three times.

                     

Halloween, WTF is this? Also how is it now OK not to have an apostrophe in Halloween anymore?

269 Songs

So back to where we started. David Hepworth's playlist that reflects his 1971 theory. Some might say it proves it or at least strengthens the case. The book is highly readable, but only if you're 60+. I've forgotten a lot of it, as would anybody. The dull glow of distant nostalgia and the need to make sense of things is very appealing. Songs still sneaking up on you as a pale reminder of how pale most things are these days. I'm hearing an inner voice speaking in Clive James tones, even Jeremy Paxman looks tired out. November? 

😏

Here's that vital Link to another kind of past. This is how good music used to sound, (Warning: some of it might not be that good, it's 18 hours long!).

One thing I could not have imagined in 1971 was the feeling of suddenly finding your phone battery sitting at 2% and no available charger and an urgent call to make. I realize that this might be my worst nightmare, a feeling of powerlessness and defeat. I'm struggling now to imagine a time when mobile devices where not there, screaming and clawing for our attention like some black and glossy phial of crack cocaine.

Touched by the hand of Queen Margaret

 A few years ago (I've no clear idea) I blogged about the song "touched by the hand of Chicholina". Now that I know she's even older than me and time is running out I'm not so sure about things. Also I didn't get the Jeff Koons connection. I was badly informed and dislocated at the time. On reflection it is possibly better to be touched by the (cold, dead) hand of Queen Margaret, particularly now that I'm living right beside her infamous ferry location, her cave, castle, chapel, well, fountain, discount supermarket, by-pass and takeaway, you name it. A lurid fantasy made popular in Scottish history, most of which is entirely fictitious and/or unreliable anyway. So history is weird, particularly if you believe in time as a constant and uninterrupted flow, which may or may not be the case; think of forward echo. She's also famous as a saint. That's another problem.

Cattitude

The TV has been switched off, the devices are blank and silent, the lights are dimming, rain casually beats against the window and the central heating is nearing the end of it's evening work program. The adults are fussing about, running the clock down, time to retire, tidy up errant cups and glasses, close cupboards and wipe down surfaces, leave things tidy and we're good to go. Ignore the rest. It's the closing sequence of the day, transactions bound up and finished, shake the curtains and redraw that line between day dreams and night moves, wakefulness and sleep. Today dwindles and the unknown future that in the elasticity and stupid predictability of time now looms, will deliver the new tomorrow's promise; tomorrow or thereabouts. We take all this for granted, the every day tapestry that slowly unravels before our blinking eyes never to return. The cat sees it all however and, as you might expect, refuses to comment from that warm spot he's carved out for himself on the couch. 

Daily fungus - photos

Gardens of Shrooms: Some mushrooms are cuter than others, some are tasty, some are poison, I can't tell them apart so I'll leave it there. Here's shaky but authentic photographic evidence I gathered whilst crawling around in their musty, damp world.

The unseasonal wet weather has boosted the wild fungi harvest in these parts (actually a botanic garden somewhere in Caledonia). Well that's one theory and maybe wet weather is normal and toodstools and mushrooms are just behaving naturally because what else can they do? I've been out, gone low and dirty and recorded their behaviour here as they poke their heads through the earth, soft and fragile, dangerous and temporary. By tomorrow they'll be trodden into mulch or broken, or picked and harvested, gone. I passed by, I did no harm so I'm in the clear.

The Ubiquitous Fish Finger

 

Escaping the Matrix: There's food, there's other kinds of food and there's posh food. In all three (vague and tough to define) categories the fish finger sandwich scores highly if I'm doing the eating and the scoring.

I started following @MarkusRashford, turns out that was a good idea. Just to see the numerous retweets he's posting of offers within and outwith the catering industry to help feed children during the English school holidays is inspiring. The UK Government has put itself, yet again in a shameful position over it's lack of regard for simple human dignity and basic needs. It is also telling that it cannot quite "read the room" over issues like this, there is a dearth of empathy and emotional maturity in this corrupt regime from top to bottom and it will continue to fail as long as the ignorance that drives it remains unchecked.

I also expect that amongst the food suppliers being retweeted there will be a small % of bandwagon jumpers looking to capitalize on some exposure and association but don't be fooled, they're the minority. Marcus Rashford and his supporters have exposed this awful Government and they really have nowhere to go here. Dear Tories, the fish finger points, it points at you and you can't escape.

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.