Wing Nuts

            just saying no

            or 

yes 

not sure

so

             make a guess

heads full of tissue paper

see you later

cotton wool balls

just a tick box 

                      in the send off 

                in the come on 

                just a simple piece of whimsy 

just some fluff on a carpet

                           just some silly stuff                   

we all indulge

  in childish behaviour

                                              now and then

so I count to ten in French

Blue Yonder

"Some race the pigeons, some eat the pigeons. Then again some ignore the pigeons, some talk to the pigeons. Some feed them corn or peanuts. Cats generally wont attack them unless provoked. You can never tell." L'Angelo Mysterioso.

Whatever your views I'm in no doubt that this tasteful artwork will enhance any home with it's warm and friendly depiction of pigeon society at it's most vibrant but relaxed, warm, bright eyed avian zenith. Remember, but for the unexpected rise of mankind from the primeval and putrid soup of creation, pigeons would rest supreme at the top of the evolutionary flagpole. Can you not see this set above your baronial fireplace, ebony framed (2' 6" x 3' 3") and beaming down it's message of unity and fraternity on your delighted house guests as they enjoy a seasonal mulled wine and a slice of tiffin? Go on.

All sensible enquiries via approved GumTree accounts please.

Mood

Some days I'm a little tea pot, short to average height and not particularly stout, I'd admit to having a slight paunch at worst. I do at times struggle to get a handle on things, that's due to a mixture of age, experience and patchy education but I'm not going to apologise for any of that either. Life is life. In fairness I've been known to spout rubbish or at least not particularly well thought through opinions from time to time but haven't we all? Having said all that I'm not often picked up and I've never been poured out, partially or otherwise (not that I'd admit to that either). Few people realise or appreciate the profound pieces of observation and poetic wisdom hidden within comic or music-hall type songs of the bygone age. As for tea, I can take it or leave it.

Wisdom

It's easy to say that wisdom, sapience, or sagacity is the ability to think and act using knowledge, experience, understanding, common sense and insight. It's even easier to say that wisdom is associated with attributes such as unbiased judgment, compassion, experiential self-knowledge, self-transcendence and non-attachment, and virtues such as ethics and benevolence. In my opinion it is also very easy to say that wisdom has been defined in many different ways, including several distinct approaches to assess the characteristics attributed to wisdom. On the whole I like things that are easy to say and, if possible, are easy to read. 

To me this, not anything else, is the "beginning to wisdom" which should not be confused with the "end of wisdom" which isn't even a thing. Wisdom is also nothing like the kind of home made soup that sticks to your ribs and makes you feel like a balloon or maybe a pregnant baboon. It's that still, small voice that whispers to your inner innerspace in the bathroom when you're flossing. Then once you leave the room you immediately forget the message.

Autumnal

 Golden leaves v green leaves.

Streams of inconsistent thought: Autumn Almanac by the Kinks, a great band but not their strongest song, perhaps unfairly overlooked in their overall catalogue. Old Moore's Almanac a weird old Irish publication I've only bought once in my life. That being in the newsagents in Inverkeithing station in 1971, a change from the NME. A fairly silly and incomprehensible set of regular prophetic writings and bits of astrology and predictions that has been in print for over 250 years. I'm not sure who would buy it these days but it's still going (which surprised me) and that's quite nice. I recall the advertising section being fun to read, really weird small ads and peculiar items for sale. There's a proper website too now, that is not any kind of recommendation.

Daily ATM

Daily ATM and piece of street art. Mostly made of cardboard and Sharpie. Found somewhere in Dundee. Accepts all major bankcards and credit cards but wider use is not recommended. Possibly accepts alternative payments via users sweat and their Fitbits. Perhaps there is nothing left worth spending anything on. Please contact an engineer.

And so it came to be, without so much as a flourish of trumpets or the melting and the sealing of a seal of royal approval, the death of capitalism occurred that day on a cold and misty street somewhere on the east coast of Scotland. A new world order emerges from beneath designer face masks. A space of extreme mystery. The plan had been conceived and hatched over a murky coffee and a Portuguese custard start whilst socially distancing. All revolutions start somewhere but nobody is ever quite sure where they end.

Mondayish

                     Small rhubarb tart reversing out of it's cake box garage.

Some say cakes lead secret lives. That they get up to things. They are self aware. A perplexing, crusty, spongy situation. Are they our friends or are they our foes?  Sentient but edible beings? All because of the magic and mystery in the preparation and baking process and the way that those in the trade guard their secrets so closely. The truth about cakes might be too much for the public to cope with (some have said) so we remain ignorant and unconnected with all the latest thinking and information. Take it easy out there if you should encounter any stray cakes today. Just another wee thing to worry about on a Monday morning.

Overblown Claptrap

Indistinct images from the other side of the world: Finally making it big in Japan. Years of touring, promoting, sweating, sitting at home and puzzling over the future and how best to get there have paid off. We still appear to be in the same place despite determined attempts to travel, but that is quite acceptable.

Dram

Having an imaginary victory dram for Biden:  In other news Aberdeen and Ayrshire hotelier loses election, turns out nobody really liked him much, nor his manner, nor his hotels. Oh well, I'm sure he'll find other things to do.

For the record I'm rather fond of this little extract: Tommy Vietor, a former Obama press aide, responded to Johnson’s congratulatory tweet last night by calling him a “shapeshifting creep”, adding: “We will never forget your racist comments about Obama and slavish devotion to Trump.”

Crown etc.

Saw a preview episode of the new season of "The Crown" the other evening. OK mostly but I thought that Princess Diana's character wasn't really well developed or convincing. Cracking costumes though.

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.