A place to park those random thoughts, stolen images, hidden conversations and incoherent babble from beyond the wall of sleep. Odd bits of music and so-called worldly wisdom may creep in from time to time. Don't expect too much and you won't feel let down.
Looking out the window (I was hearing voices as usual, strange spectral chants and sunny harmonies) I noticed this dog, curled up and sleeping in the sun, lying in the car park next door on the warm asphalt. Not a care in the world, or so I like to imagine.
Keep checking in for more content like this; sights, situations and opinions of little use or consequence.
One of the strangest comics I've seen with a very well thought out (?) origin story that rivals anything DC or Marvel could ever have come up with: [from the text above] "From the moment Mr Brown had eaten a magic pill given him by a gipsy he turned into a walrus. He had kept his secret but it seemed now that it was bound to be discovered." In the first picture he has a bit of Homer Simpson look about him ... it's probably all a well worked hoax.
Next up a surreal school dinner drama that's not really for children: "The Rich Red Revenge of the Rhubarb Pie".
Just parking this "spur of the moment" piece here in case I decide some day to reflect upon it further:
If anyone is in any doubt that the BBC in Scotia are nothing more than a state mouthpiece for tone deaf propaganda and divisive rhetoric here's a lovely piece of Radio Scotland nonsense some house-hack came up with yesterday.
Everyone in England is "merrily" drinking and shopping like the fucking Kardashians, meanwhile we're living in muddy holes in the ground, sucking on icy rags and roasting rats on a bonfire of old IKEA pallets. Welcome to Scotland. Wait for your turn and your colonial masters will deal with you when they're good and ready.
The truth is we're all merrily drinking almond milk quietly at home.
It's not Friday anymore: 48 hours and more after announcing the death of Prince Philip, the death of Prince Philip seems to be being reported continuously on line as if via some kind of weird news looping system. Somewhere in this an unhealthy thought occurs whereby this is some kind of horror plot where he dies, then is revived, dies again and so on. Real deaths in the real world are not reported this way. Whoever you are please take your clumsy foot off the pedal and stop this madness (as if all the other mad things we are having to put up with at the moment aren't mad enough).
Turns out cats aren't too bothered about our evening time streaming habits on TV. A warm rug and sunlight is all they need. We've still a few episodes of Call My Agent! to watch (actually about a dozen, there are only 6 episodes in a season). We may survive and thrive on this cultural diet but we'll never learn French properly.
It was cold but clear today and the gardening was going quite well until I tried to dig up a clump of ancient fuchsias that are getting in the way and are slightly out of control. They've been in the ground for a while and stubbornly refuse to move. If left alone they will take over as is nature's way. I gave up on the job once I'd broken the garden fork. Chinese steel or recycled Ford Fiestas? Perhaps as used on the Queensferry Crossing and UK's aircraft carriers?
Sorry, what I actually meant to say was box of logs.
In other news I hear that Edinburgh is now sadly without it's Duke. It stands Dukeless and bereft I imagine. No mean city. A mere shadow etc etc. I wonder who will step up and into this prime vacancy?
Meanwhile on Friday the BBC shows it's respect by disrespecting a few million licence fee payers, and there will be blanket coverage probably for the rest of the week too. This is neither healthy or balanced. Strange how they, by that I mean the establishment, assume that we must all feel the same way no matter what, they're afraid so they overplay their control. National mourning etc. All trouser legs to be set to half mast. If you want to count me ... count me out.
Cat Diary: Rare and unusual photo of our two cats actually sitting together - peacefully. They remained in this position for a while just chillin'. Odd to see the relative difference in their sizes, Clint has a huge head compared to his mum and is obviously heavier, though not as heavy as he once was. She's tiny in comparison but far more energetic and active, but they are both well past middle age now so warm spaces to relax are more important than dark places to hunt.
The future is a strange and unknown country and there are many views and opinions as to how it might look for us here in Alba-Land. So I've been flexing my spiritual muscles and peering forwards into the gloom by getting in contact with Mystic Mons Meg, just to see how the old cannon might be viewing things from the rarified heights of Edinburgh's fortified buildings society. The consultation was a bit one sided, perhaps the spirits weren't really moving smoothly in the pre-election climate. Unsurprisingly it was looking like a more or less a "wait and see" kind of non-verbal answer for me. That's the world of spirits for you.
The air and water were undisturbed and the fire was gently snuffed out by the chill of the north winds, but then from deep inside Meg's own rusty (unused in anger) barrel a small, still voice whispered; "You know the SNP don't really want an independent Scotland, they're quite comfortable riding along on their own wee gravy train." I nodded silently and walked off home, back down the deserted castle esplanade.
Then out of the blue (and the red) the postman unwittingly provided welcome kindling for the log burner wrapped up in some views and ideas for me to ponder. Nice to see some agreement between the reds and the blues as they tackle key issues; the common enemy and general disquiet (as understood by their lords, ladies and puppet masters in the fair city of London).
Nothing personal, there's nothing wrong, nothing bad to say. I'm just not up for joining your club or clan. All the best with your social endeavors, motoring trips and so on. Cars, coffee and Instagram are fine by me, but I'm possibly the wrong age and don't fit the demographic. My clothes and hair style might look out of place. You wouldn't like me much either. I can be a little awkward over things, but not really.
I often (actually not very often) wonder if this might be the story of my life ... or is it simply a story line that I'm conveniently telling myself as some entertaining piece of fiction? Or am I just on some immature superficial journey of self discovery, an internal and voluntary meander with no final destination? Yeah, blogging's such a grown up pastime.
Cat's are fussy buggers. Our two have lost their taste for the posh cat foods, marketed with sophisticated human sensibilities in mind but designed for the feline animal appetites. Now we're onto Asda Tiger meaty chunks in rich gravy, the Aldi equivalent is equally prized but harder to come by (Aldi's inventory balance being a lot more volatile).
The gourmet sachets and tubs have experienced the unclipped claws of customer betrayal and are now sniffed and ignored, the cat's just want some basic chewy meat from unknown sources and the fatty gravy. Those high end "recipes" with the stupid names and prime cuts no longer make it.
I'm fine with that but the cheaper cat food does stink, at both ends of the process and of course neither posh nor economy are as good as a succulent fresh vole, mouse or baby blue tit. Wash all cat food contaminated fingers diligently after use.
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Oh, here's a link to the banned study piece on Scottish Independence by Scott and Chapman, that's nothing much to do with cat food of course but I'm parking it here anyway, mainly because it seems that "they" don't want it to be read or shared ... or do they?
We're currently operating under kitchen duress and below our normal standards with a less than perfect gas oven that refuses to be regulated. It's old and broken. Everything ultimately burns up, the only two working settings being on and off. Like some solar giant spewing erratic streams of fire it's slowly dying and it's unpredictable. We've learned the hard way that gently heating things up as opposed to cooking them requires precise timing and calculation ... in other words it's impossible.
Having said that most items that emerge from the oven are pretty much edible, there's just that element of danger and uncertainty about how things will turn out. You need to remain very observant and alert during the process. The good news is that our new oven is on the way (via Singapore and the Suez Canal or somewhere), all subject to Covid sorting itself out and various other 2021 shaped imponderables.
We have decided against a new B&Q oven and the matching kitchen units for obvious reasons.
To sum up: I was out of doors then I went into a shop. Once inside I saw this beer on display and bought a couple of bottles. Then I returned to the outside world and gulped a few lung fulls of fresh air and then I went home (still quietly gulping air using my automatic breathing function). Eventually I drank some of the beer, as pictured. By this time I had removed my face mask. The bottles will be recycled.
On line people were asking me questions about coffee, mostly Nespresso, as if I cared. Posh tiny metallic pods of coffee that they like to pretend rich folks enjoy, apparently I should try them too. Not sure about that. It's a broken model in my opinion. It also requires some investment in a possibly corrupt coffee distribution infrastructure that I'm not ready for. How was your day?
I'm not sure what I was thinking, a fairly common experience for me. I'd been watching a YouTube snippet of Terry Reid performing at Glastonbury in 1971 and was also idly reading a little about his musical career, or his lack of a career you might say. A nearly man who seemed to miss out on one opportunity after another but is still going (?) strong somewhere in the music business, in quasi obscurity. He was always highly regarded by the press and his peers but lacked that magical edge the others had. Wrong places, wrong times, who knows? So despite a decent voice and a quirky kind of talent he remained a ghostly figure during rock's golden years when the rest were cashing in. Now he's old and grizzly, like me.
Then into my irregular Amazon feed came a daft offer; five of his albums in a box (I don't mind CDs either) for a fiver. I agreed to make the transaction. That was a few weeks ago. I'm now trying to decide at what point I give them a listen, perhaps on some future longish car journey when Radio 4 isn't interesting. I'm procrastinating.
History is repeating itself here, I'm sure back in 1971/72 I saw Terry on the Old Grey Whistle Test playing songs from "The River". Bob Harris was very enthusiastic about the album. I meant to give it a listen, but I never did. It all just floated away, for me and about a million others I guess. We moved on silently. Now I find myself in the same place. When will I ever get round to listening to Terry Reid? Deja Vu.
From a Scottish perspective: I'm quite enjoying the SNP's shock and outrage that "somebody else" should have the temerity to start up other political party focused on delivering an independent Scotland (whatever you may feel about that as a goal). The Alba Party and the ISP (there may be others) have a perfect right to exist and to mount any challenge over key issues they feel strongly about. (I'm ignoring personalities here).
That was how I thought democracy worked. It's certainly how disruption works. It's also a taster as to how the political landscape might look post independence. It's going to be pretty toxic out there.
Turns out not everyone thinks it's a good idea to have more choice or more voices puffing and spouting into the ether. I'm thinking that with all the finger wagging, high energy rhetoric and spitting taking place ... media types, journalists, spads and politicians need to remember that they really don't own anything. Not even their self generated hot air.
At best they might construct a policy, perhaps even deliver on a policy. At worst they are just mouth pieces and influencers; positively or negatively or quietly ignored. So don't believe a word - or at least very little of what's blethered, boasted and leaked until something tangible is produced.
For those with severe unicorn envy I can only say, please don't try to be something you cant quite be (to the point that you become a danger to yourself or slightly delusional ). In due course the universe will reward you. I'm not sure with what though.
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Also:
I realised properly today that most adults eventually become "Collies". They want to put disorder into some kind of order. It's a powerful urge. A group of youths moving down the street or across a car park seem to pose a threat. Why? Because they move randomly, they'll stop without warning. They chat, shout, behave in an unpredictable manner, maybe turn round suddenly and head off in the opposite direction, like sheep.
Adults see this disjointed and illogical behaviour as dangerous. It's not, it's just kids moving around, making noise, having fun, being; without having the burden of purpose and timing in what they do. Adults quickly forget this and need to create order. They (we) often judge kids too harshly, expecting them to act like adults when they are not.
I'd also add that kids are obviously not angels, things can escalate quickly in groups (adults are also prone erratic actions - big time) and get out of hand. The trick is to know when the tipping point occurs, then you might have turn on the sheep dog (Collie) instinct and authority .... or turn a blind eye.