Voting Today?

 

I hope you're happy. We're voting today, a nation shuffling along, pens in hand, masked and confused, oppressed under a number of contradictory delusions and bored with unreadable pamphlets. The recycling is collected today, eerily, a bumper haul for the industry as the unread rubbish slips away. 

I'll be holding my nose as I tick the pale boxes in this almost meaningless democratic exercise. My sense of "this time we're really fucked" is registering at about 11. I say that because whoever wins it's the same old ... we've fallen into the hands of professional politicians who view themselves as being right ... all the time. Mistakes, they've made a few and on a regular basis but whatever transpires there will be no reckoning or retribution and no resignations. And they also reserve the right to kick unpopular political footballs into the long grass.

"It's an easy gravy train that's running and when you make the rules and can interpret those rules as you like, it's all gone for a ball of chalk. But we'll blame the pandemic, Westminster, Channel 4, Brexit, fishermen but never ourselves because "we" it seems cannot be wrong. We're all things now; queasy green, tolerant, transparent and listening. All fine messages to tweet as bullet points, but we're not going to take much notice of your petty grumbles or aspirations of social mobility and don't even mention the Alba word, however you pronounce it."

"We're the only Holyrood mafia now, we own the place, all colours welcome in the canteen clique, we'll stick together, it's our careers and elevated status that are stake you know.  Debating is just a farce and a media show, don't expect anything serious, it's not our style. You should see how well we all get on at the Christmas party. Oh and we've done a few good deals, it's either the UN, a UNICEF post, the Lords or a nice speaking tour of US universities once you're fed up with the daily struggle."

Everything else? Well that was just a dream.

Menu to Mars

Going full on accidental Alan Partridge with this one; a TV cookery show pitch with a cruel twist. Celebrity chefs/cooks have to design a daily menu that will sustain life and maintain health on a journey from Earth to Mars (however long that takes but I imagine six months). The meals must contain all the essentials needed to survive and thrive but the menu must be repeated every day during the flight, there is no variation. 

The twist is that, subject to the judgement of nutritional experts the winning chef must then survive on a Martian probe simulator eating only what was created for the daily menu. They are sealed into the simulator for six months with other err... well chosen victims (fellow celebs) in a Big Brother/Gilbert and George style space flight where the food choices are repeated every day. All filmed live etc. At the end the judges decide if the participants remained healthy as a result of the diet. Prize? Say a million pounds. Any takers? 

Future series will of course feature an actual flight to Mars, post 2030 onwards.

What Use Is That To Anyone?

Rather good song and rather good lockdown style video to go with it (as is the custom) from some Edinburgh based friends. They're so busy and creative with their big city EH postcodes while we're just looking at the moon in puddles and trying not to burn our fingers on the fake gourmet macaroni cheese we're munching whilst Netflix buffers. Anyway, what use is that to anyone?

A series of unfortunate events

 

Everything was going quite swimmingly; Canadian and Mexican breakfasts, David Crosby's sloop turned up in the marina (anchored for a day), we lost ourselves in a B&Q maze and a Colin the Caterpillar cake was happily scoffed. Then the curse of the ubiquitous raisin (or sultana) struck and an unexpected emergency occurred. In the end it was a "phew, glad that worked out" kind of incident. 

As a means of relaxing we changed the habits of a lifetime and decided to watch a live (?), final episode of Line of Duty rather than just catch up via a 60 second segment on Gogglebox. Is this how TV should actually be watched these days? I'm not sure but as for BBC drama, it all seems to be hastily written and focused on a series of unfortunate events.

Last of the good girls

 

Actually these are the good boys but I just wanted to use that title in a blog post (also a good song title that needs to be used). I quite like this photo anyway. I'll think of some relevant content and add it in at some future content adding and editing opportunity. Maybe tomorrow, maybe not. Nobody reads blogs so why not just park things in them?

Some far away field

 

Not the usual blurry Luftwaffe view of pieces of industrial Scotland often seen on these and similar pages, this is a little more recent and from less of a lofty altitude. For reference the tree in the centre just at the road junction marks the edge of what is now our front garden. The retaining dyke running from there down to the left is our southern garden wall nowadays. Our house would be in the middle - in a vague area of swampy wasteland.  Our swampy thoughts remain as a tribute.

A lot has changed as time rolled by but since we followed the carefully constructed clues in the treasure hunt, allowing for demolitions and the beheading of the golden rabbit and the lead whale meltdown we are now home. We eventually found the missing pieces and inherited the lost kingdom of pinkish blocks and unmarked burial mounds. There are ghosts of course but we make our peace with them on a daily basis by offering the smoky bread and pale whisky to whatever ancient god will bother to listen. One tip: never wail at your demons, it simply makes them stronger.

Horrible Grapes

Yesterday I was horrible to Waitrose so just to maintain a balanced output I'd like to say these grapes that I bought from Tesco are about the worst I've ever tasted. Seedless and with a strange taste from both the red and green. Bad medicine in the guise of fresh fruit. Avoid these at all costs - £2 a punnet. 

Supermarket fruit is of course notorious for being tasteless and having a short life span (because it's been factory farmed out of any sensible season and flown here in the hold of some cargo jet). Yet we persist in buying the stuff, expecting the best and not getting it. 

Stupidity is pretty much defined as doing the same thing over and over, hoping for a different result. Retailers don't really care as long as there's a "range". We didn't ask for robot tills, artisan bread counters and unseasonal produce but we got them. Oh, and much as I like Aldi, their fruit isn't up to much either.

If it's still too long let me know

We can all feel the pain of the poor copywriter here, it's better to be looked over than overlooked. How many marketing eyes checked this before it was issued? I suppose you could be crude and add "as the Bishop of Bath and Wells said to the actress" in a very old school, jokey way. 

Having said that vegan fish fingers made from breaded tofu infused with seaweed flakes do not really belong in a world that I want to live in. Nobody ever said "I could murder a vegan fish finger right now". Sometimes choice and privilege go too far.

Frankly I've always thought Waitrose was a wee bit shit, their store in Morningside Edinburgh is a tatty, pokey mess filled with overpriced products and shuffling, confused people like me (pensioners) hoping for a free coffee, but that's just my somewhat jaded opinion.

Angry Traveler Blues

Not going anywhere too far these days, 

Doing the doings and mending my ways

No summer suntan and no winter warmth
Don't want to buy a minivan or travel up north

(No point in moaning when you're mowing the lawn).

Used to be an angry traveler, annoyed by delayed flights

Frightened by the crowds and blinded by neon lights
Hot dogs, black coffee, Coca-Cola and beer
Traveler's fare, recycled air and more traveler's fear.

Tired out, frustrated, stood still in endless queues

All in the past, there's no more traveler's blues
A big thanks to Covid for stompin' on my shoes 

I got the wayfairin', tumbledown, traveler blues.

Oh yeah!

eBay Channel

 

Hi, you can purchase this great colourful sonic beast on my eBay Channel right now for anything around £99,999; maybe slightly less or make some very  decent offer and in so doing give me financial palpitations. Stupid bids and slightly intimidating messages are also welcome but only up to a point. 

I can assure you that this block of wood has never belonged to any of the guitar greats, been played by them or even been in the same room as them, nor have any of them set fire to it or rolled a joint on the back of it or sniffed up any Charlie from the scratch plate through a milk shake straw.  It seems those days are long gone but go on and smash that like button anyway.

Perhaps it's too boring for you, so I could, for a small fee, forge a celeb autograph and scrawl some daft message onto the front. Otherwise it's a fine and tuneful instrument in the hands of a fine and tuneful player, non-players will struggle however. We always negotiate with prospective buyers in a very civilized manner despite the reservations we may have about what we know about you and your life choices and motivations. Over to you.

However as a mere mortal you can buy what you like but you can never own Excalibur:

The Dig

 

A very  interesting archaeological discovery was made today in the ancient foundations of the chicken coop that once stood proud against the ravages of time at the bottom of our medieval garden. An early 21st century craft beer bottle was found whole and embedded, not in amber as is customary with this sort of find but in a mysterious substance that I suspect to be incorrectly mixed Blue Circle cement/concrete. 

The bottle's original contents were gone however and it was filled only with a murky brown liquid that may well be muddy water. We await the results of the chemical analysis and the carbon dating process. The humans that placed this object there are now long gone and there are few remaining traces of their clearly primitive civilization, their artifacts and dark religious practices. 

All we can do is gaze in wonder at the little that remains of a baffling lifestyle and hope that other forms of historical evidence or clues pointing to whatever purpose they may have had in their bizarre lives will be discovered as the excavations continue. Scottish history remains a baffling conundrum of conflicting fact, fiction and fabrication. Were they the good guys or the bad guys in the warped weave of the colonial tweed, or just hapless victims? If only a reputable intellect like Neil Oliver could shed some light on historical events with a well photographed but vacuous TV show.

I've already been in contact with the Discovery Channel and I can say (in the strictest confidence) that the offers are pouring in from museums and institutions all across the globe for this priceless and culturally significant object. You just never know what treasures are hidden there, maybe only a few inches below your tired and itchy feet as you mow the battered lawn.

River

 Is it my maker?

Am I the breaker?

Has it come too soon?

Am I to follow?

Where life seems hallowed

By some impending doom

It makes me ache right now

That the lover of life

Gets lost somehow

‘Cos his colour fade in the rain

He goes down to the river again

To find to be

An opening to the sea

So that can’t be that hard

If he wants to see

The river

Some having trouble

When life at the double

Ought to be immune

Some say it’s hazy

Others feel lazy

Some don’t know what to do

It never breaks somehow

That the pattern of life is a loving vow

Every man has got to ordain

Every soul that comes in from the rain

And once the sea can find someone

Open up and tell its wildest dreams

To one that seen all before

That’s why you can’t see through my floor that’s a part

On the river

Taking time I rowed on with her

There’s a star in the air never be returning to

Find what else that heart is yearning for

But you want to take

Seems a good life can see

Though it describes the more I can see the point

Can’t people see that part of what can be?

Oh see in a river.

"River" Terry Reid - 1973 - Forgotten Lyrics.

Unrelated Imagery

For the often misunderstood far east markets - a movie poster promoting Easy Rider. The supreme martyrdom movie of a lost (or at least pretty confused) generation.

 

From our house it is impossible to see the Bass Rock but we seldom doubt it's existence. These are actual facts.

Sublime.

Ridiculous (but completely correct).

Technology makes life easier

It certainly does and a big shout out and round of applause for the brave explorers and academics who push out against the boundaries - from time to time. 

These are the entry options you're given when you try to log into the "Harvard & Princeton Covid Vaccine Choices" websites. After this pandemic is over clearly only the elite, the gifted and few well connected cheats will survive. There's going to be real trouble getting run of the mill things done though; having rubbish removed, growing food and getting sanitation and fresh water running. A zombie style movie script that writes itself.

Living for the death of the SUV

I like cars, I like car design, I like practicality and imaginative use of space, I like features, I like engines, I like the idea of electric vehicles, I'm less sure of their usefulness, I have doubts about our direction of travel, I also think I've an open mind. I'm more an eventual adopter than an early adopter, I'll admit that much.

However I have come to be bored with the focus group school of design of Sports and Utility Vehicles; SUVs. It's become that simple. They are everywhere, every manufacturer has a series of them in various contrived sizes. All with slim and beady eyes, full of marketed as practical but useless features, round and cynical facial expressions, odd interior spaces and cubby holes (where the spare tyre used to be), riding high and mighty, tailgates that open in numerous ways, 4WD options nobody needs and all too big and awkward for our economy sized parking bays, roads and driveways and worst of all ... silly names. 

So they don't fit the world they live in and pound for pound and inch by inch they offer no more space (interior volume) or value than the saloons, hatches and estate cars they've now pummeled into obsolescence, those are the facts (see this Twitter thread). We all know how Mars Bars have shrunk over time, this is the same concept. They are fashionable but not realistic - most of the time. New ideas and designs, bringing back the cars that people actually want, are welcome. I suppose, and it's a bit of a cliche, my generation were promised jet packs and instead we got the Nissan Duke and the Renault Kadjar with touch screens replacing switches. Probably reasonable enough but ...

In conclusion, here's a random and insipid SUV design for you to enjoy in all it's mediocrity. It could have come from any one of the major manufacturers. Unique and inspiring as a medium priced flat screen TV, washing machine or a tumble dryer. I know car sales have crashed due to Covid but I suspect there's maybe more to it. Don't get me started on EV design either.

So can your SUV do this? Back in the days of proper cars...

And another other thing

As somebody who remembers carbon paper and Banda machines I can only say that the entire "printing" industry for home and office computers is built upon the biggest conspiracy and criminal fraud in modern history. I've never known a printer that wasn't an expensive  piece of shit destined to let you down when you need it most. Never mind the enormous con job that allows stupid little ink cartridges to be worth more than solid gold or crack cocaine. In 40 years little has improved. 

Only the other day (as part of a freelance project I'm working on) the pack of PDF instructions was conveniently emailed rather than printed and posted to me. There's one print job that wont ever be happening on my patch. I suppose small pieces of some useful planet are being saved ...

I probably have to type out a message like this every few years just to clear the grit and smog from my soul, like some fugged up diesel particulate filter, so I'm not going to apologize.

Food for thought

Not quite thought of this issue in this way before. Good graphic whoever came up with it, whatever prepackaged bundle of truth and lies you might choose to believe.

Quote of the week, "like a spaniel wandering into a night club, I've no idea what's going on but I find it all very exciting." Something nobody would ever say about Scottish politics these days ... so just hold your nose as you vote. Warning. Dull election comprising of about 98% dull politicians coming up ... then again perhaps we need dull politicians?

The Age of the Nose Bleed

 It's come to that awkward point on my journey into happily aging (from the River Forth to the River Styx) where nosebleeds seem to happen now and then. There's no rhyme or reason, no obvious stress, no anxiety or physical explanation other than wear and tear and too much sniffing and breathing. "As breathing is my life, to stop I dare not dare", (as a wise man once said).

So I don't intend to be stuck with this problem, no, I'm calling in an expert, a Doctor no less. We'll have a clinical and chilly Zoom consultation. I'll get a sweet seven minutes of the Doctor's time and I'll pack that time with all the virtual nasty nasal evidence I've carefully gathered, except for the cotton buds I burned on the bonfire. I hope it gets me somewhere, even if it's just to the back of the queue. Then, as darkness descends, I'll dive into the mysterious, experimental corridors of the Ear, Nose and Throat Wing. "Next!"

There's always an enterprising engineering answer out there for a temporary fix when you're suffering a physical inconvenience i.e. Tena pants. Such devices are never pretty, only functional and of course Amazon get them to you faster than the fire brigade. Now it's a new routine when I step out on a sunny day in my brilliant white T shirt: phone, wallet, keys and a handy man-sized pack of RhinoPinch, check! For safety, confidence; man-sized and for your own smoking pleasure. Takes me back.

Lovely Eggs

Posh and lovely eggs from the Cotswolds, almost too lovely to crack open and eat. It's not going to be easy but it will have to be done, just not quite now, they still need some looking after, some respect. They've traveled a long way to be here. Modern logistics and their packing and distribution methods are remarkable and often unappreciated by people like me, in what are commonly known as the chattering and blethering classes. 

Please note: sorry for any confusion if you happened to have googled the band "Lovely Eggs" and arrived on this page, (the Lovely Eggs are a two piece lo-fi psychedelic punk rock band from Lancaster, England. They consist of married couple Holly Ross and David Blackwell. Ross was formerly the lead singer and guitarist in the all-female band Angelica). You can find out all about them here.

Still Life Saturday