Empty Shelves?

There are some empty grocery shelves out there, mostly missing once common or basic things. Perhaps there is a silent panic on. Thankfully I stumbled upon a shelf full of this stuff. If there is a conspiracy theory over us being starved out via a lack of tinned fish, fresh raspberries and paper towels then perhaps an unexpected discovery like this redresses some of the balance. Sorry about the sardines.

It doesn't mean that Brexit shortages aren't real and that the corrupt UK regime isn't shit and incompetent or that there is a personal god looking after the likes of me. No. It just means that some days a little ray of sunshine gets through the media's hypocritical and sustained gloomfest and lights up my day. In the meantime in the underground we continue to quietly resist (?) and maintain our flexible strategies.

Evolution of a kind

Autumn 2021: We've now evolved to be pretty good at mixing and making coffee and dispensing the hot liquid in streets and towns. The illustrious vendors also charge a fairly high price for it. We have however become shit at about everything else. The £5 artisan loaf is not so far away, indeed it may already have arrived but is outside of my limited orbit.

Aside from all that piffle I'm enjoying playing deep blue figures of eight in the key of noodles with this upcycled rig whilst alone in an empty house. My elemental "quack" tone on the neck pickup is the talk of the disco.

Here's a non-portable hand piano I made earlier:

Islands in the Stream

Fife Fix: The misty might of Inchkeith, fortified and for the most part forgotten, an island in the Firth of Forth as seen from Burntisland. The two sharp, dark reef tops to the east are unknown (by me) and unmarked on the map but clearly there. Shipping hazards you'd want to avoid if afloat. Just another small piece of local geography and helpful orientation. It's always nice if you can understand where you are and what you are close to.

If you're in the area you can get a nice lunch and some good coffee here.

Daily Devotions

"Every morning I read a few inspiring paragraphs from this and then I quietly go about my normal business of gently but firmly undermining and slowly dominating their so called civilized world. I have a simple strategy, I allow them to destroy themselves with their duplicity and greed, then I patiently await the sight of their putrid dead bodies floating by on the grey river's current. I may well cultivate my time into finding the funk in every situation. It also occurs to me most mornings that I am but a mere mortal. A simple but strangely satisfying fact that so far I am unable to change."

Life Experience

 

A quick observation: actually this is one of those bold statements that is both easy to say and decide that you will adhere to but is in actual fact very difficult to adhere to, in the real world. 

but

There's some truth within the content. Common life experiences tell us so.

Not quite sure if I approve of the brazen lack of capitalization and punctuation in that message either. Somebody trying to make a point I suppose and being economical with ink.

Also: Clipping and trimming the fur of a cat is a bit like trying to give a drunk Wookie a haircut. There will be blood.😕

The X Bus

Now a word or two from our resident motoring correspondent: Welcome to the near future. Vehicles are now simply household electrical appliances on the move. Charge them up and off they go. Dispose of them in an appropriate way when their working life is over. Same as it ever was, you may say.

By way of better news, in 2023 we may have the modular X Bus EV from Germany to drive around in. A basic shape that can be a van, a pickup, a camper or a passenger vehicle. It's not too big either but it's light, compact and adaptable. I want one now. Fuck your smooth and aerodynamic Teslas.

Lost Ghost

Happier times.

To whom it make concern. One of our ghosts has recently gone missing from our property. He answers to the name "Sir Patrick Spence" and has not been seen/encountered since midnight on Sept 1st. He's 5' 6", pale, indistinct, icy cold and speaks (mostly low groans but occasionally slipping into French) with a medieval broad Scottish accent. We are quite concerned for his welfare and general greyness. I'm afraid that he's not been chipped either, having declined to take part in the process due to it being, in his opinion, "the work of the very Devil himself".

Patrick will be somewhat baffled by wherever he currently finds himself and may appear confused and possibly slightly aggressive. Usually a few calming verses of holy scripture will settle him down accompanied some crushed fresh garlic, a dram or two of malt whisky and sprigs of StJohn's Wort, should you have any handy. Don't mess him about with exorcisms or holy water either, that seldom ends well. Feel free to redirect him in our direction simply by pointing Eastwards and telling him he needs to follow the "path of salvation" and not the spiral path of purgatory. 

The other household ghosts are all very worried about him as he is the captain of their Scrabble team (currently deservedly residing at the top of the local league) so things are a trifle fraught at the moment. Many thanks.

Metallica Bucketlist

It was all a crazy dream: "I don't have such a thing. I did not wish for it and it doesn't exist other than in some imaginary place - but I do like a bit of Metallica now and then. I wont be getting a tattoo or a T shirt either."  

Do you know that feeling you get when you awaken from a vivid dream and the memory of that dream triggers forgotten memories of other dreams that exist in a similar style or with similar themes and so there can be layers of dream experiences that you can suddenly recall because that first dream has triggered those other dream memories? Plus once recalled they seem quite intense and much more of the dream detail is suddenly apparent. I guess dreams never actually die, in any sense. They lead lives separate from their hosts or more likely "viewers". I should add that I've never experienced any of this as far as I can tell but how far can I tell?

Close to putting the heating on

The tiny control screen for the bathroom's underfloor heating, now in English having been translated from it's default Chinese - I actually read and followed the instructions. It's mostly understandable now though some mysteries remain. The Chinese App that goes with it has been rejected strangely enough by my Chinese phone: incompatible, perhaps even dangerous it said. Having said all that the floor is pleasantly warm.

Lost somewhere from the wilder world in bad translation: Freedom to speak inoffensively is not a freedom at all but a constraint. With any movement for radical change comes the certainty some people happy with the status quo will be outraged, so there is no such thing as free speech. All speech carries responsibilities. 'Free' speech does not mean official denunciation, but it does mean tolerating criticism, firm, passionate or otherwise - and on the other side, strangely enough, listening.

Daily Unicorn

I spotted this rather battered old unicorn in a library garden yesterday. I presume it's one of the Scottish varieties of unicorn, a heraldic trope driven down from the glens. Until recently I hadn't properly noticed the extent to which unicorns were part of Scottish heraldry. They are all over the place in stone, jewelry, seals and paintings. A fantasy animal for a fantasy country I suppose. I've been blind.

Fortunately we're not the only country to be as silly and screwed up as this. Many others (bigger, greater) have gone down a similar path, along with using dragons, griffins, giant worms and so on. What better a device than to have a mystical and non-existent animal to represent you as your beloved country's emblem? 

The unicorn also seems to be mentioned, in poor translations of the Bible and Quran, giving it some sort of religious significance and credibility. Why not just go for Micky Mouse or Smaug for a more contemporary update ?  I like history but one of things you quickly learn from it is that very many of the decision makers in the past were pretty batty or (to their credit) they may just had a strong sense of fun and irony and they've fooled us all.

P.S. Dear USA, are eagles real or mythical?

Internet Winners

I thought I saw this a few weeks ago on Twitter ... or did I?

Monday morning, the gas boiler is behaving badly. Roll on Tuesday.

When cat food upsets the cat.

"Scraping the bottom of the windows" was never a proper expression.

I hear the voices at the bus stop but cannot understand a word.

The weather has a mind of it's own, unlike most people. 

Prayer for the Indigenous Scots

Bringing down the lies of the corrupt monarchy system and the tyranny of colonial rule, one disfigured statue* at a time, according to the whispered voices of the ancient Inuit Scots tribes who are guiding our actions via spirit guides: 

Some say the Scots did pretty well out of the ruthlessness, cruelty and greed of the British Empire at it's height - well a few certainly did. Schools, concert halls, libraries and hospitals were built. Also plantations, palaces and prisons, and a few stray gunboats. There were new universities for the few, there were careers in the military, there was transportation and immigration to the colonies, token postings, all opportunities of a kind. The gallows being another option.

Bit by bit the highlands were cleared, the clans broken up, the state's religions and controls imposed on us, political voices were snuffed out, our culture and language was mocked and diluted and we just got on with accepting it. We allowed it all to happen and we all learned that we had to speak "properly", up to a point.

We became an industrial powerhouse, dark satanic shipyards, mills and mines. We manned up for the armed forces, we doffed our caps to the top hats of the establishment, we almost believed in the mantra of "God somehow saving the Kings and Queens" while stuck in abject poverty and blissful ignorance. We fought in Empirical wars so that other people could make fortunes whilst sipping gin in Singapore. There were lies, back stabbings, puritanical sexual censorship and weapons of mass indifference. 

They stole from us and the rest of the "Commonwealth" spreading the curse of a toxic Christianity mixed with a blessed ethnic cleansing, a bad education, fake economic dependency and real exploitation. They continue to deny that it ever happened that way (the annual GERS fiasco as an example). Nothing has changed. 

It's still the elite, the royalists and the Bullingdon Club and their like that rule and oppress, they have the power and the privilege and the access. Don't kid yourself as to how they regard you, your family and everything you have or do either. It's all considered to be available to them for an given purpose and ultimately expendable. They'd rather shag a dead pig's head than allow you the head-space to grow, govern and make your own mistakes. Simple.

By the way you don't have to be born Scots to be Scottish, it's more of a state of mind thing. You can easily self identify (as is becoming the custom these days) into the obscure Alba tribe of your choosing once you've completed a mildly painful ritual. More of a cerebral challenge than finding a uniform and a flag, you might say.

Also don't expect much in the way of assistance or clarity from the SNP, it's all too complicated and there are careers to build and lots of time to waste. There's too much going on right in the political fog of stupidity but there's bound to be a handy, glossy leaflet to explain the policies that are planned as well as a few cartoon YouTube ads. (As Sean Lock once said "at what point does a leaflet become a pamphlet?). 

I don't despair at all, I just blog this stuff instead.

*Image courtesy of Canada.

Gravy Lover

It's true. Both of our cats love gravy. They also have cute little faces like the cartoon cat here, no the same long tongue though. They are enjoying this food but will go off it in a few days and turn their noses up at it. That's cats.

XXXX

Naturally I was tempted to call this piece "The Empress Helena and her search for the True Cross". It's a title I've stolen and used a few times with, as expected, little success. So much for that. Previous examples now live on as landfill. Matter cannot be destroyed, just rearranged and hidden.

I'd also like to say that it came to me in a dream but I've never been any good at recalling dreams, probably something to do with not being able to remember quite what I did yesterday or even "at the weekend". So it is then that these random items appear with no clear meaning or context, like space junk or asteroids falling from a purple night time sky without any traceable path back to their distant origin. Unrelated accidents and fluff piled up in a corner. Harmless; that is until a tiny, red hot asteroid lands on your head.

Substantial Mushroom

As we edge ever closer to self sufficiency driven by self imposed supply chain issues, the possibility of growing our own food arises. Something I've always been reluctant to contemplate despite all the Blue Peter style "dig for victory" TV things and articles. Then I discovered this mushroom at the bottom of my garden, growing all by itself. An unplanned event. It's not growing now though, as I pulled it up and I've no idea if it's a useful drug or is safely edible, or both. I'm taking my time and reflecting upon it before any further action*. The paving brick is for scale.

*Binned it.

Get Yer Ya-Ya's Out!

RIP Charlie Watts, the coolest Rolling Stone and by far the best musician in the band (next best being Mick Taylor and next, next best being Brian Jones). As someone famous said, "this may be a watershed moment for my generation" ... not quite sure what that means but it sounds thoughtful and wise.

Garden

I used to think that "Garden" was a good band name, probably as a result of over exposure to the Woodstock vibe etc. Pushing in on the wistful hippie buttons. There were a few dreary "garden" bands out there, now all best forgotten. I prefer real gardens and so I'm walking amongst the various blooms and growths and fruits still bursting out as the summer fades away. I can't take much credit for it either, I mainly cut grass and pull out things that have been clearly identified as weeds by those with greater knowledge. 

I still have a shallow sense of impending doom that I can't quite explain, a lifelong problem (or a weird asset perhaps). Maybe the garden brings it on but also removes the sharper edges as bees buzz, colours emerge and life springs up optimistically against the odds. In this Eden I am neither Adam the baffled newcomer or God the constructor, I'm more of a ghostly angel labourer, following vague instructions but with a funny idea that any day now the fall of man and various other tragedies are about to take place.

In the meantime I'm simply enjoying the garden. 

The Art of Food Snapping

Looking terrible: Some/most home cooked foods just don't photograph well for me, this is a good example. Minced beef, onions, peppers, chorizo, tomatoes, puree and various random herbs and seasoning. Nothing weird. Seems that capturing food in a photo and making it look attractive, even edible,  is a bit of an art. Respect to those who do it well. This real life example will be fine with rice or pasta I guess, eventually.

Nobody I Know

 

Ignore what's above.

Apropos nothing: I may have come to point (and this point may be the rock bottom) where when I look at or hear from or read about any of the major political parties in Scotland* I do detect the nasty smell of rats somewhere deep within my nostrils. Is this just age induced, part of normal life experience or a simple fatigue brought on by over exposure to weasel words, ignorance, avoidance of truth and barefaced lies? I've no clear idea.

*Also applies south of the border.

Self Medicating

The mid-August Lurgy has struck me down this week. Having said that I'm still a high functioning vacuum cleaning expert and a regular operator of the wonky tumble drier. Things could be a lot worse though; I have now failed a third Covid test, I'm continuing on in the dull tradition of failing O Level Maths in 1970 and a few driving and intelligence tests along the way. I'm clearly in a muddy rut of eternal looping. Like the rest of the world I thought I might have the wee Covid bug but it's just regular man-flu so no heroic credit can be claimed. 

My strategy has been to fight it with an extreme diet of anchovies and Beecham's Powders, as your dead granny, who you always suspected was a witch, might have done. This salty drug and oily protein combination administered via sour dough toast isn't really making any difference but I still remain a fan of alternative medicines and lunch breaks. 

I also have a suspected "yellow tongue" infection. This means I can only use words that are close to the middle of the colour spectrum so am relying upon the goodness of robot tills and elaborate Italian style arm and hand gestures when out and about in the real world. As a result I've deliberately spent most of the week in my own imaginary world but you'd never be able to tell any difference.

As I write this drivel the cat has mistaken me for a bed and my laptop keyboard for a piano in a feline speakeasy where he thinks he has been hired to entertain the other hep-cats and pussies. This intolerable situation makes typing impossible ...