Night Watch

Daily dose of historical popular culture and intrigue: Rembrandt's "The Night Watch". It was originally given the working title "The Dark Phallus" because of an accidentally hidden bit of detail. The painting was commissioned by the then Pope, somebody somebody, at who's request the title was changed a number of times before settling with "Midnight Pope Hunt" which, after a Papal Bull was sacrificed, was renamed with the title that we all know it by today. Rembrandt's ghost was very unhappy about the situation and remains so to this day. The watch featured in the piece is a primitive Rolex Submariner Oyster. When I say featured I mean it's on the wrist of the fourth soldier on the left. An early example of discrete product placement.

Paranoia

Original art from an unoriginal source created by someone half asleep with questionable skills and food hygiene standards: The trope that is omnipresence.

Just another all seeing eye, sent to remind you to get your shit properly together because clearly the universe is watching you*. The paranormal brings the peace of paranoia. Governments can do nothing and don't just blame the weather.

*Terms, conditions and ridiculous belief systems apply.

Don't Look out of the Ordinary

Well that would never do. The public get what the public want except that the public don't quite know what they want so we'll decide for them because we really know what's going on and what's best for them. Poor, misinformed little people. So sad. So easy. We're best placed to judge in these matters.

Who would have thought that a film that lampoons journalists and the media might be unpopular with journalists and the media?

Only Gig in Fife

Before the dawn of all-seeing social media and useful online-dancing chatter and banter, it seems that "other things" took place that no one in my small circle of idiots was aware of. Apparently Pink Floyd played at St Andrews University in February 1969, their only known visit to Fife and of course almost my actual birthplace. 

Trust the godfathers of space-rock's management to land them a gig at a posh uni instead of some actual regular venue in the Kingdom. A proper "bare stage" set up there too, Ummagumma style I'd say. No visuals, props or extravagant PA (all things that didn't even exist at the time north of Scunthorpe).

Wary of the Warriors

Never held to account, never wrong, never close to the truth. 😉

Keypads are included in the term keyboards. Bots are not.

Upgrade and enhance your Twitter or Facebook profile by simply replying to any post you deem to be worthy with the simple term "Shit Show". 

Engage with the sorry world of the Spammer and offer support and counseling so that they might see the errors of their ways.

Like and share. As you might do with your money or your food or perhaps your partner.

Caught in a Phishing scam? Not much you can really do about that. Try sticking with face to face contacts in future.

Please don't respond to Facebook quizzes and posts that ask for your opinion or how you'd try to solve a maths puzzle unless you really know the answer.

Too good a bargain to be true? Buy it and tell all your friends!

Click-bait can be an easy to access form of wholesome entertainment if you're bored.

All the actual "news" the BBC chooses not to report or broadcast is held in large vats located underneath the Houses of Parliament. Researchers will be able to access them from 2099 onwards.

Click "Shop Now" on Instagram even if you have no intention of shopping.

English or American English spell check?

Don't forget to enter all those "free" prize draw competitions. You've nothing to lose.

An alert from the Daily Mirror.

Speaking generally I don't really like things. A milder, less specific  alternative is required.

Please insert code for a discount ... err.

Ask Google.

I've lost count of how many Tweets I've not seen.

Someone is typing ...

"For some reason Dominic Cummings always reminds me of the Apostle Paul. I imagine they've never been seen in the same room." This has never been said by anyone ever before .

The weather in your area ...

Released with free bugs.

Using on-line things for free and then complaining about the service.

And your location is?

Sound on. Watch till the end.

Outlaws of the Forth

The (bored looking) paparazzi descended on the town to capture the "Outlaw Looney Dook". The annual event, was managed and commercialized by Edinburgh Council and Underbelly until Covid leveled the playing field and banned the tourists. The "management" and £12.50 entrance fee all evaporated and we were back to the days when people just jumped in the Forth, mainly for charity or swift hangover cures. So some did indeed plunge in yesterday, about twenty brave souls, many in fancy dress. 

A small crowd observed as the giant lenses and wet feet of the eager paps took photos from every angle. However I decided to capture the rail bridge vista, the light was good in the peculiar warm air. In the end there certainly were a lot less than 500 people spectating so I doubt criminal proceedings will follow.  As for UB and ECC, they can get to fuck with their crass exploitation of dumb-ass local fun. 

Some of the Pap's photos are slowly surfacing in the media, the warm weather warning and what that might mean remains a down played aspect. Let's not let reality spoil the fun. Yahoo!

Midwestern Night's Dream (Live 1977)

Pat Metheny Group (Live in a year called 1977 for some reason). 

Proper guitar noodle-chill.

New Years Day somewhere. Take it easy. 2022.

31st December

"So slow, the time goes so slow."

An incomplete review of 2021: Looking back over the past twelve months isn't easy. I'll not bother with meaningless lists.  Aside from family joys and accounts of wonderful people getting on with life amid all kinds of adversity there's been a seriously sinister side to 2021 we've all experienced. As far as I'm concerned it's been a dangerous year that made my head and many other people's heads hurt. I hope 2022 will be safer and better. 

Maybe the BBC news service will invest in a well informed, sensible, unbiased and honest editorial team, just for a change. That might be a start.

Blame it on the Dan

Despite everything that has happened in the world (?) and in music I never seem to tire of or get past the music and lyrics of Steely Dan. Over the years I've gotten bored, forgotten or abandoned numerous bands and artists. OK sometimes random tunes return to my conscious mind in the shower or driving maybe but, like some stubborn lodger or personality trait, the Dan never quite leave. 

Those pernicious and preposterous tunes and arrangements, the luxury chords, the players and the legendary sound quality - perhaps not so much their charm or good looks. They are a virus in the soul and there's always something new to pick up. If you don't agree your just not listening hard enough. Put in the time.

So: Why has this novel never been written or this film never made? "Godwhacker" developed from a blasphemous lyric Donald Fagen wrote a few days after his mother died of Alzheimer's. "It's about an elite squad of assassins whose sole assignment is to find a way into heaven and take out God", he later explained. "If the Deity actually existed, what sane person wouldn't consider this to be justifiable homicide? This dead project needs life breathed into it. Maybe retitled to"The God Murder"?

Fraud

If it looks like a Strat, feels like a Strat, sounds like a Strat and plays like a Strat it must be a bit of a ... fraud, skulduggery, misrepresentation, fake, trickery, duplicity, forgery, deception, dishonesty, counterfeit, sham ... and so on. Nothing is real but something might be almost real. Some parts might be genuine, some features, something maybe abstract, some ghostly existence, a spirit that might be real enough. The hidden soul of the beast.

What if this guitar self identifies as a 1964 Stratocaster? It's just possible it might. What rights does it have? What if I self identify as the owner of that actual guitar? I'll leave it there and firmly refuse to cash in or capitalize, ever.

Farty Owls

Me hiding (or at least tinkering with stuff behind the scenes) and keeping warm in our partly completed renovation project. I can see the town clock from here. The beer is being served at a satisfying room temperature.

Orbiting Spheres

A brief moment in time and space: Baubles, stellar dust and snowflakes in an erratic orbit around the head of a hypnotized cat that shows no interest whatsoever towards viewing the BBC adaption of "Around the World in Eighty Days" starring David Tennant (Detail).

Seven Candles

Seven is the perfect number: The seventh day of Christmas isn't where you think it might be. Perhaps there should be a search of some sort. Having said that it could be hidden between six and eight but who is counting out these things? In my experience numbers often hide from their close observers. It's not so easy to hide seven swans a swimming either.

Today is a day clearly without a seven.

God doesn't care what we do, how many candles we light, how many crooked words we whisper, how many swans swim. Idle dreams and blasphemy, it's all fine, it's water running down the back of a duck. Somewhere duck is on the festive menu but not so many swans.

Happy Christmas Time

 

"Not feeling very talkie today so off you fuck!"

Eternal Christmas

 

Long road out of Bethlehem: There will never be a year without a Christmas. The festival of economic complexity and cultural elasticity that cannot die. Religion and belief are unimportant because they never were important other than as a means to gain power to rule the calendar. We've been fooled on a grand scale and we're all caught up in the incessant flow of repeat performances. 

Not having Christmas is just unimaginable for people in this part of the world, or so I imagine. The timeline was doctored and hijacked for the convenient pagan stuff. We're conditioned and programmed (just a bit).  

Maybe that's the key to destroying civilization, simply ban Christmas. Have done with it etc. We'd be rudderless. Rewrite the code. Purge the whole thing into a black hole. We'll vanish in a puff of tinsel and the sharp lens click of a selfie on a phone. Just pop that fizz and see.

But what about the children, the antidote for Covid and the factories in China?

Anyone Can Wear a T Shirt

Sometimes it all comes back to this, other times it does not. In many ways this album (as above) is unlistenable, unless you have the time to listen. I'm somewhere in between. I never quite finished it despite my good intentions. That's the story of my life. Also I can usually see both sides in an argument albeit still disagreeing with one more than the other. 

Disagreement is freedom and, unless there is physical violence, it's also a basic sign of civilization. That's all all I have to say. Pacific Ocean Blue is still available on CD, possibly on other formats too. You must choose wisely.

Going up: Just thinking of the giggle fits that used to occur when hitting the first high on a decent joint - around 50 years ago by the way. Silly things that kicked it all off, "Piano Forte - Forty Pianos", "Liverpool - Poo Liver". For some reason these daft things still make me laugh.

P.S. Tim Horton's drive thru makes excellent coffee.

P.P.S. Best Tweet of yesterday: I'm not sure about making porridge with oat milk, it feels like boiling oats in the blood of their fallen comrades. @sarcasticapple.

Fake Log Review

He's still going strong, Mr Marmaduke Spartacus McTesco stands/lies down to guard this precious consignment of fake logs near the store entrance. It's all about enticing would be buyers with a well placed cat.  The logs will be sold at a knock off price to ensure that the good people of Fife have a cozy Christmas season along with reasonable fuel bills. (Aye, that'll be right).

By way of a fake log review; I've tried various types over the years and none really deliver the heat, burning time and promise of well being and world peace that I had expected. So despite the fairly un-green credentials of real logs, at the moment they remain a better bet than the over processed variety.

Hot Plates

"Not here old boy, please. The Plates are never hot". This cartoon from nineteen canteen drawn by the wonderful "Pont" says it all. For a while I thought that I was a bit crazy and alone by holding up warm/hot plates as a measure and a standard for serving hot food, now I know I'm in step with at least a few others. I try not to comment on this when eating out, I hold my views and criticisms in. I've become used to it and I don't want to be served a "sneezer". In doing so I enjoy a curious mixture of disappointment and smugness, a self indulgent curse. None of these reactions are healthy but it's the best I can do living in a world where most of the things that people do don't actually make any sense.

Voices From Another Side

"Actually there are no voices, I lied. On "Another Side" of somewhere voices are quite unnecessary and communication is done in a more elegant manner. Vocal sounds are considered to be a little vulgar. People often become animated and shouty, that would never do here."

"We respect space, silence and your own personal peace. You'll find our methods are very effective. You all seem to be in a bit of a tight spot right now ... "

"You'll need some type of transporter to get you through this."

"Red line it everyday, take it to 8000. It'll run like a Swiss watch. Believe me."

Edgar, Alan and Po.

Disappointed Visitors

The Homeland of Perpetual Gloom: I'm feeling a bit sorry for the numerous Chinese tourists who turned up in town yesterday. Burdened down with complex looking cameras, rucksacks and portable devices hoping no doubt to get some good shots of the iconic bridges. Alas it was not to be, we were beset by wet blankets and duvets of seasonal coastal fog. The number 43 bus was kept busy returning them to our partly destroyed festive capital, now known as Underbelly Land, where the beers and welcome flow like Bostik. 

Unfortunately the fog, like concrete candy floss, drifting slowly up the river for the past few days has landed us straight into Brig o'Doon territory. A mythical place wrapped up in thick, eternal Scotch mist and ancient mystery that can never be truly found, only stumbled upon by bemused American singing stars with perfect hair. During this difficult and eerie time the pubs, cafes and Co-op have stubbornly remained open thanks to benign spiritual guidance and face mask wearing.