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.
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A picture once hung on the wall,
But then it wasn’t there at all.
A dirty mark and a pin hole show,
Where that stupid picture didn’t used to go.
Date Collection: The slow hobby of date collection and consumption is moving on at a pace that might be said to be comfortably slow. The dates of the date palm are harvested by experts and then stuffed by beginners. It can best be described as being a process. We use both exotic and mundane fillings. Examples might be and are not limited to: Diced grapefruit and brown sugar, crushed cumquat, slivers of anchovies in oil and sardine paste, coriander and mushroom, Malteser and sweet pickle, shortbread (crushed) with clotted cream and brandy, scrambled egg and peanut butter and of course finely chopped Mars Bar.
Doctored dates are popular in
Catholic and Islamic countries across the world thanks to various works of Biblical
fraud. In an apocryphal story Jesus turned a pile of donkey dung into sweet
dates flavoured with cinnamon and the honey from wild (or fairly upset as I
understand) bees and distributed them amongst the poor and the Roman colonists
in order to illustrate some now lost teaching points via a forgotten parable. Hence
“The Miracle of the Lost Parable”, a new film due out in December 2024 on
Netflix starring literally a cast of thousands of CGI peasants and funded by
the Date Marketing Board of Canada. Expect a sharp uptake in date demand that
party season.
Dates are a fruit. Did I say date and mean data or did I say data and mean date?
Velux Window
Collection* and Exhibition: We’ve been secretly accumulating these roof windows and hiding them
in the house in various cupboards, box rooms, secret passages and at times in
plain sight. It’s such fun to confuse house guests and unwelcome visitors with
the pitter patter of rain or the scrape of a low hanging tree branch on a
discretely placed Velux frame high up in the darkness of an unlit bedroom.
They can also be
a useful source of extra ventilation in a confined space, simply follow the
manufacturer’s instructions and the installer’s advice.
We also collect long and sharp, pointy knives and there’s an axe under the bed**.
*Frames without names.
**The long, fingery tendrils of mean spirit tree branches may decide to interfere with your sleep pattern in ways that could be unpleasant or even dangerous. They do this by accessing your space via the Velux window. It comes from their deep and understandable dislike of humankind.
Fuel Duty: They came down from the hills. Red diesel in the tanks of their Landrovers and quad bikes. Roads were built for softies. The secret paths, glens and gradients were all theirs. They had tamed the wilderness with the whip of the 4 x 4. The dogs loved it all, riding shotgun as the heather parted before them. The sheep were less sure but queued up for turnips and the deer stayed away. That's what deer tend to do.
As for people, they know their place in the organic machine, crammed in a car park before pottering into the wild purple yonder on their bikes or in their new boots. The latest water bottles from Tisos on display, dangling from backpacks. Soon the sky will be slipping into the colour of the diesel as the sun sinks into the western sky.
In the countryside water is a vital resource, just getting it into the ground and into animals can be a challenge.
Not all holiday homes make the cut, some are just too basic and rustic for the wide eyed townies. The landscape is scattered with the wreckage of a failed colonial economic theory.
Lost in our own country, shadows on a strange hillside, scouring the landscape for clues. The traces of what might have gone before disguised with lichen, moss and heather. A motorway of rabbit paths.
Old stones and broken timbers. Now banished and crushed by nature's persistence, treasonous history and it's repeated excuses. The landowners thought they knew best and the locals were no better than cattle to them. Their portraits still hang in their empty halls. They died in their arrogance without issue or remorse and still their influence drips down like a dirty oil spill on the land. This peculiar economy is their legacy.
The truth is always troublesome, bothering the soul and tarnishing the dream. It was a nice day to be up there anyway and the deer on the hills were in fine form. Could do with a few weeks of rain though.
Aga cookers get
hot very gradually. There’s no hurrying an Aga. They are the plodding dinosaurs
of the cookery universe. Jurassic and basic. Functional in an unhurried world
of their own. But you can still burn the food if not careful. That’s plenty pent up and uncontrollable heat for you.
I am the Master
of the Aga. Bow down. I can shuffle the pots. It’s a form of dance fused with
the management of sources of intense heat and burning metal. You could lose your fingerprints or fingertips. It’s
very dangerous but when it works out for you it’s satisfying in an abstract and ancient way. However the naan bread that became a biscuit was less successful.
As children we burned many books and things, mostly sausages and some books, some Ladybird books. Currently I am burning logs. Logs harvested by the great wind of the winter of 2022 that flattened Edzell Woods and many others. Now we burn their tree bones. There’s nothing else to do with the piles of timber debris. I don’t know what environmentalists might make of this action. When nature fights back the rules change and the logs are harvested.
If you see the internet as a great cloud that covers the land then you’ve obviously never visited the backyard, backwards arse of the beautiful back of beyond. We were there and there was no waves to speak of other than stray blips of digital distortion that refuse to be gathered together into a pattern of credible pixels. Cloudy blips of inconsequence that flew overhead and for a short while promoted baseless optimism then for a longer while some stiff resignation, acceptance and gallows humour. The crawling of the Twitter Bots, the Facebook Posts, the refreshed screens, those reflected creations of repeated opinions, swirling in the mind’s eye of an invisible force that asks no questions but always asks questions.
We just communicate badly because we quickly forget everything we ever said. We outsourced the memories to a memory bank that’s in crisis but doesn’t know it so reality is no longer recognized as a thing. How did it happen? More badly presented history perhaps. How did they (?) amuse themselves back in the day when alcohol, sex between consenting adults, sex with horses (??) and imagination was banned by the all seeing, bespeckled eye of the Kirk? Now we can see everything but understand nothing. I no longer feel at home on your cloud. Nothing good will come of this digital withdrawal. Well maybe not. We all need a break sometimes.
I made these raised beds from old pallets and filled them with liners and compost. My dear wife planted the plants, marked them up and diligently cares for them in a highly professional manner. As we're optimists this is surely going to end well in a few months when we harvest a magnificent crop of vegetables and greenie, herbie things.
If you're at all worried about intruders and pests (not that we are) I can vouch for our fence, with it's weld-mesh sections and sturdy timber bastions, making it now fully Red Panda proof. Slugs and snails are however not applicable to the security tests we applied. As for cats, well that's another story.
The journey into / onto / around stable tuning continues with these Vanson locking tuners being fitted to "Bodge", a partscaster Telecaster. Bodge has had a few troubles over the years and I thought locking tuners might help resolve them. That's how it goes in the world of guitar, you try everything to fix it, allow it to stew, then chuck it onto eBay as a sort of purge and penance. In truth I've never tried *locking tuners before but I though it was worth a punt.
Due to a unexpected set of incorrect dimensions in the headstock area some serious unplanned wood butchery was required. Turns out that 10 mm items cannot and will not fit themselves into 8 mm holes. Another failure to read the small print. However I managed to drill, file and sand my way around the problem and now they are fitted. They're still subject to a thorough test and implementation regime that is as yet to report it's findings. Perhaps it never will.
*As usual a big thanks to numerous YouTube content makers and layabouts for advice and explanations.
Rishi Sunak is a British politician who says he is serving as Chancellor of the Exchequer, sometimes he works from home but I hear he's moved on now. He's been in the job since 2020, having previously served as Chief Secretary to the Treasury from 2019 to 2020. A member of the Conservative Party, he has been Member of Parliament for Richmond since 2015. That's a short career for such a high office.
He likes to dabble in hedge funds, soapy excuses and he is married to a very rich lady who lives nearby but who has also been found out to be a cheeky little trickster. He's not known for the common touch and is unable to understand contactless payments, petrol pumps and the ethics and principles of International Law. It would appear he has no real concept of poverty or experience of hardship either. I imagine that he's having a good day none the less.
There will be a "proper" inquiry you know. Plus they (?) went to parties.
You may well consider that this (my opinion and the image) is just more vacuous ranting and that reality is only some kind of complex construct. To try to prove this you may say, "have you ever actually seen your neighbour bringing in their groceries?" To which I might well respond with, "you know I have not, perhaps you have a point there."
A match day out at Kelty Hearts FC. The day's opposition was Stirling Albion. Nice that they kept a seat allocation for each of us. The game however was a dull 1 - 1 draw. The pie score was about 8 out of 10, fair selection, good quality and serving temperature. Ease of access and overall impressions 7 - 10. Partick Thistle Factor (PCF = crowd sophistication and conversation content) a surprising 8 - 10. Cultural references and relevance (sightings of ex-Dockyard workers and Dire Straights on the Tannoy plus playing the Kelty Clippie at full time) a time warped 8 -10. Not bad scores after all. Recommended.
I could have deducted marks for their drum but I'm not so petty minded.
