Unholy Marriage

 

A short essay on the significance of labels: Supping warm Guinness from a cold Tennent's glass doesn't affect the taste or the alcoholic content or the level of enjoyment. It doesn't affect anything of meaning, it's just a not very thoughtfully selected glass holding the contents of a tin of beer. So there's my position on labels, products and life in general. I may also hold other views at different times, according to my variable moods and general outlook. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Indy

 

RIP Indy, Fox Red Labrador, 2011 - 2022.

Some dog time, well spent.

South Queensferry Daily Photo

 Consider yourself well warned.

Whisky and Covid

 

Strange Bedfellows & the Whisky and Covid Blues. Nobody has written the song yet as far as I know but perhaps one day we'll slug it out, see how it goes, see how it feels and play it for real. "Everybody had a good year..."

Escalation of Things

Following on from yesterday's post "grill pan fire of meat based activity", it is being reported that other similar events are taking place, albeit ignored by the (glutenous) mass media. Outbreaks of wild, sensual sausage dancing seem to happening across the country. An anonymous user sent me this picture. I'm not sure what's going on to be honest. Humans are present and also participating, I think. There's a hint of ketchup. It may be something to do with the pandemic, social hysteria and vegetarianism or not. I've no wish to point accusing, plump sausage fingers at any innocent party. People should just do what they like but maybe don't be too flag-wavy and enthusiastic about it. A keen sense of proportion is useful.

Sausages

Sausages performing one of their traditional "frying pan" folk dances. I was very lucky to capture this particular shot. As you may know sausages are quite private and shy and dislike it if any of their dancing or display performances are seen, never mind captured on film. For information these are of the venison variety.

Glastonbrie

 

N.B. This post has an irritable and  recurring annual theme: Another wild weekend of televisual cheese. The Beeb entertains us, all at the meagre expense of our intellects, sensibilities and the constraints of the licence fee budget. Everyone is on message, everything and every performance is brilliant. It's represented on all the channels as if some general election or sports weekend. You have to be here. We're mainstream. Some dickheaded band begged and blagged a private jet so that they could make it onstage, hmm. Love it when a plan comes together.

The fans went wild. Never before has this happened, you will not believe your ears and eyes. It's all the best yet/ever/possible. Some of the onstage sound mixes were a bit dodgy though, but it's only a TV presentation.  Glastonbrie Bingo. 

Enough negativity though; some of it was pretty good, some OK, some mediocre, some of it was shit, all viewed from 500 miles away on a comfy couch. But a sense of balance doesn't exist in the over egged world of TV entertainment, which is what this has been reduced to. 

Maybe we'll go next year and cheer it up with our own extremes of misanthropic and enthusiastic behaviour. That'll show them. And there will be mud.

Call Any Vegetable

 

Trying to think of a suitable meal in which to use four artichokes and a bag of potatoes, nothing obvious coming up. That's the problem with the random varieties that arise with the homegrown growing of things in the garden. Turns out that vegetables grow in their own time, they're not all edible and ripe at the same time. Damn. In other news, artichokes are a member of the thistle family and as such are a bit spiky. Handle with care in the wild.

24th June 2022

 

Quite innocently a little while ago, I asked the gods of computer graphics what the 24th of June 2022 might look like and could they prepare a picture of it for me. A few days later (today in fact) I received this image in the post, it was printed on a stiff piece of board and carefully packed in a large brown padded bag. Inside the bag there was also a typed note marked for my attention. The note read: 

"Thank you for your tiny spurt of interest in the future. We think that you will know by now that it has already taken place and that for all of us now a new future beckons. We stand on the very edge of it. However by the time you complete the task of reading this short letter that precious moment will also have passed, and so on. In a number of ways the future cannot ever exist or be grasped or experienced. Anyway good luck with all your exciting little ventures whatever they may be. We'd also like to add that we'd rather you didn't contact us ever again. We're busy doing vital work and you're just a bit of a pest and a waste of space. So thanks once again and goodbye."

Best Regards 

Your Elders and Betters

Solidarity

Solidarity and sympathy for the striking rail workers: There's not a great deal I can do but I'm with them in their struggle. There's a steaming pile of injustices in and across the world of work and employment law. The people of this country needs to learn to fight back against the oppressive government and business forces that are dragging it down in what appears to be a race to the bottom. Other brave groups need to add their weight to this and force some kind of action i.e. a general election and a change of regime. Of course I'm mindful of the old chestnut; careful what you wish for.

Stranger Thongs

Though this cassette copy of Hounds of Love has an asking price of £180 I believe others have sold for far more. Also in the same set of listings there are a few for sale between £20 and £50. At under £20 you get one of the various clearly "home made" versions, a not so desirable DIY desktop publication.

I did have a cassette copy of this back in the day, god knows where it is now, lost in the mists of time or maybe under the ice. Just as well probably or I'd be listing it here to cash in.

Oops!

When you're too old or too new you just can't quite fit in or be found. No point in searching again. This actually has a whole lot of advantages when you think about it. I'm driving an invisible car, I'm under the radar, they can't see me or find me or trace me. I'm outside of the system. Whilst neither comfortable or uncomfortable with this I say flick the lot of you; marketing people, Scalextric salesmen and auto grifters everywhere. I cannot be discovered, patronized or bought and your only response is Oops? 

N.B. This does not seem to apply to speed cameras.

P.S. As you advance in years it is a good idea to keep some body space(s) clear for a wayward tattoo of some sort. Perhaps in the slot where a risky mole used to be?

Tree

Sometimes just a simple, well placed word for guidance or information can make all the difference to your enjoyment of a woodland walk. I was unable to enjoy this woodland walk however as it didn't actually happen. What did happen was that a small, hopefully non-aggressive mole was removed from my back in a way and using techniques I can only imagine. A person's back is pretty much unexplored territory unless you have some kind of complex mirror arrangement at home (we do not). So it remains a mystery and an enigma but I am assured the mole has departed. Uprooted like some tired and unwanted tree. There may be a photo or two to prove this.

South Queensferry Daily Photo

Rainy doorway of the day.

 

Yes it chose to rain as I stepped out earlier to buy a birthday card at Maisies' Gift Shop. The rain painting the town a nice shade of sparkling grey and revitalizing gardens and rose beds and my few remaining hair follicles. I walked in a circular route but pretended to be heading in a straight line in order to fool the public. Eventually I reached my destination before moving onwards and homewards where I realized that I'd never really left at all because I was back where I started and it was the rain that was moving all the time because it was now elsewhere and I was not.

Plant Life

Bearing witness to the complexities of climate change, a solitary indoor orange tree contemplates her uncertain future.

"Being rooted in Scotland, with it's unpredictable weather patterns, unseasonal shifts in temperatures and rainfall there is always the prospect of risk, adversity and leaf drop. Experts say that the waters will rise in our lifetimes, pouring their brown silty contents into craft and card shops, fast food takeaways and fashionable small brewery outlets on the coast. When this begins the prices of oranges will rocket, even if they are available in shops on import, and birthday and goodwill cards will simply become unavailable (unless you're handy with paper and colours and can make them up yourself). So the future is looking bleak for those of us trying to make a small scale mark in the local citrus fruit industry. I am considering making a new start on the Iberian Peninsula if I can attract a willing sponsor."

Escaping the Fray

Oh, give me land, lots of land* under starry skies above

Don't fence me in

Let me ride through the wide open country that I love

Don't fence me in

Let me be by myself** in the evenin' breeze

And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees

Send me off forever but I ask you please

Don't fence me in***.

*Preferably with planning permission and development potential of some sort.

**Never knowingly using the same photograph twice.

***Whether it's Rwanda or Risley, putting people behind fences doesn't work.

Antonio Pinto de Carvalho

Some eBay lurking recently got me this odd little guitar that's manufactured in sunny Portugal. A possible bargain at £35 in an auction. They retail for around £300 here and there so I thought it was a steal. It's fairly solidly built, nice binding and well finished, a but a bit tight and not particularly easy or smooth to play. Maybe better suited to slide and open tunings. The company make a wide range of stringed instruments, some high end Spanish and Classical guitars as well as a few steel strung guitars so they know what they're doing and it's nice to have something at this price point that's not Chinese or Korean. 

Doctor Doughnut

I'm not the theatrical type, I don't particularly enjoy over egged or over rated performances but I like the doughnuts. Of course this theatre whilst remaining slightly absurd is fairly realistic. A production cycle made transparent and (spoiler alert) a lot of dough and doughnuts don't make it to the end and remain embedded in the floor.  There also are some housekeeping issues but I'll just leave that here. The high price of fame, hot fat and excess sugar is obvious. In the end it's pretty much another sweet little story of no actual consequence.

Mint & Clissy

 

Cats have no respect for the individual's personal space or for the space shared on some kind of limited, partly negotiated and informal basis. They don't care. They do as they please. We just look on at the unbalanced relationship, tottering and creaking in all it's curious glory.

Late Friday

Friday comes but once a week and if the weather is fine then the grass can be cut, the cat litter tray can be cleaned out and various patches of interior painting touched up. Then trim away at some rogue plants and iron a few shirts. I also reminded myself that I'm still not at all a competent slide guitar player despite occasional bursts of trying followed by sustained periods of giving up on it all together. Thankfully that little spurt of enthusiasm didn't last too long. Perhaps my hand is too unsteady or my eyesight too weak to connect correctly with the slide, strings and fret board and actually create a pleasant musical sound. Then there's the wonky brain problems ... and I can't actually find my proper slide.