Bungle, Zippy and George

The three kittens, Bungle, Zippy and George seen here in an unusual, artistically rendered setting while adopting a steady pose. Of course they were soon gone from this restful state in a matter of seconds.

Sourdough From Hell

 

The natives aren't quite restless enough. Cakes are off the menu but sourdough runs wild and free across supermarket bakery shelves. As ever I'm confused by the pricing, most of which seems unreasonable but as I'm of a certain age that's bound to be the case. Any purchase these days is tinged with a mixture of misunderstanding and a strong sense of exploitation. Who came up with these prices? Most of which appear to be unfair and difficult to understand. Some loaves come in at around £1.70, other tally up to £4.00 a pop. As you'd expect the £4.00 ones do seem a lot bigger and longer lasting - but what is the best choice? Where lies that elusive sweet spot of purchasing? How easily does it turn to toast? Budgets and appetites are being tested.

Man, as I am led to believe, cannot live by bread alone; jam, peanut butter and actual butter are usually required, also some Nutella and the occasional topping of squished sardines with added mayo. It's the price tag that's the problem as well as the uncertainty of what makes good bread good and bad bread bad.  Don't use the word "artisan" in front of the word baker either. That's strictly taboo around here.

I suspect that all bread is baked in an earthly form of Hell; hot ovens, sweaty brows and background squeals of pain and the cracking of whips. There is no daylight, just the perpetual glow of the ovens, the searing heat when the doors are opened, the great vats of grey sourdough on conveyor belts, close to being alive and on the verge of self awareness. Hot metal loaf tins and cruel slicing machines that hearken back to the days of the French Revolution or the dungeons of Mordor. Then gone suddenly into the back of a large articulated lorry and shipped out to the markets where the masses chatter and barter for their food, if they're lucky. For me it's the Co-op or Tesco. I'm not really into exploring too far and wide for foodstuffs. It's the thrill of the chase but on a very small scale.

2023: A Space Opera

 

We have not arrived at our promised destination. Our journey has been a fake one. Close your eyes and you'll be there, almost but not quite. The future is here but elsewhere and a miss is as good as a mile. Imagine the touch of the fingertips of the gods as they wheel by on their celestial chariots. The ancient of days and newest of trends. It's trending now. Right now before the next trend comes along. They are so busy on the trend production line. It's just a shame that the plan is managed by a weird algorithm though, it's tough to comprehend. Move over darling. There will be another concocted distraction along in a minute.

We've got Teslas, moon dust encased in some epoxy composite, a lot of films and novels, brave astronauts, radio signals, phones for bets, gaming and photographs, junk on Mars and satellites made from anything but love. Billionaires have solutions for life on other planets but strangely none for Earth's current problems. Turns out we're all expendable but those future generations are precious. There in their crystalline mystery and DNA coding language, deeply frozen boxes of seeds, soldiers, ants and worker bees. The future awaits them but not us. Somebody should write a book about it.

Skies Over Cliftonhill

 

Albion Rovers v Dunfermline Athletic. The teams line up, ready for kick off. Anything can happen in the next ninety minutes I tell myself. Of course not a lot happens, it's a fairly dull cup game where DAFC eventually win 0 - 3. The high point being when the referee was knocked over by a stray but powerful cross. It was that type of game. Then, time's up and over eight hundred weary fans toddle off into the night afterwards, onto the motorway and back home. Actually, being of fairly unsound mind and decrepit body I quite enjoyed the evening and the jaunt to Coatbridge.

Anti-Social

Social media: Firstly it never was a "nice" place or space. Always dogged by outsider bickering and lies only with the occasional oasis of niceness. But now that Twitter is X and now Threads has emerged it's hard to see anything here ever getting better. Users and their data are only important as a product and an audience for exploitation while timings, continuity and freedom from intrusive spam no longer matter to the owners. It's just not fun ... mostly. I'm staying in this small corner (until I pick up my phone again).

Idle Photographs

A short essay regarding photos/images that I really should do something with: firstly something by the obscure Scottish artist and magician Ancell Stronach. He hailed from the city of Dundee. 

Below are a couple of photos of Earnest Hemingway and his cats, presumably at his home in Key West. The cats famously had six toes on each paw. Having met their descendants a few years ago in that same house I know this to be true.

Below: a rather artistic and fanciful motor vehicle advert I've always admired. It's for the long gone French manufacturer Panhard.

Edward Woodward as PC something or other in the film "The Wickerman". I've half seen the film once. I know that makes no sense.

These pics were all gathering dust in my laptop. Now they are gathering dust on here.

The Wes Anderson Collection

A small group of Wes Anderson fans attend the screening of a Wes Anderson film in their local cinema. Afterwards they retire to a local bar to discuss their evening and other matters. The bar is quite rowdy but in a fairly friendly way and three of the drivers avoid imbibing any alcohol. Their heads are quite clear. They sit at a large table in a quiet corner below a  TV set that appears to be faulty. 

One is privately amused that his wooden ice cream scoop shattered in the cinema as he tried to use it and the lady behind the counter provided a tea spoon as an alternative. Once the show had finished he returned the used spoon to the lady having finally overcome a silly desire to steal the spoon. 

After a single round of drinks and a pleasant chat they head home, each taking their own personal vehicle. The weather is warm but cloudy, there's slight threat of rain that comes to nothing. And then, Lo there was a light! A certain kind of heightened cinematic light, all aglow with colours and shapes and we could explain none of it.

The next morning we dined on baguettes and bacon and did not speak at all of the previous night's events.

Mouse in the Laundry

 

What can best be described as a decorative, non-functioning mouse somehow made it's way into the laundry pile and then into the washing machine. Currently it's hanging by the tail on the drying line. I suspect that the kittens have been up to no good and that they using stuffed and inanimate rodents for hunting practice. It's never too soon to learn etc.

No Clear Idea

Absolutely no clear idea what this poster is actually about. I'm a man without a therapist, well certainly not a paid one. It's something I've never considered but for others it's pretty much a way of living and being. That's sad really. I'm also man lacking in what appears to be AI bird related images, kind of odd messages and a signed colour poster. Perhaps all this is famous or infamous elsewhere. The other side of the world or the internet. Nobody cares really. We've all got better things to do. So today it started as a white noise idea, moved onto pink noise and then ended as a keyboard duet on tabla drums. Nice.

Assuming Formlessness

This weeks small slab of buried wisdom: The word formlessness isn't one I often encounter. It's a useful word though. Formlessness is something worth aspiring to, at least as a temporary position. After all everything changes. Evolution takes place. We all know that, stay a step ahead, maybe that's a good approach. I can only assume.

Dangerous Breakfasts

 

Above: a brief reminder of our recent day away to darkest Kirkcaldy where after a fairly dull 90 minutes and a 1 - 1 score, DAFC won on penalties, a rare experience for the fans. The usual unruly Pars support was highly vocal despite getting soaked to the skin on the way into Stark's Park. Nice photo-bomb also from the two seagulls, briefly away from their natural environment; Morrison's car park.

Dangerous breakfasts: On the right we have toasted seeded Hovis and peanut butter, on the left the same bread but with tomato, quince fruit cheese and peppery seasoning. Turned out OK. 

White Backgrounds

Working on white(ish) backgrounds as part of a vague idea. To be honest there's not a great deal of actual work involved in this, mucking about would be a better description. The slow crawl of stuttering accidental encounters, trial and error to get to somewhere; somewhere that isn't obvious at the moment.

Three Kittens

 

Our three kittens have arrived: From top left anti-clockwise - Zippy (male), Lady Bungle (female) and Georgey (male). They are of course already creating kitten havoc in our once well organized and formerly relatively clean house. Of course they bring their own fun and love and joie de vivre so I'm not complaining.

The Universe Gives You Biscuits

 

Two consecutive posts about biscuits might make anyone think this writer is getting a bit too hung up on biscuits. After all they are (in the sweet form) a punctuation kind of a snack. A footnote in mid morning tea breaks, a thing to dunk and crumble into coffee in the afternoon. A treat after or before the main event. Gone in (less than) sixty seconds, leaving just a trail of plain crumbs or shards of chocolate, sticky bits between your teeth also. 

We could all live without them and many people do just that. They are luxury items that are taken for granted and are just more scoff, scran or filler to us, but strangely enough the universe has decided that we can have them. Just avoid calling them cookies, that's a (peculiar) type of biscuit, a genre or even aberration but not the whole model range.

Like biscuits I suppose that everybody has an opinion on Coca-Cola. It's a wild world. 

Multinational Corporations Win Again

 

No hiding place from the world of big business: A few years ago I swallowed up an advertising campaign for these French biscuits and quickly became addicted. Being French they somehow look and feel "authentic" but they're just another Coca-Cola or Mars Bar type of sugar bullet. I was riding on a product life cycle graph. Eventually things bottomed out and I quickly moved onto ... I can't remember to what exactly, some other snack that promised even greater self gratification. 

Then the other day without any warning a switch was pulled in my head and I wanted a LU biscuit, badly. Now I'm back to where I started, they taste good, seem fresh and I'm scoffing them (with a measure of self control) regularly. They have returned to my ever changing top ten of tastes and treats, for a while anyway. We are all slaves to our appetites.

Time Stretch

Help: Send help, trapped in a primitive digital time stretch situation. Quite unexpectedly. Actually don't bother with your help. I have plenty of time now that I've thought about it.

20kg Bag

Fairly Irrelevant Picture.

Just how much is a 20Kg bag of wild bird feed/food these days? I'm estimating that we use about 1Kg a day, pretty much all year round. Wild bird food prices are wild, wild birds are hungry. I think I got a good deal recently at a nearby garden supplier - £18 for 20Kg. That's 90p a Kilo. 

I also enjoyed the strangely remote style of the place, I was met only by a white and ginger cat and made the transaction on the phone and picked up the sack of feed from a bin as if it was some kind of contraband. No physical human contact at all. A business model built on mystery. Other suppliers are available, or so I understand. 

This is a really dull posting but dammit I'm quite proud of my 20Kg bag, even though it's now been decanted into smaller, more handy containers. How long will it actually last then? 

Art of the Scum

Interesting piece of live performance art "performed" by actual flowing water along with added, seasonal scum of an unknown origin. You can't beat a good bit of churning, violent scum. Can you see two lion heads, a Japanese carp, the West Coast of Scotland via Google Earth or a rainstorm over the Balkans?

Our industrial heritage lies tranquil enough, nestled in the foothills of some former glacial devastation. The weekly test of the "Major Incident" alarm system is about to be carried out. Even at this distance the actual content is incomprehensible but in real life it could be summed up as "Run like fuck!"

Walkers must remain calm and careful so as not to disturb the ducks and swans during their tea break (AKA 10:30 Smoko as they are of course well trained maritime creatures and highly professional). Normal duties will resume at 11:00 all being well.

West Lothian Daily Photo

 

Two things viewed from above and one directly from the front. The industrial and commercial past is all around, some titivated and working, some awaiting improvement. Nothing in life is ever really completed, it's all malingering at some sort of a stage where arrival and certainty are vague. A promise may still be kept even if it's forgotten. There may be degradation and ruin or the hope of improvement but even in the dust it hangs onto existence.

Kittens

We're getting three kittens. They actually look a little bit like these somewhat stylized ones. Grey, black and white mixes. We're not going with this choice of names however, that would never do and we wont be dressing them up either or transferring their images onto lighters. It's a low key kind of adoption but they will feature here in the blog-sphere from time to time.