Friends

Impossible noodles: Sticking with a familiar and simple video genre and with no expense spared here's a taster/teaser of a track from "collection". 

Bandcamp Paranoia

 

Nine new tunes: I've never been much bothered about Bandcamp but I know that for some it's a successful and useful platform for selling or just giving away music. Having said that I've tentatively launched our latest offering "collection" there, pending it becoming available on the "other" sites and us actually getting a CD version put together and distributed. We're not really in any kind of hurry here so I suppose this is a kind of a teaser and marker for the slow and ponderous growth of this latest project of ours. As they used to say; obscurity knocks (or might it be obscurity rocks?).

Car Culture

A question that often bothers me is, from a social perspective, "where do I feel most at home?" Would it be at a gig, a football match, in the pub or elsewhere? I'm no kind of car expert but this year I've attended a few racing events and car shows up at the local circuit, Knockhill. I've sniffed and sucked in the full petrol head experience. They've all been different types of event but I've enjoyed them all; watching competitive sports, showing cars and also watching people. There's a unique car culture in this country that's truly "out there", some of it is in fact outlaw by nature and certainly rough around the edges. 

I've met some really nice people though, all of whom, often along with their whole families are devoted to car culture as a hobby and lifestyle. So how is this noisy, smokey, brash and expensive hobby going to fare against the rise of the EV and the obvious measures that will truly "outlaw" chunks of ICE motoring? EV racing is a thing that's growing but in car culture it's not just about speed, it's about accessibility, modification and a certain style and history that EVs don't have (yet).  

People often talk about the "soul" in engineered items. Steam, diesel and petrol and the heritage that goes with them. Watching the circuit racing, the donuts and the drag racing yesterday I could feel some kind of soul in those ridiculous machines; playing like kittens, scrapping like bulldogs and flying, smoking and breathing fire like the dragons in Game of Thrones. Then meekly rolling over, bonnets and doors open to reveal over spec'd and titillated engines and lurid custom interiors.

I've driven for about 50 years now, it's been a work, holiday and utility thing that's provided a sort of freedom and a certain amount of fun.  If it comes to it and I can afford it I'll probably get an EV, but it'll be more of an appliance than a buddy or a project. I just know it. Meanwhile where will all the petrol heads be in 2045? Holed up in some lock up trickle charging a battery that's never topped up by it's host vehicle? Paying £50 for a gallon of 97 octane? Sneaking away on back roads at the dead of night for a rare burn out? Sneaking onto sacred and shaky forums and old instagram postings somewhere in the dark web calling the disciples to meet up sometime somewhere for a low revving encounter?

Who will be the enforcing goons here, who are the goodies and the baddies? Who are the victims? People who's only crime was to follow some misguided but understandable motoring dream of romance and danger? What do oil companies and car companies really want? Ford, maker of the Model T has stopped building small cars - there are thousands of Ford Fiesta, Focus and Mondeo people/owners out there desperately trying to keep them alive just because (and it's kind of strange I know) they love them.

Our corrupt leaders just try to extend the deadlines with bribes and meaningless chatter. It's all a cheap and easy political football and our fragile reality remains for them undefined. Climate change already is at a point where we should be "on a war front" says Chris Packham, and he's right. Everyone is sleepwalking into disaster and superficially happy to do it. Car culture, a crazy and wonderful thing it may be but it can't last for another twenty years ... well not in this part of the world. We're fucked really and nobody wants to face up to the unpalatable damage and costs of change.

Photos from yesterday: Above, two highly modded VW Beetles, proper old school. Below: my personal favourite out of hundreds of cars, a Datsun Skyline 2000GT from 1972. I've never seem one before and this one (imported from Japan recently) is a peach.

 

South Queensferry Daily Sunflower

Just to prove that it's not quite as bad as it seems, here's your daily sunflower photo. A patch of blue sky is also visible. As an added bonus below there's some evidence that the repairs on the town's harbour, mostly re-pointing the stones today at low water, are moving along.

Also from today or thereabouts, parking in the street near to us without an official permit might well cost you a £100 fine. Resident's only parking it appears be.  Some serial misuse of the car park has occurred and the empire (contracted out to a "parking" company who are not gangsters I assume) has struck back. I imagine the local Faceblip group page will be a bin fire of insightful comments and stoical observations.

Kittens

Reasonably reasonable but nonetheless cute cat photo collage complete with badly formatted naming system and a poor choice of fonts. I'm not any kind of perfectionist other than a bad one.

Sign

 

The occasional and elusive department of "I sincerely hope this is real" has opened for a few brief moments. Probably the best door sign (and response) I've seen in a while. If it's tomorrow by now, I'll still be laughing at this. It's childish I know and probably been doing the rounds for years, it may even be AI or another dumb fake but I don't care. It's the idea and the situation that I find funny.

South Queensferry Dreary Photo

The stone cold grey blocks of the imperial past, buildings and works of a type we'll never see again. Nobody is going to build anything this way and so many of the skills have faded away. There would be no good reason to try and the costs would be eye watering. It's drab and imposing, familiar and disturbing, heavy in resource and labour, crafted rather than "thrown together and built on an austerity budget". Blood, sweat, tears and exploitation ... you do it your way because you can. 

You're known as "His Excellency" from Sydney to Bombay and beyond. In every gentlemen's club, diplomatic office and government building doors are opened for you. You have a boy to bat away the insects. Cool drinks are poured as you sit back in a leather chair.  And when the tour is done porters with horses and carts carry your heavy trunks mixed through with pillage and profit down to the waiting ships. 

There the nimble dockers handle all those wooden cases of valuables with care and a grim reverence, the special instructions have been branded onto the timbers in the Queen's English, it's clear what's happening. Ropes and bindings cut into their edges, nails groan as the crates are stowed away for the trip home, down in the dark hold. Ultimately those fine item's long journey ends with them sitting behind glass in some great house, away from the real world once again, fearful of dust and handling. Trophies of forgotten wars and conquests. Everything is now in it's rightful place.

"Plant something in the old horse trough to brighten up the square."

Only Murders

Bungle, the pyjama wearing kitten enjoys another riveting episode of "Only Murders in the Building" on Disney+. It's typical of our normal evening activities. Fine food, fine wine and then lounging on the couch as our minds are slowly churned and turned into scrambled eggs by the mysterious and unwelcome force known as LG TV. Hard to imagine but our day normally begins with a rigorous Joe Wicks workout followed by the serene inner silences being explored in a deep transcendental air-bathing session before a breakfast feast of curried bananas, ibex cheese and a lettuce, barley and semolina smoothie.

South Queensferry Daily Photo

 

Whilst it isn't really in South Queensferry I still consider Hopetoun House to be near enough to be in it. Having lived close to it's environs in Abercorn for quite a few years it's always meant something to me, I'm not quite sure what. The "ruling" families and their influence and all the awkward and uneven history doesn't sit right with me but Hopetoun ... remains a conflicted guilty pleasure. We're all a bit hard wired on the habits of the deferential respect we are expected to show to the upper class, their estates and their trappings. Class remains king in this fractured and deluded country and so is a continual and unavoidable embarrassment.

Yesterday we had a wander around the gardens in search of unicorns, my least favourite fantasy beast, eventually we found them, or at least very cute four hoofed facsimiles. Wide eyed kids could walk along the path with them for a small fee, as is common practice in all true unicorn encounters. In these photos I deliberately avoided the unicorns (for fear of magical reprisals) and also the big house so it's the back lanes, steps, walls and little details here.  

Wine of the Week

 

The wine of the week is red, it's from Bo'ness (well the local Lidl therein) and possibly put together in Chile. I've no clear idea what Chilean life might be like at the moment, I hope it's OK. The grapes are Merlot. It's sold in a glass bottle for a reasonable price as you'd expect being wine of the week. Scoffed easily and no sore head. What more could you wish for? Shout out for Bo'ness by the way, there's a lot of good things going on in that wee town. Worth a visit for multiple decent cinematic, bakery, auto repairs and railway museum visiting reasons, amongst other things.

Unconnected Outputs

I'm no authority but I understand that in certain places cats are thought to be witches and conversely witches are also thought to be cats. They appear to be interchangeable. This is not how things have seemed in my experiences of either cats or witches but I'm going be a bit more tightly focused from now on, regarding my somewhat hazy observations.

I've never really liked the term "antique land", why not just say "another land" or something? Apart from that minor criticism the wee poem stands up quite nicely and err... pretty much tells it like it is, whoever you might be.

Meanwhile here's a fairly straightforward and accurate bit of advertising:

How To ...

My friend John Farrell knows a thing or two about a lot of things including DIY, healthy smoothies and espresso as he demonstrates here.  He also pulls off some mean guitar playing in the process.

Things are Everywhere

A photograph by Lee Miller taken in war torn St Malo in 1944.

Surrealism is everywhere, it was around 13000 years ago apparently and I don't doubt that. There are carvings and cave paintings to prove it, I've just not seen them yet. Mixed in amongst all the serious, tedious and sombre are the alternative spirits of absurdity and experimentation. They live on despite themselves, such strange, unwelcome bedfellows. 

They are only another force of nature, as right and proper as all the "right and proper" things that your elders and betters told you to take so seriously or else you'd be left behind. Well 60+ years on who's laughing now? Not me really but I do indulge myself with the occasional sly smirk.

Two Castrations and a Spay

Yes, those are the cat's pyjamas. Typical Monday kind of day around here, two castrations, a spay, a brown rice stir fry, a bottle of wine and the purchase of a 4" drainage pipe from B&Q. Sometimes it's hard to just keep up with any version of our regular routine, pedestrian or dismal activities. Anyway the cats are now recovering from their various surgeries (all of a planned nature) and we're hopeful of getting back to normal ... never.

Three Objects

 

Subject yourself to some mental torture using only three objects: One intellectual and creative challenge you might try is to write a dramatic short story using only three objects that make up the basis for the tale*. Any type of everyday item can be used, maybe a picture you've found. Stretch your imagination and see where it takes you. What exotic places, esoteric problems or exciting situations might you imagine? The sky is the limit (unless you write a story telling of how the sky is simply the cosmic gate way to somewhere else or it's a large dome's interior structure in a simulation or it's God's bathroom ceiling and we're all residing on a tiny speck of poo that's stuck to the toilet bowl that could be cleaned off or flushed away at any moment). Eek!

* I can tell you right now this is exactly the sort thing I never would/could do, so I won't be bothering with any of this utter nonsense.

Scottish Breakfast

Scottish Breakfast at Peggie Scott's - not a proper review: Actually tastes better than it looks and being quite hungry also helps. Incidentally I ate every scrap. The brown sauce was added later but omitted from the photo for clarity. The drink is a latte, everything else is self explanatory. Peggie Scott's diner is a three quarter way road trip stop between here (where's that?) and Aberdeen. I've no complaints.

Masters of Silent Reprisals

A small colony of intergalactic mushrooms have invaded our nice, quietly blossoming floral planters. I don't think that they're safe or edible either but I'm sure they want us to believe that they have come here "in peace". Yeah, every invader starts off with that line as they plan their next move of mass exploitation and colonial conquest. Meanwhile they're crowding out our summer plantings and sending their spores and probes deep into our hallowed compost in order to connect with the mother-ship or whatever underground HQ they might have. 

Communications will be established and ... I forget how it all works for fungaea with their tendrils, networks, electrical impulses, delicious flavours and mind warping chemical properties. However their texture can sometimes be a little unpleasant if they're not properly prepared i.e. cooked. (Never let them hear you say that). They must not be underestimated, they are the masters of the silent reprisal and time is on their side.

Scotch Mist

 

Day two in the midst of the mist: Recently the factories and mines that produce Scottish Mist have been working overtime as our mist (from an ultra secret recipe of course) increases in popularity. Supply has been exceeding demand and as prices rise there may be a glut of "Mist Millionaires" as we like to call them around here. There's speculation that Scotland may soon be able to boast of our first Mist Billionaire but nobody is quite sure. On the other side of things many lower output manufacturers are also concerned that bigger, non Scottish companies may edge into this lucrative market and use complex deals and cartels so as to squeeze out many of the smaller historic families who have been producing high quality mist since the days of Rob Roy MacGregor (no, not that one). 

Back in those days it was a cottage industry that thrived up until the Jacobean wars and the subsequent Highland Clearances. A long period of decline followed before a revival took place mainly thanks to the success of over enthusiastic You Tubers travelling around Scotland in self modified vans, drinking coffee and filming themselves in various historic locations; ones that no self respecting Scots person would ever bother to visit. It just goes to show you never can tell. 

By the way that "family friendly" firm Ineos is now the favourite to snap up the small providers and go global with the magical mist. They say that their values match well with ours. Many (in the know and in the underground) think that such a move might well spark a bloody revolution leading to various famous heads meeting up with various less famous spikes. "There might be other, nastier consequences if that happens" said a disgruntled highlander from lowland South Queensferry who wished to remain anonymous. I've no idea what's going on myself, if I hear more I'll post it.

Play Misty For Me

 Misty morning, foghorn calling, etc.

Lords and Gods of Progressive Rock

Vague truth: When you download it is it really down and when you upload it is it really up and where exactly is all this material kept anyway? Does it exist at all or is it an illusion? As history unwinds it's tortuous story down a fairly uncertain path why are there always more questions than answers and why have the great gods of progressive rock with all their lyrical flights of fantasy failed to stumble onto even the vaguest of truths? 

Of course you could argue that they have pursued many vague truths quite diligently and neither proven or disproven any of them because the subject matter is mostly fictional, which is an answer of sorts. Word salads from the creative corner isn't any better than word salad from anywhere else. It's still salad. Don't start me on country*, punk, hip hop or AOR salads either.

Protest singers, god bless them, are far more certain in their chosen line of business, they tend to deal in facts but allow for a certain amount of warping in the process. Their salad is warm or just around room temperature (that used to be a thing). Right on. Somehow I find that rather more satisfying. I still like mellotrons though.

*Just taking a moment to reflect on the enormous contribution made by the oh so tragic country duo Sunflower and Catfood. In the end Gram Parsons was so proud to have been associated with them as was I.