Little France

French black pudding and apple stuff.

Les Merguez, Salad and French Fries.

Somewhat sausage heavy: Dining at possibly the world's noisiest restaurant, Chez Jules in Edinburgh. Loud music and shouty conversations persist in a confined space but despite that it's still an enjoyable experience even for oldies. Makes no sense really at my time of life with my worn out ears, low threshold of pain and what not. Young ears remain resilient until at least age 35, then they collapse like a dry sponge. Cheap (for Edinburgh) and cheerful French food is also available here. Not pictured is what nicer things everyone else had, obviously, and my farewell creme brulee and greasy but tasty onion rings.

We're Almost Everywhere

Our music has been on Amazon for years, even before everyone disliked Amazon and online shopping, exploitation and everything. Sad to say it's not really taken off for us either, we regularly receive only the tiniest of fake buttons on a monthly basis from the great Amazonian cash collecting beast. I blame lack of promotion and imagination on our part, that and the economic downturn which prevails on most of the planet's battered surface.

Cockroach of Vegetables

Our mostly futile bid for some sort of self sufficiency in vegetables took another blow recently*. We've reached the second wave of kale planting as I defiantly tried again with another type of kale plant. Hopefully more resistant to being scoffed by tiny mites. I was encouraged by in depth and verified (?) scientific research found on YouTube that held a view that kale was a plant that couldn't fail. Tough and idiot proof they said. Hmm. It was described as the cockroach of vegetables, one that had survived all sorts of cataclysmic disasters and severe environmental events and moreover is highly resistant to pests. 

Unfortunately the various pests of South Queensferry (most of which are largely invisible) have not read this particular memo. After a week of being planted, these kale plants are slowly being decimated by something unseen. It may simply be God yet again acting out his judgement upon us in the form of pestilence and famine (except for the actual pests), and that's nothing more than we deserve. I take heart however from knowing that some small creature is doing well and feeding it's family from my £3.99 tub of kale plugs ex-Brechin Castle garden centre and in the end are probably scoffing even more of it than we would have had it survived and thrived.

*The peas, potatoes and plums do seem to be OK, maybe we should just plant things that begin with P?

South Queensferry Daily ...

(Above) That time they filmed Crystal Voyager at the Binks.

Any awkward situation in life is made better by (delete as inapplicable):

Doing something invisible

Doing nothing visible

Good grooming

Screaming at the top of your voice

Expressing a credible view

Wearing a "band" T shirt

Maintaining a detailed spreadsheet 

Removing a false moustache

Ripping it up and starting again

Using the word "nuance" in a sentence

Purchasing an inflatable boat online

Telling the whole truth

Smoking twenty fags in quick succession

Simply alighting from the bus

Cold pizza

Hiding in a corner

Writing a strongly worded letter/email/text

Giving cats cat treats.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Post Script:

In my opinion it's always best to apply some spray on bleach/cleaner to a toilet brush before tackling the cleaning of the sanitary china.

Dear email bots. Why do I have to unsubscribe when I didn't subscribe in the first place?

Why has nothing been put in place in this country to provide us with a properly functioning government?

Looking at a menu of French foods and thinking, I should like something here but I'm not sure I do.

The characters in TV shows and movies are not your actual friends.

We get the weather we deserve.

Two Eggs Trilogy

Not every day but on some days 

I'll have two eggs for breakfast.

Salvador Dalí's "In Voluptas Mors"

Also used on the "Silence of the Lambs" Butterfly.

A short piece of motion capture entitled

"Copy, cut and paste".

Then and Now

Something from the Cellardyke Echo, 1865.

This remarkable little article, the author of which is unknown, is 159 years old and is taken from a very small local newspaper based in a village in the East Neuk of Fife: Cellardyke. It's curated articles are regularly republished here by the Cellardyke Trust, an organization that covers numerous aspects of old and new stories, photos and historical events from the East Neuk. 

What struck me about this story, apart from actual bizarre events described, is the quality of the writing and the depth of language used. It seems that back in those days a reporter on a tiny provincial paper was far more capable, creative and descriptive with his prose than most modern journalists and reporters are nowadays. I also wonder at how teaching standards for the English language (within the current education system) have perhaps deteriorated or been dumbed down over the years when reflecting on this piece's penmanship. Then, thinking about all that, how well the actual newspaper's readers were served by the standards of reporting ... anyway it's all in the past now. (I don't doubt that levels of corruption in the press back in those days were much different but they could certainly put an entertaining story together when compared to so much of today's popular piffle both in print and online.)

"Anstruther -Lynch Law in the East of Fife. 

In the early part of Monday afternoon, the west end of the neighbouring town of Cellardyke was the scene of a most extraordinary and singular occurrence, so far, at least, as the East Neuk is concerned. At the time in question, a notorious character, of the name of James Haggart, better known by the sobriquet of “Abernethy,’ was seen entering the town of Cellardyke, where public feeling was running very strongly against him in consequence of his being implicated in a case of a peculiarly bad and heartless nature. Whether the matter had been preconcerted or not, we are unable to state, but no sooner had he made his appearance than the women in the neighbourhood gathered together and began to give unmistakable expression to their anger and abhorrence by hooting and pelting him with stones. 

Quailing before the fury of his assailants, the craven attempted to beat a retreat, but he was no match for his nimble-tongued, nimble-limbed pursuers, who continued to shower upon him whatever of hard missile or foul epithet that came readiest in the way. In this manner he reached the top of the road at Caddies Burn, when he was either struck down by a stone, or, what was more probable, he pretended to be under the influence of liquor, and so cast himself, in apparent helplessness, on the ground. This clumsy appeal, however, to move their compassion, was treated with utter disdain by his female adversaries — who had now increased to hundreds— for, amidst a perfect Babel of mingled screams of laughter and yells of execration, they crowded around the prostrate wretch. In a twinkling he was almost buried beneath a mass of potato stems and earth, which were brought by right willing hands from the adjoining field, and a cooling sedative was also now and then administered m the shape of sundry bucketfuls of water. The noise and confusion drew large numbers to the spot, but the graver portion of the community, when they saw that neither life nor limb were in any great danger, moved quietly on when they ascertained the cause, or remained the passive, if not amused, spectators of the extraordinary hubbub. 

The sympathies of some Highland halfdealsmen were, however, more active than those of the townsfolk, for after a vigorous attempt these “children of the mist” at length succeeded in rescuing the drenched and forlorn- looking outcast from the vengeance of the “Lynchers,” many of whom seemed half mad with frolic and excitement. The assistance of the bobbies was ultimately obtained, and under the safe escort of those liveried footmen of the law he was majestically marched off to the lock-up, followed of course by an immense train of men, women, and children. While on their triumphal progress, the heroines who made themselves so conspicuous in this rough and ready administration of justice were vociferously cheered by the large groups of half-dealsmen and others lounging about the shore – a compliment which bashfulness did not prevent them from returning with gratitude and effect. 

So far as we can learn, no bodily injury was sustained by the victim of popular rage, although it is to be hoped that the sharp reproof which he has received will have the effect of making him a wiser and better man for the future, and that it will also be a warning to others that the inhabitants of Cellardyke will not with impunity allow their town to be insulted and dishonoured by practices that make the cheek of humanity blush with shame and resentment."

Great White Blueberry

Hot coffees in heavy cups.

Near end of the season fruit picking: The blueberries aren't quite blue yet. Most of them are white, light green or light blue. Only a few have turned a proper blue but they have an interesting, tart kind of taste. Peculiar but not unpleasant. Different from the store bought varieties. For some reason I didn't really think of blueberries ever making it in the Scottish climate but they do, eventually.

Take Frequent Breaks

Rain stopped play in the mixed fortunes of the world of gardening. I'm sweaty and just a bit sore with stretching, ladder climbing and humping trugs of rubbish, vegetation and litter. Old age etc. A number of fairly angry ants had also run up my sleeve, no doubt with good reasons for doing this. My gloves are not thorn proof either so cutting out brier is fairly hazardous. There's mild pain but no blood. So time to stop and reflect over some Ikea chocolate and a coffee. Unfortunately I fell into a eBay trance and, thanks to a persistent ear worm, bought a cheap copy of MIJ. Not heard it in years. Will I be disappointed? Probably yes at first but invariably no in the longer term. How's your screwed up afternoon going? Yes I like to own actual physical product.

South Queensferry Daily Photo

From Port Edgar: Broody skies over the bridges and breakwater. A cruise liner hides behind Inchgarvie Island, god knows what actually happens on these hulks but people pay good money for the experience. Being categorized as human cargo must feel strange. No lost footballs can be seen in the murky waters, just more murk. Behind us brave aquanauts struggle with paddle boards and a pleasure boat awaits eager passengers as they walk down onto the jetty dodging errant pigeons. 

Tomorrow will be just same except for the weather. Illegally parked vehicles may be fined or towed away so carefully enter your reg. number into one of the machines. If you've a spare £40k why not splash out on a locally sourced and rejuvenated classic Land Rover? You could also impulse buy a boat but that's not really recommended. Try a skillet breakfast from DTH instead and relax afterwards. Best and most sensible solution.

Garden of Leaves Plus ...

No matter what time of year it is our garden always has a carpet of leaves all over it. Seasonal variations of leafy content do apply. Some remain as slow forming mulch or are too difficult or messy to pick up, others make it into the brown bin which is therefore always full. Once there they're never seen again, Edinburgh Council have them in their mysterious grasp.

Ochilview football ground, a reasonable enough place to watch football and despite the name you'll not be seeing anything of the Ochil Hills from it, but that's not why you'd come here anyway. Football on a small scale and pies. Stenny pies are scoring a fair 8/10. A bright Tim Horton's is right next door if you're desperate for more variety.

A well appointed, pointed and painted Edinburgh gable end almost glimmers in the August sunshine. I like the patterns. Around the corner the Fringe money machine is out in full exploitative force with it's garish clowns, potential superstars and ensembles of perpetually touring enthusiasts and drama types.

Had to Happen

Photograph of a Canberra taken, naturally, from a (very low flying) Canberra.

Coffee Sports

 

Yes and Yes.

Blogging deconstructed. This is all cyclical. This is all it is. A feather in the wind. One day it's some mild and pointless 21st century opinionated and inaccurate rant that turns in on itself and slowly dies. Then maybe a daily photo piece that tails off into complete nothingness. This might be followed by a guitar gear review or a YouTube clip that has struck a chord - well measured shameless self promotion even. Cats are of course a regular feature, usually ours, though puppies were strongly represented a few months ago. Current affairs? Hmm, always a tough thing to get right, best avoided. Too much opinion imbalance and a lack of research and serious thought so it's just desperate filler really. Other people do it better. Why not feature a stolen photo from the Guardian or some cheap AI art?

Then maybe an absurd piece using some quirky existential angle before lapsing back into unrelated petrolhead drivel or a dish of the day recipe. Possible content is also a diary in real time or from yesterday or some made up day that never happened. Perhaps a poem that's actually quite badly formatted and written, because it came straight from the top of my head and was not ever edited at all. How about a few childhood memories on how Scotland used to be, how cruel school was and a few odd and ancient words using the East Neuk of Fife dialect? It'll never work. So I remain stuck with still staying safe with some chocolate bar photo and perhaps a silly comment about the weather ... what actual weather?

Knockhill Daily Photo

 

A very pleasant and sunny day at Knockhill racing circuit. Something that doesn't happen very often. I'm sitting on a grassy knoll taking aim. Everything is spread out before me. Noise, colours, dust and fumes. Petrolheads gather as the end of the world approaches and we all understand that there's nothing we can do about it. Even thinking about it is a kind of heresy. We're in the dumb zone. It's as if we all want to believe everything will stay the same when it clearly wont and so here we are. Conflicted but static.

Humans are not a sensible or a responsible creation. We (here in the old west) deserve whatever it is that's coming. This is unfortunate for the very many who don't deserve it. There are important beliefs and ideals many of us hold but we regularly take time out from them, just to do other things, for fun, things we like, travel and recreation, regardless of the consequences. We've had it easy up until now ...

Posh Porsche Pause

There are some fonts that you cannot easily buy.

(Upper vehicle image by the Ad_Professor.)

A Romantic Banksy

Before the rain came I used to think whatever it was I used to think. Those days are gone. They've been replaced by blanks and the exclusive and effective satellite dishes are now a grey memory. Urban animals can never roam freely. We stream visions of  fuzzy visions in alternative rivers of curated content. 

The ongoing relevance of Banksy is open to question, as is everything else. The unapologetic judging of the cash for spray paints and stencils, notoriety and content. You have to come to your own conclusions. 

So now that they've stolen the dish there will be no clear reception for the humble viewer. It's an environmental scandal but on a small scale. Will the wolf survive? Will anything survive? Who really stole the dish?

West Lothian Daily Photo

Without giving away the exact location of this vessel I can say that it's at least a 45 minute drive away from the sea or any serious body of water on which it might float. However if given the chance it's unlikely that it would float. Sometimes you just happen upon something and think, there's a back story here but I'm never going to know quite what it is or what set of circumstances led up to this "thing" being where it is today.

I often notice old cars up in driveways with grimy windows, body covered in moss, tyres deflated, grass growing all around. These vehicles haven't moved for years and never will. There are two Mitsubishi cars like that near to where I live, same model, one red and one white. Abandoned in plain sight and now reduced to useless and unintended garden furniture that's slowly rotting. 

What's the cause? Is it a death, depression, money troubles or just not caring anymore? Maybe these things just don't matter, maybe they're a common expression of human carelessness and so stay unseen, like litter in a Burger King car park, road signs obscured by vegetation or the trash on the edges of the motorway. It's there, we pass it by like it's really nothing to do with anyone. 

Don't Let The Bastards etc.

Be sure to like and share this post* if you've ever woken up in the morning with a bit of a buzzy throat but the sun is peeking through the curtains so you're mostly OK with the world but still harbouring a nagging thought: 

"They may take our winter heating allowance (not actually sure what's happening in Scotland though, time will tell) but they'll never take our egg chairs."

*Aye, right.

Below is a portrait (later in life) of the redoubtable Mr Albert Rennie Mackintosh Egg of Kirkintilloch, creator and inventor of the suspended garden egg chair. One of science's better leaps forward.

Umwelt

Art inspired by Umwelt*, up to a point: An over arching and inclusive term for all the unique environmental influences that might be shaping an individual's behaviour, or the environment as it is experienced by the individual. Forget common or shared experiences.

The word was introduced in 1909 by the Estonian biologist Jacob Johann von Uexküll (1864–1944) in his book Umwelt und Innenwelt der Tiere (Environment and Inner World of Animals). In phenomenology and existentialism it is the environment as it is experienced, also existential analysis, existential therapy and other mind numbing concepts if you dare. Compare Eigenwelt, Mitwelt. 

*From the German Umwelt environment, from um around + welt world.

First thing in the morning, the bathroom floor.

You focus on the mediocre.

You have been here before.

The middle of the day and you're on a sugar high.

You may need a drum kit and a hot air balloon.

Evening: everything in it's place and the world is at peace.

None of this will last.

Should you dare, close your eyes as if to sleep.

My world makes very little sense right now.

How are your dull little worlds doing?

Gentleman Ben

I'm not sure if he was killed off or cancelled or just rebranded because of some (obvious to everyone else) global branding issue. I don't keep up with these things, the world moves in mysterious ways but clearly the steadfast Uncle Ben has been deleted in both name and image. For the detached and discombobulated consumer like me it's kind of sad as I thought he was OK and that he knew his rice etc. all in a purely fictitious way. I feel I'm treading on thin and sparkly razor sharp ice here. 

What other advertising icons that we once knew, loved and misunderstood have met with a similar fate? The Milky Bar Kid, has he hung up his chocolate guns? Maybe the Michelin Man's gone flat too, and no I don't believe Britain should return to the values of the 1950s, hanging should come back, kids should learn tedious hymns in school or that at some golden point in time the British state was ever a just, honest and fairly run regime.

Green Harvest

This is art of a kind.

This is some kind of art.

Simple things.

 A seasonal diet with variations.

Fresh from the garden.

We have a degree of independence.

Small scale food security.

A stash of logs.

Solar power and water.

Compost heaps.

➕

The actual quantities are small.

Potatoes, peas, strawberries, apples, pears, plums.

Some are not really edible.

Berries - never sure about berries.

Not everything yields successful results.

Tiny creatures eat freely.

We call them pests.

Pests are just trying to survive.

Who are the real pests?

➕

We've no clear idea what we're doing.