McGuinness's

Random Fife history moment: Currently known as the Coastal Inn, previously the Boat, before that McGuinness's -  a pub in Cellardyke on John Street. Old names tend to stick so I still think of it as McGuinness's. It's set into the narrow rows of tightly packed cottages and houses that hug the Fife coast, born of sweet and bitter memories from fishing's glory days, world wide seafaring and military service. My granny's house was a few doors away to the right of this photo so I've early memories of the pub as it was 60 years ago or thereabouts. It was a no frills drinking shop and only men used it in those days. Now it's remodeled as a small pub that does food and B&B in a colourful corner of The East Neuk.

Space Saver

In an effort to move on in the age related battle against skills fade I decided to swap out my annoying slowly deflating tyre and replace it with the spare; a space saver. Years ago vehicle tyre rotation was encouraged and I'd do it from time to time to spread the tyre wear across the axles and so stop excessive damage and repeated stress. Most DIY blokes did this, it was a Sunday afternoon ritual every six months or so. 

Anyway I changed the offending tyre without any real problems and hopefully will get the puncture fixed this week. The strange satisfaction of doing something like this is ... strange. I felt like an old dog catching a flying stick in mid air. Nothing to prove but something to prove. It's finally come to this - unnecessary self capability tests just to show that you can carry out a simple, mundane task (without personal injury or making things worse).

You're Doing It All Wrong

Fabulous but unproven garden advice coming up: We inherited this bee dwelling when we arrived here. It's been ignored by bees for all the time we've lived here, despite our garden being a bit of a bee gathering place. Our lavender is a prime bee magnet. I know bees are regularly said to be in peril because of slack regulations on pesticides and all the pollution in the air but it seems our various bushes and plantings are helping the bees fight back. Having said that they've ignored this fine chunk of property (the bee bungalow) and stayed away from it. I still don't know where they go at the end of the day after a hard shift in the garden.

We did wonder why it was ignored by the bees but often these animal house just don't work. A quick google however told us that bee homes should face south and of course this one was stuck facing north and so ignored, even by homeless bees. Now I'm going to renovate the place and put it in some sunny south facing, sheltered spot and see what happens. Gardens need bees, wasps, spiders and all those other annoying flying and crawling things so let's give them a bit help and shelter with the right plants and little Chinese built timber cabins set securely in the best garden spot. Amen.

Call Any Vegetable

One of the joys of gardening is harvesting your own home grown crops. In this instance the home grown crops are represented by a potato (it's been baked). The onions and tomatoes came from a shop and are only there because I liked the photo. Our potato haul this year was reasonable but not large. The quality of the potatoes is however variable. They're OK for mashing and passable for baking but they tend to deteriorate into mush if over boiled. The deterioration happens quickly so you have to watch and test them constantly. It's stressful at the time, like observing an unexploded potato bomb (I should know). We tend not to eat a lot of spuds so it's not a major a problem. 

Our peas were a wild success but for all the space and care it takes to grow them we only got the equivalent of a large bag of frozen ones. They were tasty though and nice to eat freshly picked during garden meanderings. We also reared tiny amounts of strawberries, gooseberries, plums and a few pears. The apples are still too small to count as fruit so we're not expecting much of a yield now. As for the kale, cabbage and cauliflower, we suffered a total wipe out thanks to invisible pests.

In the end we'll never eat well from this garden and now that the cats are actively using selected chunks of it as field toilets, I'm thinking that we've achieved peak garden. Actually we may have reached it some time ago and now be entering a period of steady decline ending with a scrappy, leaf and moss covered wilderness where exotic insect populations can thrive and expand exponentially, eventually overwhelming us. A fitting end for this postage stamp sized outpost of civilisation I'd say.

Unfortunately

Lots of people have been posting this image* in order to protect social media accounts from AI bots crawling all over them. Unfortunately this is a scam or something similar and does not offer any protection against AI "harvesting" your data or anything else. You're being misled. So if you're tempted to post this on FB or Insta or Threads as a fix don't bother. In other words we're all screwed anyway and any protection option you might be seeking sank without trace some time ago. The only way you can protect yourself is to set your accounts to private ... or something 😏. 

*The reversed image means nothing by the way, I just liked adding it in. The "harvested" tweet below describes my own ongoing problems quite accurately.

Turner Prize Material

 A contender for this year's Turner Prize.

I like art. I like seeing it, hearing about it, reading about it, experiencing it, occasionally actually thinking about it and once in a while perhaps almost seriously, perhaps sardonically, creating art of some sort. Nothing special as I'm not qualified (?). So the manner and means of execution, materials, skill, imagination, originality, saying something, capturing a moment, making it real, are all important attributes and ingredients necessary to bring an art work into the world. As above.

What a diverse and curious world art has created for itself: a world of critical judgement, taste, choices, opinions, prices and costs, fashions, religions and philosophy, AI, treasure, exploitation and junk. Smoke and mirrors abound.

The trick is to never take any of it too seriously. Especially the people who hand out the prizes and plaudits; and to a lesser extent, those who win them. I suppose everything can be interesting but far fewer things are rewarding.

Welly Shoes

Unpaid promotion for Dunlop Wellington shoes: Apart from sounding like a character from a Wes Anderson movie and looking criminally uncool these shoes are very useful. Welly shoes are both practical and (with after market insoles fitted) quite comfortable. They have become my "go to" DIY footwear following extensive trials being performed in gardening, grass cutting, car washing, cat wrangling and nipping across the the Co-op in the rain types of everyday situations. I'm not sure why these aren't as common as Crocs, though clearly they're not as colourful or stylish - but you can easily get knock off ones in Aldi or the real thing on Amazon for not much proper cash ... and they're waterproof.

Signs and Sights

Strange sign placed in the middle of nowhere, kind of out of context but with an obvious public and environmental safety message, and whilst this message might be true up to a point there's opinions that forest fires can be healthy for the forest etc. if you take a slightly longer view. None of that accounts for the behaviour of idiots however and they're unlikely to even read or consider those words before they torch the place. I'd only give this sign a three out of ten. The font is awful, the message at the very least mixed and it's placement, randomly by some woodland where there's no parking, camping or obvious human activity, is odd.

Having said all that a few days (two) in the countryside is great for the soul. Perhaps not so good for the digestion but that's self inflicted and random dumb signs and seasonal tourist traffic are just minor irritations. A weekend with various friends and the "Fiddlers of Orchy" types is always a pleasure and the weather and landscapes were all close to being prefect. There was excellent food, drink, chat and rowdy, live music too, so good times ...

 

Bridgerton Hobbits

It's finally happened: watching the latest car crash (also worryingly enthralling) episode of "Rings of Power" I was struck by the odd possibility of some hobbit world that had developed a quasi-Bridgerton culture. I know, daft but somehow closer than you might think. The "Derry Girls" Irish speaking, dirty and clumsy hobbit ladies have now strayed into some unlikely hobbit/halfling camp in the middle of a desert where equally idiotic hobbits dream of ... the Shire (didn't see that coming). Despite living in a subsistence based economy in a wasteland, nobody actually does anything. Hmm.

The good news is that romance and relationships are now rearing their quirky little heads. The girls with mushrooms and carrots teased into their ratty hair and horrid grimy fingers are the new evangelists for some dear green place over the hills. Their peculiar beauty routines and the fact that, as active refugees, they have time for all this, following ordeal after ordeal, can only lead to some Bridgerton style mash up. Love and guerrilla gardens in the sand dunes as they pamper themselves before attending the Great Royal Ball; after that they find the promised land and are summoned before the queen for a success rating and a pat on the head.

In order for it to work Amazon and Netflix might have to compromise their flagship shows, but it could all happen. Never let artistic integrity (long gone for both now) get in the way of a genre bending opportunity and reviews that might actually be positive.

I'm only scratching at the surface but here are some ideas: The mad multi cultural Scottish Dwarves (yes they are fucking crazy and not in a good way) might team up with Rebus to solve crimes in an even more gloomy version of Edinburgh's underground crime world than the real one. Also I'm actually insulted by the way these two dimensional dwarves are written and portrayed. Not sure why.

The stiff, stuck up and frankly stupid elves could work as "agents" on Selling Sunset. Elves zipping about in high powered sports cars is something I'd watch. Perhaps their complete absence of body language, fashion style and sense of humour would transform the luxury property market in LA,  just maybe not in a good way. 

As for Sauron, the clearly psychotic demi-god with multiple childhood issues; a dose of fun and lighter relief in the spectrum of evil is required. Some sunshine, lost souls, cocktails and proper hedonism. I'd transport him back to ancient Greece to team up with Jeff Goldblum's Zeus in Kaos. They'd set the world to rights, no problem.

So what about the dumb-ass, space hopping, clueless Gandalf hanging out with Tom Bombadil? Tom never did make sense in the books but was an interesting enough diversion, now I'm not sure. He comes complete with a bizarre Dorset accent, one set to rival Robert Fripps'. Words fail me, so I'm stopping now. 

Cats V Helicopters

Putin must be stopped (said no western politician ever). Our flimsy defences are no match for the might of the Soviet forces and the backhanders the Kremlin has given to our illustrious political classes over the years. Who would have thought that 60 years of defence reviews, each one less thought through than the previous one would leave us with weakened and light weight armed forces? Nobody really knows what to do other than wag fingers and be photographed at the right places and then discussed in tedious Guardian articles.

Never mind all that, the military are on exercises this week. Scotland is under some imaginary siege. Grey/green convoys are out on the roads upsetting the traffic watchers. Greggs are doing record business as the September sunshine continues whilst the squaddies vape in unison in their break time. There are warnings and signs (?), paranoia and headlines and we have low flying helicopters buzzing our town. Well not very low but very loud when flying over us. Our normally stable cats don't like these pesky machines, understandably. They fill the sky over the garden with their engine noise and the cats scatter, headed into the relative safety of the house. They dislike them even more than vacuum cleaners, their other mechanical nemesis. Won't somebody think of the felines?

Aberdour Daily Photo

These photos are not really of Aberdour but more taken from Aberdour on a very calm, balmy September afternoon. A day of Indian summer weather. In the distance there is Inchcolm, an island in the Forth complete with ruined abbey and various abandoned fortifications. St Columba never did visit but stray angels can be seen there every Halloween. Below is a zoomed in shot. 

The afternoon is spent lazily wandering along in the sun, kicking the dust and making up band names up whilst discussing the physical ailments of the over 60s. We're filled up full with heavy but tasty sandwiches, along with soup and salad from a local bistro . (Never liked the word bistro but it is what it is - a sort of cafe where things are slightly more expensive and a little bit nicer but the service is worse).

A brave soul on a paddle board drifts across the bay at the Black Sands. There's sand there but it never has been black, or has it? Aberdour is a lovely wee place that I've got to know very well over many years but it still seems blighted by local shops and hotels that just can't quite make it, so there's a sense of noble failure and valiant but fruitless effort in the air. Shops and eateries churn on, in and out of business as the seasons turn over. It's a tough gig. The struggle is real. The premises are vacant.

The historical (they all are) castle and gardens. It's £7.50 (Highlander location = fan tourist trap) to visit so we maintained a safe distance to avoid being compromised. Out of shot is a robot lawnmower mowing a non robotic lawn, quietly and efficiently in line with mandatory manpower cuts. Meanwhile drones disguised as picnic tables await their next Amazon delivery mission.

Outbreak

 

There's been a nasty outbreak of these screens on my Planet X feed. Maybe it's me, maybe it's things in the wider world, maybe it's retribution. I'll never know and I'm not bothered. If the whole thing folded tomorrow we'd all just go elsewhere and browse. We're basically all cattle in little herds chewing on straw bales and looking blankly over the fence. X is just one of many straw bales. I'm also well aware that I'm only really writing this insignificant message in Sharpie on yet another brand of straw bale.

Grand Designs

Grand designs and cats in low definition.

On some Wednesdays we build furniture.

Furniture for cats and people.

Meanwhile this product is in the style of the Greeks and I'm already won over by those two simple words - Greek Style. I am however reluctant to try it, just in case it turns out to be not quite what I'm expecting. The eternal tension between life expectations and the hard face of reality remains and often stops progress or experimentation. It's a cruel world when you're human, but I'm almost ready to get down from this high place and hopefully smell the coffee. What if it's awful?

Webs of Silence

I have become the sort of person who takes photos of spider's webs when out in the garden in the early morning foggy dew. Little did I think that my golden autumn years would be spent this way. All that training, education and workplace experience have led to this kind of thing. The crown of creation on my life and career are now activities that some may consider to be fine examples of wasteful, hollowed out and vacuous pastimes. But ...

"What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare."

"Leisure" by W H Davies.

P.S. Here's George quietly sitting 20' up a tree in a pigeon's nest.

Cellardyke Daily Photo

 

The long and winding roads of central Scotland took me away to Cellardyke in Fife. I traveled via St Andrews University where I made an urgent delivery and also purchased an unexpected emergency duvet (student life etc.), but enough of that. My other job was involved going to Anstruther cemetery to tidy up two family graves that sadly don't really get much care and attention because there's very few family members left alive from my generation who are able to maintain the gravestones. Not an unusual situation I imagine.

The task is a bit of a challenge, locating the graves being the hardest part before brushing them down and cleaning and refreshing the stones and lettering as best as I can. There I am with my orange B&Q bucket of materials; some crazy old man wondering back and forwards among the grave stones squinting at names and dates before settling down onto his knees to clean one. Is this peculiar behaviour in a cemetery? Probably not but it feels awkward at the time. I undertake this work every couple of years and I get an odd sense of well being from it.

Once the gravestone cleaning was done I rewarded myself with a stroll around Cellardyke, my first ever (I suppose my only) home town. It was one of those warm, misty but kind of wild at the edge September days. The sea being in particularly good form. I looked suitably dangerous. Rough and rowdy out across the rocks but reasonably clear and manageable in the community organised Cellardyke Tidal Pool. This busy pool has had recent upgrading works done and it's a credit to those local folks who have pushed and pulled to get the funding and the improvement plans completed. It's a fine wee, if slightly ramshackle corner of the village with the reworked pool, the pizza shack, coffee caravan and an outdoor sports and water sports centre all being well used.

One Word

 

Photo etc. by AG.

Winter is Coming

"Bungle" photo by LB.

The buzzing of a not too distant chainsaw, trees are being hacked into shape. A heavy fog sits on the water and it's droplets move in to drip from branches and hedges. Foghorn blasts resonate across the invisible river. The air is damp and tastes of sea mist. A completely unrelated delivery of logs arrives as a tree branch crashes down in a nearby garden. Cars are moved for safety to allow tree surgery works to get underway. The men hack and saw through the pile of timber and leaves and the debris goes into the back of their truck. 

It is becoming a very wooden Friday morning. Things are being tidied. I empty the log pallet, one dirty log at a time. The winter stock of logs are slowly piled up into storage with a fair bit of honest sweat and effort on my part, strangely satisfying though. I stand back and review the loaded up storage spaces. We're looking squarely into winter already. All three cats snooze quietly indoors through the whole proceedings as their staff continue to plan and prepare the strategy to keep them warm.

If I Were You (A Trilogy)

 "If I were you I'd get that seen to."

- living in a time of 

guilty skin conditions

signs of a judgement

applied on those who stray

who choose to stay away

from the holy places

inside and out -

But I'm clean.

Sixteen Once

"So let it rock, let it roll

Let the Bible Belt come and save my soul

Hold on to 16 as long as you can ..."

As per the previous post - I can't deny that I was once a lot younger than I am now, hard to believe I know but I didn't hold on to 16 any longer than anyone else did, nobody does, it's a normal thing. Resistance is futile. I didn't own a Strat either; there were Bibles and belts though, but no actual Bible Belt. My soul took flight and refused cheap salvation, eventually. You're working class in Scotland, it's the 1970s and you're going to have to work because that's what's for you and further education won't be an option ... but you'll still keep on learning. 16 was 54 years ago, or thereabouts. 

I wouldn't want to be that kid again. If I ever met him I don't know what advice I'd give him and it would be a waste of time anyway because I know he wouldn't be listening, too busy dreaming dumb and grubby dreams. Reality hits everyone eventually. The painful truths of growing up and over your mistakes. Maybe giving advice about getting over things is more useful than giving advice about avoiding things. Better to regret doing something than doing nothing (this of course comes with a few major caveats for real life). My generation were 16 once, it was about the time that Jimi Hendrix died.

Night Bird Flying

When Electric Lady Studios were simply analogue: From what I've heard of this material so far, it does sound good, even to my cloth and compromised ears. Sorted and mastered up by the old wizard Eddie Kramer himself. Devotees and  listeners will be familiar with all the tracks, part of that slightly peculiar batch of songs and instrumentals from a time when Hendrix's creativity was wobbling (so I've always thought), in the final year before he died. The old saying still goes though: "even Hendrix playing badly is better than anybody else playing well". Some might see this as another "cash in" package but from what I've heard from Eddie Kramer I'm pretty sure there's a lot of love, honesty and pride in the work that's been carried out on fixing up these tracks. One question might be how come has it taken so long to materialize? Tech solutions, other priorities, legal wrangles maybe. 

So it takes me back to a 16 year old me skipping school and eagerly purchasing "The Cry of Love" from Bruce's Records in Edinburgh's Rose Street in 1970. In truth it wasn't the album I'd hoped it would be but "better than etc." prevailed and a lot of that music has stayed with me over that last 50+ years. From what I've heard so far the remastered i.e. previously unreleased material, is very good. The multiple layering of the guitars on "Night Bird Flying" were tremendous back then. Today they are still as fresh, complex and delightful, even if age, nostalgia and reflection tend to add and remove their own measures of brightness and distortion. 

I guess the audience for this material and these kind of deluxe bundles is slowly diminishing as are the witnesses and the fan base. It's perhaps the last hurrah before some AI monster beats down the studio doors and extrapolates way on into the blue yonder with enhanced and re-imagined Hendrix style music destined to trash the legacy but increase the income from what looks like a new official entity; "Experience Hendrix". I don't really want to be around for that.

The official blurb from Electric Lady Studios: 

A Jimi Hendrix Vision' is an in-depth project from Experience Hendrix, encompassing 3CD/1 Blu-ray of previously unreleased music Jimi Hendrix recorded at his newly-created recording facility in 1970. The deluxe box set offers 39 tracks (38 previously unreleased) that were recorded by the new-look Experience (Billy Cox on bass, Mitch Mitchell on drums) at Electric Lady Studios between June and August of 1970, just before the legendary musician's untimely death the following month. The project also includes 20 newly-created 5.1 surround sound mixes of the entire 'First Rays of the New Rising Sun' album plus three bonus tracks ('Valleys of Neptune', 'Pali Gap' and 'Lover Man'). The Blu-ray includes the critically acclaimed, full-length documentary 'Electric Lady Studios: A Jimi Hendrix Vision'. The film chronicles the creation of the studio, rising from the rubble of a bankrupt Manhattan nightclub to state-of-the-art recording facility inspired by Hendrix's desire for a permanent studio. Directed by John McDermott and Produced by Janie Hendrix, George Scott and McDermott, the film features exclusive interviews with Steve Winwood (who joined Hendrix on the first night of recording at the new studio), Experience bassist Billy Cox, and original Electric Lady staff members who helped Hendrix realize his dream. The documentary includes never-before-seen footage and photos as well as track breakdowns of Hendrix classics such as 'Freedom', 'Angel' and 'Dolly Dagger' by recording engineer Eddie Kramer. The package includes an extensive booklet filled with unpublished photos, Hendrix's handwritten song drafts, and comprehensive liner notes.