Half Way Through

Exhibit One - "Or Utopia": There they sit, firmly stuck in some kind of artistic mud, a place like purgatory but not religious, a nether realm, the liminal space created by indifference or boredom. You'll see them on Netflix, Prime, Apple, iPlayer, Disney and the rest. Films that you started to watch, they looked good, interesting or intriguing at the time but now they hang there, in limbo on your account under the "continue watching" heading - stuck forever. 

Perhaps you persevered for 45 minutes, maybe even an hour, then you just drifted away. Bad acting, poor production values, shit scripts or just not your thing, it all counts. The first dismal episode of a labored and feeble season is often enough, just the time and place to make a quiet and dignified exit.

Despite what you might think the harsh reality is clear; you never will return to see these fine beasts develop, to witness the climax, the final scenes, the solution and the end credits. Nope - don't look back, you can never look back. They remain, in the shadows, thin and hollow memories of hope, expectation and excitement followed by the sour taste of disappointment. 

At last it's come to this, a place of honest retrospection where even thinking of revisiting them, in their dull and pallid shame is quite impossible. If only you could just set fire to a digital something or other and scorch the earth they had put their roots down into. There are layers of them building up and how can you ever get yourself clean again?

Megalithic

 

Ancient engineers: Some of the stones seen here have been estimated to weigh well over 30kg. How did our ancestors manage to achieve the building these massive, finely hewn stone structures and complex earthworks? How did they move large stones and huge quantities of building materials? What real world purpose did their creations actually serve?  The past remains with us, but as to how it ever got there, well that's a really big mystery, well beyond my own simple knowledge and understanding.

BBC Quislings

Every so often I allow my inner monologue to be diverted into a brief put pointless rant about BBC Scotland's cheap, distorted and sycophantic news coverage. I actually haven't watched or listened to any of it for about ten years but those annoying memories remain. Avoiding the BBC's news coverage has been good medicine for me in terms of keeping 🤬 at bay and I'd recommend doing it. Occasionally I wonder if maybe I'm missing something really intelligent, informed and unbiased. I doubt it though.

Wet Belt

So your auto engine has a wet belt? Engineers don't do that sort of thing because it's a bad idea ... unless there's a bigger, more complex strategy at work. You don't really want to know about the time bomb. Time bombs are fickle friends who aren't a friend at all. The copywriters were too busy wordsmithing the brochures and press releases to give the actual details. The truth got a little strained because everybody wants to advertise a breakthrough that offers some kind of gain. Industry likes to spice up the product now and then, just to see how far we'll go, just to see if we even care or bother to take note. They do something, there in the dark heart. Unspeakable. You might say they design gremlin spanners that can easily be thrown into the works. Belts, bearings, chains, gaskets, seals and other, often quite small components that have a "design" life. They will, once past the allotted time fail, some with serious consequences, some with minor ones. By then anyone who mattered will have moved on. It's quite exciting really. Third party suppliers who create surprise outcomes. Unplanned events. You may get cumulative failures, one upon one, upon another. That sounds like fun. It's not clear how it will turn out and of course if you've not kept up with your end of the bargain; maintenance, checks, services, consumables and your own good conduct and product loyalty ... then you're liable, not them. What did the previous owner do? Tick tick tick.

This article on wet belts in auto internal combustion engines has been semi-redacted by the ghostly powers of complete and benign authority.

SHOP NOW!

 

The simple graphics, the clear and compelling message, the good sense it describes, there on my phone, arriving seemingly from nowhere, without any context or invitation into my feed of carefully curated (by AI) information - and ending with that magic phrase "Shop Now". So did I stop what I was doing, did I obey and shop now? No. 

Future Christmas

I'm now a few days away from my 69th Christmas. Bah Humbug! There's fine cheese and wine* and optional body warmers for all OAPs but no heating allowance. I'm tempted by the impractical thought of heavy drinking*. The relentless winter festival of whatever meaning you choose to give it or whatever meaning you're happy to have imposed on you is finally with us all. It arrives every year, now smoothly delivered via the pumpkin coloured sphincter of a USA themed Halloween.

Jesus has a lot to answer for but his wildly bewildered followers have a whole lot more, mainly because it's nothing to do with him at all these days. So small doses of powerful, mind altering drugs seem very attractive at this joyful time of year, if only to dull the pain of cliche and fakery. Try not to think too much about the multiple war crimes taking place over in Palestine either, about 50 Km from Bethlehem. I'll just quietly pull on my charity shop pullover with the knitted Santa design set across the chest and loaf around sipping wine* and the like.

I am however partial to mindless Christmas movies if the necessary drugs are unavailable or remain illegal. There, comfy on the couch, watching my smiling virtual friends resolving trivial problems on Netflix and somehow stumbling upon the true meaning of Christmas (?) and in so doing the true meaning of life. In a fantasy season everything can be true for a little while. What's not to like? Let the festivities commence*.

*One thing to note: I find that the older I get the less I can eat and drink. It's quite useful to experience this part of my physical degradation at this time of year when we're all supposed to binge on endless party food.

The Past Sure Is Tense

Over to the left we go.

Then over to the right.

Still some people consider the centre

 to be the best path.

I'm honestly not sure

but if paranoia has 

had a word with you

and

whispered nothing less

 you may believe it.

Meeting Famous Actors

 

Above, should be obvious to all which one is Sassy the cat. 

I haven't met very many famous actors in my time. I've never been involved in that world at all. However I was thinking the other day of one famous actor that I did meet over thirty years ago in Disneyland. It was at a live animal encounters show where animal actors perform tricks. Dogs, birds and monkeys do clever things while looking cute and eager. I'm not sure that the show is still part of the current menu of attractions there. Things have changed. We were more easily amused and impressed then.

Cats tend not to figure in animal shows but my encounter with fame was with Sassy, an cat actor.  Well the cat I met was one of the ten different cats who played Sassy in the film, Sally Field did the voice. There was only ever one of her. So Sassy (not sure of her real name) performed and defied common animal knowledge in the sunny outside theater by doing various fetch and catch kind of things and also ran out several times amongst the audience. She was briefly next to me. So that was where I met her, turning tricks. The 1992 movie she starred in (Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey) made $57m worldwide. I hope she enjoyed a good retirement thanks to the proceeds.

Orange Claw Hammer

Another late in the day instagram accidental encounter. Orange Claw Hammer are not a Beefheart tribute band, so they say. I'm inclined to believe that. They played at the Green Hotel Kinross the other week but I was unaware of this or the band. I was an early convert to CB and remained faithful for a few years and then took to planetary drifting ... certainly the pre-punk clean tones and predictable structures of early 70s pop and even progressive rock needed a good undermining and CB and Zappa provided that, and a healthy or maybe unhealthy dose of sneering and, for the fans, jazz rock snobbery and all the mental illness that goes with it (later in life). 

It's a situation that still exists, certainly inside my scrappy head. Being the double minded chap I am, I can see the appeal on either side of easy and tricky music but I do think that it would crazy, fascinating and wonderfully dangerous to play this music live. Step away from the pentatonic scales and shapes for a bit. On the downside maybe too many breaks and peculiar timings to remember to cope with, but then how do you even recognize mistakes in the free flow of free form? Good luck to the Claw Hammer's endeavours. Set list below. They don't use titles like those anymore ...

Tiny Apple

Our tiny apple tree has provided us with a tiny crop of tiny apples of which this is one. No surprises there. The key is of course in the photo to provide some sense of scale. It's a regular sized door key. If you're wandering what the point of these tiny apples is then you're not the only one.

Interesting

The new Jaguar: Interesting concept car design but ... high angled gradients, speed bumps and pot holes? Perhaps there are sensors that adjust the height. Not that I could ever afford one anyway. Not really my thing.

Anyway here's three cats asleep in there own personal cardboard boxes (their choice) and a dog wide awake and alert after a rather chilly night time walk.

Why?

Genuinely not sure why any sane person would click on that "sign up here" button and actually sign up for such a feast of stale propaganda and biased political pish. I'd rather stick pins in my eyes. Then again I often see (older) people buying the Sun or the Daily Mail in supermarkets and just can't help but think WTF. Do so many of our fellow humans just not get it yet? Grumble, grumble. 😉

Redemption and Rehabilitation

As the nights have drawn in I've been amusing myself by taking some guitars that are in my keep on a journey of redemption and rehabilitation. These were mostly unsaleable stock from my on-line shop of a few years back. In the aftermath of gradual failure I kind of gave up on them and allowed the weeds and moss to gather and grow. 

Times change and so far I've redeemed two that were fairly useless planks due to faulty electrics, poor set up, action and notation problems, dodgy bridges and wonky machine heads etc. I know I should have done this sooner and I can be a serial procrastinator if left to my own devices, but I'm now working through my self generated backlog and actually getting somewhere. 

So this is "Bodge" a black cat pyro'd Partscaster that I've been building and adjusting for about twelve of your Earth's years. Over time everything has gone wrong with this (hence the numerous bodged solutions naming), partly due to my incompetence, poor choices and apathy which also resulted in me ignoring it for quite a while. Somehow I awoke and I've finally got it playable; not great but not a guitar that you really have to fight with to enjoy (anyone who's played crappy guitars for a bit knows what I mean by that). 

Another reason for this limited whiff of energy and success may the occasional and obviously seasonal visits of a small magical friend. We all need a little magic now and again.

1

1  AI and the gift of alternative history. Grains of truth, buckets of fabrication. On display but hidden in clear view. I suppose it's a bit like the history you were taught at school. Somehow not quite correct, a different version of real events, in a nutshell false but passable. We've all absorbed so much alternative history by now that we can't really discern what's fact from fiction. It's such fun. It's for the best too according to evidence. None of this matters because a) it's the way it's always been and b) what difference would knowing or even embracing the truth make anyway? 

Thinking is hard work and best avoided if you want a quiet, comfortable and settled life, just accept their narrative and you'll be fine. Let it wash over you,like some warm drug overdose. Maybe a wee drop of fear, just to keep you focused. You get the scant pension support, what passes for health and social care and the faint and fragile belief that you're living in an upright and just country. It's all well governed and democratic, it's never done anything evil or outrageous and we're on the right side of history. Our wars were just wars, each and every one and nobody ever died in vain. God is on our side along with our precious Royal Family and structured Monarchy. 

That's the rambling Monday morning message, just stay with it and you'll be fine. 1

2

 

2 Sandwich of the non specific day. Anchovies, Boursin, French Mustard on toasted white sourdough. I'd mark it at a reasonable 6.5 out of a non decimal 10. I made and designed the sandwich so I'm scoring my own slightly disappointing but edible creation in a fair manner. A curious mix of flavours and textures that didn't quite work so I won't be recommending it to Greggs or Pret any time soon. "Not marketable in a meal-deal." I imagine that there are a team of sandwich chefs always on hand experimenting with the next big thing in that rarefied and exclusive world.  I don't suppose suggested sandwiches from amateurs are all that welcome there either. Then there's the inevitable problems of royalties, rights and plagiarism. 2

3

 

3 If I had a fear of teeth, dentures or even dentists then I'd find this gaudy art work pretty troubling. I find it troubling anyway. The execution and composition with the keyboards, accordion and swirls, the colours, the cartoon style and the guitars, none of it is good. It's just way too toothy and mouthy for me so alas it has no future (other than to be pasted up here and so stuck in some futile orbit around the world of the blog-sphere for as long as the servers allow). 3

4

 

4 Numerous consumer items (i.e. yogurt as above) that are neither reasonably priced nor a decent size. It seems to me that the only things that are getting bigger are motor cars, they're also getting heavier, more complex and more expensive. They are not getting better either in terms of reliability or looks. I suppose everyone of a certain age thinks that. 

So back to yogurt, Chunky Kit-Kats and various other random products that I can't be bothered to list. At what point will these items cease to be viable and visible as they shrink to an almost microscopic size to fit the sales, marketing and production budgets that are now looking increasingly unsustainable? 

We may need to breed a race of tiny people with reduced appetites if we are to survive. I believe there was an unsuccessful project pilot run on this a few years ago. It was based in the East Neuk of Fife and members of my family may have been a part of it. The records are either lost or buried somewhere out by Flanders Moss. The once well curated collective memory has also been erased.  4

5

5 Your time is up. When you're stuck in the shit, snow or nuclear waste, keep digging. Five o'clock somewhere but not here. Not now on this page. It only ever happens twice a day, every twelve hours, everywhere. Whether we like it or not. Did your granny ever say, "the man who made time made plenty of it" ? I tend to think there's never enough time to sort anything out properly. I'm not sure old people are all as wise and as sensible as they'd like you to believe they are. Maybe that's why I'm all for assisted dying but also all for assisted living. Must be a sort of black spot, nouveau monde, neo-socialist kind of thing. 5

6

6 When Epiphone was great and independent, though it's still alright and more affordable within Gibson these days imho. I like the Beatles, god knows I grew up with them and their relentless success but why is my small corner of the internet so obsessed with them still and why isn't Ringo in this photo? A drunk guy told me that I looked like Paul the other night. For some reason that troubled me. No one has ever in my life compared me to a Beatle until now. I can't help wondering what it was he (the drunk guy) was on. 6

Channeling Noel Fielding

 

Our recent trip south was nearly thwarted by an early winter wishy washy white out. Traffic chaos was reported everywhere and the journey looked to be too tough to make. We decided to wait and see, so after some extensive research via Fife Jammer, we left early in the afternoon rather than first thing in the morning. Crazy how established news and formal travel websites are totally unable to pass information in a timely or clear manner when bad weather hits. Local knowledge and common sense actually works. The weather was always going to be poor, the roads well dodgy but we made it all the way to a cold and rainy Manchester without becoming another statistic or getting stuck. So how was I channeling Noel Fielding?

Maybe it was the late night banter about collecting slugs in order to feed the local badgers, living off grid in the backwoods, daft things we believed and did in the 70s. Maybe my eccentric and totally sober attempts at dancing and falling from an unbalanced chair, then relaxing in the cushy red room before soaking up the sounds and beats of a Manchester urban sound system. Could it be scoffing through the Tibetan inspired menu or just too much chilled out Coca-Cola in my system? 

I'm no comedian either nor do I live in Narnia. I'm just an alien time traveler who inhabits the damaged inner sanctum of a lost soul which causes bits of my conversation to lapse into spiraling childish thoughts and quips that are Fieldingesque and unfunny. Thankfully this doesn't last and probably goes unnoticed ... but it does made me smile and giggle at bit, inside only. My face remains deadpan. Perhaps there's something in the air.