Edinburgh Daily Photo

Yes it's a wonky photo but then it's pretty wonky place. Up on Calton Hill the other day, first time in a while: The first thing I see are massed police officers and their fleet of grubby vehicles, from all across the UK and presumably still in town following the recent Greenpeace incidents. That's an odd image right away.  Meanwhile incredibly stylish Asians do Insta stuff, runaway kids and baffled families explore and I stumble on the rough edges; nobody seems to know what they're looking for including me. Apart from the wonderful view, they're not finding anything else on this barren and bizarre, run down hill top with it's collapsed infrastructure. 

Whatever else the visitors come for: the tourists, junkies, police and thieves, I don't think Edinburgh Council really cares about the space. Folks clamber up and struggle to pose up on top of the "disgrace's" massive stone platform like it was the top of Ben Nevis. I wonder about risk and public liability and then dismiss those pointless thoughts. Access could be easier, everything could be tidier but maybe it doesn't matter. It seems to me that despite the history, the views and the potential of this spectacular and historic location, nobody who matters or has clout really cares about it. 

Meanwhile we now have Palestinian Cola (?) in the fridge, buy it here.

Floss & Rocket

Thinking of starting an imaginary grocery shopping inspired indie band called Floss & The Rockets. The guitars will jangle and fizz with lemonade reverb and fight for attention with those tortured and distorted vocals shoved well down in the mix. This is about as far as that idea will ever get.

A few rainy days ago: My 30+ years old 335 type Washburn has been in dry dock for repairs recently. The solder had gone bad on the input jack and the guitar was effectively silent. Arguably no bad thing in the opinion of some folks. Anyway without easy access to the guts of these beasts as there's no back passage, it's down to removing what you can using a fat, knotted guitar string to pull the relevant bits through the "f" holes. Bit of a bugger and swearfest of a fiddly job - but I made it without personal injury or much damage. 

It was a struggle to pull the socket backwards and out the "f" hole, fix it on the surface and reverse pull it back in and tighten it up, but it seems OK now. In the process I cracked two of the four amber speed knobs and via my mixed up parts bin refitted four Fender style knobs which I think look rather spiffing as a hybrid and emergency modification. Then I tightened up the truss rod a bit, checked the intonation and it's all good to go ... back into it's case. I've got too many guitars. No you can't have it.

Nature's Masochist

All by Andy Goldsworthy. 

Being artistically uneducated and a cultural dipstick I've managed not to pay much attention to Mr Goldsworthy's art over the last 50 years. Twigs, leaves, stones, ferns, rivers, dead animals all figure in his strange, huge and brutal works. Often they are quite beautiful and disturbing but I'm still not a fan though. The slavish effort to gather and cut and twist, to line up and to build and unbuild doesn't quite work for me. All those machine and man hours and the hard labour. I don't really understand it but I respect that there's a lifetime of toil and expression invested in there, pushing out deep but obvious messages. Perhaps he should've built sleek ocean going wooden boats or elaborate log cabins in the wilderness instead of this relentless and wild artwork.

It's impressive and expansive but as empty as a ploughed field, neglected woodland or an unkempt lawn; he fights nature within a self made arena, looking like he's winning but it's all just some kind of fake wrestling match. Romantic and aggressive Victorian follies spring to mind, populating an artificial reality for effect and perspective and then slowly crumbling away. All the resource, diesel fumes and sweat whispers what we already know, life is tough but art isn't really as tough as it thinks it is when it tries to improve on what nature does easily, just by being itself - left alone.

Now it's all curated and on display in the grand halls of the National Gallery in Edinburgh via photographs, film and examples. Nobody has to get their feet wet or their boots muddy. That in itself is quite strange.

Who are the Baddies?

Queensferry Daily Photo etc. I know it's a bad photo but it shows Greenpeace activists (the tiny red blobby things) hanging from the Forth Road Bridge with banners critical of Ineos and their fracking operations. One of their oil tankers headed up stream earlier today. I was struck by reading some of our "local" social media comments about how bad it all was that people were protesting in this way, closing the bridge, making a fuss, taking up resources to gain attention for what are quite a complex set of issues. 

Just who are the goodies and who are the baddies here? Are Ineos good? They just closed down Scotland's only oil refinery but still manufacture loads of single use plastics worldwide. They are the big boys in the chemical industry. Is Greenpeace bad for causing disruption and affecting traffic? They also represent a set of views I tend to agree with but fail to live by. Is the right side of history theirs when it comes to fracking? 

Is it a simple and binary matter or just another shitty mess that none of us can quite get our heads around? All I know is that if there are rebels of any kind, I'll tend to take their side as a default position. Also when I see very strange government agency vehicles (not police, military or fire) screaming around the town with blue lights and sirens I tend to start to worry. There's something happening here, what it is ain't exactly clear ...

Out and Aboutery

Tis the season etc. for summer holiday grand parenting activities. In my case this usually means trekking various trails from cafe to riverbank, from cliff top to shopping mall, football pitch to seaside whilst exploring bus stations and doing the necessary driving. There's always stiff competition to see who tires out first or needs the most toilet breaks. Usually it's the old bloke and designated driver in the party.

We've been to various places this week seeking out the true heart of Scotland, it's out there somewhere. These pics are from an expedition up the the River North Esk searching for salmon and red squirrels. We missed the mark and saw little or no wildlife but did find a rusty old water wheel about 20 feet above the current river's height. I can't figure out how it ever operated (a now dried up channel coming down from the forest?) or if it did indeed work at an altered river bank level; what has happened in the last 100 years? Answers on a postcard please.

We'll be doing it again all of next week. Looking forward to the sausage rolls.

 

Is This Normal?

Unfortunately nothing is new in the present day's hot mess, but this is a simple and articulate summary of an increasingly common and worldwide situation with which many of us feel truly powerless and frustrated. Sometimes a serious meteor strike looks like the only credible solution to mankind's way of being. More from The End of Illusions can be found here.

Monarchs of the Glens etc.

Two of our cats chilling out in their small piece of feline heaven.

Meanwhile a family of (slightly blurred) swans head home.

Stones

I found this small painted stone in the grass on the banks of the River Dee near Crathes Castle. If I was any kind of writer I'd maybe use this as a spur or jumping off point for some kind of short story or other. I'd extrapolate out and away from it and just keep writing. I'm not though, so I won't. I've just photographed a stone and then left it where I'd found it. A lost keepsake, a memorial, a precious item thrown away in a moment of anger or betrayal, something else? I'll never know.

Yesterday I came across these painted stones arranged by the  rear entrance to the Boathouse in SQ. A quite different message.

South Queensferry Daily Photo

We've gone full fibre on our internet infrastructure links, the incoming outside line has been rerouted. It happened a few days ago while we were all sleeping in nearby undergrowth. The view is no longer complimented by various crossed and suspended wires. A bit of an unexpected bonus but confusing for the pigeons. I presume that these birds have now moved on to some other less changeable wires. "The soft and cheesy salmonella cruise ship in the middle distance is definitely there, but only for scale" - said nobody ever.

Education, Education, Education.

Things I think I may have learned while working in Rosyth Naval Base/Dockyard - 1976 to 1981 approximately:

All the wisdom in the known world could be found repeated in the gent's toilet graffiti in Bay 23 and Bay 24.

The relationship between 9 volt batteries and ginger pubic hair.

Human remains can end up in strange places but that's not really so strange.

Old men often collect old pornography.

You're never more than a few feet away from a rock star, professional football player or a politician.

People who "know" drive a Toyota.

Marital treachery is commonplace.

King Charles when simply known as Prince Charles was bullied a lot and was known as "Prince Lugs".

Real war heroes seldom tell their war stories.

You can build a dodgy but lucrative career on scrap metal dealings.

At work: alcohol, confined spaces and explosive gases always need to be treated with respect.

Rope ladders fixed on the sides of ships will have a life of their own.

Health and safety means different things to different people.

Riding a bicycle in the snow is always a bad idea.

Beware of trains.

Duffle coat wearers get heckled.

Cleaning up oil spills is wet and very messy.

Load Test Certificates need to be kept in date order.

In the 70s trade unions were basically a gravy train for officials.

Losing track of radioactive items seldom ends well.

Crane drivers will ignore your signals.

Being a blood donor is a worthwhile skive.

Apply for any vacancy that might move you up a rung.

... and that's about it.

Nothing is as it Seems

Keir Starmer's wife and family are Jewish. He is from a Anglican background but has accepted many of his wife's beliefs and they are bringing their family up in the Jewish faith. I have nothing to say about this but ... you're unlikely to hear much about it from the BBC (or much of the mainstream media), an organization where one of their senior people has had a large amount of influence within the Jewish Chronicle newspaper. (To be clear I'm sure that many other religions and influences are in there, working inside the BBC, all with a degree of personal bias over issues.) So I can't help but wonder if, within their faith and as they exercise it in their family life and devotions, the Starmers are praying for the people of Gaza at all? Just more thoughts and prayers ...

For the record I'm not a terrorist but the fact that in UK law the simple phrase “Free Gaza” is now taken as “supportive of the group Palestine Action”, and “to express such an opinion or belief that is seen as supportive of a proscribed organisation, namely Palestine Action" is an offence* chills my blood. So Free Gaza.

*See Section 12(1A) of the Terrorism Act.

The Number of the Beast

Which number? Contrary to popular belief and opinion I can exclusively tell you that the number of the beast isn't 666 as you probably thought. I know people make a big deal of this number being important but it's simply not true. I think that portion of the bible may have been doctored back in the day and, like a few other bits, it's gone on to fool many people. There's not been a robust system of documentation control out there and dark forces may well be at work 😏.

In one of my previous careers as a forensic anthropologist I actually stumbled upon the real number of the even more real beast. I can't tell you too much about that encounter at the moment. Suffice to say I just scribbled it down and casually stuffed it into a jacket pocket before slowly backing away. Demi-gods require respect. 

I quickly forgot about the number as I had some urgent personal business to deal with; buying some unleaded petrol, checking on the spinach and then going home to rinse out the recycling bin. In all the excitement of life's little routines it just slipped my mind and as often happens, time passed. 

Luckily I found it in my jacket pocket the other day when I was looking for a pound coin to get an aldi trolley. So here it is, out in public view, make what you will of it. I was also wondering if it all might have been a simple Biblical typo and it should have been the number of the best. We all make mistakes sometimes.

P.S. The beast did not influence me at all when it came to writing this short piece but he is rather fond of the "best" theory.

Ali's Psychedelic Breakfast

 

It was never intended as a breakfast but, I'm told you can eat whatever you want for breakfast at whatever time of day or night you like. Nobody cares. I'm pretty sure this lines up well with most of Einstein's better theories on time's characteristics in some inexplicable way but I'm not that well educated. I say this as, no doubt, within his many papers and works he probably had a few mediocre theories before he struck gold and ... well the rest is history. 

So will Ali eat this left over, stir fried chicken concoction for breakfast? Well maybe but if anything it'll be later in the day, things being as the are. Brunch perhaps. Before you go and just to tip you right into the abyss of tedium you can hear the original iconic but tuneful nonsense (or what almost inspired the post title etc.) here.

Edinburgh Daily Photo

 

A day out in the sunny capital city drinking beer and eating fish and chips. Dunfermline away to Hearts in the League Cup at Tynecastle was the main bit of entertainment. For a while things were reasonable at 1 - 1 but as ever for Pars fans it didn't really end well. My expectations for the outcome of the game were not high and sadly they turned out be correct. I still had a good enough day though, burning through a chunk of July's pocket money in various busy but slightly annoying pubs along the way. Actually the pubs were fine, it's mostly just other people that annoy me.

The Real Macy

This is the real, grey, Macy (Macy Grey). Still lost as far as I know but should you encounter him you'll know him by his highly skilled whistling. What a talented fellow. I hope his owner can get him back home soon. Anyway it's all gone quiet ...

Owl Hunt - The Explanation

SQ Bowling Club has spoken: Turns out the suspected whistling owl was indeed and after all a whistling parrot called "Macy". Macy is still at large. This is really happening right now and we're all hoping for a happy ending when Macy somehow makes it back home. I was hoping that Macy might have turned out to be a rare, mythical Norwegian Blue rather than a Tawny Owl but it's neither thing. It's very green.

11:00 Friday - still out there somewhere.

Owl Hunt

This photo may contain the image of a Tawny Owl but it also may not. We are currently being bothered and entertained (there's a fine line) by what may well be a rogue owl but it's too early in the investigations to be sure. Somebody did suggest a rogue parrot that may have escaped it's cage in the nearby village of Kirkliston, according to FxxxBook, if you can believe anything there. 

The thing is whatever bird it may be it's certainly a persistent whistler. Tuneful, fluent and almost human sounding, often in the style of Roger Whittaker and to add a little drama it's whistling away all night and during most of the day. Apparently Tawny Owls can mimic human whistling so that brand of owl is now the prime suspect.

The sound is currently coming from somewhere in these trees to the south of our garden but being a bird it's pretty mobile; who knows where it may end up next? So far the local bird population has made no comment on the impact of the new arrival. If it's an owl I rather fancy it's chances.

Elusive/Ethereal

Sometimes you just want to quietly plunk away on your old guitar and space out into the elusive, ethereal sounds of the wider universe without bothering about what the local AI band down the street might be playing but then you realize that you just didn't reckon on the full disruptive power of the cat kingdom being set against you. Anything worth watching on TV? 

Incidentally the leather guitar strap pictured here is now 53 years old and was made for me, by an apprentice pal who was working in the legendary Rosyth Dockyard at the time. It just might be the my longest lasting/oldest surviving possession strangely enough. 

Chestnuts, Walls, Zoe, Live at Leeds

Things may never be the same again, we're back to having these (old) chestnuts on the menu. Was it some chance happening that led to my simple submission being published in the infamous cookery book entitled "How not to cook" all those years ago? I'll never know but the Christmas chestnut incident had almost been forgotten and we've now returned once again to that shameful (?) and familiar territory.

Sore back? Why not try a bit of this? Fixing a wall where the rain doesn't actually come in, but it stops my mind from wandering. Always remember; 5 sand to 1 cement for mortar. Cat added for scale.

This roasty, toasty cauliflower was rather nice. Recipe by Zoe. Execution (what a word!) by Ali.

Currently listening to this old banger whilst driving around in my own old banger. Not really a wise thing to be doing at my time of life. 

Retro

At a certain age, mine quite possibly, you feel a certain kind on uncertainty about and mild dislike for things that are a bit too ... modern. Somehow they're not quite right, whatever that means, but you mostly get on and use them, even enjoy them just the same. But then you may also reflect on what appeared to be simpler times and so that gradual descent into some jaded form of aged chaos begins and very slowly picks up speed. Except it's not actual speed, more just drifting idly in some vague direction.

Then along comes stuff like Retroshite and old, battered, but still strangely attractive cars are offered up in a cheap and unglamorous raffle and worse still you can remember thinking how these cars were once familiar sights on the road and, even worse, desirable. The shabby MGB above being a good example, albeit it's not in a great colour (British Racing Green is the best). So what's an old bloke supposed to do?

I might just go for that harmless looking Alfa Romeo 146. I know I've no real chance of success, which is probably a good thing.